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 THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSFEARE, 
 
 <i 
 
 COMPRISING HIS 
 
 Draiiiatu aiitr |flftiriil lilorhs, Coraplcfc: 
 
 A.CCUBATEI.Y PRINTJ» 
 
 FEOM THE TEXT OF THE CORRECTED COPY 
 
 UtFT BY THE LAIX 
 
 OEORGE STEVENS, Esq. 
 
 « It 
 
 WITH A 
 
 lasuxj n\x)i §0^5, 
 
 AS9 
 
 A MEMOIR, BY ALEXANDER CHALMERS, A. M. 
 
 WITH STEEL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 I BOSTON. 
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 
 
 1858. 
 
PR ^T5 ;^ 
 
 ♦5> «=rc:> 
 
 
SKETCH 
 
 OF THE 
 
 LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 BY ALEXANDER CHALMERS, A.M. 
 
 William Shakspeaee was born at Stratford- 
 Kpon-Avon, in Warwickshire, on the 23d day 
 of April, 15G4. Of the rank of his family it 
 is not easy to form an opinion. Mr. Rowe says 
 that by the register and certain public writings 
 relating to Stratford, it appears that his an- 
 cestors were "of good figure and fashion," in 
 that town, and are mentioned as "gentlemen," 
 an epithet which was more determinate then 
 than at present, when it has become an un- 
 limited phrase of courtesy. His father, John 
 Shakspeare, was a considerable dealer in wool, 
 and had been an officer and bailiff (probably 
 high-bailiff or mayor) of the body corporate 
 of Stratford. He held also the office of justice 
 of the peace; and at one time, it is said, pos- 
 sessed lands and tenements to the amount of 
 £500, the reward of his grandfather's faithful 
 and approved services to King Henry VII. 
 This, however, has been asserted upon very 
 doubtful authority. Mr. Malone thinks "it is 
 highly probable that he distinguished himself 
 in Bosworth Field on the side of lOng Henry, 
 and that he was rewarded for his military 
 services by the bounty of that parsimonious 
 prince, though not with a grant of lands. No 
 such grant appears in the Chapel of the Rolls, 
 from the beginning to the end of Henry's 
 leigu." But whatever may have been his 
 former wealth, it appears to have been greatly 
 reduced in the latter part of his life, as we 
 i5ud, from the books of the Corporation, that, 
 in 1579, he was excused the trifling weekly 
 tax of fourpence levied on all the aldermen ; 
 and that, in 1586, another alderman was ap- 
 pointed in his room, in consequence of his de- 
 clining to attend on the business of that office. 
 It is even said by Aubrey,' a man sufficiently 
 accurate in facts, although credulous in super- 
 stitious narratives and traditions, that he fol- 
 lowed for some time the occupation of a butcher. 
 
 « MSS. Aubrey, Mua. Ashmol. Oxon, examined by Mr. 
 
 Ualone, 
 
 which Mr. Malone thinks not inconsistent with 
 probability. It must have been, however, at 
 this time, no inconsiderable addition to his 
 difficulties that he had a family of ten chil- 
 dren. His wife was the daughter and heiress 
 of Robert Arden of Wellingcote, in the county 
 of Warwick, who is styled "a gentleman of 
 worship." The family of Arden is very an- 
 cient, Robert Arden of Bromich, Esq., being 
 in the list of the gentry of this county re- 
 turned by the commissioners in the twelfth 
 year of King Henry VI., A. D. 1433. Edward 
 Arden was sheriff of the county in 1568. The 
 woodland part of this county was anciently 
 called Ardern, afterwards softened to Arden; 
 and hence the name. 
 
 Our illustrious poet was the eldest son, and 
 received his early education, however narrow 
 or liberal, at a free school, probably that 
 founded at Stratford. From this he appears 
 to have been soon removed, and placed, ac- 
 cording to Mr. Malone's opinion, in the office 
 of some country attorney, or the seneschal of 
 some manor court, where it is highly probable 
 he picked up those technical law phrases that 
 so frequently occur in his plays, and could 
 not have been in common use, unless among 
 professional men. Mr. Capell conjectures, that 
 his early marriage prevented his being sent to 
 some university. It appears, however, as Dr. 
 Farmer observes, that his life was incompati- 
 ble with a course of education ; and it is cer- 
 tain, that "his contemporaries, friends and 
 foes, nay, and himself likewise, agree in hia 
 want of what is usually termed literature.'' It 
 is, indeed, a strong argument in favor of Shaks • 
 peare's illiterature, that it was maintained by 
 all his contemporaries, many of whom have left 
 upon record every merit they could bestow on 
 him ; and by his successors, who lived nearest 
 to his time, when "his memory was green-" 
 and that it has been denied only by Gildon, 
 Sewell, and others down to Upton, who could 
 have no means of ascertaining the truth 
 
 iii 
 
IV 
 
 LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 In his eighteenth year, or perhaps a little 
 ►ooner, he married Aune Hathaway, who was 
 eight years older than himself, the daughter 
 of one Hathaway, who is said to have been 
 a substantial yeoman in the neighbourhood of 
 Stratford. Of his domestic economy, or pro- 
 fessional occupation at this time, we have no 
 information; but it would appear that both 
 were in a considerable degree neglected by his 
 associating with a gang of deer-stealers. Be- 
 ing detected witli them in robbing the parli of 
 Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote, near Stratford, 
 he was so rigorously prosecuted by that gen- 
 tleman, as to be obliged to leave his family 
 and business, and take shelter in London. Sir 
 Thomas, on this occasion, is said to have been 
 exasperated by a ballad Shakspeare wrote, 
 probably his first essay in poetry, of which 
 the following stanza was communicated to Mr. 
 Oldys :— 
 
 A parllemente mem'ber, a justice of peace, 
 At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse, 
 If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke mitcalle it, 
 Then Luoy is lowsie whatever befall it : 
 
 He thinlis himself greate. 
 
 Yet an a.«se in his state 
 We allowe by his cars but with asses to mate. 
 If Lucy be lowsie, as some volke miscalle it, 
 Sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it. 
 
 These lines, it must be confessed, do no great 
 nonor to our poet ; and probably were unjust ; 
 for although some of his admirers have re- 
 corded Sir Thomas as a "vain, weak, and vin- 
 dictive magistrate," he was certainly exerting 
 no very violent act of oppression, in protect- 
 ing his property against a man who was de- 
 grading the commonest rank of life, and had, 
 at this time, bespoke no indulgence by supe- 
 rior talents. The ballad, however, must have 
 made some noise at Sir Tliomas's expense, as 
 the author took care it should be affixed to his 
 park-gates, and liberally circulated among his 
 nc'ghbors. 
 
 On his arrival in London, which was proba- 
 blj' in 158G, when he was twenty-two years 
 old, he is said to have made his first acquaint- 
 ance in the plaj'-house, to which idleness or 
 taste may have directed him, and where his 
 necessities, if tradition maybe credited, obliged 
 him to accept the office of call-boy, or prompter's 
 attendant. This is a menial whose employ- 
 ment it is to give the performers notice to be 
 readj' to enter, so often as the business of the 
 play requires their appearance on the stage. 
 Pope, however, relates a story, communicated 
 to him by Rowe, but which Howe did not think 
 deserving of a place in the life he wrote, that 
 oiust a little retard the advancement of our 
 poet to the office just mentioned. According 
 to this story, Shakspeare's first employment 
 was to wait at the door of the play-house, and 
 hold the horses of those who had no servants, 
 that they might be ready after the perform- 
 ance, liut "I cannot," saj's his acute com- 
 mentator, Mr. Steevens, "dismiss the anecdote 
 without observing, that it seems to want every 
 mark of probability. Though Shakspeare 
 quitted Stratford on account of a juvenile 
 irregularity, we have no reason to suppose 
 that he had forfeited the protection of his 
 father, who was engaged in a lucrative busi- 
 
 ness, or the love of his wife, who had alreadj 
 brought him two children, and was herself 
 the daughter of a substantial yeoman. It is 
 unlikely, therefore, when he was beyond the 
 reach of his prosecutor, that he should con- 
 ceal his plan of life, or place of residence, 
 from those who, if he found himself distressed, 
 could not fail to afford him such siapplies as 
 would have set him above the necessity of hold- 
 ing horses for subsistence." Mr. Malcne has 
 remarked, in his attempt to ascertain the 
 order in which the Plaj's of Shakspeare were 
 written, that " he might have found an easy in- 
 troduction to the stage : for Thomas Green, a 
 celebrated comedian of that period, was his 
 townsman, and perhaps his relation. The ge- 
 nius of our author prompted him to write 
 poetry ; his connection with a player might 
 have given his productions a dramatic turn : 
 or his own sagacity might have taught him 
 that fame was not incompatible with profit, 
 and that the theatre was an avenue to both. 
 That it was once the general custom to ride 
 on horseback to the play, I am likewise yet to 
 learn. The most popular of the theatres were 
 on the Bankside: and we are told by the sati- 
 rical pamphleteers of that time, that the usual 
 mode of conveyance to these places of amuse- 
 ment was by water, but not a single writer so 
 much as hints at the custom of riding to them, 
 or at the practice of having horses held dur- 
 ing the hours of exhibition. Some allusion to 
 this usage (if it had existed) must, I think, 
 have been discovered in the course of our re- 
 searches after contemporary fashions. Let it 
 be remembered, too, that we receive this tale 
 on no higher authority than that of Gibber's 
 Lives of the Poets, vol. i. p. 130. Sir "William 
 Davenant told it to Mr. Betterton, who com- 
 municated it to Mr. Rowe, who, according to 
 Dr. Johnson, related it to Mr. Pope." Mr. 
 Malone concurs in opinion, that this story 
 stands on a very slender foundation, while he 
 differs from Mr. Steevens as to the fact of gen- 
 tlemen going to the theatre on horseback. 
 With respect, likewise, to Shakspeare's father 
 being "engaged in a lucrative business," we 
 may remark, that this could not have been the 
 case at the time our author came to London, 
 if the preceding dates be correct, He is said 
 to have arrived in London in 1586, the year in 
 which his father resigned the office of alder- 
 man, unless, indeed, we are permitted to con- 
 jecture that his resignation was not the conse- 
 quence of his necessities. 
 
 But in whatever situation he was first em- 
 ployed at the theatre, he appears to have soon 
 discovered those talents which afterwards made 
 him 
 
 Th' applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! 
 
 Some distinction he probably first acquired 
 as an actor, although Mr. Rowe has not been 
 able to discover any character in which he ap- 
 peared to more advantage than that of the 
 ghost in Hamlet. The instructions given to 
 the player in that tragedy, and other passages 
 of his works, show an intimate acquaintance 
 with the skill of acting, and such as is scarcely 
 surpassed in our own days. He appears to 
 
LIFE OP SHAKSPEAKE. 
 
 Dave studied nature in acting as much as in 
 writing. But all this might have been mere 
 theory. Mr. Malone is of opinion he was no 
 great actor. The distinction, however, which 
 he might obtain as an actor could only be in 
 his own plays, in which he would be assisted 
 by the novel appearance of author and actor 
 combined. Before his time, it does not ap- 
 pear that any actor could avail himself of the 
 wretched pieces represented on the stage. 
 
 Mr. Rowe regrets that he cannot inform us 
 which was the first play he wrote. More skil- 
 ful research has since found, that Romeo and 
 Juliet, and Richard II. and III. were printed 
 in 1597, when he was thirty-three years old; 
 there is also some reason to think that he com- 
 menced as a dramatic writer in 1592, and Mr. 
 Malone even jjlaces his first play, "First part 
 of Henry VI.," in 1589. Ilis plays, however, 
 must have been not only popular, but approved 
 by persons of the higher order, as we are cer- 
 tain that he enjoyed the gracious favor of 
 Queen Elizabeth, who was very fond of the 
 stage, and the particular and affectionate pa- 
 tronage of the Earl of Southampton, to whom 
 he dedicated his poems of " Venus and Adonis," 
 and his " Tarquin and Lucrece." On Sir Wil- 
 liam Daveuant's authority, it has been asserted 
 that this nobleman at one time gave him a 
 thousand pounds to enable him to complete a 
 purciiase. At the conclusion of the advertise- 
 ment prefixed to Lintot's edition of Shakspeare's 
 poems, it is said, " That most learned prince, 
 and great patron of learning. King James the 
 First, was pleased, with his own hand, to write 
 an amicable letter to Mr. Shakspeare ; which 
 letter, though now lost, remained long in the 
 hands of Sir William D'Avenant, as a credible 
 person now living can testify." Dr. Farmer 
 with great probability supposes, that this let- 
 ter was written by King James, in return for 
 the compliment paid to him in Macbeth. The 
 relator of this anecdote was Sheffield, Duke 
 of Buckingham.* These brief notices, meagre 
 as they are, may show that our author enjoyed 
 high favor in his day. Whatever we may think 
 of King James as a "learned prince," his pa- 
 tronage, as well as that of his predecessor, was 
 sufficient to give celebrity to the founder of a 
 new stage. It may be added, that his uncom- 
 mon merit, his candor, and good nature, are 
 supposed to have procured him the admiration 
 and acquaintance of every person distinguished 
 for such qualities. It is not difficult, indeed, 
 to suppose, that Shakspeare was a man of 
 humor and a social companion, and probably 
 excelled in that species of minor wit not ill 
 adapted to conversation, of which it could have 
 been wished he had been more sparing in his 
 writings. 
 
 How long he acted has not been discovered, 
 but he continued to write till the year 1G14. 
 During his dramatic career he acquired a pro- 
 perty in the theatre,' which he must have dis- 
 posed of when he retired, as no mention of it 
 
 » Note by Mr. Malone to " Additional Anecdotes of Wil- 
 li.'im Slijikspeare." 
 
 •In 16U.3, he and .»cveral others obtained a license from 
 King Jauics to exhibit comedicii, tragedies, histories, &c., 
 kt the GJobe Theatre and •ihJtwhcre. 
 
 occurs in his will. His connection with Ben 
 Jonson has been variously related. It is 
 said, that when Jonson was unknown to the 
 world, he offered a play to the theatre, which 
 was rejected after a very careless perusal, but 
 that Shakspeare having accidentally cast his 
 eye on it, conceived a favorable opinion of it, 
 and afterwards recommended Jonson and hia 
 writings to the public. For this candor he 
 was repaid by Jonson, when the latter became 
 a poet of note, with an envious disrespect. 
 .Jonson acquired reputation by the variety of 
 his pieces, and endeavoured to arrogate the 
 supremacy in dramatic genius. Like a French 
 critic, he insinuated Shakspeare's incorrect- 
 ness, his careless manner of writing, and hia 
 want of judgment; and, as he was a remark- 
 ably slow writer himself, he could not endure 
 the praise frequently bestowed on Shakspeare, 
 of seldom altering or blotting out what he had 
 written. Mr. Malone says, "that not long 
 after the year 1600, a coolness arose between 
 Shakspeare and him, which, however we may 
 talk of his almost idolatrous affection, pro- 
 duced on his part, from that time to the death 
 of our author, and for many years afterwards, 
 much clumsy sarcasm, and many malevolent 
 reflections." But from these, which are the 
 commonly received opinions on this subject, Dr. 
 Farmer is inclined to depart, and to think Jon- 
 son's hostility to Shakspeare absolutely ground- 
 less ; so uncertain is every circumstance we 
 attempt to recover of our great poet's life. 
 Jonson had only one advantage over Shaks- 
 peare, that of superior learning, which might 
 in certain situations give hira a superior rank, 
 but could never promote his rivalship with a 
 man who attained the highest excellence with- 
 out it. Nor will Shakspeare suffer by its be- 
 ing known, that all the dramatic poets before 
 he appeared were scholars. Greene, Lodge, 
 Peele, Marlowe, Nashe, Lily, and Kyd, had 
 all, says Mr. Malone, a regular university edu- 
 cation ; and, as scholars in our universities, 
 frequently composed and acted plays on histo- 
 rical subjects.* 
 
 The latter part of Shakspeare's life was 
 spent in ease, retirement, and the conversa- 
 tion of his fi'iends. He had accumulated con- 
 siderable property, which Gildon (in his " Let- 
 ters and Essays," 1G94) stated to amount to 
 £300 per annum, a sura at least equal to 
 £1000 in our days ; but Mr. Malone doubts 
 whether all his property amounted to much 
 more than £200 per annum, which yet was a 
 considerable fortune in those times, and it ia 
 supposed that he might have derived £200 per 
 aunum from the theatre while he continued on 
 the stage. 
 
 He retired some years before his death to a 
 house in Stratford, of which it has been 
 thought important to give *iie history. It was 
 built by Sir Hugh Clopton, a younger brother 
 of an ancient family in that neighbourhood. 
 Sir Hugh was Sheriff of London in the reign 
 
 * This was the praftioo in Milton's days. "One of hia 
 objections to academical edue.-ition, as it was then con 
 ducted, is that men desi^;ned for orders in the churci 
 were permitted to act plays," &c. Johnson's Life of Mil 
 ton. 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 n 
 
 of lUchurd III., and Lord Mayor in the reign 
 Df Henry VII. By his will, he bequeathed to 
 his elder brother's son his manor of Clopton, 
 &c., and his house by the name of the Great 
 Bouse in Stratford. A good part of the estate 
 was in possession of Edward Clopton, Esq., 
 and Sir Hugh Clopton, Knight, in 1733. The 
 principal estate had been sold out of the Clop- 
 ton family for above a century, at the time 
 when Shakspeare became the purchaser ; who 
 having repaired and modelled it to his own 
 mind, changed the name to lieio Place, which 
 the mansion-house, afterward erected in the 
 room of the poet's house, retained for many 
 years. The house and lands belonging to it 
 continued in the possession of Shakspeare's 
 descendants to the time of the Restoration, 
 when they were repurchased by the Clopton 
 family. Here, in May, 1742, when Mr. Gar- 
 rick, Mr. Macklin, and Mf. Delane visited 
 Stratford, they were hospitably entertained 
 under Shakspeare's mulberry-tree by Sir Hugh 
 Clopton. He was a barrister at law, was 
 knighted by King George I., and died in the 
 80th year of his age, in December, 1751. His 
 executor, about the year 1752, sold JVew Place 
 to the Rev. Mr. Gastrell, a man of large for- 
 tune, who resided in it but a few years, in 
 consequence of a disagreement with the inha- 
 bitants of Stratford. As he resided part of the 
 year at Litchfield, he thought he was assessed 
 too highly in the monthly rate toward the main- 
 tenance of the poor ; but being very properly 
 compelled by the magistrates of Stratford to pay 
 the whole of what was levied on him, on the 
 principle that his house was occupied by his 
 servants in his absence, he peevishly declared 
 that that house should never be assessed again ; 
 and soon afterward pulled it down, sold the 
 materials, and left the town. He had some 
 time before cut down Shakspeare's mulberry- 
 tree' to save himself the trouble of showing it 
 to those whose admiration of our great poet 
 led them to visit the classic ground on which 
 it stood. That Shakspeare planted this tree 
 appeai-s to be sufficiently authenticated. Where 
 New Place stood is now a garden. Before con- 
 cluding this history, it may be necessary to 
 mention, that the poet's house was once Ho- 
 noured by the temporary residence of Hen- 
 rietta Maria, queen to Charles I. Theobald 
 has given an inaccurate account of this, as if 
 she had been obliged to take refuge in Strat- 
 ford from the rebels ; but that was not the 
 ease. She marched from Newark, June 16, 
 1643, and entered Stratford triumphantly about 
 the 22d of the same month, at the head of 
 three thousand foot and fifteen hundred horse, 
 with one hundred and fifty wagons, and a train 
 of artillery. Here she was met by Prince Ru- 
 pert accompanied by a large body of troops. 
 
 » " As the curiosity of this house and tree brought much 
 
 Jimc, said more company and profit to the town, a certain 
 
 ftian. on some di?gust, has pulled the house down, so as 
 
 'ilot to leave one stone upon another, and cut down the 
 
 tree, and piled it as a stock of firewood, to the g^-eat vexa- 
 
 Jtio;i, loss, and disappointment of the inhabitants; how- 
 
 -'tver, 'an honest silvrsmith bought the whole stock of 
 
 'Woo(i,'and makes many odd things of this wood for the 
 
 ^jiMous." Letter id- Annual Register. ITCO. Of Mr. Gas- 
 
 'ircli knclhis ludy, sec Uoswell's Life of Dr. Johnson, to ii. 
 
 p. 3f6. Edit. 1793. 
 
 She resided about three weeks at our poet's 
 house, which was then possessed by his grand- 
 daughter, Mrs. Nashe, and her husband. 
 
 During Shakspeare's abode in this house, his 
 pleasurable wit and good-nature, says Mr. 
 Rowe, engaged him the acquaintance and en- 
 titled him to the friendship of the gentlemen 
 of the neighbourhood. Among these, Mr. 
 Rowe tells a traditional story of a miser or 
 usurer, named Combe, who, in conversatioc 
 with Shakspeare, said he fancied the poet in 
 tended to write his epitaph if he should sur- 
 vive him, and desired to know what he nieaul 
 to say. On this Shakspeare gave him the fol- 
 lowing, probably extempore: — 
 
 Ten in the hundred lies here engraved, 
 'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved ; 
 If any man ask, AVho lies in this tombe ? 
 Oh ! lac ! quoth the devil, 'tis my Johu-arCombe. 
 
 The sharpness of the satire is said to have 
 stung the man so severely, that he never for- 
 gave it. These lines, however, or some which 
 nearly resemble them, appeared in various 
 collections, both before and after the time 
 they were said to have been composed ; and 
 the inquiries of Mr. Steevens and Mr. Malone 
 satisfactorily prove that the whole story is a 
 fabrication. Betterton is said to have heard 
 it when he visited Warwickshire on purpose to 
 collect anecdotes of our poet, and probably 
 thought it of too much importance to be nicely 
 examined. We know not whether it be worth 
 adding of a story which we have rejected, that 
 a usurer in Shakspeare's time did not mean one 
 who took exorbitant, but any interest or usance 
 for money, and that ten in the hundred, or ten 
 per cent., was then the ordinary interest of 
 money. It is of more consequence, however, 
 to record the opinion of Mr. Malone, that 
 Shakspeare, during his retirement, wrote the 
 play of Twelfth Night. 
 
 He died on his birth-day, Tuesday, April 23, 
 1616, when he had exactly completed his fifty- 
 second year,' and was buried on the north side 
 of the chancel, in the great church of Strat- 
 ford, where a monument is placed in the wall, 
 on which he is represented under an arch, in a 
 sitting posture, a cushion spread before him, 
 with a pen in his right hand, and his left rested 
 on a scroll of paper. The following Latin 
 distich is engraved under the cushion : — 
 
 Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, 
 Terra tegit, populus mceret, Olympus habet. 
 
 "The first syllable in Socratem," says Mr. 
 Steevens, "is here made short, which cannot 
 be allowed. Perhaps we should read Sopho- 
 clem. Shakspeare is then appositely com- 
 pared with a dramatic author among the an- 
 cients ; but still it should be remembered, that 
 the eulogium is lessened while the metre is 
 reformed ; and it is well known, that some of 
 our early writers of Latin poetry were uncom- 
 monly negligent in their prosody, especially 
 in proper names. The though* of this distich, 
 as Mr. Toilet observes, might have been taken 
 
 • The only notice we have of his person is from Aubrey, 
 ■who says, "he was a handsome, well-shaped man;" an(J 
 adds, " verie good company, and of a very ready, and plea- 
 sant and smooth wit." 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 VI' 
 
 from the FaerJ Queene of Spenser, B. ii. c. ix. 
 Bt. 48, and c. x. st. 3. 
 
 "To this Latin inscription on Shakspeare 
 may be added the lines which are found un- 
 derneath it on his monument: — 
 
 <5tay, passenger, why dost thou go so fast? 
 Bead, if thou canst, whom envious death hath placed 
 Within this monument ; Shakspeare, with whom 
 Quick nature died ; wliose name doth deck the tomb 
 Far more than cost; since all that he hath writ 
 Leaves living art but page to serve his wit. 
 
 Obiit, Ano. Dni. 1616. 
 
 set. 53, die 23 Apri. 
 
 «'lt appears from the verses of Leonard 
 Digges, that our author's monument was 
 erected before the year 1623. It has been 
 engraved by Vertue, and done in mezzotinto 
 by Miller." 
 
 On his grave-stone, underneath, are these 
 lines, in an uncouth mixture of small and 
 capital letters : — 
 
 Good Friend for lesus SAKE forbare 
 To diGQ T-K Dust EncloAsed HERe 
 
 T 
 
 Blese be T-E Man spares T-Es Stones 
 And curst be lie ''^ moves my Bones. 
 
 T 
 
 It is uncertain whether the request and im- 
 precation were written by Shakspeare, or by 
 one of his friends. They probably allude to 
 the custom of removing skeletons after a cer- 
 tain time, and depositing them in charnel- 
 houses ; and similar execrations are found in 
 many ancient Latin epitaphs. 
 
 AVe have no account of the malady which, 
 at no very advanced age, closed the life and 
 labours of this unrivalled and incomparable 
 genius. 
 
 His family consisted of two daughters, and 
 a son named Hamnet, who died in 1596, in the 
 twelfth year of his age. Susannah, the eldest 
 daughter, and her father's favourite, was mar- 
 ried to Dr. John Hall, a j)hysician, who died 
 November, 1635, aged sixty. Mrs. Hall died 
 July 11, 1649, aged sixty-six. They left only 
 one child, Elizabeth, born 1607-8, and mar- 
 ried April 22, 1626, to Thomas Nashe, Esq., 
 who died in 1647; and afterward to Sir John 
 Barnard, of Abington, in Northamptonshire ; 
 but died without issue by either husband. 
 Judith, Shakspeare's youngest daughter, was 
 married to a Mr. Thomas Quiney, and died 
 February, lG'61-2, in her seventy-seventh year. 
 By Mr. Quiney she had three sons, Shakspeare, 
 Richard, and Thomas, who all died unmari-ied. 
 Sir Hugh Clopton, who was born two years 
 after the death of Lady Barnard, which hap- 
 pened in 1669-70, related to Mr. Macklin, in 
 1742, an old tradition, that she had carried 
 away with her from Stratford, many of her 
 grandfather's papers. On the death of Sir 
 John Barnard, ^Ir. Malone thinks these must 
 have fallen into the hands of Mr. Edward Bag- 
 ley, Lady Barnard's executor; and if any de- 
 Bcendant of that gentleman be now living, in 
 his custody they probably remain. To this 
 ficcount of Shakspeare's family we have now 
 to add, that among Oldys's papers is another 
 traditional gossip's story of his having been 
 the father of Sir William Davenant. Oldys's 
 relation is thus given: — 
 
 " If tradition may be trusted, Shakspeare 
 often baited at the Crown Inn or Tavern in 
 Oxford, in his journey to and from London. 
 The landlady was a woman of great beauty 
 and sprightly wit, and her husband, Mr. John 
 Davenant, (afterward mayor of that city,) a 
 grave, melancholy man ; who, as well as his 
 wife, used much to delight in Shakspeare's 
 pleasant company. Their son, young AVill. Da- 
 venant, (afterward Sir William,) was then a 
 little school-boy in the town, of about seven or 
 eight years old, and so fond also of Shakspeare, 
 that whenever he heard of his arrival, he would 
 fly from school to see him. One day, an old 
 townsman, observing the boy running home- 
 ward almost out of breath, asked him whither 
 he was posting in that heat and hurry. He 
 answered, to see his ^oc:?-father Shakspeare. 
 There's a good boy, said the other, but have 
 a care that you don't take God's name in vain. 
 This story, Mr. Pope told me at the Earl of 
 Oxford's table, upon occasion of some discourse 
 which arose about Shakspeare's monument, 
 then newly erected in Westminster Abbey." 
 
 This story appears to have originated with 
 Anthony Wood, and it has been thought a pre- 
 sumption of its being true, that, after careful 
 examination, Mr. Thomas Wartou was inclined 
 to believe it. Mr. Steevens, however, treats it 
 with the utmost contempt ; but does not, per- 
 haps, argue with his usual attention to expe- 
 rience, when he brings Sir William Davenant's 
 "heavy, vulgar, unmeaning face," as a proof 
 that he could not be Shakspeare's son. 
 
 In the year 1741, a monument was erected 
 to our poet in Westminster Abbey, by the direc- 
 tion of Earl of Burlington, Dr. Mead, iSIr 
 Pope, and Mr. Martyn. It was the work of 
 Scheemaker, (who received £300 for it,) after 
 a design of Kent, and was opened in January 
 of that year. The performers of each of the 
 London theatres gave a benefit to defray the 
 expenses, and the Dean and Chapter of West- 
 minster took nothing for the ground. The 
 money received by the performance at Drury 
 Lane theatre amounted to above £200, but the 
 receipts at Covent Garden did not exceed £100. 
 
 From these imperfect notices, which are all 
 we have been able to collect from the labors 
 of his biographers and commentators, our 
 readers will perceive that less is known of 
 Shakspeare than of almost any writer who has 
 been considered as an object of laudable curi- 
 osity. Nothing could be more highly gratify- 
 ing than an account of the early studies of 
 this wonderful man, the progress of his pen, 
 his moral and social qualities, his friendships, 
 his failings, and whatever else constitutes per- 
 sonal history. But on all these topics his con- 
 temporaries and his immediate successors have 
 been equally silent, and if aught can be here- 
 after discovered, it must be by exploring 
 sources which have hitherto escaped the anx- 
 ious researches of those who have devoted 
 their whole lives and their most vigoroua 
 talents to revive his memory and illustrate 
 his writings. In the sketch we have given, if 
 the dates of his birth and death be excepted, 
 wiiat is there on which the reader can depend, 
 or for which, if he contend eagerly, he mH> 
 
I'm 
 
 LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 not be involved in controversy, and perjlexed 
 tvitli contradictory opinions and authorities? 
 
 It is usually said that the life of an author 
 can be little else than a history of his works ; 
 but this opinion is liable to many exceptions. 
 If an author, indeed, has passed his days in 
 retirement, his life can afford little more va- 
 riety than that of any other man who has lived 
 in retirement ; but if, as is generally the case 
 with writers of great celebrity, Le has acquired 
 a pre-eminence over his contemporaries, if he 
 has excited rival contentions, and defeated the 
 attacks of criticism or of malignity, or if he 
 has plunged into the controversies of his age, 
 and performed the part either of a tyrant or a 
 hero in literature, his history may be rendered 
 as interesting as that of any other public cha- 
 racter. But whatever weight may be allowed 
 to this remark, the decision will not be of 
 much consequence in the case of Shakspeare. 
 Unfortunately, we know as little of his writ- 
 ings as of his personal history. The industry 
 of his illustrators for the last thirty years has 
 been such as probably never was surpassed in 
 the annals of literary investigation ; yet so far 
 are we from information of the conclusive or 
 satisfactory kind, tliat even the order in which 
 his plays were written rests principally on 
 conjecture, and of some plays usually printed 
 among his works, it is not yet determined 
 whether he wrote the whole, or any part. 
 
 Much of our ignorance of every thing which 
 it would be desirable to know respecting Shaks- 
 pearc's works, must be imputed to the author 
 himself. If we look merely at the state in 
 •which he left his productions, we should be 
 apt to conclude, either that he was insensible 
 of their value, or that, while he was the great- 
 est, he was at the same time the humblest 
 ■writer the world ever produced — "that he 
 thought his works unworthy of posterity — that 
 he levied no ideal tribute upon future times, 
 nor had any further prospect than that of 
 present popularity and pi-esent profit.'" And 
 Buch an opinion, although it apparently par- 
 takes of the ease and looseness of conjecture, 
 may not be far from probability. But before 
 we allow it any higher merit, or attempt to 
 decide upon the affection or neglect with which 
 he reviewed his labors, it may be necessary to 
 consider their precise nature, and certain cir- 
 cumstances in his situation which affected 
 them ; and, above all, we must take into our 
 account the character and predominant occu- 
 pations of the times in which he lived, and of 
 those which followed his decease. 
 
 With respect to himself, it does not appear 
 that he printed any one of his plays, and only 
 eleven of them were printed in his lifetime. 
 The reason assigned for this is, that he wrote 
 them for a particular theatre, sold them to the 
 managers when only an actor, reserved them 
 in manuscript when himself a manager, and 
 when he disposed of his property in the thea- 
 tre, they were still preserved in manuscript to 
 prevent their being acted by the rival houses. 
 Copies of some of them appear to have been 
 surreptitiously obtained, and published in a 
 
 ' Dr. John.son's Preface. 
 
 very incorrect state ; hut we may suppost 
 that it was wiser in the author or managers to 
 overlook this fraud than publish a correct edi 
 tion, and so destroy the exclusive property 
 they enjoyed. It is clear, therefore, that anji 
 publication of his plays by himself would have 
 interfered, at first with his own interest, and 
 afterward with the interest of those to whom 
 he had made over his share in them. But 
 even had this obstacle been removed, we ar« 
 not sure that he would have gained much by 
 publication. If he had no other copies but 
 those belonging to the theatre, the business 
 of correction for the press must have been a 
 toil which we are afraid the taste of the pub- 
 lic at that time would have poorly rewarded. 
 We know not the exact portion of fame he 
 enjoyed: it was probably the highest which 
 dramatic genius could confer ; but dramatic 
 genius was a new excellence, and not well un- 
 derstood. His claims were probably not heard 
 out of the jurisdiction of the master of tha 
 revels, certainly not beyond the metropolis. 
 Yet such was Shakspeare's reputation, that 
 we are told his name was put to pieces which 
 he never wrote, and that he felt himself too 
 confident in popular favor to undeceive the 
 public. This was singular resolution in a man 
 who wrote so unequally, that at this day, the 
 *^ost of internal evidence must be applied to his 
 doubtful productions with the greatest caution. 
 But still how far his character would have been 
 elevated by an examination of his plays in the 
 closet, in an age when the refinements of criti- 
 cism were not understood, and the sympathies 
 of taste were seldom felt, m"ay admit of a ques- 
 tion. " His language," says Dr. Johnson, " not 
 heivg designed for the reader's desk, was all that 
 he desired it to be if it conveyed his meaning 
 to the audience." 
 
 Shakspeare died in 1G16; and seven years 
 afterward appeared the first edition of his 
 plays, published at the charges of four book- 
 sellers, — a circumstance from which Mr. Malone 
 infers "that no single publisher was at that 
 time willing to risk his money on a complete 
 collection of our author's plays." This edi- 
 tion was printed from the copies in the hands 
 of his fellow-managers, Heminge and CondcU, 
 which had been in a series of years frequently 
 altered through convenience, caprice, or igno- 
 rance. Heminge and Condell had now retired 
 from the stage; and, we may suppose, weie 
 guilty of no injury to their successors in 
 printing what their own interest only had for- 
 merly withheld. Of this, although we have 
 no documents amounting to demonstration, we 
 may be convinced, by adverting to a circum- 
 stance which will, in our days, appear very 
 extraordinary, namely, the declension of Shaks- 
 peare's popularity. We have seen that the 
 publication of his works was accounted a 
 doubtful speculation ; and it is yet more cer- 
 tain that so much had the public taste turned 
 from him in quest of variety, that for several 
 years after his death the plays of Fletcher 
 were more frequently acted than his, and dur- 
 ing the whole of the seventeenth century, they 
 were made to give place to performances tha 
 greater part of which cannot now be endured 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 la 
 
 DuriEg the same period, only four editions of 
 his works were pviblislied, all in folio ; and 
 perhaps this unwieldy size of volume may be 
 an additional proof that they were not popu- 
 lar ; nor is it thought that the impressions were 
 numerous. 
 
 These circumstances, which attach to our 
 author and to his works, must be allowed a 
 plausible weight in accounting for our defi- 
 ciencies in his biography and literary career ; 
 but there were circumstances enough in the 
 history of the times to suspend the progress 
 of that more regular drama of which he had 
 set the example, and may be considered as the 
 founder. If we wonder why we know so much 
 less of Shakspeare than of his contemporaries, 
 let us recollect that his genius, however highly 
 and justly we now rate it, took a direction 
 which was not calculated for permanent admi- 
 ration, either in the age in which he lived, or 
 in that which followed. Shakspeare was a 
 writer of plays, a promoter of an amusement 
 just emerging from barbarism ; and an amuse- 
 ment which, although it has been classed 
 among the schools of morality, has ever had 
 such a strong tendency to deviate from moral 
 purposes, that the force of law has, in all 
 ages, been called in to preserve it within the 
 bounds of common decency. The church has 
 ever been ixnfriendly to the stage. A part of 
 the injunctions of Queen Elizabeth is particu- 
 larly directed against the printing of plays ; 
 and, according to an entry in the books of the 
 Stationers' Company, in the forty-first year of 
 her reign, it is ordered that no plays be printed, 
 except allowed by persons in authority. Dr. 
 Farmer also remarks, that in that age, poetry 
 and novels were destroyed publicly by the 
 bishops, and privately by the puritans. The 
 main transactions, indeed, of that period, could 
 not admit of much attention to matters of 
 amusement. The Reformation required all the 
 circumspection and policy of a long reign to 
 render it so firmly established in popular favor 
 as to brave the caprice of any succeeding 
 sovereign. This was effected, in a great mea- 
 sure, by the diffusion of religious controversy, 
 which was encouraged by the church, and es- 
 pecially by the puritans, who were the imme- 
 diate teachers of the lower classes, were lis- 
 tened to with veneration, and usually inveighed 
 against all public amusements, as inconsistent 
 with the Christian profession. These contro- 
 versies continued during the reign of James I., 
 ami were, in a considerable degree, promoted 
 by him, although he, like Elizabeth, was a 
 favorer of the stage, as an appendage to the 
 grandeur and pleasures of the Court. But the 
 commotions which followed in the unhappy 
 reign of Charles I., when the stage was totally 
 abolished, are suCBcient to account for the 
 oblivion thrown on the history and works of 
 our great bard. From this time, no inquiry 
 was made, until it was too late to obtain any 
 information more satisfactory than the few 
 hearsay scraps and contested traditions above 
 detailed. " How little," says Mr. Steevens, 
 " Shakspeare was once read, may be under- 
 stood from Tate, who, in his dedication to the 
 altered play of King Lear, speaks of the ori- 
 
 ginal as an obscure piece, recommended to hh 
 notice by a friend ; and the author of the Tat- 
 ler, having occasion to quote a few lines out of 
 Macbeth, was content to receive them from 
 D'Avenant's alteration of that celebrated drama, 
 in which almost every original beauty is either 
 awkwardly disguised, or arbitrarily omitted." 
 
 In fifty years after his death, Dryden men- 
 tions that he was then become "a little obso- 
 lete." In the beginning of the last century, 
 Lord Shaftesbury complains of his " rude, un- 
 polished style, and his antiquated phrase and 
 wit." It is certain, that for nearly a hundred 
 years after his death, partly owing to the im- 
 mediate revolution and rebellion, and partly 
 to the licentious taste encouraged in Charlea 
 II. 's time, and perhaps partly to the incorrect 
 state of his workp, he was almost entirely 
 neglected. Mr. Malone has justly remarked, 
 " that if he had been read, admired, studied, 
 and imitated, in the same degree as he is now, 
 the enthusiasm of some one or other of his 
 admirers in the k^st age would have induced 
 him to make some inquiries concerning the 
 history of his theatrical career, and the anec- 
 dotes of his private life."' 
 
 His admirers, however, if he had admirert 
 in that age, possessed no portion of such en- 
 thusiasm. That curiosity which in our days 
 has raised biography to the rank of an inde- 
 pendent study, was scarcely known, and where 
 known, confined principally to the public trans- 
 actions of eminent characters. And if, in ad- 
 dition to the cii'cumstances already stated, we 
 consider how little is known of the personal 
 history of Shakspeare's contemporaries, we 
 may easily resolve the question, why, of all 
 men that have ever claimed admiration by ge- 
 nius, wisdom, or valor, who have eminently 
 contributed to enlarge the taste, promote the 
 happiness, or increase the reputation of their 
 country, we know the least of Shakspeare : 
 and why, of the few particulars which seem 
 entitled to credit, when simply related, and in 
 which there is no manifest violation of proba- 
 bility, or promise of importance, there is 
 scarcely one which has not swelled into a con- 
 troversy. After a careful examination of all 
 that modern research has discovered, we know 
 not how to trust our curiosity beyond the limits 
 of those barren dates which afford no personal 
 history. The nature of Shakspeare's writings 
 prevents that appeal to internal evidence, 
 which in other cases has been found to throw 
 light on character. The purity of his morals, 
 for example, if sought in his plays, must be 
 measured against the licentiousness of his lan- 
 guage, and the question will then be, how 
 much did he write from conviction, and how 
 miich to gratify the taste of his hearers ? How 
 much did he add to the age, and how much 
 did he borrow from it? Pope says, "he was 
 obliged to please the lowest of the people, and 
 to keep the worst of company;" and Pope 
 might have said more : for although we hope 
 it was not true, we have no means of proving 
 it was false. 
 
 • Mr. Steevens's Adyertisement to the Keader, Aral 
 priuted in 1773. 
 
 • Mr. Malone's Preface to his edition. 1790. 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The only life which has been prefixed to all 
 the editions of Shakspeare of the eighteenth 
 century, is that drawn up by Mr. Rowe, and 
 which he modestly calls, " Some Account," &c. 
 In this we have what Rowe could collect when 
 every legitimate source of information was 
 closed — a few traditions that were floating 
 nearly a century after the author's death. 
 Some inaccuracies in his account have been 
 detected in the valuable notes of Mr. Steevens 
 and Mr. Malone, who, in other parts of their 
 respective editions, have scattered a few brief 
 notices which we have incorporated in the pre- 
 sent sketch. The whole, however, is unsatis- 
 factory. Shakspeare, in his private charac- 
 ter, in his friendships, in his amusements, in 
 his closet, in his family, is nowhere before us ; 
 and such was the nature of the writings on 
 which his fame depends, and of that employ- 
 ment in which he was engaged, that being in 
 no important respect connected with the his- 
 tory of his age, it is vain to look into the lat- 
 ter for any information concerning him. 
 
 Mr. Capell is of opinion that he wrote some 
 prose works, because " it can hardly be sup- 
 posed that he, who had so considerable a share 
 in the confidence of the Earls of Essex and 
 Southampton, could be a mute spectator only 
 of controversies in which they Avere so much 
 interested." This editor, however, appears to 
 have taken for granted a degree of confidence 
 with these two statesmen, which he ought first 
 to have proved. Shakspeare might have en- 
 joyed th3 confidence of social hours; but it is 
 mere conjecture that they admitted him into 
 the confidence of their state aflfairs. Mr. Ma- 
 lone, whose opinions are entitled to a higher 
 degree of credit, thinks that his prose compo- 
 sitions, if they should be discovered, would 
 exhibit the same perspicuity, the same cadence, 
 the same elegance and vigor, which we find in 
 his plays. It is unfortunate, however, for all 
 wishes and all conjectures, that not a line of 
 Shakspeare's manuscript is known to exist, 
 and his prose writings are no where hinted at. 
 We have only printed copies of his plays and 
 poems, and those so depraved by carelessness 
 or ignorance, that all the labor of all his com- 
 mentators has not yet been able to restore them 
 to a probable purity. Many of the greatest 
 difficulties attending the perusal of them yet 
 remain, and will require, what it is scarcely 
 possible to expect, greater sagacity and more 
 happy conjecture than have hitherto been em- 
 ployed. 
 
 Of his Poems, it is perhaps necessary that 
 some notice should be taken, although they 
 have never been favorites with the public, and 
 have seldom been reprinted with his plays. 
 Shortly after his death, Mr. Malone informs 
 us, a very incorrect impression of them was 
 issued out, which in every subsequent edition 
 was implicitly followed, until he published a 
 corrected edition in 1780, with illustrations, 
 &c. But the peremptory decision of Mr. 
 Steevens on the merits of these poems must 
 be our apology for omitting them in the pre- 
 sent abridgment of that critic's labors. "We 
 have not reprinted the Sonnets, &c., of Shaks- 
 peare, because the strongest act of Parliament 
 
 that could be framed would fail to compel 
 readers into their service. Had Shakspeare 
 produced no other works than these, his name 
 would have reached us with as little celebrity 
 as time has conferred on that of Thomas AVat- 
 son, an older and much more elegant sonnet- 
 teer." 
 
 The elegant preface of Dr. Johnson gives an 
 account of the attempts made in the early 
 part of the last century to revive the memory 
 and reputation of our poet, by Rowe, Pope, 
 Theobald, Hanmer, and WarbuTton, whose re- 
 spective merits he has char'ictevized with can- 
 dor, and with singular ftlicity of expressioa 
 Shakspeare's works may be overloaded with 
 criticism, for what writor has excited so much 
 curiosity, and so many opinions ? but John- 
 son's preface is an accompaniment worthy of 
 the genius it celebrates. His own edition fol- 
 lowed in 1765; and a second, in conjunction 
 with Mr. Steevens, in 1773. The third edition 
 of the joint editors appeared in 1785, the 
 fourth in 1793, and the last and most com- 
 plete, in 1803, in twenty-one volumes octavo. 
 Mr. Malone's edition was published in 1790, 
 in ten volumes, crown octavo, and is now be- 
 come exceedingly scarce. His original notes 
 and improvements, however, are incorporated 
 in the editions of 1793 and 1803, by Mr. Stee- 
 vens. Mr. Malone says, that "from the year 
 1716 to the date of his edition in 1790, — that 
 is, in seventy-four years, — above 30,000 copies 
 of Shakspeare have been dispersed through 
 England." Among the honors paid to his ge- 
 nius, we ought not to forget the very magnifi- 
 cent edition undertaken by Messrs. Boydell. 
 Still less ought it to be forgotten how much 
 the reputation of Shakspeare was revived by 
 the unrivalled excellence of Garrick's perform 
 ance. His share in directing the public taste 
 toward the study of Shakspeare was, per- 
 haps, greater than that of any individual in 
 his time, and such was his zeal, and such his 
 success, in this laudable attempt, that he may 
 readily be forgiven the foolish mummery of the 
 Stratford Jubilee. 
 
 When public opinion had begun to assign to 
 Shakspeare the very high rank he was destined 
 to hold, he became the promising object of 
 fraud and imposture. This, we have already 
 observed, he did not wholly escape in his own 
 time, and he had the spirit or policy to de- 
 spise it.' It was reserved for modern impos- 
 tors, however, to avail themselves of the ob- 
 scurity in which his history is involved. In 
 1751, a book was published, entitled, "A 
 Compendious or briefe examination of certayne 
 ordinary Complaints of diners of our Country- 
 men in those our days : which, although they 
 are in some Parte unjust and frivolous, yet 
 are they all by way of dialogue thoroughly 
 debated and discussed by William Shakspeare, 
 Gentleman." This had been originally pub- 
 lished in 1581 ; but Dr. Farmer has clearly 
 proved that W. S., gent., the only authority 
 for attributing it to Shakspeare in the reprinted 
 
 > Mr. Malone has given a list of fourteen plays ascribed 
 to Shakspeare, either by the editors of tlie two later folios, 
 or by the compilers of ancient catalogues. Of these. Pert 
 clcs has found advocates for its admission into bis works. 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 u 
 
 ciition, meant William Stafford, gent. Theobald, 
 the same accurate critic informs us, was desir- 
 ous of palming upon the -world a play called 
 " Double Falsehood," for a posthumous one of 
 Shakspeare. In 1770 was reprinted at Fever- 
 sham an old play called " The Tragedy of 
 Arden of Feversham and Black Will," with a 
 preface attributing it to Shakspeare, without 
 the smallest foundation. But these were trifles 
 compared to the atrocious attempt made in 
 1.795-t), when, besides a vast mass of prose 
 and verse, letters, &c., pretendedly in the hand- 
 writing of Shakspeare and his correspondents, 
 an entire play, entitled Vortigern, was not only 
 brought forward for the astonishment of the 
 
 admirers of Shakspeare, but actually performed 
 on Drury Lane stage. It would be unnecessary 
 to expatiate on the merits of this play, which 
 Mr. Steevens has very happily characterized 
 as "the performance of a madman without a 
 lucid interval," or to enter more at large into 
 the nature of a fraud so recent, and so soon 
 acknowledged by the authors of it. It pro- 
 duced, however, a interesting controversy be- 
 tween Mr. Malone and ]\Ir. George Chalmers, 
 which, although mixed with some unpleasant 
 asperities, was extended to inquiries into the 
 history and antiquities of the stage, from which 
 future critics and historians may derive consi- 
 derable informatioQ. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FAQB 
 
 Sketch of the Life op Shakspeare iii 
 
 Tempest 1 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona 21 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor 41 
 
 Twelfth Night 66 
 
 Measure for Measure 88 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing 113 
 
 Midsummer's Night's Dream 136 
 
 Love's Labor's Lost 155 
 
 Merchant of Venice 179 
 
 As You Like It 201 
 
 All's Well that Ends Well 225 
 
 Taming of the Shrew 250 
 
 Winter's Tale 274 
 
 Comedy of Errors 302 
 
 Macbeth 319 
 
 King John 340 
 
 Richard II 363 
 
 Henry IV.— Part First 388 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Henry IV.— Part Second 414 
 
 Henry V 442 
 
 Henry VI. — Part First 471 
 
 Part Second 496 
 
 Part Third 524 
 
 Richard III 551 
 
 Henry VIII 584 
 
 Troilus and Cressida 612 
 
 TiMON of Athens 642 
 
 Coriolanus 663 
 
 Julius Caesar 696 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra 719 
 
 Cymbeline 750 
 
 Titus Andronicus 782 
 
 Pericles 804 
 
 King Lear 825 
 
 Romeo and Juliet 856 
 
 Hamlet 883 
 
 Othello 918 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Venus and Adonis 951 
 
 tiAPE of Lucrece 963 
 
 Sonnets 981 
 
 The Passionate Pilgrim 1003 
 
 A Lover's. Complaint 1011 
 
 Glossary 1017 
 
 zu 
 
u.yLci''y2^ci'OC 
 
fT^ 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 A Lojf so, King of Naples. 
 
 Sebastian, his brother. 
 
 Prospeho, the rightful Duke of Milan. 
 
 Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. 
 
 Ferdinand, son to the king of Naples. 
 
 GoNZALO, an honest old Counsellor of Naples. 
 
 Adrian, ? t j 
 •c, > Lords. 
 
 rRANCISCO, 3 
 
 Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave, 
 Trinculo, a Jester. 
 Stephano, a drunken Butler. 
 
 Ma.'sifT of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. 
 
 Miranda, Daughter to Proepe«» 
 
 Ariel, an airy Spirit. 
 Iris, 
 
 Ceres, 
 Juno, 
 
 Nymphs, 
 Reapers, 
 
 Spirits. 
 
 Other Spirits attending on Prospero. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— On a Ship at Sea. 
 
 A Storm with thunder and lightning. 
 
 Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain. 
 
 Master. Boatswain, — 
 Boats. Here, master : what cheer 1 
 Master. Good : Speak to the mariners : fall to't 
 jrarely', or we run ourselves aground • bestir, bestir. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Mariners. 
 
 Boats. Heigh, my hearts; cheer'y. cheerly, my 
 hearts ; yare, yare : Take in the top-sail ; Tend to 
 the master's whistle. — Blow till thou burst thy 
 wind, if room enough ! 
 
 Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdi- 
 nand, Gonzaeo, a?id others. 
 
 Alan. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the 
 master] Play the men. 
 
 Boats. I pray now, keep below. 
 
 Ant. Where is the master, boatswain! 
 
 Boats. Do you not hear himi You mar our 
 ■nbor ! keep your cabins : you do assist the storm. 
 
 • Readily. 
 
 Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 
 
 Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care 
 these roarers for the name of king? To cabins • 
 silence: trouble us not. 
 
 Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou ha&t 
 aboard. 
 
 Boats. None that I more love than myself. — 
 You are a counsellor; if you can command these 
 elements to silence, and work the peace of the 
 present,^ we will not hand a rope more ; use your 
 authority. If you cannot, give thanks you have 
 lived so long, and make yourself ready in your 
 cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. — 
 Cheerly, good hearts. — Out of our way, I say. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Gon. I have great comfort from tlois fellow; 
 methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him : 
 his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good 
 fate, to his hanging ! make the rope of his destiny 
 our cable, for our own doth little advantage ! If he 
 be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Boatswain. 
 
 Boats. Down with the top-mast; yare; lower 
 
 • Present instant. 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 Act I. Scene L 
 
 lower ; bring hei to try with main course. [A cry 
 vnthin.'] A plague upon this howling ! they are 
 louder than the weather, or our office. — 
 
 Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
 
 Yet again ? what do you here 1 Shall we give o'er 
 and drown 1 Have you a mind to sink 1 
 
 Seb. A pox o' your throat ! you bawling, blas- 
 phemous, uncharitable dog ! 
 
 Boats. Work you, then. 
 
 Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! you whoreson, insolent 
 noisemaker, we are less afraid to be drowned than 
 fhou art. 
 
 Gon. I'll warrant him from drowning ; though 
 the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as 
 leaky as an unstaunched' wench. j 
 
 Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ; set her two 
 courses ; off to sea again, lay her off. 
 
 Enter Mariners, wet. 
 
 Mar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 Boats. What, must our mouths be cold ? 
 
 Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us 
 For our case is as theirs. [assist them, 
 
 Seb. I am out of patience. 
 
 Ant. We are merely* cheated of our lives by 
 drunkards. — 
 This wide-chapped rascal ; — ^'Would thou mightst 
 The washing of ten tides ! [lie drowning 
 
 Gon. He'll be hanged yet ; 
 
 Though every drop of water swear against it. 
 And gape at wid'st to glut him. 
 [A confused noise withm.'] Mercy on us ! — We 
 split, we split ! Farewell, my wife and children ! — 
 Farewell, brother ! — We split, we split, we split. — 
 
 Ant. Let's all sink with the king. \_Exit. 
 
 Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. 
 
 Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of 
 tea for an acre of barren gi-ound ; long heath, brown 
 furze, any thing: the wills above be done! but I 
 would fain die a dry death. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE n. — The island: before the cell o/Pnos- 
 peho. Enter Phospeho and Miranda. 
 
 Mir. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 
 The sky, it seems, would pour dov?n stinking pitch. 
 But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek. 
 Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd 
 With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel. 
 Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, 
 Uash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
 Against my very heart! Poor souls! they perish'd. 
 Had I been any god of power, I would 
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
 It should the good sliip so have swallow'd, and 
 The freighting souls within her. 
 
 Pro. Be collected; 
 
 No more amazement : tell your piteous heart, 
 There's no harm done. 
 
 Mir a O, wo the day ! 
 
 Pro No harm. 
 
 I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
 (Of thee, my dear one ! thee my daughter !) who 
 Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
 Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
 Then Prosper©, master of a full poor cell. 
 And thy no greater father. 
 
 » lacoutineut. 4 Absolutely. 
 
 Mira. More to know 
 
 Did never meddle with my thoughts. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis time 
 
 I slioukl inform thee further. Lend thy hand, 
 And pluck my magic garment from me. — So; 
 
 [Lays down his mantle. 
 Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes; have 
 
 comfort. 
 The direful specta(Je of the v\rreck, which touch'd 
 The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
 I have with such provision in mine art 
 So safely order'd, that there is no soul — 
 No, not so much perdition as a hair. 
 Betid to any creature in the vessel 
 Which thou heard'st cry, which thou sf w'st sink 
 
 Sit down; 
 For thou must now know further. 
 
 Mira. You have oftejti 
 
 Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd 
 And left me to a bootless inquisition ; 
 Concluding, Stay, not yet. — 
 
 Pro. The hour's now come 
 
 The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
 Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
 A time before we came unto this cell? 
 I do not think thou canst ; for then thou wast no* 
 Out ' three years old. 
 
 3Iira. Certainly, sir, I can. 
 
 Pro. By what? by any other house, or person^ 
 Of any thing the image tell me, that 
 Hath kept with thy remembrance. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis far off, 
 
 And rather like a dream than an assurance 
 That my remembrance warrants : had I not 
 Four or five women once, that tended me? 
 
 Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda : but how 
 is it. 
 That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else 
 In the dark backward and abysm of time? 
 If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
 How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 
 
 3fira. But that I do not 
 
 Pro. Twelve years since, 
 Miranda, twelve years since, thy father was 
 The duke of Milan, and a prince of power. 
 
 Mira. Sir, are not you my father? 
 
 Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
 She said — thou wast my daughter; and thy father 
 Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
 A princess; — no worse issued. 
 
 Mira. 0, the heavens! 
 
 What foul play had we, that we came from thence! 
 Or blessed was't we did? 
 
 Pro. Both, both, my girl. 
 
 By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thenoBj 
 But blessedly holp hither. 
 
 Mira. O, my heart bleeds 
 
 To tliink o' the teen* that I have turn'd you to, 
 Which is from my remembrance ! Please you fur 
 ther. 
 
 Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,— 
 I pray thee, mark me, — that a brother should 
 Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself, 
 Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
 The manage of my state ; as, at that time. 
 Through all the signiories it was the first. 
 And Prospero the prime duke ; being so reputed 
 In dignity, and, for the liberal arts. 
 Without a parallel ; those being all my study, 
 • Quite. ' Sorrow. 
 
ScENB II. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 The government I cast upon my brother, 
 And to my state grew stranger, being transported. 
 And wrapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
 Dost thou attend mel 
 
 Mira. Sir, most heedfully. 
 
 Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
 How to deny them ; wliom to advance, and whom 
 To trash* for over-topping; new-created 
 The creatures that were mine ; I say, or chang'd 
 
 them, 
 Or else new-form'd them : having both the key 
 Of officer and office, set all hearts 
 To what tune plcas'd his ear; that now he was 
 The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk. 
 And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'st 
 
 not: 
 I pray thee mark me. 
 
 Mira. good sir, I do. 
 
 Pro. I thus neglecting wordly ends, all dedi- 
 cate 
 To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
 With that, which, but by being so retir'd, 
 O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
 Awak'd an evil nature: and my trust. 
 Like a good parent, did beget of him 
 A falsehood, in its contrary as gi'eat 
 As my trust was ; which had, indeed, no limit, 
 A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
 Not only with what my revenue yielded. 
 But what my power might else exact, — like one 
 Who, having unto truth, by telling of it, 
 Made such a sinner of his meinor}'. 
 To credit his own lie, — he did believe 
 He was the duke ; out of the substitution, 
 And executing the outward face of royalty, 
 With all prerogative : — Hence his ambition 
 Growing, — Dost hear] 
 
 Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 
 
 Pro. To have no screen between this part he 
 play'd 
 And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
 Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library 
 Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
 He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
 (So diy he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
 To give him annual tribute, do him homage; 
 Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
 The dukedom, yet unbow'd (alas, poor Mdan !) 
 To most ignoble stoojing. 
 
 M!ra. O the heavens ! 
 
 Pro. Mark his condJJion, and the event; then 
 If this might be a brother. [tell me, 
 
 Mira. I should sin 
 
 To think but nobly of my grandmother : 
 Good wombs have borne bad sons. 
 
 Pro. Now the condition. 
 
 This king of Naples, being an enemy 
 I'o me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; 
 Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises, — 
 ')f homage, and I know not how much tribute, — 
 Should presently extirpate me and mine 
 Out of the dukedom; and confer fair Milan, 
 With all the honors, on my brother: Whereon, 
 A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
 Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
 The gates of Milan ; and i' the dead of darkness, 
 The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
 Me, and thy crying self. 
 
 • Cut away. 
 
 Mh-a. Alack, for pity ! 
 
 I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, 
 Will cry it o'er again, it is a hint, 
 That wrings mine eyes. 
 
 Pro. Hear a little further, 
 
 And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
 Which now's upon us; without the wliich, thi« 
 
 story 
 Were most impertinent. 
 
 Mira. Wherefore did th^y ni* 
 
 That hour destroy us? 
 
 Pro. Well demanded, wench; 
 
 My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst 
 
 not; 
 (So dear the love my people bore me") nor set 
 A mark so bloody on the business; but 
 With colors .iairer painted their foul ends. 
 In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
 Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd 
 A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd. 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats 
 Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us, 
 To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
 To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again. 
 Did us but loving wrong. 
 
 Mira. Alack ! what trouble 
 
 Was I then to you ! 
 
 Pro. ! a cherubim 
 
 Thou wast, that did preserve me! Thou didst 
 
 smile, 
 Infused with a fortitude fiom heaven, 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt ; 
 Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
 An undergoing stomach^ to bear uj) 
 Against what should ensue. 
 
 Mira. How came we ashore! 
 
 Pro. By Providence divine. 
 Some food we liad, and some fresh water, that 
 A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
 Out of his charity (who being then appointed 
 Master of this design,) did give us; with 
 Rich garments, linens, stufis, and necessaries, 
 Which since have steaded much ; so, of his gentle« 
 
 ncss. 
 Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, 
 From my own library, with volumes that 
 I prize above my dukedom. 
 
 Mira. 'Would I might 
 
 But ever see that man ! 
 
 Pro. Now I arise: — 
 
 Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
 Here in this island we arriv'd; and here 
 Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
 Than other princes can, that have more time 
 For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. 
 
 Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now 1 
 pray you, sir, 
 (For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason 
 For raising this sea-storml 
 
 Pro. Know thus far forth.— 
 
 By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, 
 Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
 Brought to this shore: and by my prescience 
 I find my zenith doth depend upon 
 A most auspicious star; whose influence 
 If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
 Will ever after droop. — Here cease more que* 
 tions ; 
 
 ' Stubborn resolution. 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 A^CT 
 
 Thou art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness, 
 And give it way ; — I know thou canst not choose. — 
 
 [MiHANDA sleeps. 
 Come away, servant, come: I am ready now: 
 Approach, my Ariel; come. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Art. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I 
 come 
 To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly. 
 To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
 On the curi'd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task 
 Ariel, and all his quality. 
 
 Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 
 
 Perform'd to point' the tempest that I bade thee! 
 
 Ari. To every article. 
 I boarded the king's sliip; now on the beak, 
 Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
 I flamed amazement: Sometimes, I'd divide, 
 And burn m many places; on the top-mast. 
 The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, 
 Theu meet, and join : Jove's lightnings, the precur- 
 sors 
 0' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 And sight-outrunning were not: The fire, and 
 
 cracks 
 Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
 Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 
 Yea, his dread trident shake. 
 
 Pro. My brave spirit! 
 
 Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil' 
 Would not infect his reason"? 
 
 Ari. Not a soul 
 
 But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
 Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners, 
 Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel. 
 Then all a-fire with me : the king's son, Ferdinand, 
 With hair up-staring, (then like reeds, not hair,) 
 Was the first man that leap'd : cried. Hell is empty, 
 And all the devils are here. 
 
 Pro. Why, that's my spirit! 
 
 But was not this nigh shore? 
 
 Ari. Close by, my masten 
 
 Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe"? 
 Ari. Not a hair perish'd 
 
 On their sustaining garments not a blemish. 
 But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me, 
 In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle : 
 The Idng's son have I landed by himself; 
 Whom I left coolmg of the air with sighs, 
 In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting. 
 His arms in this sad knot. 
 
 Pro. Of the king's ship, 
 
 The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, 
 And all the rest o' the fleet! 
 
 Ari. Safely in harbor 
 
 [s the king's ship ; in the deep nook, vv-here once 
 riiou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 Prom the still-vex'd Bermoothes ', there she's hid : 
 The marmers all under hatches stow'd ; 
 Whom, with a charm join'd to their sufler'd labor 
 I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet, 
 Which I dispers'd, they all have met again ; 
 And are upon the Mediterranean flote"^ 
 Bound sadly home for Naples; 
 Supposing that they saw the king's ship vnreck'd 
 A.nd his great person perish. 
 
 Pro. Ariel, thy charge 
 
 » The minutest article. 
 ' Bennudas. 
 
 » Hustle, tumult, 
 a Wave. 
 
 Exactly is perform'd; but there's more wo.k: 
 What is the time o' the day] 
 
 Ari. Past the mid season. 
 
 Pro. At least two glasses: The time 'twixt six 
 and now, 
 Must by us both be spent most preciously. 
 
 Ari. Is there more toil' Since thou dost give 
 me pains, 
 Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, 
 Which is not yet perform'd me. 
 
 Pro. How now? moody] 
 
 What is't thou canst demand? 
 
 Ari. My liberty. 
 
 Pro. Before the time be out] no more. 
 Ari. I pray thee 
 
 Remember, I have done thee worthy service; 
 Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd 
 Without or grudge or grumblings: thou did^> 
 
 promise 
 To bate me a full year. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou forget 
 
 From what a torment I did free thee] 
 Ari. No. 
 
 Pro. Thou dost; and think'st 
 It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep ; 
 To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; 
 To do me business in the veins o' the earth, 
 When it is bak'd with frost. 
 
 Ari. I do not, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou 
 forgot 
 The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, 
 Was grown into a hoop] hast thou forgot Ler! 
 Ari. No, sir. 
 Pro. Thou hast : where was she born] 
 
 speak; tell me. 
 Ari. Sir, in Argier.' 
 
 Pro. O, was she so? I must. 
 
 Once in a month, recount what thou hast been. 
 Which thou forgct'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, 
 For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
 To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
 Thou know'st, was banish'd ; for one thuig she did, 
 They would not take her life : Is not this true] 
 Ari. Ay, sir. 
 
 Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with 
 cliild. 
 And here was left by the sailors : Thou, my slave, 
 As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant: 
 And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
 To act her earthly and abhorr'd commands. 
 Refusing her giand bests ^, she did confine thee, 
 By help of her more potent ministers. 
 And in her most unmitigable rage. 
 Into a cloven pine ; within which rift 
 Imprison'd, thou didst painfiilly remain 
 A dozen years ; within wliich space she died. 
 And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy 
 
 groans. 
 As fast as mill-wheels strike : Then was tliis island 
 (Save for the son that she did Utter here, 
 A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honor'd with 
 A human shape. 
 
 Ari. Yes; Caliban her son. 
 
 Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, 
 Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
 What torment I did find thee in: thy groans 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 Of ever-angry bears : U Was a torment 
 
 • Aljcierg. « Command*. 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 5 
 
 Fo lav upon the damii'd, which Sycorax 
 Could not again undo ; it was nunc art, 
 When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape 
 The pine, and let tliee out. 
 
 Ari. I thank thee, master. 
 
 Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
 Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 
 
 Art. Pardon, master: 
 
 I wiil be correspondent to command. 
 And do my spriting gently. 
 
 Pro. Do so ; and after two days 
 
 I will discharge thee. 
 
 Ari. That's my noble master! 
 
 What shall I do? say, what] what shall I doT 
 
 Pro. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea; 
 Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible 
 To every eye-ball else. Go take this shape. 
 And hither coine in't: hence, with diligence. 
 
 [^Exit Am EL. 
 Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; 
 Awake ! 
 
 Mira. The strangeness of your story put 
 Heav'iness in me. 
 
 Pro. Shake it off: Come on. 
 
 We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
 Yields us kind answer. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, 
 
 I do not love to look on. 
 
 Pro. But, as 'tis. 
 
 We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 
 Fetclr in our wood ; and serves in offices 
 That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Cahban, 
 Thou earth, thou ! speak. 
 
 Cal. l_Wifhi}i.^ There's wood enough within. 
 
 Pro, Come forth, I say : there's other business 
 for thee : 
 Come forth, thou tortoise! when? 
 
 Re-enter Ariel like a water-nymph. 
 
 Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
 Hark in thine ear. 
 
 Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [^Exit. 
 
 Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil 
 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! [himself 
 
 Enter Caliban. 
 
 Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
 With raven's feather fi-om unwholesome fen. 
 Drop on you both ! a soulh-wcst blow on ye. 
 And blister you all o'er ! 
 
 Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 
 cramps, 
 Sidc-siit 'hos that shall pen thy breath up; urchins' 
 Shall, for that vast of niglit that they may work, 
 All exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
 As thick as honey-coml)s,each pinch more stinging 
 Than bees that made them. 
 
 Cal. I must cat my dinner. 
 
 This island's mine, by Sycorax, my mother, 
 Which thou tak'st firom me. When tliou camcst 
 
 first. 
 Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me; 
 
 wouldst give me 
 Water with berries in't; and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less. 
 That burn by day and night; and then I loved thee, 
 \nd show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 
 
 » Fairieg. 
 
 The fi-esh springs, brine pits, barren place, ar.i fertile; 
 
 Cursed be I that did so; — all the charms 
 
 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! 
 
 For I am all the subjects that you have. 
 
 Which first was mine own Idng: and here you sty me 
 
 In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
 
 The rest of the island. 
 
 Pro. Thou most lying slave, 
 
 Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I have us'J 
 
 thee. 
 Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'd the« 
 In mine own cell, till thou did'st seek to violate 
 The honor of my child. 
 
 Cal. O ho, O ho ! — 'would it had been done! 
 Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else 
 This isle with Calibans. 
 
 Pro. Abhorred slave ; 
 
 Which any point of goodness will not take, 
 Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, [hcui 
 
 Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee-each 
 One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, 
 Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like 
 A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
 With words that made them known : But thy vile 
 race, [natures 
 
 Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good 
 Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
 Deservedly confin'd into this rock. 
 Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. 
 
 Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on't 
 Is, I know how to curse : the red plague rid' you, 
 For learning me your language ! 
 
 Pro. Hag-seed, hence ! 
 
 Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best. 
 To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice ? 
 If thou neglect's*, or dost unwillingly 
 What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; 
 Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar, 
 That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
 
 Cal. No, 'pray thee !— 
 
 I must obey : his art is of such power [^Aside< 
 It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
 And make a vassal of him. 
 
 Pro. So, slave ; hence ! [Eont Calibas, 
 
 Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing; 
 Ferbi^aud following him. 
 
 Ariel's Song. 
 
 Come unto these yclloiv sands 
 
 And then take hand.i: 
 Courfsied when you have, and kiss'd, 
 
 {The ivild waves whist ^ 
 Foot it featly here and there; 
 And, sweet sprites, the burden hear. 
 
 Hark, hark.' 
 Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispn-seaiy 
 
 The ivatch-dogs bark: 
 Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedltf 
 
 Hark, hark.' I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticlere 
 Cry, cock-a-doodle-do. 
 
 Per. Where should this music be? i' the air, <4 
 the earth? 
 It sounds no more : — and sure, it waits upon 
 Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank. 
 Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 
 This music crept by me upon the waters; 
 
 • Destroy. 
 
 '■ Being stilled, silencnd. 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 Act J. ScEisE 11. 
 
 .\llaying votti their fury, and my passion, 
 With its sweet air; thence I have follow'd it, 
 Or it hath drawn me rather: — But 'tis gone. 
 No, it begins again. 
 
 Akiil sings. 
 
 Full fathom Jive thy father lies; 
 
 of his bones are coral made,- 
 Those are pearls, that were his eyes: 
 
 Nothi?7g of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strarige. 
 Sea-nytnphs hourly ring his knell: 
 Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell. 
 [^Burden, ding-dong. 
 
 Fer. I'lie ditty does remember my drown'd 
 father : — 
 This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
 Tliat the earth owes': — I hear it now above me. 
 
 Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance 
 And say, what thou seest yond'. 
 
 Mira. What is't] a spirit 1 
 
 Lord, how it loolvs about ! Believe me, sir. 
 It canics a brave form: — But 'tis a spirit. 
 
 Pro. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath 
 
 such senses 
 
 As we have, such : This gallant which thou seest, 
 
 Was in tlie wreck; and but he's something stain'd 
 
 With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst 
 
 call him 
 A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows, 
 And strays about to find them. 
 
 Mira. I might call him 
 
 A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
 [ ever saw so noble. 
 
 Pro. It goes on, {^Aside. 
 
 As my soul prompts it: — Spirit, fine spirit! I'll 
 
 free thee 
 Within two days for this. 
 
 Fer. Most sure the goddess 
 
 On whom these airs attend! — Vouchsafe my prayer 
 May know, if you remain upon this island ; 
 And that you will some good instruction give. 
 How I may bear me here: My prime request. 
 Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
 If you be maid, or no ] 
 
 Mira. No wonder, sir; 
 
 But, certainly a maid. 
 
 Fer. My language , heavens !— 
 
 I am the best of them that speak this speech. 
 Were I but where 'tis spoken. 
 
 Pro. How! the best? 
 
 What wert thou if the king of N aples heard thee ? 
 
 Fer. A single thing, as I an" now, that wonders 
 I'o liear thee speak of Naples: He does hear me; 
 \nd, that he does, I weep: myself am Naples; 
 U ho with mine eyes, ne'er since at ( bb, beheld 
 riio king my father WTeck'3. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for mercy! 
 
 Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of 
 Milan, 
 And his brave son being twain. 
 
 Pro. The duke of Milan, 
 
 And his more braver daughter, could control' thee, 
 If now 'twere fit to do't: — At the first sight 
 
 \^Aside. 
 They have chang'd eyes: — Delicate Ariel, 
 
 'Owns. 
 
 • Confute. 
 
 I'll set thee free for this! — A word, good sir: 
 
 I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a word 
 
 Mira. W^hy speaks my father so ungcntly] This 
 Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first 
 That e'er I sighed for: pity move my father 
 To be inclin'd my way! 
 
 Fer. O, i f a virgin, 
 
 And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you 
 The queen of Naples ! 
 
 Pro. Soft, sir, one word more. — 
 
 They are both in either's powers; but this swift 
 
 business 
 I must uneasy make, lest too light winning \_Aside- 
 Make the prize light. — One word moie; I cha.rge 
 
 thee. 
 That thou attend mc : thou dost here usurp 
 The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself 
 Upon this island, as a spy to vvui it 
 From me, the lord on't. 
 
 Fer. No, as I am a man. 
 
 Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
 temple : 
 If the ill spirit have so fair an house. 
 Good things will strive to dwell with't. 
 
 Pro. Follow me. — [To Ferd. 
 
 Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. — Come. 
 I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: 
 Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
 7'he fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks 
 Wherein the acorn cradled: Follow. 
 
 Fer. No ; 
 
 I will resist such entertainment, till 
 Mine enemy has more power. [i/e draw* 
 
 Mira. dear father, 
 
 Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
 He's gentle, and not fcariul. ' 
 
 Pro. What, I say. 
 
 My foot my tutor! — Put thy sword up, traitor; 
 Who niak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con 
 
 science 
 Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy wanP; 
 For I can here disarm thee with this stick. 
 And make thy weapon drop. 
 
 Mira. Beseech you, father! 
 
 Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments. 
 
 Mii-a. Sir, have pity; 
 
 I'll be his surety. 
 
 Pro. Silence: one word more 
 
 Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ' 
 An advocate for an imj)ostor? hush! 
 Thou think'st there arc no more such shapes as he, 
 Having seen but him and Caliban: Foolish wee ch f 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him are angels. 
 
 Mira. My affections 
 
 Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
 To see a goojlier man. 
 
 Pro. Come on; obey: \To Ferb. 
 
 Thy nerves are in their infancy again. 
 And have no vigor in them. 
 
 Fer. So they are: 
 
 My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
 My father's loss, the weakness which I feel. 
 The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threaU^ 
 To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
 Might I but through my prison once a day 
 Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth 
 liCt liberty make use of; space enough 
 Have I in such a prison, 
 
 •Frightful *aaua. 
 
ACT II. Scene I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Pro. It works : — Come on. — 
 
 Thou ha'-'t done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. — 
 
 [To Fkui). a/jf/MiR. 
 Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel. 
 
 Mi\a. Be of comfort; 
 
 My father's of a better nature, sir, 
 
 Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted, 
 Which now caine from him. 
 
 Pro. I'hou shalt be as frc» 
 
 As mountain winds : but then exactly do 
 All points of my command. 
 
 Ari. To the syllable. 
 
 Pro. Come, follow : speak not for him. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter Aloxso, Sebastian, Axtonio, GorfZALO, 
 Adrian, Francisco, and others. 
 
 Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause 
 (So have we all) of joy ; for our escape 
 Is much beyond our loss : our hint of woe 
 Is common ; every day some sailor's wife. 
 The masters of some merchant, and the merchant. 
 Have just our theme of woe: but for the miracle, 
 I mean our preservation, few in millions 
 Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh 
 Our sorrow with our comfort. 
 
 Alon. Pr'ythee, peace ! 
 
 Seb. He receives comfort like cold pon-idge. 
 
 Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 
 
 Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit ; 
 By and by it will strike. 
 
 Gon. Sir, 
 
 Seb. One: Tell. 
 
 Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's 
 offered. 
 Comes to the entertainer — 
 
 Seb. A dollar. 
 
 Gon. Dolor comes to him, indeed; you have 
 spoken truer than you purposed. 
 
 Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you 
 should. 
 
 Gon. Therefore, my lord, — 
 
 Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue ! 
 
 Alon. I pr'ythee, sj)arc. 
 
 Gon. Well, I have done: But yet — 
 
 Seb. He will be talking. 
 
 Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good 
 wager, first begins to crowT 
 
 &cb. The old cock. 
 
 Ant. The cockrel. 
 
 Seb. Done : the wager 1 
 
 Ant. A laughter. 
 
 Seb. A mat(-h. 
 
 Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, — 
 
 Seti. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Ant. So you've pay'd. 
 
 Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible, — 
 
 Seb. Yet. 
 
 Adr. Yet— 
 
 Ant. He could not miss it. 
 
 Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and 
 Jelicate temperance.* ( 
 
 Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. / 
 
 Seb. Ay, and a subtle ; as he most learnedly 
 delivered. 
 
 Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. 
 
 Seb. As if it hud lungs, and rotten ones. \ 
 
 Ant. Or, as 'twere j)erfumed by a fen. 
 
 Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. 
 
 Ant. True ; save means to live. 
 
 Seb. Of that there's none, or little. [green! 
 
 Gon. How lush* and lusty the g^ass looks ! how 
 * T jmpera-lure » Kank. 
 
 Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. 
 
 Seb. With an eye" of green in't. 
 
 Ant. He misses not much. 
 
 Seb. No : he doth but mistake the truth totally 
 
 Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed 
 almost beyond credit) — 
 
 Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. 
 
 Gon. That our garments, being, as they were 
 drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their 
 freshness, and glosses ; being rather new dy'd, than 
 stain'd with salt water. 
 
 Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, 
 would it not say, he lies ] 
 
 Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 
 
 Gon. Mcthinks, our garments are now as fresh 
 as when we put them on first in Afric, at the mar- 
 riage of the king's fair daughter Claribcl to the 
 king of Tunis. 
 
 Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper 
 well in our return. 
 
 Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such 
 a paragon to their queen. 
 
 Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 
 
 Ant. Widow 1 a pox o' that ! how came thai 
 widow in 1 Widow Dido ! 
 
 Seb. What if he had said, widower ^neas too I 
 good lord, how you take it ! 
 
 Adr. Widow Dido, said you 1 you make me 
 study of that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 
 
 Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
 
 Adr. Carthage 1 
 
 Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 
 
 Ant. His word is moi-e than the miraculous harp. 
 
 Seb. He hath raised the walls, and houses too. 
 
 Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy 
 next 1 
 
 Seb. I think he will caiTy this island home in 
 his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 
 
 Aiit. And, sewing the kernels of it in the sea, 
 bring forth more islands. 
 
 Gon. Ay 1 
 
 Ant. Why, in good time. 
 
 Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments 
 seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at 
 the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. 
 
 Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 
 
 Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 
 
 Ant. O, widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. 
 
 Ion. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first 
 „. / I wore it 1 I mean, in a sort. 
 
 Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. [riage 1 
 
 ion. When I wore it at your daughter's mar- 
 
 Alon. You cram these words into mine can 
 against 
 The stomach of my sense : 'Would I had never 
 Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence. 
 My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, 
 Who is so far from Italy removed, 
 I ne'er again shall sec her. O thou mine heir 
 ' Sh.'ulc of color. 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish 
 Hath made his meal on thee ! 
 
 Fran. Sir, he may live: 
 
 ( saw him l)eat the surges under him, 
 And ride upon their liacks; he trod the water, 
 V.'hose enmity he fluns^ aside, and breasted 
 The surge most swohi that met him: his bold head 
 'Bo\e the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
 Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
 To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 
 As stooping to relieve him ; I not doubt, 
 He came alive to land. 
 
 Alun. No, no, he's gone. 
 
 Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great 
 loss; 
 Tliat would not bless our Europe with your daugh- 
 ter, 
 But rather lose her to an African ; 
 Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye. 
 Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. 
 
 AluJi. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd other- 
 wise 
 By all of us; and the fair soul herself 
 Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
 Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost 
 
 your son, 
 r fear, forever: Milan and Naples have 
 More widows in thorn of this business' making. 
 Than we bring men to comfort them: The fault's 
 Your own. 
 
 Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. 
 
 Gon. My lord Sebastian, 
 
 The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness. 
 And time to speak it in: you rub the sore, 
 When you should bring the plaster. 
 
 Seb. Very well. 
 
 A7i(. And most chirurgeonly. 
 
 Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, 
 When you are cloudy. 
 
 Seb. Foul weather? 
 
 .4??/. Very foul. 
 
 Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord, — 
 
 Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed. 
 
 Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 
 
 Gon. And were the king of it, what would I 
 do? 
 
 Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. 
 
 Gon. r the commonwealth I would by con- 
 traries 
 Execute all things: for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit; noliame of magistrate; 
 Letters should not be known ; no use of service, 
 Of riches or of poverty ; no contracts, 
 8 iccession ; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : 
 No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
 ^f o occupation ; all men idle, all ; 
 And women, too; but innocent and pure: 
 No sovereignty : — 
 
 Seb. And yet he would be king on't. 
 
 Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth for- 
 gets the beginning. 
 
 Gon. All things in common nature should pro- 
 duce. 
 Without sweat or endeavor: treason, felony, 
 Bword. pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine. 
 Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
 Of its own kind, all foison', all abundance, 
 To feed mv hinocent people. 
 ' Plenty. 
 
 Seb. No marrying 'nong his subjects 1 
 
 Anf. None, man ; all idle ; whores and knaves 
 
 Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir. 
 To excel the golden age. 
 
 Seb, 'Save his majesty ! 
 
 Ant. Long live Gonzalo! 
 
 Gon. And, do you mark me, sir 1 — [tome 
 
 Alon. Pry'thce, no more : thou dost talk nothing 
 
 Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did 
 it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are 
 of such sensil)le and nimble lungs, that they alw^ ays 
 libc to laugh at nothing. 
 
 Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. 
 
 Go7i. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am 
 nothing to you ; so you may continue, and laugh 
 at nothing still. 
 
 Ant. What a blow was there given ! 
 
 Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 
 
 Go77. You are gentlemen of brave metal: yon 
 would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would 
 continue in it five weeks without changing. 
 
 Enter Ariel invisible, playing solemn music. 
 
 Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 
 
 Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. 
 
 Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure 
 my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, 
 for I am very heavy ] 
 
 Ant. Go sleep and hear us. 
 
 [All steep but Alon. Seb. and Ani. 
 
 Alon. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine eyes 
 Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I 
 
 find 
 They are inclined to do so. 
 
 Seb. Please you, sir, 
 
 Do not omit the heavy oflfer of it ; 
 It seldom visits sorrow : when it doth, 
 It is a comforter. 
 
 Ant- We two, my lord, 
 
 Will guard your person, while you take your rest, 
 And watch your safety. 
 
 Alon. Thank you: wondrous heavy. — 
 
 [Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. 
 
 Seb. What a strange di^owsiness possesses them ! 
 
 Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 
 
 Seb. Why 
 
 Doth it not then our eyelids sinkl I find not 
 Myself dispos'd to sleep. 
 
 Ant. Nor I ; my spirits are nimble. 
 They fell together all, as by consent; 
 They dropp'd as by a thunder-stroke. V/hat might. 
 Worthy Sebastian '! — O, what might 1 — No 
 
 more : — 
 And yet, mcthinks, I see it in thy face, 
 What thou shouldst be : the occasion speaks thre ; 
 
 and 
 My strong imagination sees a crown 
 Dropping upon thy head. 
 
 Seb. What, art thou wakingl 
 
 Ant. Do j'ou not hear me speak? 
 
 Seb. I do ; and surely, 
 
 It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak'st 
 Out of thy sleep : What is it thou didst say? 
 This is a strange repose, to be asleep 
 With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving 
 And yet so fast asleep. 
 
 Ant. Noble Sebastian, 
 
 Thou let'st thy fortune sleep — die rather; wink'et 
 Whiles thou art waking. 
 
BCENE 1. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly; 
 
 There's meaning in thy snores. 
 
 Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you 
 Must be so too, if heed me-; which to do, 
 Trebles thee o'er, 
 
 Seb. Well ; I am standing water. 
 
 Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 
 
 Seb. Do so: to ebb, 
 
 Ifereditary sloth instructs me. 
 
 Ajit. 0, 
 
 If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, 
 Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, 
 You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed. 
 Most often do so near the bottom run, 
 By their own fear, or sloth. 
 
 Seb. Pr'ythce, say on: 
 
 The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
 A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed. 
 Which throes thee much to yield. 
 
 Anf. Thus, sir, 
 
 Although this lord of weak remembrance, this 
 (Who shall be of as little memory. 
 When he is earth'd.) hath here almost persuaded 
 (For he's a spirit of persuasion only,) 
 The king his son's alive : 'tis as impossible 
 That he's undrown'd as he that sleeps here, swims. 
 
 Seb. I have no hope 
 That he's undrown'd. 
 
 Ant. O, out of that no hope, 
 
 What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, is 
 Another way so high an hope, that even 
 Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
 But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with 
 
 me, 
 That Ferdinand is drown'dl 
 
 Seb. He's gone. 
 
 Anf. Then, tell me, 
 
 Who's the next heir of Naples ? 
 
 Seb. Claribel. 
 
 Ant. She that is queen of Tunis ; she that dwells 
 Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from 
 
 Naples 
 Can have no note, unless the sun were post, 
 (The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born chins 
 Be rough and razoriil)Ie: she, from whom 
 We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again ; 
 And, b)' that, destin'il to perform an act, 
 Whereof what's past is prologue ; what to come, 
 In yours and my discharge. 
 
 Seb. What stud' is this? — How say youl 
 
 Tis true, my brother's daughter 's (jueen of Tunis ; 
 So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
 There is some space. 
 
 A)it. A space whose every cubit 
 
 Seems to cry out. How shall that Claribel 
 Measure us back to Naples? — Keep in Tunis, 
 And let Sebastian wake ! — Say, this were death 
 That now hath seiz'd (liem; why, they were no 
 
 worse 
 Than now they are : there be, that can rule Naples 
 As well as he that sleeps; lords, that can prate 
 As amply, and unnecessarily. 
 As this Gonzalo; I myself could make 
 Achough^of asdecp chat. 0, that you bore 
 The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
 For your advancement ! Do you understand me ? 
 
 Seb. Methinks I do. 
 
 Ant. > And how does your content 
 
 Tender your own good fortune ] • 
 
 c A bird of the jackdaw kind. 
 
 Seb. I remember, 
 
 You did supplant your brother Prospero. 
 
 Ant. True : 
 
 And, look, how well my garments sit upon me; 
 Much feater than before: My brother's servants 
 Were then my fellows, now they are my men. 
 
 Seb. But, for your conscience — 
 
 Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kyb6^ 
 'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not 
 This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences, 
 That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they. 
 And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother^ 
 No better than the earth he lies upon. 
 If he were that which now he "s like ; whom I, 
 With this obedient steel, three inches of it. 
 Can lay to bed for ever: whiles you, doing thus, 
 To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
 This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who 
 Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, 
 They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk; 
 They'll tell the clock to any business that 
 We say befits the hour. 
 
 Seb. Thy case, dear friend, 
 
 Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, 
 I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke 
 Shall free thee from the tribute Vvhich thou pay'st; 
 And I the king shall love thee. 
 
 Ant. Draw together: 
 
 And when I rear my hand, do you the like, 
 To fall it on Gonzalo: 
 
 Seb. O, but one word ! 
 
 [They converse apart, 
 
 Music. Re-enter Auikl, invisible. 
 
 Ari. My m aster through his art forsees the dange' 
 That those, his friends, are in ; and sends me forthj 
 (For else his project dies.) to keep them living. 
 
 \_Sings in Gonzalo's ear 
 
 While you here do snoring lie, 
 Opcn-ey'd conspiracy 
 
 His time doth take: 
 ff of life you keep a care, 
 Shake off slumber, and beware: 
 
 Awake ! awake .' 
 
 Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 
 
 Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king! 
 
 [They ivake, 
 
 Alan. Why, how now, ho ! awake ! Why are 
 you drawn? 
 Wherefore this ghastly looking? 
 
 Gon. What's the matter? 
 
 Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, 
 Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
 Like liuUs, or rather lions; did it not wake you? 
 It struck mine ear most terribly. 
 
 Ahm. I heard nothing. 
 
 Ant. O, 'twas a din fo fright a monster's ear; 
 To make an earthquake ! sure it was the roar 
 Of a whole herd of lions. 
 
 Alon. Heard you this, Gonz.iIo' 
 
 Gon. Upon mine honor, sir, I heard a humming, 
 And that a strange one too, which did awake me." 
 I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd: as mine eyes open'd, 
 I saw their weapons drawn : — there was a noise, 
 That's verity : 'Best stan<l upon our guard ; 
 Or that we cpiit this phu-e : let's draw our weapana 
 
 Alon. Lead off this ground' and let's make fu» 
 ther search 
 For mv uoor son. 
 
10 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act II, Scene II 
 
 Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts! 
 
 t or he is, sure, i' the island. 
 
 Alan. Lead away, 
 
 Ari Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have 
 done : [^Aside. 
 
 Bo, king, go safely on to seek thy son, [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter Caliban, luith a burden of wood. 
 
 A noise of thunder heard. 
 
 Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
 From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make 
 
 him 
 By inch-meal a disease ! Plis spirits hear me, 
 And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch. 
 Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire, 
 Nor lead me, like a fire-bran(i, in the dark 
 Out of my way, unless he bid them ; but 
 For every trifle are they set upon me : 
 Sometime like apes that moe'' and chatter at me. 
 And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which 
 Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount 
 7'heir pricks at my foot-fall ; sometime am I 
 All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues. 
 Do hiss me into )nadness: — Lo ! now! lo! 
 
 Enter Tkincttlo. 
 
 Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me, 
 For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat; 
 Perchance, he will not mind me, 
 
 Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear oil" 
 any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I 
 hear it sing i' the wind: yond' same black cloud, 
 yond' huge one, looks like a foul bombard^ that 
 would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it 
 did before, I know not where to hide my head : 
 yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. 
 What have we here! a man or a fish 1 dead or alive? 
 A fish : lie smells like a fish ; a very ancient and fish- 
 like smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. 
 A strange fish ! Were I in England now (as once I 
 was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday- 
 fool there but would give a piece of silver ; there 
 would this monster make a man : any strange b; ast 
 there makes a man : when they will not give a uoit 
 to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to 
 see a dead Indian. Lcgg'd like a man ! and his fins 
 like arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose 
 my opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an 
 islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. 
 [Thunder. '\ Alas! the storm is coming again: my 
 best way is to creep under his gaberdine"; there is no 
 other shelter hereabout : Misery acquaints a man 
 mth strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till 
 the dregs of the storm be past. 
 
 Enter Stephano, singing ,■ a bottle in his hand. 
 Ste. / shall no more to sea, to sea, 
 
 Here shall I die a-shore ,- — 
 
 This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's 
 
 funeral : 
 Well, here's my comfort, [Dnnks. 
 
 The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
 
 The gunner, and his mate, 
 Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, 
 But none of us cared for Kate : 
 
 'Make mouths. » A bla(.\ jack of leather to hold beer. 
 • The frock of a peasant. 
 
 For she had a tongue with, a tang. 
 Would cry to a sailor. Go hang : 
 She loved not the savor of tar or of pitcL, 
 Yet a tailor migld scratch her where'er she did itch 
 Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 
 
 This is a scurvy tune, too : but here's my comfort 
 
 {Drinks. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me : ! 
 
 Ste. What 's the matter ? Have we devils hei-e i 
 Do you put tricks upon us with savages, aud men 
 of lude ''A Ha ! I have not scap'd drowning, to be 
 afeard now of your four legs ; fur it hath beeu said, 
 As pi'oper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot 
 make him give ground : and it shall be said so 
 again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. 
 
 Cal. The spirit torment.'* me : ! 
 
 Sle. This is some monster of the isle with four 
 legs ; who hath got, as I take it, an ague : Where 
 the devil should he learn our language ? I will 
 give him some relief, if it be but for that : If I can 
 recover hini , and keep him tame, and get to Na- 
 ples with him, he 's a present for any emperor 
 that ever trod on neat's leather. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; 
 I'll bring my wood home faster. 
 
 Ste. He's in his fit now; and does not talk after 
 the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have 
 never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove 
 his fit : If I can recover him, and keep him tame, 
 I will not take too much for him : he shall pay for 
 him that hath him, and th.it soundly. 
 
 Cal. Thoudostmeyet but little hurt; thou wilt 
 Anon, I know it by thy trembling : 
 Now Prosper works upon thee. 
 
 Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth ; 
 here is that which will give language to you, cat , 
 open your mouth : this will shake your shaking, 1 
 can tell you, and that .soundly : you cannot tell 
 who's your friend : open your chaps again. 
 
 Trin. I should know that voice : It should be — 
 But he is drowned ; and these are devils : ! de- 
 fend me ! — 
 
 Sle. Four legs, and two voices ; a most delicate 
 monster ! His forward voice now is to speak well 
 of his friend ; his backward voice is to utter foul 
 speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my 
 bottle will recover him, I will help his ague: Come, 
 Amen ! I will pour some in thy other mouth. 
 
 Trin. Stephano I — 
 
 Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy ! 
 mercy 1 This is a devil, and no monster ! I will 
 leave him ; I have no long spoon. 
 
 Trin. Stephano! — if thou licest Stephano,touch 
 me, and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo; — be not 
 afeard, — thy good friend Trinculo. 
 
 Ste. If tliou lieest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll pull 
 thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's legs, 
 these are they. Thou art very Ti-inculo, indeed. 
 How cam'st tlinu to be the siege- of this moon-calf? 
 Can he vent Trinculos ? 
 
 Trin. I took hiiu.to be killed with a thunder- 
 stroke : — But art thou not drowned, Stephano ? I 
 hope now thou art not drowned. Is the stoi-m over- 
 I'lown ? I hid me umler the dead moon-calf's gaber- 
 dine, for fear of the storm : And art thou living 
 Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped 
 
 Sle. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about ; mj 
 stomach is not conitant. 
 
 1 ImMa. 
 
 2 Stool. 
 
Act III. Scene I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 11 
 
 Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not 
 fipiites. 
 I'hat's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : 
 [ will kneel to him. 
 
 Ste. How didst thou 'scape "! How cam'st thou 
 hither 1 swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 
 I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors 
 heaved overboard, by this bottle ! which I made of 
 the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I 
 was cast ashore. 
 
 Cal. I'll swear, upon that botllc, to be thy 
 True subject ; for the liquor is not earthly. 
 
 iSVe. Here ; swear then how thou escap'dst. 
 
 Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck ; I can 
 swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 
 
 <SVe. Here, kiss the book : Though thou canst 
 swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 
 
 Irin. O Stephano, hast any more of this 1 
 
 Ste. The whole butt, man ; my cellar is in a 
 rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How 
 now, moon-calf] how does thine ague] 
 
 Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven ] 
 
 Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee ; I was 
 the man in the moon, when time was. 
 
 Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee ; 
 My mistress showed me thee, thy dog and bush. 
 
 <SYe. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will 
 furnish it anon with new contents : swear. 
 
 Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
 monster : — I afeard of him 1 — a very weak monster : 
 —The man i' the moon 1 — a most poor credulous 
 monster : — Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. 
 
 Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island : 
 And kiss thy foot : I pr'ythee, be my god. 
 
 Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken 
 monster ; when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. 
 
 Cal. I'll kiss thy foot : I'll swear myself thy 
 subject. 
 
 Ste. Come on, then ; down and swear. 
 
 Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this jj-uppy. 
 headed monster : A most scurvy monster ! I could 
 find in my heart to beat him, — 
 
 Ste. Come, kiss. 
 
 Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink. 
 An abominable monster ! 
 
 Cal. I'll show thee the best springs ; I'll pluck 
 thee berries ; 
 I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
 A plague upm the tyrant that I sei-ve ! 
 I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
 Thou wondrous man. 
 
 Trin. A most ridiculous monster! to make & 
 wonder of a poor drunkard. [gi3w ; 
 
 Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs 
 And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts ; 
 Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
 To snare the nimble marmozet; I'll bring thee 
 To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee 
 Young sea-mells' from the rock : Wilt thou go 
 with me 1 
 
 Ste. I pr'ythee now lead the way, without any 
 more talking. — Trinculo, the king and all our com- 
 pany else being drowned, we will inherit here.- • 
 Here ; bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill 
 him by and by again. 
 
 Cal. Farewell, master ; farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Sings drunkenly. 
 
 Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster 
 
 Cal. No more dams Til make for Jish; 
 Nor fetch in firing 
 At requiring, 
 
 Nor scrape trencliering, nor wash dish : 
 'Ban, 'Ban, Ca — Caliban 
 Has a new mastei — Get a new ma?!. 
 
 Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedomi 
 hey-day, freedom ! 
 Ste. O brave monster ! lead the way. lExeu7it, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Prospero's Cell. 
 Enter Fekdiitand, bearing a log. 
 
 Fer. There be some sports are painful ; but their 
 labor 
 Delight in them sets off; some kinds of baseness 
 Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
 As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
 The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead. 
 And makes my labors pleasures: O, she is 
 I'fu times more gentle than her father's crabbed; 
 Ai.d he's composed of harshness. I must remove 
 Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, 
 Upon a sore injunction: My sweet mistress 
 Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such 
 
 baseness 
 Had ne'er like executor. I forget: 
 Gut these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labors ; 
 Most busy-less, when I do it. 
 
 Enter Mikanda; and Phospero at a distance. 
 
 Mira. Alas, now! ])ray )-ou 
 
 ^Vork not so hard : I would the lightning had 
 Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile! 
 
 Pray set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 
 'Twill weep lor having wearied you : My father 
 Is hard at study ; pray now rest yourself; 
 He's safe for these thi'ee hours. 
 
 Fer. O most dear mistress, 
 
 The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
 What I must strive to do. 
 
 Mira. If you'll sit down, 
 
 I'll bear your logs the while: Pray, give me that; 
 I'll carry it to the pile. 
 
 Fer. No, precious creature: 
 
 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back. 
 Than you should such dishonor undergo, 
 While I sit lazy by. 
 
 Mira. It would become me 
 
 As well as it does you : and I should do it 
 With much more ease ; for my good \vill is to it. 
 And yours against. 
 
 Pro. Poor worm! thou art infected; 
 
 This visitation shows it. 
 
 Mira. You look wea:-il_v. 
 
 Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh mornirg 
 with me. 
 When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
 
 • Sea suHh. 
 
12 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 [Chiefly, thai I might set it in my prayers,) 
 What is you: name] 
 
 Mira. Mirantia: — my father, 
 
 I have broke your hest' to say so! 
 r I'er. AJmir'd Miranda! 
 
 Indeed, the top of admiialion ; worth 
 What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
 I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time 
 The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
 Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues 
 Have I lik'd several women ; never any 
 With so full soul, but some defect in her 
 Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd ', 
 And put it to the foil: But you, O you. 
 So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best. 
 
 Mira. I do not know 
 
 One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
 Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
 More that I may call men, than you, good friend. 
 And my dear father; how features are abroad, 
 I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, 
 (The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish 
 Any companion in the world but you ; 
 Nor can imagination form a shape. 
 Besides yourself, to like of: but I prattle 
 Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
 Therein forget. 
 
 Fer. I am, in my condition, 
 
 A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; 
 (I would, not so !) and would no more endure 
 Tliis wooden slavery, than I would sufler 
 The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul 
 
 speak ; — 
 The very instant that I saw you, did 
 My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
 To make me slave to it; and, for your sake, 
 Am I this patient log-man. 
 
 Mira. Do you love me] 
 
 Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this 
 sound. 
 And crown what I profess with kind event. 
 If I speak true ! if hollowly, invert 
 What best is boded me, to mischief! I, 
 Beyond all limit of what else i' the world. 
 Do love, prize, honor you. 
 
 Mira. I am a fool, 
 
 To weep at what I am glad of 
 
 Pro. Fair encounter 
 
 Of two most rare aflfections ! Heavens rain grace 
 On that which breeds between them I 
 
 Fer. Wherefore weep you] 
 
 Mira. At mijie unworthiness, that dare not 
 ofler 
 What I desire to give ; and much less take. 
 What I shall die to want: but this is trifling; 
 And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
 riie bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning ! 
 And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
 I am your wife, if you will maiTy me; 
 [f not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
 You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, 
 Whether you will or no. 
 
 Fer. My mistress, dearest, 
 
 (Vnd I thus humble ever. 
 
 Mira. My husband then] 
 
 Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
 iVs bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand. 
 
 4 Clominard. 
 
 » Own'd. 
 
 Mira. And mine, with my heart in't : And now 
 farewell. 
 Till half aii hour hence. 
 
 Fer. A thousand! thousand 
 
 [Exeunt Fer. and Mih. 
 
 Pro. So glad of tliis as they, I cannot be. 
 Who are surpris'd with all ; but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more. Til to my book; 
 For yet, ere supper-time, must I perform 
 Much business appertaining. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another part of the Island 
 
 Enter Stephano and Thinculo; Calibast fol- 
 lowing with a bottle. 
 
 Ste. Tell not me ; — when the butt is out, we 
 will drink water ; not a drop before : therefore bear 
 up and board 'em : Servant-monster, drink to me. 
 
 Trin. Servant-monster] the folly of this island ! 
 They say, there's but five upon this isle : we are 
 three of them ; if the other two be brained like us, 
 the state totters. 
 
 Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee ; 
 thy eyes are almost set in thy head. 
 
 Trin. Where should they be set else ] he were 
 a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. 
 
 Ste. My man-monster hath dro^vned his tongue 
 in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I 
 swam, ere I could recover the shore, flve-and-thirty 
 leagues, ofl' and on, by this light. — Thou shalt be 
 my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. 
 
 Trin. Your lieutenant, if you hst; he's nc 
 standard. 
 
 Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. 
 
 Trin. Nor go neither : but you'll lie, like dogs ; 
 and yet say nothing neither. 
 
 Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
 becst a good moon-calf 
 
 Cat. How does thy honor] Let me lick thy 
 shoe: I'll not serve him, — he is not valiant. 
 
 Tri?!. Thou liest, most ignorant monster; I am in 
 case to jostle aconstable : Why, thou deboshed" fish 
 thou, was there ever man a coward, that hath drunk 
 so much sack as I to-day ] Wilt thou tell a mon- 
 strous lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster ] 
 
 Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, 
 my lord] 
 
 Trin. Lord, quoth he ! — that a monster should 
 be such a natural ! 
 
 Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'y thee. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in youi 
 head; if you prove a mutmeer, the next tree — The 
 poor monster's my subject, and he shall not suflei 
 indignity. 
 
 Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd 
 To hearken once again the suit I made thee] 
 
 Ste. Marry will I: kneel, and repeat it; I will 
 stand, and so shall Trinculo. 
 
 Enter Ariel, invisible. 
 
 Cal. As I told thee 
 Before, I am subject to a tyrant; 
 A sorcerer, that by his cunning hath 
 Cheated me of this island. 
 
 Ari. Thou hest. 
 
 Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting moirkey, thou , 
 I would my valiant master would destroy thee . 
 I do not lie. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more is 
 
 his tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of you 
 
 teeth. ,^ , ,^ , 
 
 6 Debauched. 
 
BCKNE III. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 13 
 
 Trin. Why, I saia nothing. 
 
 Sii. Mum then, and no more. — [To Caliban.] 
 Proceed. 
 
 Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; 
 From me he got it. If thy greatness will 
 Revenge it on him — for, I know, thou dar'st; 
 But this thing dare not. 
 
 Ste. That's most certain. 
 
 Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. 
 
 Sle. How now shall this be compassed ? Canst 
 thou bring me to the party ] 
 
 Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I'll yield him thee asleep, 
 Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. 
 
 Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not. 
 
 Cal. What a pied ninny's this ! " Thou scurvy 
 patch ! — • 
 1 do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, 
 And take his bottle from him: when that's gone, 
 He shall drink nought but brine ; for I'll not show 
 
 him 
 Where the quick freshes ' are. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter- 
 rupt the monster one word further, and, by this 
 hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a 
 stock-fish of thee. 
 
 Trin. Why, what did II I did nothing; I'll go 
 further off. 
 
 Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ? 
 
 Ari. Thou liest. 
 
 Ste. Do I so 1 take thou that. [Strikes him.'] As 
 vou like this, give me the lie another time. 
 
 Trin. I did not give the lie : — Out o' your wits, 
 and hearing too ? — A pox o' your bottle ! this can 
 Back and drinking do. — A murrain on your mon- 
 iter, and the devil take your fingers ! 
 
 Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Sfc. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee 
 stand further off. 
 
 Cal. Beat him enough: after a little time, 
 I'll beat him too. 
 
 Ste. Stand further. — Come, proceed. 
 
 Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
 r the afternoon to sleep : there thou may'st brain 
 
 him. 
 Having first seiz'd his books ; or with a log 
 Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake. 
 Or cut his wezand* with thy knife: Remember, 
 First to possess his books; for without, them 
 He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
 One spirit to command: They all do hate him. 
 As rootedly as I : Burn but his books ; 
 He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,) 
 Which, vv'hen he has a house, he'll deck withal. 
 And that most deejjly to consider, is 
 The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 
 Callj her a nonpareil: I ne'er saw woman. 
 But only Sycorax my dam and she; 
 But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, 
 As greatest does least. 
 
 Ste. Is it so brave a lassl 
 
 Cal. Ay, my lord ; she will become thy bed, I 
 Wi»rrant, 
 .\nd bring thee forth brave brood. 
 
 Ste. Monster, I will kill this rnCvH. his daughter 
 ind I will be king and queen; (save our graces!) 
 iind Trinculo and tliysclf sh?ll be viceroys: — Dost 
 Oiou like the plot, Trinculo ] 
 
 Irin. Excellent 
 
 • \llu(lin5 to Trincalo's party-colored dress. 
 ' BpriDgs • Throat. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand ; I am sorry I beat thee . 
 but, while Ihou livcst, keep a good tongue in thy 
 head. 
 
 Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep ; 
 Wilt tliju destroy him thenl 
 
 Ste. Ay, on mine honor. 
 
 Ari. This will I tell my master. 
 
 Cat. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of plea- 
 sure; 
 Let us be jocund : Will you trol! the catch 
 You taught me but while-ere 1 
 
 Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, 
 any reason : Come on, Trincul'^,, let us sing. [Sings. 
 
 Flout 'em, and shout 'em, and shout 'em and 
 
 Jlout 'em; 
 Thought is free. 
 
 Cal. That's not the tune, 
 [Ariel /}/«?/.? the tunt on a tabor and pipe. 
 
 Ste. What is this samel 
 
 Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by 
 the picture of No-body. 
 
 Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thj 
 likeness : if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. 
 
 Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! 
 
 Ste. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee ^ 
 Mercy upon us ! 
 
 Cal. Art thou afeard ? 
 
 Ste. No, monst--r, not I. 
 
 Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises. 
 Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hur^ 
 Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments fnot 
 Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voicp=. 
 That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, 
 Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming 
 The clouds, methought,would open, and show richer 
 Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I wak'd. 
 I cry'd to dreajii again. 
 
 Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me^ 
 where I shall have my music for nothing. 
 
 Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 
 
 Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember the 
 story. 
 
 Trin. The sound is going away : let's follow it, 
 and after, do our work. 
 
 Ste. Lead, monster; we'll follow. — I would 1 
 could see this taborer : he lays it on. 
 
 Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. [£j;eji?i/. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
 AuniAN, Francisco, and others. 
 
 Gon. By'r lakin', I can go no further, sir; 
 My old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed, 
 Through forth-rights, and meanders ! by your pa- 
 tience, 
 I needs must rest me. 
 
 Alon. Old lord, I cannot K-ime thee, 
 
 Who am myself attach'd with weariness. 
 To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and le&t. 
 Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
 No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd. 
 Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks 
 Our frustrate search on land: well, let him go. 
 
 Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. 
 
 [Aside to Sebastias 
 Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
 That you resolv'd to effect. 
 
 ■ Our lady. 
 
14 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act III. ScENK 
 
 Seb. The next advantage 
 
 Will wc take thoroughly. 
 
 Ant. Let it be to-night ; 
 
 For, no t\r they are oppress'd with travel, they 
 Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
 As when they are fresh. 
 
 Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 
 
 'Solemn and strange Music ,- c!??c?Puospero above, 
 invisible. Enter several strange Shapes, bring- 
 ing in a Banquet; they dance about it with 
 gentle actions of salutation ,- and, inviting the 
 
 King, Sfc. to eat, they depart. 
 
 Alan. What harmony is tlris 1 my good friends, 
 hark! 
 
 Gon. Marvellous sweet music! 
 
 Alan. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What 
 were these] 
 
 Seb. A living drollery ' : Now I will believe, 
 That there are unicorns ; that in Arabia 
 There is one tree, the phopuix' throne ; one phoenix 
 At this hour reigning there. 
 
 Ant. ni believe both ; 
 
 And what does else want credit, come to me. 
 And I'll be sworn 'tis true : Travellers ne'er did lie, 
 I'hough fools at home condemn them. 
 
 Gon. ' If in Naples 
 
 I should report this now, would they believe me ] 
 If I should say I saw such islanders, 
 (For, certes, these are people of the island,) 
 Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note. 
 Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
 Our human generation you shall find 
 Many, nay, almost any. 
 
 Pro. Honest lord. 
 
 Thou hast said well; for some of you there present 
 Arc worse then devils. [Aside. 
 
 Alon. I cannot too much muse, 
 
 Such shapes, such gesture, and stich sound, ex- 
 pressing 
 (Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
 Of excellent dumb discourse. 
 
 Pro. Praise in departing. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 
 
 Seb. No matter, since 
 
 They have left their viands behind ; for we have 
 
 stomachs. — 
 Will't please you taste of what is here 1 
 
 Alon. Not I. 
 
 Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear: When we 
 vere boys, 
 Vho would believe that there were mountaineers, 
 Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging 
 
 at them 
 Wallets of flesh] or that there were such men. 
 Whose heads stood in their breasts 1 which now 
 
 we find, 
 Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us 
 Good warrant of. 
 
 Alon. I will stand to, and feed, 
 
 Although my last: no matter, since I feel 
 The best is past : — Brother, my lord the duke, 
 Stand to, and do as we. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a 
 harpy : claps his wings upon the table, and, 
 with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. 
 
 *Sbow. 1 
 
 Ariel. You are three men of sin, whom destinj 
 (That hath to instrument this !ower world, 
 And what is in't,) the never-surfeited sea 
 Hath caused to belch up; and on this island 
 Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men 
 Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad 
 [Seeing Alox. Seb. 4c- draw their swords 
 And even with such like valor, men hang una 
 
 drown 
 Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellowf 
 Are ministers of fate; the elements 
 Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 
 Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
 Kill the still-rlosing waters, as diminish 
 One dowle'^ that's in my plume ; my fellow-minislera 
 Are lilce invulnerable: if you could hurt. 
 Your swords are now too massy for your strengths. 
 And will not be uplifted: But remember, 
 (For that's my business to you,) that you three 
 From Milan did supplant good Prospero; 
 Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it. 
 Him, and his innocent child ; for which foul deed 
 The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
 Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, 
 Against your peace: Thee of thy son, Alonso. 
 They have bereft ! and do pronounce by me, 
 Lingering perdition (worse than any death 
 Can be at once) shall step by step attend 
 You, and your ways; whose wraths to guard you 
 
 from 
 (Which here, in this most desolate isle ; else fall« 
 Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow. 
 And a clear" life ensuing. 
 
 He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter 
 the Shapes again, and dance with mops anu 
 mowes, a7id carry out the table. 
 
 Pro. [Aside.'] Bravely the figure of this harpy 
 hast thou 
 Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring; 
 Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
 In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life. 
 And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
 Their several kinds have done : my high charms 
 
 work. 
 And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
 In their distractions : they now are in my power 
 And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit 
 Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,) 
 And his and my lov'd darling. 
 
 [Exit YuosvY.no from above. 
 
 Gon. I' the name of something holy, sir, why 
 stand you 
 In this strange stare 1 
 
 Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous , 
 
 Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; 
 The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. 
 That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronoune'd 
 The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. 
 Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded; and 
 I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded. 
 And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. 
 
 Seb. But one fiend at a time, 
 
 I'll fight their legions o'er. 
 
 Ant. I'll be thy second. 
 
 [Exeunt Seb. and Axt. 
 
 Gon. All three of them are desperate; theil 
 great guilt, 
 
 sDoTra. 
 
 • Pure, blameleM. 
 
A.CT IV. Scene I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 15 
 
 Like poisou given to work a great time after, 
 
 Pi^ow 'gins to bite the spirits : 1 do beseech you 
 
 Tliat are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, 
 
 And hinder them from what thih ccstacy* 
 May now provoke them to. 
 
 Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Prospero's Cell. 
 
 Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 
 
 ]^ri). If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
 Your compensation makes amends ; for I 
 Have given you here a thread of mine own life, 
 Or that for which I live ; whom once again 
 I tender to thy hand ; all thy vexations 
 Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
 Ilast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven,; 
 I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
 Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, 
 For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 
 And make it halt behind her. 
 
 Fer. I do believe it, 
 
 Against an oracle. 
 
 Fro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
 Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: But 
 If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
 All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
 \¥ith full and holy rites be minister'd. 
 No sweet aspersion' shall the heavens let fall 
 To make this contract grow : but barren hate, 
 Sour-cy'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew 
 The union of your bed with weeds so loathly^ 
 That you shall hate it both : therefore, take heed. 
 As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 
 
 Fer. As I hope 
 
 For quiet days, fair issue, and long life. 
 With such love as 'tis now ; the murkiest den. 
 The most opportune place, the strongest suggestion 
 Our worser Genius can, shall never melt 
 Mine honor into lust ; to take away 
 The edge of that day's celebration, [der'd, 
 
 When I shall tliink, or Phoebus' steeds are foun- 
 Or night kept chair'd below. 
 
 Fru. Fairly spoke: 
 Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own. — 
 What, Ariel ; my industrious servant Ariel ! 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Ari. What would my potent master? here I am. 
 
 Fro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last 
 service 
 Did worthily perform ; and I must use you 
 In such another trick : go, bring the rabble. 
 O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place : 
 Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
 Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
 Some vanity of mine art ; it is my promise. 
 And they expect it from me. 
 
 Ari. Presently? 
 
 Fro. Ay, with a twink. 
 
 Ari. Before you can say, Come, and ^o. 
 And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so ; 
 Each one tripping on his toe. 
 Will be here with mo]i and mowe: 
 Do you love me, master ? no. 
 
 I'm. Dearly, my delicate Ariel: do not approach, 
 Till thou dost hear me call. 
 
 Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit. 
 
 Fro. Look, thou be true ; do not give dalliance 
 Too much the rein ; the strongest oaths are straw 
 To the fire i' the blood : be more abstemious, 
 Dr else, good night your vow ! 
 * Sprinkling. 
 
 Fer. I warrant you, sir., 
 
 The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart 
 Abates the ardor of my liver. 
 
 Fro. Well.— 
 
 Now come, my Ariel ; bring a corollaiy,' 
 Rather than want a spirit ; appear, and pertly.— 
 No tongue; all eyes; be silent. \_Sofi m'Jtit 
 
 A masque. Enter Iris. 
 
 Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich ^u 
 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and jieas ; 
 Thy turfy mountains, where live nibblirg sheep. 
 And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; 
 Thy banks with peonied and lilicd brims, 
 Which spongy April at thy hcst^ hetrims, 
 To make cold nymphs chaste crovti^ ; and thy 
 
 broom groves. 
 Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves. 
 Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
 And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard. 
 Where thou thyself dost air: The queen o' the sky, 
 Whose wat'ry arch, and messenger, am I, 
 Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace, 
 Here, on this grass-plot, in this very place, 
 To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain ; 
 Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 
 
 E?iter Ceres. 
 
 Cer. Hail, many-colored messenger, that ne'er 
 Dost obey the wife of Jupiter ; 
 Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers 
 Diffuscst honey-drops, refreshing showers ; 
 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
 My bosky' acres, and my unshrubb'd down. 
 Rich scarf to my proud earth : Why hath thy queen 
 Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green ? 
 
 Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; 
 And some donation freely to estate 
 On the bless'd lovers. 
 
 Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 
 
 If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, 
 Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot 
 The means, that dusky Dis' my daughter got. 
 Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 
 I have forsworn. 
 
 7m. Of her society 
 
 Be not afraid ; I met her deity 
 Cutting the clouds towards Paphos; and her son 
 Dove-drawn with her: here thought they to have 
 
 done 
 Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, 
 Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid 
 Till Hymen's torch be lighted : but in vain ; 
 Mars' hot minion is rcturn'd again ; 
 Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows. 
 Swears he will .shoot no more, but play with spa?' 
 And be a boy right out. [rowj, 
 
 Cer. Highest queen of state. 
 
 Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait. 
 
 Enter Juno. 
 Juno. How docs my bounteous sister? Go witlj 
 me, 
 To bless this twain, that they may prosperous bq 
 And honor'd in their issue. 
 
 ' Command. 
 
 > Alienation of mind. 
 • Woody. 
 
 • Surplus. 
 •Pluto. 
 
16 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act I'V 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Juno. Honor, riches, 'marriage-hhssing, 
 Lnng continuance, and increasing, 
 Hourly joys be still upon you! 
 Juno sitigs her blessings on you. 
 
 Cer. EarlWs increase, andfoison* plenty; 
 Barns, and garners never empty ; 
 Vines with clusf.'ring bunches growing ; 
 Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; 
 
 Spring come to you at the farthest, 
 In l/ie very end of harvest! 
 Scarcity and want shall shun you; 
 Oeres' blessing so is on you. 
 
 Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
 Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold 
 To thinlv these spirits ! 
 
 Pro, Spirits, which by mine art 
 
 I have from their confines call'd to enact 
 My present fancies. 
 
 Fer. Let me live here ever ; 
 
 So rare a wonder'd'^ father and a wife, 
 Make this place paradise. [Juno and Ceuks 
 
 whisper, and send Iris on employment. 
 
 Pro. Sweet now, silence : 
 
 Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; 
 There's something else to do : hush, and be mute, 
 Or else our spell is marr'd. [d'ring brooks, 
 
 Ins. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wan- 
 With your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks. 
 Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
 Answer your summons ; Juno does command : 
 Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
 A contract of true love ; be not too late. 
 
 Enter certain Nymphs. 
 
 You sunburn'd sicklcmen, of August weary, 
 Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; 
 Make holy-day : your rye-straw hats put on. 
 And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
 In country footing."" 
 
 Enter certain reapers, properly habited: they join 
 with the Nymphs in a graceful dance ,- towards 
 the end whe7-eof Prospero starts suddenly atid 
 speaks ,• after which, to a strange, hollow, and 
 confused noise, they heavily vanish. 
 
 Pro. \^Aside.'] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
 Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, 
 Against my life ; the minute of their plot 
 Is almost come. — [To the Spirits.'] Well done ; — 
 avoid ; — no more. 
 
 Fer. This is most strange : your father's in some 
 That works him strongly. [passion 
 
 Mira. Never till this day, 
 
 Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
 
 Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, 
 As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir : 
 Our revels now are ended : these our actors, 
 .\s I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air ; 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision. 
 The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself. 
 Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve ; 
 i\.nd, like this insubstantial pageant faded. 
 Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 [s rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vexed ; 
 Bear with my weakness : my old brain is troubled. 
 Be not disturb'd with my infirmity : 
 If you be pleas 'd, retire into my cell, 
 
 * Abundance. 
 
 «Al)le to produce such wonders. 
 
 And there repose ; a turn or two I'll walk, 
 
 To still my beating mind. 
 Fer. Mira. We wish you peace. [Exeunt 
 Pro. Come with a thought : — I thank you :— 
 Ariel, come. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What's thy plea 
 
 Pro. Spirit, [sure '' 
 
 We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 
 
 Ari, Ay, my commander: when I presented 
 Ceres, 
 I thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd, 
 Lest I might anger thee. [vailets \ 
 
 Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these 
 
 Ari. I told you, sir, they were red hot with 
 So full of valor, that they smote the air [drinking 
 For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
 For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending 
 Towards their project : Then I beat my tabor, 
 At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears . 
 Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses. 
 As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears. 
 That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through 
 Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and 
 
 thorns. 
 Which entcr'd their frail shins ; at last I left them 
 I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell. 
 There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
 O'er-stunk their feet. 
 
 Pro. This was well done, my bird. 
 
 Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
 The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, 
 For stale' to catch these thieves. 
 
 Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
 Nurture' can never stick ; on whom my pains, 
 Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost ; 
 And as, with age, his body uglier grows, 
 So his mind cankers : I will plague them all, 
 
 Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, <^c. 
 
 Even to roaring : — Come, hang them on this line. 
 
 Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter 
 Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. 
 
 Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole 
 may not 
 Hear a foot fall ; we now are near his cell. 
 
 Sfe. Monster, j'our fairy, which, you say, is a 
 harmless fairy, has done little better than played 
 the Jack* with us. 
 
 Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss, at 
 which my nose is in great indignation. 
 
 Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster 1 If I 
 should take a displeasure against you ; look you.— 
 
 Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 
 
 Cal. Good, my lord, give me thy favor still : 
 Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 
 Shall hood-wink this mischance: therefore, speak 
 All's hush'd as midnight yet. [softly, 
 
 Tri?!. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,— 
 
 Ste. There's not only disgrace and dishonor in 
 that, monster, but an infinite loss. 
 
 7'rm. That's more to me than my wetting : yef 
 this is your harmless fairy, monster. 
 
 Ste. I will fetch off my botttle, though I be o'e- 
 cars for my labor. 
 
 • Bait. 
 
 * EducatiDu. 
 
 • Jack with a lantrri*. 
 
mCT V. Scene I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 17 
 
 Cal. Pr'ytliec, my king, be quiet: Seest thou here, 
 This is the mouth of the cell : no noise, and enter : 
 Do tliat good mischief, whieli may malic tliis island 
 Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
 For aye thy foot-Hcker. 
 
 Ste. (live me thy hand: I do begin to have 
 bloody thoughts. 
 
 Ti'in. king S''phano! peer! worthy 
 Stephnno ! look, v/hat a wardrobe here is for thee ! 
 
 Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. 
 
 Trin. 0, ho, monster ; we know what belongs 
 to a frippery ' : - king Stcphano ! 
 
 >SVe. Tut off rhat gown, Trinculo ; by this hand, 
 I'll have that gown. 
 
 Trin. Thy grace shall have it. 
 
 CaL The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you 
 mean. 
 To doat thus on such luggage 1 Let's along, 
 And do the murder first: if he awake. 
 From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches; 
 Make us strange stuff. 
 
 Sfe. Be you quiet, monster. — Mistress line, is 
 not this my jerkin 1 Now is the jerkin under the 
 line: now, jerkin, j'ou are like to lose your hair, 
 and prove a bald jerkin. 
 
 Trin. Do, do: We steal by line and level, a'nt 
 like your grace. 
 
 Ste. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment 
 for't: wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king 
 of this country: Steal by lint and level, is an ex- 
 cellent pass of pate ; there's another garment for't. 
 
 Trin. Monster, come, put some lime ' upon your 
 fingers, and away with the rest. 
 
 Cal. I will have none on't: we shall lose ouriime, 
 And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
 With foreheads villainous low. 
 
 Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers; help to bea} 
 this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or Fl'l 
 turn you out of my kingdom ; go to, carry tliis. 
 
 Trin. And this. 
 
 Ste. Ay, and this. 
 
 A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Sptritg, 
 in shape of hounds, and hunt them about; 
 PnosPEno and Auiel setting thtm en. 
 
 Pro. Hey, Mountain^ hey! 
 
 Ari. Silver! vhere it goes, Silver! 
 
 Fro. Fury! Fury! there. Tyrant, there ! haik, 
 
 hark! 
 
 [Cal., Ste., and Trin-. are driven out. 
 
 Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joint! 
 
 With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews 
 
 With aged cramps ; and more pinch-spotted mak« 
 
 them. 
 Than pard', or cat o' mountain. 
 
 Ari. Hark, they roar. 
 
 Fro. Let them be hunted soundly: at tliis hour 
 Lie at my mercy all mine enemies: 
 Shortly shall all my labors end, and thou 
 Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little, 
 Follow, and do me service. [Exew^ 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before the Cell of Piospem. 
 Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ahiel. 
 
 Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
 My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time 
 Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day ? 
 
 Ari. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord. 
 You said our work should cease. 
 
 Fro. I did say so, 
 
 When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, 
 How fares the king and liisT 
 
 Ari. Confin'd together 
 
 In the same fashion as you gave in charge; 
 Juit as you left them, sir; all prisoners 
 In the lime-grove which weather-fends^ your cell; 
 They cannot budge, till you release. The king, 
 His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted; 
 And the remainder mourning over them. 
 Brim-full of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly 
 H'm you term'd, sir. The good old lord, Gonzalo; 
 His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
 From eaves of reeds : your charm so strongly works 
 
 them, 
 Thiit if you now beheld them, your affections 
 Wo lid become tender. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit ] 
 
 An. Mine would, sir, were I human. 
 
 Pro. And mine shall. 
 
 Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
 Of their afflictions? and shall not myself. 
 One of llieir kind, that relish all as sharply 
 
 » A shop for salu of old clothes. 
 * Defends from had weather. 
 
 Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou arti 
 Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the 
 
 quick, 
 Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury 
 Do I take part: the rarer action is 
 In virtoc than in vengeance : they being penitent, 
 The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
 Not a frown further ; Go, release them, Ariel , 
 My charms Fll break, their senses I'll restore, 
 And they shall be themselves. 
 
 Ari. Fll fetch them, sir. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, 
 and groves; 
 And ye, that on the sands with printless foot 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him. 
 When he comes back ; you demy-puppets, that 
 By moon-shine do the green-sour rmglets make. 
 Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime 
 Is to make midnight-mushrooms; that rejoice 
 To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
 (Weali masters though you be) I have be-dimm'd 
 The noon-tide sun, call'd forth tlie mutinous winds, 
 And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
 Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder 
 Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
 With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 
 Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
 The pine, and cedar : graves, at my command, 
 Have wak'd their sleepers; oped, and led them fortb 
 By my so potent art: But this rough magic 
 I here abjure: and, when I have requir'd 
 
 ' Bird-lime. 
 
 ' Leopard 
 
18 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act V 
 
 fi<isx heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
 
 To work mine end upon their senses, that 
 
 This airy charm is ibr, I'll break my stalf, 
 
 Bury it certain latlioms in the earth. 
 
 And deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
 
 I'll drown my book [^Solemn Music. 
 
 Re-e?ifer Art kl : after him Aloxso, with a frantic 
 gesture, attended Z'y Goxzalo ; Sebastian and 
 Axtonio in like man7ier attended by Adrian 
 and FiiANcisco : They all enter the circle which 
 PnospEno had made, and there stand charmed, • 
 which Prospuro observing, speaks. 
 
 A solemn air, and the best comforter 
 
 To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains. 
 
 Now useless, boiled within thy skull! There stand. 
 
 For you are spell-stopp'd. 
 
 Holy Gonzalo, honorable man. 
 Mine eyes, even sociable to the shew of tliine, 
 Fall fellowy drops. — The charm dissolves apace; 
 And as the morning steals upon the night, 
 Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
 Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
 Their clearer reason. — O my good Gonzalo, 
 My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
 To him thou follow'st ; I will pay thy graces 
 Home both in word and deed. — Most cruelly 
 Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter. 
 Thy brother was a furtherer in the act ; — 
 Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and 
 
 blood, 
 You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 
 Expell'd remorse ' and nature ; who, with Sebastian, 
 (Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) 
 Would here have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee. 
 Unnatural though thou art! — Their understanding 
 Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
 Will shortly fill the reasonable shores. 
 That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them. 
 That yet looks on me, or would know me : — Ariel, 
 Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell; 
 
 [Exit Ariex. 
 I will dis-case me, and my self present. 
 As I was sometime Milan: — quickly, spirit : 
 Thou shalt ere long be free. 
 
 Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire 
 Prospero. 
 
 Ari. Where the bee sticks, there suck I; 
 In a cmvslip's bell I lie: 
 There I couch ivhen owls do a^y. 
 On the bafs back I do fly. 
 After summer merrili/: 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live nolo. 
 Under the blossom that hangs 07i the bough. 
 
 Pro. Why that's my dainty Ariel ; I shall miss 
 thee ; 
 But yet thou shalt have freedom : so, so, so. — 
 To the king's ship, invisible as thou art: 
 There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
 Under the hatches ; the master and the boatswain. 
 Being awake, enforce them to this place ; 
 And presently, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 
 Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel. 
 
 Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amaze- 
 ment 
 Inhabits here : Some heavenly power guide us 
 Out of this fearful country' 
 
 « Pity or tenderness of heart. 
 
 Pro. Behold, sir king. 
 
 The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : 
 For more assurance that a living prince 
 Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body: 
 And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
 A hearty welcome. 
 
 Alon. Whe'r^ thou bcest he, or na. 
 
 Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me. 
 As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
 Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and since I saw thee, 
 The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
 I fear, a madness held me : this must cravs 
 (An if this be at all) a most strange story. 
 Thy dukedom I resign ; and do entreat 
 Thou pardon me my wrongs : — But how shculd 
 
 Prospero 
 Be living and be here 1 
 
 Pro. First, noble fi-iend, 
 
 Let me embrace thine age ; whose honor cannot 
 Be measur'd, or confin'd. 
 
 Gon. Whether this be, 
 
 Or be not, I'll not swear. 
 
 Pro. You do yet taste 
 
 Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
 Believe things certain : — Welcome, my frienda 
 
 all:— 
 But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 
 
 [Aside to Seb. and Axt. 
 I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, 
 And justify you traitors : at this time 
 I'll tell no tales. 
 
 Seb. The devil speaks in him. [Aside 
 
 Pro. No:— 
 
 For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
 Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
 Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require 
 My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know, 
 Thou must restore. 
 
 Alon. If ihou beest Prospero, 
 
 Give us particulars of thy preservation: 
 How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
 Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost, 
 How sharp the point of this remembrance is ! 
 My dear son Ferdinand. 
 
 Pro. I am woe' for't, sir. 
 
 Alon. Irreparable is the loss; and Patience 
 Says, it is past her cure. 
 
 P7-0. I rather think, 
 
 You have not sought her help; of whose soft grace, 
 For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid, 
 And rest myself content. 
 
 Alo7i. You the like loss '' 
 
 Pro. As great to me, as late; and, portable 
 To make the dear loss, have I means nmch weaker 
 Than you may call to comfort you : for I 
 Have lost my daughter. 
 
 Alon. A daughter? 
 
 O heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, 
 The king and queen there! that they weie, I wish 
 Myself were mudded in that oozy bed 
 Where my son lies. When did you lose youi 
 daughter? 
 
 Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lord 
 At this encounter do so much admire. 
 That they devour their reason ; and scarce think 
 Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
 Are natural breath; but howsoe'er you have 
 Been justled from your senses, know for certain, 
 That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
 
 a Whether. » SoTTT. 
 
ScKNE 1. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 1& 
 
 Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most 
 
 strangely 
 fJi'On this shore, where you were wreck'd, was 
 
 landed, 
 To be the lord on't. No more yet of this ; 
 For 't's a chronicle of day by day, 
 IVit a relation for & breakfast, nor 
 BonHing tli.is first meeting. Welcome, sir; 
 I'his cell's my court: here have I few attendants, 
 Ai.J subjects none abroad : pray you look in. 
 My dukedom since you have given me again, 
 [ will requite you with as good a thing; 
 At leaht, bring forth a wonder, to content ye 
 As much as me my dukedom. 
 
 The entrance of the cell opens, and discovers Feu- 
 niNANi) and Miranda playing at chess. 
 
 Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. 
 
 Fer. No, my dearest love, 
 
 I would not for the world. 
 
 Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
 wrangle, 
 And I would call it fair play. 
 
 Alon. If this prove 
 
 A vision of the island, one dear son 
 Shall I twice lose. 
 
 Scb. A most high miracle ! 
 
 Fer. Tho' the seas threaten, they are merciful ; 
 I have curs'd them without cause. 
 
 [FF.nD. kneels to Alon. 
 
 Alon. Now all the blessings 
 
 Of a glad fithcr compass thee about ! 
 Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 
 
 Mira. O ! wonder ! 
 
 How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
 How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world. 
 That has such people in't! 
 
 Pro. 'Tis new to thee. 
 
 Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast 
 at play 1 
 Your cld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
 [s she the goddess that hath sever'd us. 
 And orought us thus together] 
 
 Fer. Sir, she's mortal ; 
 
 But, by immortal Providence, she's mine; 
 I diosc her, when I could not ask my father 
 For his advice; nor thought I had one: she 
 Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, 
 Of whom so often I have heard renown, 
 But never saw before; of whom I have 
 Keccived a second life, and second father 
 This lady laakes him to me. 
 
 All in. I am hers: 
 
 But O, hov» oddly will it sound, that I 
 Must ask rjy child forgiveness! 
 
 Pro. There, sir, stop: 
 
 Let us net burden our remembrances 
 With a heaviness that's gone. 
 
 Gon I have inly wept. 
 
 Or sliould have spoke ere this. Look down, you 
 
 gods. 
 And on this couple drop a blessed crown; 
 ?or it is you, that have chalk'd for*h the way 
 Which brought us hither! 
 
 Alon. I say, Amen. Gonzalo! 
 
 *ion. Was Mian thrust from Milan, that his issue 
 Bhnuld become kings of Naples'? O, rejoice 
 Beyond a common joy; and set it down 
 With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage 
 Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; 
 
 And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, 
 Where he himself was lost ; Prospcro his dukedom. 
 In a poor isle; and all of us, ourselves, 
 When no man was his own. 
 
 Alon. Give me your hands 
 
 [To F;;n. and Mm. 
 Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, 
 That doth not wish you joy ! 
 
 Gon. Be't so ! Amen 
 
 Re'Cnter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain 
 araazedly following. 
 
 look, sir, look, sir; here are more of us! 
 
 1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land. 
 
 This fellow could not drown: — Now, blasphemy. 
 That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shorel 
 Hast thou no mouth by landl What is the news? 
 
 Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
 Our king, and company : the next our ship, — 
 Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, 
 Is tight and yare', and bravely rigg'd, as when 
 We first put out to sea. 
 
 Ari. Sir, all this service ^ 
 
 Have I done since I went. > Aside. 
 
 Pro. My tricksy' spirit! ) 
 
 Alon. These are not natural events; they 
 strengthen 
 From strange to stranger: — Say, how came yoi. 
 hither 1 
 
 Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
 I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
 And (how, wo know not") all clapp'd under hatches, 
 Where, but even now, with strange and several 
 
 noises 
 Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains. 
 And more diversity of sounds, all horrible. 
 We were awak'd; straightway, at liberty: 
 Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
 Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master 
 Cap'ring to eye her: On a trice, so please you. 
 Even in a dream, were we divided from them, 
 And were brought moping hither. 
 
 Ari. Was't well done 1 ) 
 
 Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou > Aside. 
 shalt be free. ) 
 
 Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men tr>d' 
 And there is in this business more than natur*» 
 Was ever conduct^ of: some oracle 
 Must rectify our knowledge. 
 
 Pro. Sir, my liege. 
 
 Do not infest your mind with beating on 
 The strangeness of this business ; at pick'd ieisuTC, 
 Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you 
 (Which to you shall seem probable) of every 
 These happen'd accidents: till when, be cheerful, 
 And think of each thing well. — Come hithei 
 spirit ; [Aside. 
 
 Set Caliban and his companions free: 
 Untie the spell. [Exit AniEL.] How fare % my 
 
 gracious sir? 
 There are yet missing of your company 
 Some few odd lads, that you remember not. 
 
 Re-enter Ariel, t/ny/w^/n Caliba>,Stephano, 
 and Trixcclo, in their stolen apparel. 
 
 Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and letn« 
 man take care for himself; for all is but fortune:— 
 Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio! 
 
 ' Ready. 
 
 » Clever, adroit. 
 
 • Conductor. 
 
80 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act "V 
 
 Trln. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
 feead, here's a goodly sight. 
 
 Cal. O Setcbos, these be brave spirits, indeed ! 
 How fine my master is! I am afraid 
 He will chastise me. 
 
 Seb, Ho, ha; 
 
 What things are these, my lord Antoniol 
 Will money buy them"? 
 
 Ant. Very lilie, one of them 
 
 Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 
 
 Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, 
 Then say, if they be true'': — This mis-shapen knave, 
 His mother was a witch; and one so strong 
 Tliat could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, 
 And deal in her command, without her power: 
 These three have robb'd me ; and this demi-devil 
 ^For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them 
 To take my life : two of these fellows you 
 Must know, and own ; this thing of darkness I 
 Acknowledge mine. 
 
 Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 
 
 Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? 
 
 Seb. He is drunk now: Where had he wine? 
 
 .Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: Where 
 should they 
 Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them 1 — 
 How cam'st thou in this pickle] 
 
 Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw 
 vou last, that, I fear me, will never out of my 
 bones : I shall not fear fly-blowing. 
 
 Seh. Why, how now, Stephano? 
 
 Ste. 0, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but 
 a cramp. 
 
 Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah 1 
 
 Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 
 
 Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd 
 on. [Pointing to Caliban. 
 
 Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, 
 As in his shape: — Go, sirrah, to my cell; 
 Take with you your companions; as you look 
 To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 
 
 Cal. Ay, that I will ; and I'll be wise hercaftei 
 And seek for grace: What a thrice-double as« 
 Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship this dull fool ] 
 
 Pro. Go to ; away ! 
 
 Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage whew 
 you found it. 
 
 Seb. Or stole it, rather. 
 
 [Exeunt Cal., Ste., and Thin. 
 
 Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, 
 To my poor cell: where you shall take your rest 
 For this one night; which (part of it) I'll waste 
 With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make ^^ 
 Go quick away : the story of my life, 
 And the particular accidents gone by. 
 Since I came to this isle: And in the morn, 
 I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
 Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
 Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd; 
 And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
 Every third thought shall be my grave. 
 
 Alon. I long 
 
 To hear the story of your life, which must 
 Take the ear strangely. 
 
 Pro. I'll deliver all; 
 
 And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
 And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
 Your royal ficet far off. — My Ariel ; — chick, 
 That is thy charge ; then to the elements 
 Be free, and fare thou well ! — [Aside."] Please yo« 
 draw near. [Exeunt, 
 
 EPILOGUE— S;)o/.-e?i by Prospero. 
 
 I^ow my charms are all o'erlfirown, 
 And what strength I have's mine own ; 
 Which is most faint : tiow, 'tis true, 
 I must he here confined by you. 
 Or sent to Naples: Let me not, 
 Since I have my dukedom got. 
 And pardoned the deceiver, dwell 
 In this bare island, by your spell; 
 But release me from 7ny bands. 
 With the help of your good hands." 
 
 Honest. • Applause ; noise was supposed to disBolre a 
 
 Gentle breath of yours my sails 
 Must Jill, or else my project fails. 
 Which was to please : Now I want 
 Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; 
 And my ending is despair, 
 Unless I be relieved by prayer; 
 Wliich pierces so, that it assaults 
 Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 
 
 As you from crimes would pardoned be, 
 Let your indulgence set me free. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Father to Silvia. 
 '' > Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 UcKE OF Milan 
 Vale NT 
 
 PnOTEUS 
 
 Antonio, Father to Proteus. 
 Tiirnio, a foolish Rival to Valentine. 
 EoLAMoun, Agent for Silvia in her Escape. 
 Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine. 
 Launce, Servant to Proteus. 
 
 Panthino, Servant to Antonio. 
 Host luhere Julia lodges in Milan. 
 Outlaws. 
 
 Julia, a Lady q/" Verona, beloved hy Proteus. 
 Silvia, the Duke's Daughter, helovedby Valentine 
 LucETTA, Waiting-woman to Julia. 
 
 Servants, Musicians. 
 SCENE, sometimes in Verona: sometimes in Milan: and on the Frontiers of Mantua- 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — An open Place in Verona. 
 £«/er Valentine and Proteus. 
 
 Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus; 
 Home-keeping youth have ever homely witb : 
 Wer't not affection chains thy tender days 
 To the sweet glances of thy honor'd love, 
 r rather would entreat thy company. 
 To see the wonders of the world abroad, 
 Than living dully sluggardiz'd at home. 
 Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
 But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, 
 Even as I would, when I to love begin. 
 
 Pro. Wilt thou begone 1 Sweet Valentine, adieu ! 
 Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest 
 Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel : 
 Wish me partaker in thy happiness. 
 When thou dost meet good hap ; and, in thy danger. 
 If ever danger do environ thee. 
 Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
 For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine. 
 
 Val. And on a love-book pray for my success. 
 
 Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. 
 
 Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love. 
 How young liCandcr cross'd the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love; 
 For he was more than over shoes in love. 
 
 Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love. 
 And yet you never swam the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.' 
 
 Val. No, I'll not, for it boots thee not. 
 
 Pro. Whati 
 
 Val. To be 
 
 i A hnmorous punishment at harTcst-home feasts, &c. 
 3 
 
 In love, where scorn is bought with groans; coj 
 
 looks. 
 With heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's miilh, 
 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights* 
 If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain ; 
 If lost, why then a grievous labor won ; 
 However, but a folly bought with wit. 
 Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 
 
 Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool, 
 Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prov«. 
 Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not love. 
 Val. Love is your master, for he masters yoH 
 And he that is so yoked by a fool, 
 Methinks should not be chronicled for wise. 
 
 Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 
 
 Val. And writers say, As the most forward bnd 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow. 
 Even so by love the young and tender wit 
 Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud, 
 Losing its verdure even in the prime. 
 And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
 But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, 
 That art a votary to fond desire 1 
 Once more adieu: my father at the road 
 Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 
 Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine- 
 Fa/. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave 
 At Milan let me hear from thee by letters, 
 Of thy success in love, and what news else 
 Betidcth here in absence of thy friend; 
 And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 
 
 Pro. All happiness beclianee to thee in Milan! 
 Val. As much to you at home ! and so farewell ! 
 
 [Exit Valfntinb 
 21 
 
22 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Pro. He after honor hunts, I after love : 
 He leaves his friends to dignify them more ; 
 [ leave myself, my friends, and all for love. 
 Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me ; 
 Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, 
 War with good counsel, set the world at nought ; 
 Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with 
 thought. 
 
 Enter Speed. 
 
 Speed. Sir Proteus, save you : saw you my 
 master 1 
 
 Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for 
 Milan. 
 
 Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already ; 
 And I have played the sheep in losing him. 
 
 Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, 
 An if the shepherd be awhile away. 
 
 Speed. You conclude that my master is a shep- 
 herd, then, and I a sheep ? 
 
 Pro. I do. 
 
 Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, 
 whether I wake or sleep. 
 
 Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 
 
 Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 
 
 Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 
 
 Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. 
 
 Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another. 
 
 Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not 
 the sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and 
 my master seeks not me ; therefore, I am no sheep. 
 
 Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, 
 the shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thou 
 for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages 
 follows not thee : therefore thou art a sheep. 
 
 Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. 
 
 Pro. But dost thou hear 1 gav'st thou my letter 
 to Julia? 
 
 Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter 
 to her, a laced mutton ;* and she, a laced mutton, 
 gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labor. 
 
 Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such a store 
 of muttons. 
 
 Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were 
 best stick her. 
 
 P>-o. Nay, in that you are astray, 'twere best 
 pound you. 
 
 Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall sei-ve 
 nie for carrying your letter. 
 
 Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, a pinfold. 
 
 Speed. From a pound to a pin 1 fold it over and 
 
 over, [lover. 
 
 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your 
 
 Pro. But what said she ? did she nod 1 
 
 [Speed nods. 
 
 Speed. I. 
 
 Pro. Nod, I ? why, that's noddy .^ 
 
 Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: 
 and you ask me, if she did nod ; and I say, I. 
 
 Pi-o. And that set together, is — noddy. 
 
 Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it 
 together, take it for your pains. [letter. 
 
 Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the 
 
 Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear 
 with you. 
 
 Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me 7 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having 
 nothing but the word," noddy, for my pains. 
 
 Pro Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 
 • A term for a cturteiau. » A game at cards. 
 
 Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slov* 
 purse. 
 
 Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: 
 What said she 1 
 
 Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and 
 the matter, may be both at once delivered. 
 
 Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : What 
 said she 1 
 
 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. 
 
 Pro. Why ? Couldst thou perceive so much 
 from her 1 
 
 Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from 
 her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering 
 your letter : And being so hard to me that brought 
 your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in 
 telling you her mind. Give her no token but 
 stones ; for she's as hard as steel. 
 
 Pro. What, said she nothing 1 
 
 Speed. No, not so much as take this for thy 
 
 pains. To testify your bounty, I thank you, you 
 have testern'd' me ; in requital whereof, hencelorth 
 carry your letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend 
 you to my master. 
 
 Pro. Go, go, begone, to save your ship from 
 Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, [wreck ; 
 Being destined to a drier death on shore : 
 I must go send some better messenger ; 
 I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines. 
 Receiving them from such a worthless post. 
 
 [^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Garden o/ Julia's house. 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta. 
 
 Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
 Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love ? 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheed- 
 
 Jut. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, [fully. 
 That every day with parle encounter me, 
 In thy opinion, which is worthiest love ? 
 
 Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll show 
 iny mind 
 According to my shallow simple skill. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamoui ? 
 
 Luc. As of a knight well spoken, neat and fine ; 
 But were I you, he never should be mine. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio ? 
 
 Luc. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so, so. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? 
 
 Luc. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! 
 
 Jul. How now ! what means this passion at hi« 
 name 1 
 
 Luc. Pardon, dear madam ; 'tis a passing shaiB% 
 That I, unworthy body as I am. 
 Should censure' thus on lovely gentlemen. 
 
 Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? 
 
 Luc. Then thus, of many good I think hia 
 
 Jul. Your reason ] [best 
 
 Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason; 
 I think him so, because I think him so. 
 
 Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my 1oy« 
 on himl 
 
 Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. 
 
 Jul. Why, he of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. 
 
 Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye 
 
 Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. 
 
 Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all. 
 
 Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. 
 
 Luc. O, they love least, that let men know theii 
 
 Jul. I would I knew his mind. [love 
 
 * Given me a sixpence. » Pass sentence. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 2h 
 
 Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 
 
 Jul. To Julia,- — Say, from whom 1 
 
 Luc. That the contents will show. 
 
 Jul. Say, say ; who gave it thee ? 
 
 Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, 
 from Proteus: 
 He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, 
 Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray. 
 
 Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodlj^ broker!' 
 Dare you presume to harbor wanton lines ] 
 To whisper and conspire against my youth] 
 Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, 
 And you an officer fit for the place, 
 There, take the paper, see it be return'd; 
 >r else return no more into my sight. 
 
 Luc. To pUii»J for love deserves more fee than 
 hate. 
 
 Jul. Will yoii begone? 
 
 Luc. That you may ruminate. [^Exit. 
 
 Jul. And yet, I would I had o'crlook'd the letter. 
 It were a shame to call her back again, 
 And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
 What fool is she, that knows I am a maid. 
 And would not force the letter to my view] 
 Since maids, in modesty, say Nn, to that 
 Which they would have the profferer construe, Ay. 
 Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love. 
 That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, 
 And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! 
 How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence. 
 When willingly I would have had her here ! 
 How angrily I taught my brow to frown. 
 When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile ! 
 My penance is, to call Lucetta back. 
 And ask remission for my folly past: — 
 What ho ! Lucetta ! 
 
 Re-enter Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. What would your ladyship] 
 
 Jul. Is it near dinner time ] 
 
 Luc. I would it were ; 
 
 That you might kill your stomach'^ on your meat. 
 And not upon your maid. 
 
 Jul. What is't you took up 
 
 So gingerly ] 
 
 Luc. Nothing. 
 
 Jul. Why didst thou stoop then ] 
 
 Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall. 
 
 Jul. And is that paper nothing] 
 
 Luc. Nothing concerning me. 
 
 Jul. Then let it lie for tliose that it concerns. 
 
 Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns. 
 I niess it have a false interpreter. 
 
 Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in 
 rhyme. 
 
 Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune: 
 Give me a note: your ladyship can set. 
 
 /(./. As little by such toys as maybe possible; 
 IJest sing it to the tune of Light o' love. 
 
 Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
 
 Jul. Heavy ] belike it hath some burden, then. 
 
 Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you 
 sing it. 
 
 Jul. And why not you] 
 
 Luc. I cannot reach so high. 
 
 Jul. Let's see your song : — How now, minion ] 
 
 Luc. Keep tunc there still, so you will sing it out: 
 ^nd yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. 
 
 Jul. You do not? 
 
 ' M»t<ihmaker. 
 
 • Passion or obstinacy. 
 
 Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 
 
 Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 
 
 Luc. Nay, now you are too flat. 
 And mar the concord with too harsh a descant ;' 
 There wanteth but a mean'* to fill your song. 
 
 Jul. 7''he mean is drown'd with your unruly base 
 
 Luc. Indeed I did the base' for Proteus. 
 
 Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me 
 Hero is a coil' with protestation ! 
 
 [_Tears the htler 
 Go, get you gone ; and let the papers lie : 
 You would be fingering them, to anger me. 
 
 Luc. She makes it strange; but slie ■»?^uld l« 
 best pleas'd 
 To be so anger'd with another letter. \^Exit. 
 
 Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same! 
 
 hateful hands, to tear such loving words ! 
 Injurious wasps ! to feed on such sweet honey. 
 And kill the bees, that yield it, with your stings! 
 I'll kiss each several paper for amends. 
 
 And here is writ — kind Julia,- — unkind Julia ! 
 As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 
 
 1 throw thy name against the bruising stones, 
 Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
 Look, here is writ — love-wounded Proteus. — 
 Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed, 
 Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd: 
 And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 
 
 But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down ' 
 Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, 
 Till I have found each letter in the letter, 
 Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind bear 
 Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock. 
 And throw it thence into the raging sea! 
 Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, — 
 Foor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 
 To the sweet Julia —that I'll tear away ; 
 And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
 He couples it to his complaining names : 
 Thus will I fold them one upon another; 
 Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 
 
 Re-enter Lucetta. 
 
 Luc, Madam, dinner's ready, and your fathei 
 
 stays. 
 Jul. Well, let us go. 
 Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-talea 
 
 here] 
 Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 
 Ltic. Nay, I was taken up for laj'ing them down : 
 Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 
 Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 
 Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you 
 see ; 
 I see things too, although you judge I wink. 
 Jul. Come, come, will't please you go ] [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — The same. A Room in Antonio's 
 House. 
 
 Enter ANTOJrio and Panthino. 
 
 Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad^ talk was that, 
 Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister ■> 
 
 Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son 
 
 Ant. Why, what of him ] 
 
 Pant. He wonder'd that your lordshif 
 
 Would suffer him to spend his youth at home ; 
 While other men, of slender reputation,' 
 
 ' A term in music. • The tenor in music. 
 
 • A challenge. » Bustle, stir. 
 
 * Serious. » Little consequennn 
 
24 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act. n 
 
 Put forth their sons to seek preferment out: 
 
 Some, to he wars, to try their fortune there j 
 
 Some, to liiscover islands far away; 
 
 Some, to tlie studious Universities. 
 
 For any, or for all these exercises, 
 
 He naid, that Proteus, your son, was meet; 
 
 And did re(iuest me to importune you. 
 
 To let him spend liis time no more at home, 
 
 Which would be great impeachment^ to his age, 
 
 In having known no travel in his youth. 
 
 Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to 
 that 
 Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
 I have consider'd well his loss of time ; 
 And how he cannot be a perfect man, 
 Not being try'd and tutor'd in the world : 
 Experience is by industry achiev'd. 
 And perfected by the swift couise of time: 
 Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him 1 
 
 Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant. 
 How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
 Attends the emperor in his royal court. 
 
 Anf. I know it well. 
 
 Pant. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent 
 him thither: 
 There shall lie practise tilts and tournaments, 
 Hear sweet discourse, conver.se with noblemen , 
 And be in eye of every exercise 
 Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 
 
 Aut. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd: 
 And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it, 
 The execution of it shall make known; 
 Even with the speediest execution 
 I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 
 
 Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Al- 
 phonso. 
 With other gentlemen of good esteem. 
 Are journeying to salute the emperor. 
 And to commend their service to his will. 
 
 Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go; 
 And, in good time, — now will we break with him.'' 
 
 Enter Photeus. 
 Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
 Here is her hand the agent of her heart ; 
 Here is her oath for love, her honor's pawn : 
 O, that our fathers would applaud our loves, 
 To seal our happiness with their consents ! 
 O heavenly Julia ! 
 
 Ant. How now 1 what letter are you readiaj 
 tliere 1 
 
 Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word oi 
 two 
 Of commendation sent from Valentine, 
 Dcliver'd by a friend that came from him. 
 
 Ant. Lend me the letter ; let me see whatnewa 
 
 Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that ha 
 writes 
 How happily he lives, how well belov'd. 
 And daily graced by the emperor; 
 Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 
 
 Ant. And how stand you affected to his wisv^ • 
 
 Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, 
 And not depending on his friendly wish. 
 
 Ant. My will is something sorted with his wislt 
 Muse^ not that I thus suddenly proceed ; 
 For what I will, I will, and there an end. 
 I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time 
 With Valentinus in the emperor's court; 
 What maintenance he from his friends receives. 
 Like exhibition'' thou shalt have from me. 
 To-morrow be in readiness to go; 
 Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 
 
 Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided » 
 Please you, deliberate a day or two. 
 
 Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent allei 
 thee : 
 No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. — 
 Come on, Panthino ; you shall be employ'd 
 To hasten on his expedition. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. and Pant. 
 
 Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of 
 burning ; 
 And drench'd me in the sea, where I amdrown'd: 
 I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, 
 Ijest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
 And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
 Hath he excepted most against my love. 
 (), how this spring of love resembleth 
 
 The uncertain glory of an April day » 
 Which now shows all the beauty of the sun. 
 
 And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 
 
 Re-enter Panthino. 
 
 Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you , 
 He is in haste, therefore, I pray you, go. 
 
 Pro. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto , 
 And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Exeu7it, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed 
 
 Sf itd. Sir, your glove. 
 . VaL Not mine : my gloves are on. 
 
 Speel. Why then this may be yours, for this is 
 but one. 
 
 Val. Ha ! let me see : ay give it me, it's mine : — 
 Bweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! 
 \h Silvia ! Silvia ! 
 
 Speed. Madam Silvia ! madam Silvia ! 
 
 Val. How now, sirrah ? 
 
 Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 
 
 Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her 7 
 
 Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 
 
 ^al. Well, you'll still be too forward. 
 « Reproach. » Break the matter to him. 
 
 Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being foe 
 slow. 
 
 Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you knew madaiu 
 Silvia ? 
 
 Speed. She that your worship loves ! 
 
 Val. Why, how know you that I am in love 't 
 
 Speed. Marry, by these special marks : First, you 
 have learned, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms 
 like a male-content; to relish a love-song, like a 
 robin-red-breast ; to walk alone, like one that hao 
 the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school-boy that had 
 lost his A, B, C ; to weep, like a young wench thai 
 had buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that takes 
 diet ;• to watch, like one that fears robbing ; to sjieak 
 puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas.' You were 
 wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock ; when 
 
 • Wonder. ' Allijtrance. 
 
 • Under a regimen. »AllhalIowma&9, 
 
BCENK 1 
 
 TAVO OENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 2» 
 
 you walke;!, to walk like one of tlie lions ; when 
 you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you 
 looked sadly, it was for want of money ; and now 
 you arc metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when 
 r look on you, I ean hardly think you my master. 
 
 Val. Are all these things perceived in nic ? 
 
 Speed. They are all perceived without you. 
 
 Val. Without me 1 They cannot. 
 
 Speed. Without you 1 nay, that's certain, for 
 without you were so simple, none else would : hut 
 you are so without these follies, that these follies 
 arc within j-ou, and shine through you like the 
 water in a urinal ; that not an eye, that sees you, 
 liul is a phj'sician to comment on your malady. 
 
 Val. IJut, tell me, dost thou know nry lady Silvia? 
 
 Speed. She, tliat you gaze on ,so, as she sits at 
 supper? 
 
 Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she I mean. 
 
 Speed. Why, sir, I know lier not. 
 
 Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, 
 and yet know'st her not 1 
 
 Speed. Is she not hard favored, sir 1 
 
 Val. Not S6 fair, boy, as well favored. 
 
 ■Speed. Sir, I know that well enooigh. 
 
 VaL What dost thou know 1 
 
 Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well 
 favored. 
 
 Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but 
 her favor infinite. 
 
 Speed. That's because the one is painted, and 
 the other out of all count. 
 
 Val. How painted ? and how out of count ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, 
 that no man counts of her beauty. 
 
 Val. How esteemest thou me ? I account of her 
 beauty. 
 
 Speed. You never saw her since she was de- 
 tormed. 
 
 VaL How long hath she been deformed ? 
 
 Speed. Ever since you loved her. 
 
 Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and 
 still I see her beautiful. 
 
 Speed. If you love her, vou cannot see her. 
 
 Vdl. Why? 
 
 Speed- Because love is blind. O, that you had 
 mine eyes ; or your own had the lights they were 
 wont to have, when j'ou chid ;)t sir Proteus for 
 going ungartered. 
 
 Val. What should I see then ? 
 
 Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing 
 defonnity : for he, bemg in love, could not see to 
 garter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see 
 to put on your hose. 
 
 Val. Belike, boy, then you arc in love ; for last 
 morning 3fOU could not see to wipe niy shoes. 
 
 Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed; 
 [ thank you, you swinged' me for my love, 
 which makes me the bolder to chide you for 
 yours. 
 
 Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 
 
 Speed. I would you were set ; so, j'our affec- 
 lion would cease. 
 
 Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some 
 lines to one she loves. 
 
 Speed. And have you? 
 
 I'al. I have. 
 
 Speed. Are they uot lamely writ? 
 
 Val. No, boy, but as well a.s I can do them : — 
 ".^acc, here she comes. 
 
 ' Whipped. 
 
 Enter Silvia. 
 
 Speed. O excellent motion ! ' O exceeding pup 
 pet! now will he interpret to her. 
 
 Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good- 
 morrows. 
 
 Speed. 0, give you good even ! here's a million 
 of manners. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- 
 sand. 
 
 Speed. He should give her interest ; and she gives 
 it him. [Aside. 
 
 Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have WTit your letter, 
 Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
 Which I was much unwilling to proceed in. 
 But for my duty to your ladyship. 
 
 <SV7. I thank you, gentle servant, 'tis veiy c'erkly* 
 done, 
 
 Val. Now, trust me, madam, it came hardly off, 
 For being ignorant to whom it goes, 
 I writ at random, very doubtfully. 
 
 Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much 
 pains 1 
 
 Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write, 
 Please you command, a thousand times as much : 
 And yet, — 
 
 Sil. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel ; 
 And yet I will not name it : — and yet I care not ; 
 And yet take this again ; — and yet I thank you ; 
 Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
 
 Speed. And yet you will ; and yet another yet 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Val. What means your ladyship ] do you not 
 like iti 
 
 Sil. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ. 
 But since unwillingly, take them again ; 
 Nay, take them. 
 
 Val. Madam, they are for you. 
 
 <SV7. Ay, ay ; you writ them, sir, at my request : 
 But I will none of them ; they are for you : 
 I would have had them writ more movingly. 
 
 VaL Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. 
 
 Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over : 
 And if it please you, so ; if not, why, so. 
 
 Val. If it please me, madam ! what then ] 
 
 Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labor , 
 And so good-morrow, servant. [Exit Silvia 
 
 Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 
 As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 
 
 steeple ! 
 My master sues to her ; and she hath taught her 
 
 suitor, 
 He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
 O excellent device ! was there ever hef:rd a better 1 
 That my master, being scribe, to himself should 
 WTite the letter 1 
 
 Val. How now, sir? what 
 with yourself? 
 
 Speed. Nay, I was rhyming ; 'tis you that huva 
 the reason. 
 
 Val. To do what 1 
 
 Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. 
 
 Val. To whom ? 
 
 Speed. To yourself: why, she woos you by a 
 figure ? 
 
 Val. What figure 1 
 
 Speed. By a letter, I .should say. 
 
 Val. Why, she hath not ^vrit to me. 
 
 Speed. What need she, when she hath made yoq 
 write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest' 
 » A puppet-show. » Like a scholar. 
 
 are you leasoning 
 
26 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 F(.k. ]N(i, believe me. 
 
 Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: But did 
 you perceive her earnest ] 
 
 Vul. She gave me none, except an angry word. 
 
 iSpeed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
 
 Vul. That's the letter I writ to her friend. 
 
 Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and 
 there an end. 
 
 Vul. I would it were no worse. 
 
 ^peed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well. 
 Fw often you have ivrit to her ,- and she, in mo- 
 
 desty, 
 Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply,- 
 Or fearing else some messenger, that might her 
 
 mind discover, 
 Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto 
 
 her lover. — 
 All this I speak in print ; for in print I found it. — 
 Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner-time. 
 
 Val. I have dined. 
 
 Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the came- 
 leou Love can feed on the air, I am one that am 
 nourished by my victuals, and would fain have 
 meat : O, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be 
 moved. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Verona. A room in Julia's House. 
 Enter Proteus and Julia. 
 
 P)-o. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
 
 JuL I must, where is no remedy. 
 
 P?-o. When possibly I can, I will return. 
 
 Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner : 
 Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 
 
 [ Giving a ring. 
 
 Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here take 
 you this. 
 
 Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
 
 Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
 \nd when that hour o'erslips me in the day, 
 Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake. 
 The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
 Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! 
 My father stays my coming ; answer not : 
 The tide is now : nay, not the tide of tears ; 
 That tide will stay me longer than I should : 
 
 [Exit Julia. 
 Julia, farewell. — What! gone without a word? 
 Ay, so true love should do ; it cannot speak ; 
 For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. 
 
 Enter Panthino. 
 Pant. Sir Proteus, you are staid for. 
 Pro. Go ; I come, I come ; — 
 Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. A Street. 
 Enter Launce, leading a dog. 
 
 Laun. Nay, it will be this hour ere I have done 
 ^^eeping; all the kind' of the Launces have this 
 very fault : I have received my proportion, like the 
 prodigious son, and am going with sir Proteus to 
 the Imperial's court. I think. Crab my dog be the 
 Bouiest-natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, 
 my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howl- 
 ing, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house 
 in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted 
 cur shed one tear ; he is a stone, a very pebble- 
 stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog : a 
 Jew would have wept to have seen our parting ; 
 4 Kmdrei. 
 
 why, my grandam liaving no eyes, look you, wepl 
 herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you 
 the manner of it : This shoe is my father ; — no 
 this left shoe is my father ; — no, no, this left shoe 
 is my mother ; — nay, that cannot be so neither; — 
 yes, it is so, it is so ; it hath the worser sole : Thia 
 shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and thia 
 my father : A vengeance on't ! there 'tis : now, sir, 
 this staff is my sister ; for, look you, she is as white 
 as a lily, and as small as a wand : this hat is Nan. 
 our maid ; I am the dog ; — no, the dog is himself, 
 and I am the dog ; — O, the dog is me, and I ara 
 myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father: 
 Father, your blessing ; now should not the shoe 
 speak a word for weeping ; now should I kiss my 
 father ; well, he weeps on : now come I to my mo- 
 ther, (O, that she could speak now !) like a wood' 
 woman ; — well, I kiss her ; — why there 'tis ; here's 
 my mother's breath up and down ; now come I to 
 my sister ; mark the moan she makes ; now the 
 dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a 
 word ; but see how I lay the dust with my tears. 
 
 Enter Panthino. 
 
 Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard ; thy master 
 is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. 
 What's the matter 1 why weepest thou, man 1 
 Away, ass ; you will lose the tide, if you tarry 
 any longer. 
 
 Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost : foi 
 it is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty'd. 
 
 Pant. What's the unkindest tide ? 
 
 Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here ; Crab, my Jog 
 
 Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood ; 
 and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, ir 
 losing thy voyage, lose thy master ; and, in losing 
 thy master, lose thy service ; and in losing thy 
 service, — Why dost thou stop my mouth 1 
 
 Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. 
 
 Pant. Where should I lose my tongue ■? 
 
 Laun. In thy tale. 
 
 Pa7it. In thy tail? 
 
 Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the 
 master, and the service ? The tide ! — Why, man, 
 if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my 
 tears ; if the wind were down, I could drive the 
 boat with my sighs. 
 
 Pant. Come, come away, man ; I was sent t} 
 call thee. 
 
 Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. 
 
 Pant. Wilt thou go ? 
 
 Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeuni 
 
 SCENE IV.— Milan. A.i Apartment in the. 
 
 Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed 
 
 Sil. Servant — 
 
 Val. Mistress? 
 
 Speed. Master, sir Thurio fiowns en you. 
 
 Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. 
 
 Speed. Not of you. 
 
 Val. Of my mistress, then. 
 
 Speed. 'Twere good, you knock'd him. 
 
 Sil. Servant, you are sad.* 
 
 Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
 
 Thu. Seem you that you are not? 
 
 Val. Haply, I do. 
 
 Thzi. So do counterfeits. 
 
 Val. So do you. 
 
 Thu. What seem I that I am not 1 
 
 » Crazy, distracted. <^ Seriou* 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 27 
 
 Val. Wise. 
 
 Thu. What instance of the contrary! 
 
 Val. Your folly. 
 
 Thu. And how quote ' you my tbilyl 
 
 Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 
 
 Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 
 
 Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly, 
 
 Thu. Howl 
 
 Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio 1 do you change 
 color 1 
 
 Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind of 
 camelcon. 
 
 Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your 
 hlood, than live in your air. 
 
 Val. You have said, sir. 
 
 Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir ; you always end ere 
 you begin. 
 
 <S'i7. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and 
 quickly shot off. 
 
 Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. 
 
 Sil. Who is that, servant ] 
 
 Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire : 
 sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's 
 looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your 
 company. 
 
 Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, 
 I shall make your wit bankrupt. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir ; you have an exchequer 
 of words, and I think no other treasure to give 
 your followers : for it appears by their bare liveries, 
 that they live by your bare words. 
 
 Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more ; here comes 
 my father. 
 
 Eater Dcke. 
 
 Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
 8ir Valentine, your father's in good health : 
 What say you to a letter from your friends 
 Of much good news ] 
 
 Val. My lord, I will be thankful 
 
 To any happy messenger from thence. 
 
 Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your country- 
 man? 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
 To be of worth, and worthy estimation. 
 And not without desert so well reputed. 
 
 Duke. Hath he not a son 1 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well deserves 
 The honor and regard of such a father. 
 
 Duke. You know him welll 
 
 Val. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy 
 We have conversed and spent our hours together ; 
 And though myself have been an idle truant. 
 Omitting the sweet benefit of time, 
 I'o clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; 
 i'^ct hath sir Proteus, for that's his name, 
 Made us3 and fair advantage of his days ; 
 Hi? years but young, but his experience old ; 
 His head unmcllow'd, but his judgment ripe; 
 And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
 Oome all the praises that I now bestow,) 
 He is complete in feature, and in mind. 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
 
 Duke. Bestuevv me, sir, but if he make this good. 
 He is as worthy for an empress' love, 
 A.S meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
 Well, sir ; this gentleman is come to me. 
 With commendation from great potentates , 
 
 ' Note, observe. 
 
 And here he means to spend his time awhile . 
 I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 
 
 Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he 
 
 Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth. 
 Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, sir Thurio : — 
 For Valentine, I need not 'cite' him to it: 
 I'll send him hither to you presently. [^Exit Duke. 
 
 Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, 
 Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
 Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
 
 Sil. Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd thens 
 Upon some other pawn for fealty. 
 
 Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoneri 
 still. 
 
 Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and being 
 blind. 
 How could he see his way to seek out you ? 
 
 Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 
 
 Thu. They say that love hath not an eye at all. 
 
 Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; 
 Upon a homely olijcct love can wink. 
 
 Enter Photeus. 
 
 <S(7. Have doiie, have done ; here comes tho 
 gentleman. 
 
 Val. Welcome, dear Proteus! — Mistress, I b«' 
 seech you, 
 Confirm his welcome with some special favor. 
 
 Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hithoi , 
 If this be he you oft •have wish'd to hear from. 
 
 Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain hire* 
 To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 
 
 Pro. Not so, sweet lady ; but too mean a servant 
 To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 
 
 Val. Leave off discourse of disability: — 
 Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 
 
 Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 
 
 Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed ; 
 Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 
 
 Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself 
 
 <SV/. That you are welcome 1 
 
 Pro. No ; that you are worthier 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Madam, my lord your father would speak 
 
 with you. 
 Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant 
 Come, sir Thurio, 
 Go with me : — Once more, new servant, welcomo 
 I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs ; 
 When you have done, we look to hear from you. 
 Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt Silvia, Tnunio, and Speed 
 Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence 
 
 you came 1 
 Pro. Your fiiends are well, and have them much 
 
 commended. 
 Val. And how do yours 1 
 Pro. I left them all in health. 
 
 Val. How does your lady 1 and how thrivej 
 
 your love ] 
 Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you , 
 I know you joy not in a love-discourse. 
 
 Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now 
 I have done penance for contemning love ; 
 Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd mc 
 With bitter fasts, with penitential groans. 
 With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; 
 
 « Incite. 
 
88 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act li 
 
 For, in revenge of my contempt of love, 
 
 liOve hatli chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, 
 
 A.nd made them watchers of mine own heart's 
 
 sorrow. 
 0, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord ; 
 And hath so humbled me, as I confess, 
 There is no woe to his con-ection, 
 Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 
 Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; 
 Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep. 
 Upon the very naked name of love. 
 
 Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye : 
 Was this the idol that you worship so 7 
 
 Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint 1 
 
 Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 
 
 Val. Call her divine. 
 
 Pro. I will not flatter her. 
 
 Val. O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises. 
 
 Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills ; 
 And I must minister the like to you. 
 
 Val. Then speak Ihe truth by her ; if not divine, 
 Yet let her be a prin ;ipality. 
 Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 
 
 Pro. Except my mistress. 
 
 Val. Sweet, except not any ; 
 
 Except thou wilt except against my love. 
 
 Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own 1 
 
 Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too : 
 She shall be dignified with this high honor, — 
 To bear my lady's train ; lest the base earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, 
 And, of so great a favor growing proud. 
 Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower. 
 And make rough winter everlastingly. 
 
 Pro. W^hy, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? 
 
 Val. Pardon me, Proteus ; all I can, is nothing 
 To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing ; 
 She is alone. 
 
 Pro. Then let her alone. 
 
 Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is mine 
 own ; 
 And I fw rich in having such a jewel. 
 As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 
 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
 Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, 
 Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
 My foolish rival, that her father likes, 
 Only for his possessions are so huge, 
 Is gone with her along ; and I must after. 
 For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 
 
 Pro. But she loves you ] 
 
 Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd ; 
 
 Nay, more, our marriage hour, 
 With all the cunning marnier of our flight, 
 Dctermin'd of : how I must climb her window ; 
 The ladder made of cords ; and all the means 
 I'! ottcd, and 'greed on, for my happiness. 
 Ciood Proteus, go with me to my chamber, 
 [ !i these aflairs to aid me with thy counsel. 
 
 Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth : 
 [ .nust unto the road, to disembark 
 8ome necessaries that I needs must use ; 
 And then I'll presently attend you. 
 
 Val. W^ill you make haste'' 
 
 Pro. I will.— {Exit Val. 
 
 Even as one heat another heat expels, 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
 Bo the remembrance of my former love 
 Is by a newer object quite *brgotten. 
 Is it mine eye, or \' alentiu is' praise. 
 
 Her true perfection, oi »r.y false transgression, 
 
 That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus? 
 
 She's fair; and so is Julia, that I love: — 
 
 That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 
 
 Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire. 
 
 Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
 
 Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold; 
 
 And that I love him not, as I was wont: 
 
 O ! but I love his lady too, too much ; 
 
 And that's the reason I love him so little. 
 
 How shall I dote on her with more advice," 
 
 That thus without advice begin to love her ! 
 
 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, 
 
 And that hath dazzled my reason's light; 
 
 But when I look on her perfections. 
 
 There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
 
 If I can check my emng love, I will ; 
 
 If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exit 
 
 SCENE v.— The same. A Street. 
 Enter Speed and Latjnce. 
 
 Speed, Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to 
 Milan. 
 
 Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth ; for 
 I am not welcome. I reckon this always — that a 
 man is never undone, till he be hanged; nor never 
 welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, 
 and the hostess say welcome. 
 
 Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale- 
 house with you presently; where, for one shot of 
 five-pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. 
 But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam 
 Julia ■? 
 
 Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
 parted very fairly in jest. 
 
 Speed. But shall she marry him? 
 
 Lau7i. No. 
 
 Speed. How then 1 shall he many her ? 
 
 Lawn. No, neither. 
 
 Speed. What, are they broken? 
 
 Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 
 
 Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with 
 them ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, thus ; when it stands well with 
 him, it stands well with her. 
 
 Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand thee 
 not. 
 
 Laun. W^hat a block art thou, that thou canst 
 not ! My stafl" understands me. 
 
 Speed. What thou say'st ? 
 
 Laun. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, I'll 
 but lean, and my staff" understands me. 
 
 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 
 
 Luun.Why stand under and understand is all one. 
 
 Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match ? 
 
 Laun. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if 
 he say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say 
 nothing, it will. 
 
 Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. 
 
 Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from 
 me, but by a parable. 
 
 Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
 how say'st thou, that my master has become a 
 notable lover ? 
 
 Laun. I never knew him otherwise. 
 
 Speed. Than how? 
 
 Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportcst him 
 to be. 
 
 i^eerf.Why,thou whoreson ass,thou mistakcst me 
 • On further knowledge. 
 
^)OENE VII. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 29 
 
 Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I meant thy 
 master. 
 
 Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. 
 
 Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn 
 himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale- 
 house, so ; if not, thou art a Hebrew, a Jew, and not 
 worth the name of a Christian. 
 
 Sjyeed. Why? 
 
 Laiin. Because thou hast not so much charity in 
 thee, as to go to the alehouse with a Christian : Wilt 
 thou go ? 
 
 Speed. At thy service. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Thesame. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Proteus. 
 Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To love fair Silvia, shall I bo forsworn ; 
 To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; 
 And even that power, which gave me first my oath, 
 Provokes me to this threefold perjury. 
 Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear : 
 
 sweet-suggesting' love, if thou hast sinn'd, 
 Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
 At first I did adore a twinkling star, 
 
 But new I worship a celestial sun. 
 
 Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken ; 
 
 And he wants wit, that wants resolved will 
 
 To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. — 
 
 Fie fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
 
 Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
 
 With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 
 
 1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 
 
 But there I leave to love, where I should love. 
 Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : 
 If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; 
 If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, 
 For Valentino, myself; for Julia, Silvia. 
 I to myself am dearer than a friend ; 
 For love is still more precious in itself: 
 And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair ! 
 Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
 I will forget that Julia is alive, 
 Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead; 
 And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, 
 Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 
 I cannot now prove constant to myself, 
 Without some treachery used to Valentine :— • 
 This night he raeaneth with a corded ladder 
 To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window, 
 Myself in counsel, his competitor i^ 
 Now presently I'll give her father notice 
 Of their disguising, and pretended" flight: 
 Who, all cnrag'd, will banish Valentine; 
 For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter : 
 But Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross, 
 By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 
 Lo7e, lend me wings to make my purpose swift. 
 As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit, 
 SCENE VII. — Verona. A room in Julia's House. 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta. 
 
 /»,!, Counsel, Lucetta: gentle girl, assist me! 
 And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, — 
 Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
 Are visibly character'd and engraved, — 
 To lesson mc ; and tell me some good mean, 
 How, with my honor, I may undertake 
 A journey to my loving Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 
 
 Jid. A true devoted pilgrim is not weary 
 To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps : 
 uluch less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly : 
 And when the flight is made to one so dear. 
 Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 
 
 Jul. 0, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's 
 Pity the dearth that I have pined in, [food ? 
 
 -I'empting. » Confederate. 'Intended. 
 
 By longing for that food so long a time. 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, 
 As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 
 
 Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire; 
 But qualify the fire's extreme rage. 
 Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 
 
 Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns; 
 The current, that with gentle murmur glides. 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; 
 But, when his fair course is not hindered. 
 He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays. 
 With willing sport to the wild ocean. 
 Then let mo go, and hinder not my course : 
 I'll be as patient as a gentle stream. 
 And make a pastime of each weary step. 
 Till the last step have brought me to my love ; 
 And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,'^ 
 A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 
 
 Luc. But in what habit will you go along ? 
 
 Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent 
 The loose encounters of lascivious men : 
 Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
 As may beseem some well-reputed page. 
 
 Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. 
 
 Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings, 
 With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : 
 To be fantastic may become a youth 
 Of greater time than I shall show to be. [breeches ? 
 
 Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make youi 
 
 Jul. That fits as well, as — ' Tell me, good my lord. 
 What compass will you wear your farthingale ?' 
 Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-pieco, 
 madam. 
 
 Jul. Out, out, Lucetta ! that will be ill-favor'd. 
 
 Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin. 
 Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. 
 
 Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have 
 What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly : 
 But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me. 
 For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? 
 I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. 
 
 Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not 
 
 Jul. Nay, that I will not. 
 
 Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
 If Proteus like your journey, when you come, 
 No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone : 
 I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. 
 
 Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: 
 A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
 And instances as infinite of love, 
 AV arrant me welcome to my Proteus. 
 
 Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 
 
 Jul. Base men that use them to so base efi"ect ! 
 But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
 Kis words are bonds, his oaths .are oracles ; 
 His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
 His tears pure messengers sent from his heart; 
 His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. 
 
 Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come 
 to him ! 
 
 Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that 
 To bear a hard opinion of his truth : [wrong, 
 
 Only deserve my love, by loving him ; 
 And presently go with me to my chamber. 
 To take a note of what I stand in need of. 
 To furnish me upon my longing' journey. 
 All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 
 My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
 Only in lieu thereof, despatch me hence : 
 Come, answer not, but to it presently ; 
 I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt 
 
 * Trouble. 
 
 » Iionged for. 
 
so 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Acr III 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 rSCENE I. — Milan. An Ante-room in the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Dukk, Thurio, and Protetts. 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile ; 
 We have some secrets to confer about. — 
 
 [Exit Thurio. 
 Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me 1 
 Pro. My gracious lord, that wluch I would dis- 
 cover. 
 The law of friendship bids me to conceal: 
 But, when I call to mind your gi-acious favors 
 Done to me, undeserving as I am, 
 My duty pricks me on to utter that 
 Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
 Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend, 
 This night intends to steal away your daughter; 
 Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
 I know, you have determin'd to bestow her 
 On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; 
 And should she thus be stolen away from you. 
 It would be much vexation to your age. 
 Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather choose 
 To cross my friend in his intended drit* 
 Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
 A pack of sorrows, whicli would press you down, 
 Being unprevcnted, to your timeless grave. 
 
 Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care ; 
 Which to requite, command me while I live. 
 This love of theirs myself have often seen, 
 Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep; 
 And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 
 Sir Valentine her company, and my court: 
 But, fearing least my jealous aim* might err. 
 And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, 
 (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,) 
 I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
 That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
 And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of tliis, 
 Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,' 
 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, 
 The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
 And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 
 
 Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
 How he her chamber window will ascend, 
 jVnd with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 
 For which the youthful lover now is gone, 
 And this way comes he with it presently; 
 Where, if it please you, you may intercept hi n. 
 But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, 
 That my discovery be not aim'd* at; 
 For love of you, not hate unto my friend. 
 Hath made me publisher of this pretence.' 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honor, he shall never know 
 That I had any light from thee of this. 
 
 Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir A'alentine is coming. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fasti 
 Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
 
 That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
 
 And I am going to deliver them. 
 
 « Quess. 
 • Quessed. 
 
 ' Tempted. 
 • Design. 
 
 Duke. Be they of much import T 
 Vul. The tenor of them dotii but signify 
 My health, and happy being at your court. 
 
 Duke. Nay, then, no matter; stay with me awhile, 
 I am to break with thee of some affairs, 
 That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret 
 'Tis not unknown to tliee, that I have sought 
 To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. 
 Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match 
 Were rich and honorable ; besides, the gentleman 
 Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
 Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter: 
 Cannot your grace win her to fancy him ? 
 
 Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, fro- 
 ward, 
 Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty ; 
 Neither regarding that she is my child, 
 Nor fearing me as if I wore her father : 
 And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, 
 Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; 
 And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
 Should have been cherish'd by her child-hke duty, 
 I now am full resolved to take a wife. 
 And turn her out to who will take her in : 
 Then let her beauty be her wedding dower; 
 For me and my possessions she esteems not. 
 Val. What would your gi-ace have me to do in thisi 
 Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here 
 Whom I aft(3ct; but she is nice and coy. 
 And nought esteems my aged eloquence: 
 Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, 
 (For long agone I have forgot to court: 
 Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd;) 
 How, and which way, I may bestow myself. 
 To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 
 
 Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; 
 Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind. 
 More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. 
 Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. 
 Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best 
 contents her: 
 Send her another; never give her o'er; 
 For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
 If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 
 But rather to beget more love in you : 
 If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
 For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
 Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; 
 For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away: 
 Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces; 
 Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces. 
 That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man 
 If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
 
 Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her frienaa 
 Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; 
 And kept severely from resort of men, 
 That no man hath access by day to her. 
 
 Val. Why then I would resort to her by night 
 Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keyi 
 kept safe. 
 That no man hath recourse to her by night. 
 Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window' 
 Duke. Her chamber is alofl, far from the ground, 
 And built so shelving, that one cannot climt it 
 Without apparent hazard of his life. 
 
feCENE I. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 3i 
 
 Val. Why the,i, a ladder, quaintly made of cords, 
 I'o cast up with a pair of anchoring^ hooks, 
 Would serve to ical(5 another Hero's tower. 
 So bold Lcander would adventure it. 
 
 Duke. Now, a;3 thou art a gentleman of blood. 
 Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 
 
 Val. When would you use it 1 pray, sir, tell me 
 that. 
 
 Duke. This very night ; for love is like a child. 
 That longs, for everything that he can come by. 
 
 Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. 
 
 Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone ; 
 How shall I best convey the ladder thither 7 
 
 Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
 Under a cloak, that is of any length. 
 
 Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn] 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. Then let me see thy cloak ; 
 
 I'll get me one of such another length. 
 
 Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 
 
 Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak ? 
 I pray thee, let me feel tliy cloak upon me. — 
 What letter is this same 1 What's here] — To Silvia. 
 And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! 
 I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [^Reads. 
 
 My thoughts do harbor with my Silvia nightly ,- 
 
 Andslaves they are to me, that send them flying: 
 0, could their master come and go as lightly, 
 
 Himself would lodge where senseless they are 
 lying. 
 My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,- 
 
 While I, their tfing, that thither them importune. 
 Do curse the grace that with such grace hath 
 blessed them. 
 
 Because ntyself do want my servunfs fortune.- 
 I curse myself, for they are sent by me, 
 That thcji should harbor where their lord should be. 
 What's iiere ] 
 Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee : 
 
 'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. — 
 Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son,) 
 Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, 
 And witli thy daring folly burn the world ] 
 Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on theo ] 
 Go, base intruder ! over-weening slave ! 
 Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; 
 And think, my patience, more than thy desert. 
 Is privilege for thy departure hence : 
 Thank me for this, more than for all the favors. 
 Which, all too much, I have bestovv'd on thee. 
 But if thou linger in my territories. 
 Longer than swiftest expedition 
 Will give thee time to leave our royal court. 
 By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 
 I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. 
 Begone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, 
 But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. 
 
 [Exit DuKK. 
 Val. And why not death rather than live in tor- 
 ment ! 
 To die, is to be banish'd from myself; 
 And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her, 
 Is self from self; a deadly banishment! 
 What light is light, if Silvia be not seen '' 
 What joy is joy, if Silvia lie not by] 
 Unless it be to think that she is by, 
 .\nd feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
 Except I be by Silvia in the night. 
 There is no music in the nightingale ; 
 
 Unless I look on Silvia in the day. 
 There is no day for me to look upon : 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be, 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. 
 I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom s 
 Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; 
 But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 
 
 Enter Piiotkus and Launce 
 
 Fro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him oin,. 
 
 Laun. So-ho ! so-ho ! 
 
 Fro. What seest thou ] 
 
 Laun. Him we go to find : there's not a haH 
 on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. 
 
 Fro. Valentine ] 
 
 Val. No. 
 
 Fro. Who then ] his spirit ] 
 
 Val. Neither. 
 
 P)-o. What then ] 
 
 Val. Nothing. 
 
 Laun. Can nothing speak] master, shall I s.riae' 
 
 Fro. Whom wouldst thou strike] 
 
 Laun. Nothing. 
 
 Fro. Villain, forbear. 
 
 Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you,— « 
 
 Fro. Sirrah, I say, forbear : Friend Valentine, a 
 word. 
 
 Val. My ears arc stopp'd, and cannot hear good 
 news. 
 So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 
 
 Fro. Then In dumb silence will I bury mine 
 For they are harsh, untunable, and bad. 
 
 Val. Is Silvia dead ! 
 
 Fro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia'- • 
 Hath she forsworn me ] 
 
 Fro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me! — ■ 
 What is your news ] 
 
 Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are 
 vanish'd. 
 
 Fro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news ; 
 From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend 
 
 Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already. 
 And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 
 Doth Silvia know that I am baviished ] 
 
 Fro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offered to the doom, 
 (Which, unrevcrs'd, stands in effectual force,) 
 A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
 Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd ; 
 With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
 Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so becaias 
 
 them. 
 As if but now they waxed pale fcf woe : 
 But neither bended knees, pure handj held up, 
 Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-sheddijig lean. 
 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire; 
 But Valentine, if he be ta'cn, must die. 
 Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so. 
 When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
 That to close prison he commanded her, 
 With many bitter threats of 'biding there. 
 
 Val. No more -, uinl^ss the next word that thou 
 speak'st 
 Have some malignant power upon my life : 
 If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear. 
 As ending anthem of my endless dolor. 
 
 Pro. Cease to lament f }r that thou canst not help 
 And study help for that v-vliich thou lament'st. 
 
S2 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act III. Scene x. 
 
 Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
 Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; 
 Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
 Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, 
 A.nd manage it against despairing thoughts. 
 Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ; 
 Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
 The time now serves not to expostulate : 
 Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate ; 
 And, ere I part with thee, confer at large, 
 Of all that may concern thy love affairs: 
 As thou lo\'st Silvia, thou not for thyself, 
 Regard thy danger, and along with me. 
 
 Val. I pra) thee, Launce, an if thou scest my boy. 
 Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate. 
 
 Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. 
 
 Val. O m\, dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine ! 
 \_Exeunt Valentine and Proteus. 
 
 Laun. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I have 
 the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave : 
 but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives 
 not now, that kmws me to be in love : yet I am in 
 love ; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from 
 me ; nor who 'tis I Tove, and yet 'tis a woman ; but 
 what woman I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a 
 milk-maid : yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had 
 gossips : yet 'tis a miid, for she is her master's 
 maid, and serves for w iges. She hath more quali- 
 ties than a water spaniel, — which is much in a 
 bare Christian. Here is the cat-log [pulling out 
 a papei-] of her conditions. Imprimis, She can 
 fetch and carry. Why, a horse can do no more ; 
 nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry ; there- 
 fore, is she better than a jade. Item, She can ynilk,- 
 look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. 
 
 Enter Speed. 
 
 Speed. How now, signior Launce ? what news 
 with your mastership 1 
 
 Laun. W^ith my master's ship ? why, it is at sea. 
 
 Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the 
 word : What news then in your paper ? 
 
 Laun. The blackest news, that ever thou 
 
 Speed. Why, man, how black ? [heard'st. 
 
 Laun. Why, as black as ink. 
 
 Speed. Let me read them. 
 
 Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head ; thou canst not 
 
 Speed. Thou liest, I can. [read. 
 
 Laun. I will try thee ; tell me this : who begot 
 theel 
 
 Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 
 
 Laun. illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of 
 /hy grandmother : this proves, that thou canst 
 not read. 
 
 Speed. Come, fool, come ; try me in thy paper. 
 
 Laun. There; and Saint Nicholas' be thy speed! 
 
 Speed. Imprimis, <S7ie can milk. 
 
 Laun. Ay, that she can. 
 
 Speed Item, She brews good ale. 
 
 Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, — bless- 
 ing of your heart, y( u brew good ale. 
 
 Speed. Item, She i 'an sew. 
 
 Laun. That's as much as to say. Can she so ? 
 
 Speed. Item, She can knit. 
 
 Laun. What need a man care for a stock with 
 I wench, when she can knit him a stock ? 
 
 Speed. Item, She can wash and scour. 
 
 ' St. Nicholas presided over yoimg scholars. 
 Froward. 
 
 Laun. A special virtue ; for then she need n Jl 
 be washed and scoured. 
 
 Speed. Item, She can spin. 
 
 Laun. Then may I set the world on whecU 
 when she can spin for her living. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath nianu nameless virtues 
 
 Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard vir 
 tues; that, indeed, know not their fathers, ana 
 therefore have no names. 
 
 Speed. Here follow her vices. 
 
 Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is not to he kissed fasting, m 
 respect of her breath. 
 
 Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a 
 breakfast: read on. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth. 
 
 Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath, 
 
 Speed. Item,' She doth talk in her sleep. 
 
 Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleeps not 
 in her talk. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is slow in words. 
 
 Laun. O villain, that set this down among her 
 vices ! To be slow in words, is a woman's only 
 virtue : I pray thee, out with 't ; and place it for 
 her chief virtue. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is proud. 
 
 Laun. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy, 
 and cannot be ta'en from her. 
 
 Speed. Item, .S7(e hath no teeth. [crusts. 
 
 Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love 
 
 Speed. Item, She is curst.^ [bite. 
 
 Laun. WeW ; the best is, she hath no teeth to 
 
 Speed. Item, She ivill often praise her liquor. 
 
 Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she 
 will not, I will ; for good things should be praised. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is too liberal!^ 
 
 Laun. Of her tongue she cannot; for that's writ 
 down she is slow of; of her purse she shall not ; 
 for that I'll keep shut : now, of another thing she 
 may, and that I cannot help. Well, proceed. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, ana 
 more faults than hairs, and more wealth than 
 fatilts. 
 
 Laun, Stop there ; I'll have her : she was mine, 
 and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article : 
 rehearse that once more. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, — 
 
 Lau7i. More hair than wit, — it may be ; I'll 
 prove it: the cover of the salt hides the salt, and 
 therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that 
 covers the wit, is more than the wit ; for the greater 
 hides the less. What's next ? 
 
 Speed. And has more faults than hairs, — 
 
 Laun. That's monstrous: O, that that were out! 
 
 Speed. And more wealth than faults. 
 
 Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gra- 
 cious: Well, I'll have her; and if it be a match, 
 as nothing is impossible, — 
 
 Speed. What then 1 
 
 Laun. Why, then I will tell thee, — that tliy 
 master stays for thee at the north gate. 
 
 Speed. For me 1 
 
 Laun. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath 
 staid for a better man than thee. 
 
 Speed. And must I go to him 1 
 
 Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hasi 
 staid so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 
 
 Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner '! 'pox o/ 
 your love-letters ! [Exit 
 
 « Licentious in language. 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 nn 
 
 Latin. Now will he be swinged for reading my 
 (!Uer : An unmannerly slave, that will thrust him- 
 iiclf into secrets ! — I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's 
 rurrcction [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. A room in the Bxike's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke and Thcrio ; Proteus behind. 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will 
 love you. 
 Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 
 
 Thu. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
 Trenched' in ice ; which with an hour's heat 
 Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. 
 A little time will melt her frozen tlioughts, 
 And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. — 
 How now, sir Proteus? Is your .countryman, 
 According to our proclamation, gone ? 
 
 Fro. Gone, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 
 
 I'ro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 
 
 Duhe. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. 
 Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee 
 (For thou hast shown some sign of good desert) 
 Makes me the better to confer with thee. 
 
 Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace. 
 Let me not live to look upon your grace. 
 
 Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect 
 The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. 
 
 Pro. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
 How she opposes her against my will. 
 
 Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 
 
 Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
 What might we do to make the girl forget 
 The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio ? 
 
 Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine 
 With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent : 
 'I'hrec things that women highly hold in hate. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. 
 
 Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
 Therefore, it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
 By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend. 
 
 Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. 
 
 Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 
 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman ; 
 Especially, against his very friend. 
 
 Duke. Where your good word cannot advan- 
 tage him, 
 Vour slander never can endamage him ; 
 Therefore the office is indifferent, 
 Ueing entreated to it by your friend. 
 
 7Vo. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it. 
 By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, 
 
 She shall not long continue love to him. 
 But, say this weed her love from V.vlentine, 
 It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. 
 
 Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love front 
 Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, [hiir 
 You must provide to bottom it on me : 
 Which must be done, by praising me as much 
 As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. 
 
 Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in (hil 
 kind ; 
 Because we know, on Valentine's leftirt. 
 You are already love's firm votary. 
 And cannot soon revolt and change your mir»l. 
 Upon this warrant shall you have access, 
 Where you with Silvia may confer at large; 
 For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy. 
 And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ; 
 Where you may temper her, by your persuasion, 
 To hale young Valentine, and love my friend. 
 
 Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : — 
 But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
 You must lay lime,' to tangle her desires, 
 By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
 Should be full fraught with serviceable vow.5. 
 
 Duke. Ay, much the force of heaven-bred poesy. 
 
 Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 
 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : 
 Write till your ink be dry ; and with your tears 
 Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line, 
 That may discover such integrity : — 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews ; 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
 Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
 After your dire lamenting elegies. 
 Visit by night your lady's chamber-window 
 With some sweet concert: to their instruments 
 Tune a deploring dump ;* the night's dead silence 
 Will well become such sweet complaining griev- 
 ance. 
 This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 
 
 Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in 
 love. 
 
 Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice 
 Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver. 
 Let us into the city presently 
 To sort'' some gentlemen well skill'd in music : 
 I have a sonnet, that will serve the turn, 
 To give the onset to thy good advice. 
 
 Duke. About it, gentlemen. 
 
 Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper 
 And afterward determine our proceedings. 
 
 Duke. Even now about it : I will pardon you. 
 
 \_Ex;unt 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE l-^A Forest near Mantua. 
 
 Enter certain Out-laws. 
 
 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a passenger. 
 
 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down 
 
 with 'cm. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed. 
 
 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have 
 
 about you ; 
 [f not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. 
 
 Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
 T'Jiat all th'3 travellers do fear so much. 
 • Cut 
 
 Val. My friends — 
 
 1 Out. That's not so, sir ; we are your enemies 
 
 2 Out. Peace ; we'll hear him. 
 
 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 
 For he is a proper' man. 
 
 Val. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose 
 A man I am, crossed with adversity : 
 My riches are these poor habiliments, 
 Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
 You take the sum and substance that I have. 
 
 < Birdlime. 
 • Choose out 
 
 • Mournful elefjy. 
 ' M'cll-lookiuK 
 
34 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 2 Out. \^ hither travel you T 
 Val. To Verona. 
 
 1 Out. Whence came you ? 
 Veil. From Milan. 
 
 3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there ] 
 
 Vat Some sixteen months ; and longer might 
 have staid, 
 If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 
 
 1 Out. Wliat, were you banish'd thence 1 
 Val. I was. 
 
 2 Out. For what offence 7 
 
 Val. For that which now torments me to re- 
 liearse : 
 F kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; 
 I5ut yet I slew him manfully in fight, 
 Without false vantage, or base treachery. 
 
 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so: 
 But were you banish'd for so small a fault? 
 
 Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 
 
 1 Out. Have you the tongues ?' 
 
 Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy; 
 Or else I often had been miserable. 
 
 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat 
 
 friar. 
 This fallow were a king for our wild faction. 
 
 3 Out. We'll have him : sirs, a word. 
 
 Speed. Master, be one of them ; 
 It is an honorable kind of thievery. 
 
 Val. Peace, villain ! 
 
 2 Out. Tell us this : Have you any thing to take 
 
 to? 
 Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 
 
 3 Out. Know then, that some ofus are gentlemen. 
 Such as the fury of ungoverned youth 
 
 Thrust from the company of awful' men. 
 Myself was from Verona banish'd, 
 For practising to steal away a lady. 
 An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 
 
 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, 
 Whom, in my mood,' I stabb'd unto the heart. 
 
 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 
 But to the purpose, — (for we cite our faults. 
 That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives,) 
 And, partly, seeing you are beautified 
 
 With goodly shape ; and by your own report 
 A linguist ; and a man of such perfection, 
 As we do in our quality much want ; — 
 
 2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man. 
 Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : 
 
 Are you content to be our general ? 
 To make a virtue of necessity, 
 \nd live, as we do, in this wilderness? 
 
 3 Out. What say'st thou 1 wilt thou be of our 
 
 consort 1 
 Say, ay, and be the captain of us all : 
 We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, 
 f.ove thee as our commander, and our king. 
 
 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 
 
 2 Out. Thou shall not live to brag what we 
 
 have offer'd. 
 Val. I take your offer, and will live witli you ; 
 Provided that you dc no outrages 
 On silly women, or poor passengers. 
 
 3 Old. No, we detest such vile base practices. 
 Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews. 
 And show thee all the treasures we have got ; 
 Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 
 
 \^Exeunt. 
 
 • Languages. 
 
 ' Anger, resentment. 
 
 • Lawful. 
 
 SCENE II.— Milan. Court of the Palace. 
 
 Enter Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine 
 And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
 Under the color of commending him, 
 I iiavc access my own love to prefer: 
 But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy. 
 To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
 When I protest true loyalty to her. 
 She twits me with my falsehood to my friend ; 
 When to her beauty I commend my vows. 
 She bids me think, how I have been forswcm 
 In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd: 
 And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips," 
 The least whereof would quoll a lover's hope, 
 Yet, spaniel-like, Ihe more she spurns my love, 
 Tlie more it grows" and fawneth on her still. 
 But here comes Thurio: now must we to her win.lo W 
 And give some evening music to her ear. 
 
 Enter Thurio and Musicians. 
 
 Thu. How now, sir Proteus, arc you crep 
 before u£ ? 
 
 Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for you know, that love 
 Will creep in service where it cannot go. 
 
 Ttiu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 
 
 Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
 
 Thu. Whomi Silvia? 
 
 Pro. Ay, Silvia, — for your sake. 
 
 Tliu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, 
 Let's tunc, and to it lustily a while. 
 Enter Host, at a distance,- and Julia {71 boy^s 
 clothes. 
 
 Host. Now, my young guest ! methinks you're 
 allycholly; I pray you, why is iti 
 
 Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 
 
 Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring 
 you where you shall hear music, and see the 
 gentleman that you ask'd for. 
 
 Jul. But shall I hear him speak 1 
 
 Host. Ay, that you shall. 
 
 Jul. That will be music. [^Music plays. 
 
 Host. Hark! hark! 
 
 Jul. Is he among these] 
 
 Host. Ay, but peace, let's hear 'em. 
 SONG. 
 
 Wlio is S!hiu? What is she? 
 
 That all our swains commend her? 
 Holy, fair, and wise is she,- 
 
 The heavens such grace did lend her. 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind, as she is fair? 
 
 For beauty lives ivith kindness-' 
 Love doth to her eyes repair. 
 
 To help him of his blindness,- 
 And, being help d, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sifig. 
 That Silvia is excelling; 
 She excek each mortal thing. 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling; 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 Host. How now? are you sadder than you weni 
 before 1 
 How do you, man 1 the music likes you not. 
 Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me noU 
 Host. Why, my pretty youth 1 
 Jul. He plays false, father. 
 
 9 Paesionate reproaches. 
 
Scene ill. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 80 
 
 Host. How 1 out of tune on the strings ] 
 
 Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves my 
 very heart-strings. 
 
 Host. You have a quick ear. 
 
 Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me 
 nave a slow heart. 
 
 Host. I perceive you delight not in music. 
 
 Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 
 
 Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music ! 
 
 Jul. Ay ; that change is the spite. 
 
 Host. You would have them always play but 
 one thing 1 
 
 Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. 
 But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, 
 often resort unto this gentlewoman ? 
 
 Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told mc, 
 he loved her out of all nick.'' 
 
 Jul. Where is Launce 1 
 
 Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to-morrow, 
 by his master's command, he must carry for a 
 present to his lady. 
 
 Jul. Peace! stand aside ! the company parts. 
 
 Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! I will so plead. 
 That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. 
 
 Thu. Where meet we 1 
 
 Pi-o. At saint Gregory's well. 
 
 Thu. Farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Thurio and Musicians. 
 
 Silvia appears above, at her window. 
 
 Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 
 
 <SV/. I thank you for your music, gentlemen : 
 Who is that, that spake ? [truth. 
 
 Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's 
 You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. 
 
 >SV/. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 
 
 Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 
 
 iSV/. What is j'our will ? 
 
 Pro. That I may compass yours. 
 
 »SV/. You have j'our wish ; my will is even this, — 
 That presently you hie you home to bed. 
 Tho\i subtle, pcrjur'd, false, disloyal man ! 
 Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, 
 To be seduced by thy flattery. 
 That hast dcceiv'd so many with thy vows ? 
 Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
 For me, — by this pale queen of night I swear, 
 I am so far from granting thy request, 
 f hat I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ; 
 Ai.vl by and by intend to chide myself, 
 Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 
 
 Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; 
 But she is dead. 
 
 Jul 'Twcre folsc, if I should speak it ; 
 
 F .)r I ^m srui* she is not buried. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. S:i3' that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend, 
 Burvives; to whom, thyself art witness, 
 I am betrothed : And art thou not asham'd 
 To wrong him with thy importiinacy 1 
 
 Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. 
 
 «S'/7. And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave 
 Assure thyself my love is buried. 
 
 I'ro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 
 
 Sil. Go to th; lady's grave, and call her's thence ; 
 Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. 
 
 'i/7. He heard not that. [Aside. 
 
 Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdfirate, 
 Vouchsafe me yet your j icture for my love, 
 The pictuc that is hanging in your chamber; 
 
 • Beyond <d\ reckining. 
 
 To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep : 
 For, since the substance of your perfect self 
 Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ; 
 And to your shadow I will make true love. 
 
 Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, di". 
 ceive it. 
 And make it but a shadow, as I am. [Asid*! 
 
 Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ; 
 But, since your falsehood shall become you well 
 To worship shadows, and adore false shapes. 
 Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it : 
 And so good rest. 
 
 Pro. As wretches have o'er nigh( 
 
 That wait for execution in the morn. 
 
 [Exeunt Proteus, a}id Silvia /rom CLCOitt 
 
 Jul. Host, will you go ? 
 
 Host. By my halidom,' I was fast asleep. 
 
 Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus'? 
 
 Host. Marry, at my house : Trust me, I think 
 tis almost day. 
 
 Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
 That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exe'j,nt. 
 
 SCENE m.— The same. 
 
 Enter Eglamour. 
 
 Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
 Entreated me to call and know her mind ; 
 There's some g^eat matter she'd employ me in.— 
 Madam, madam ! 
 
 Silvia appears above, at her window 
 
 Sil. Who calls ? 
 
 Egl. Your servant, and your friend ; 
 
 One that attends your ladyship's command, 
 
 <S'//. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-mor- 
 
 Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself, [row, 
 According to your ladyship's impose,* 
 I am thus early come, to know what service 
 It is your pleasure to command me in. 
 
 Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
 (Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not,) 
 Valiant, wise, remorseful,* well accomplish'd. 
 Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will 
 I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; 
 Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
 Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. 
 Thyself hast loved ; and I have heard thee say, 
 No grief did ever come so near thy heart, 
 As when thy lady and thy true love died. 
 Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
 Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
 To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode; 
 And, for the ways are dangerous to ]>a6s, 
 I do desire thy worthy company. 
 Upon whose faith and honor I repose. 
 Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour 
 But think upon my grief, a lady's grie'; 
 And on the justice of my flying hence, 
 To keep mc from a most unholy match. 
 Which heaven and fortune still reward witk 
 I do desire thee, even from a heart [plagues 
 
 As full of sorrows as the sea of sands. 
 To bear me company, and go with me : 
 If not, to hide what I have said to thee, 
 That I may venture to depart alone. 
 
 Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances : 
 Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd 
 I give consent to go along with you ; 
 Recking* as little what betideth me, 
 
 • Holy cliimc, Wesscd lady. 
 > Compassionate. 
 
 « Injunction, cominan4 
 ' Caring. 
 
36 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act IV. Scene IV 
 
 As imich I wish all good befortune you. 
 When will you go ? 
 
 >SV/. This evening coming. 
 
 Egl. Where shall I meet you ? 
 
 Sil. At friar Patrick's cell, 
 
 vVhere I intc'iiJ holy confession. 
 
 Egl. I will not fail your ladyship : 
 Good-morrow, gentle lady. 
 
 Sil. (lood-morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE lY.— The same. 
 Enter Launce, with his dog. 
 
 \\ hen a man's servant shall play the cur vdth him, 
 .■lok you, it goes hard : one that I brought up of a 
 |-u].))y ; one that I saved from drowning when three 
 or tour of his blind brothers and sisters went to it ! 
 1 have taught him — even as one would say pre- 
 niscly, Thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to 
 deliver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from 
 my master ; and I came no sooner into the dining- 
 chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and 
 steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a 
 cur cannot keep' himself in all companies ! I would 
 have, as one should say, one that takes upon him 
 to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all 
 things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take 
 a fiiult upon me that he did, I think verily he had 
 been hanged for't ; sure as I live, he had suffered 
 for't : you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into 
 the company of three or four gentlemen-like dogs, 
 under the duke's table : he had not been there 
 (bless the mark ! ) a pissing while ; but all the cham- 
 ber smelt him. Out with the dog, says one ; What 
 cur is that P says another ; Whip him out, says the 
 third ; Hang him up, says the duke. I, having been 
 acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab ; 
 and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs : 
 Friend, quoth I, you mean to whip the dog ? Ay, 
 marry, do I, quoth he. You do him the more 
 wrong, quoth I ; 'twas I did the thing you wot 
 of. He makes me no more ado, but whips me out 
 of the chamber. How many masters would do 
 this for their servant ? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have 
 sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, other- 
 wise he had been executed ; I have stood on the 
 pillorj' for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had 
 suiTered for't : thou think'st not of this now ! — 
 Nay, I remember the trick you served me, when I 
 took my leave of madam Silvia ; did not I bid thee 
 still mark me, and do as I do ? "When didst thou 
 see me heave up my leg, and make water against 
 a gentlewoman's farthingale ? didst thou ever see 
 n e do such a trick] 
 
 Enter Proteus and Julia. 
 
 P.i :'. Sebastian is thy name 1 I like thee well, 
 \\A will employ thee in some service presently. 
 
 Jul. In what you please ; I will do what I can. 
 
 Pro. I hope thou wilt. — How now, you whore- 
 son peasant 1 [To Launce. 
 Where have you been these two days loitering ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the 
 dog you bade me. 
 
 Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? 
 
 Laun. MaiTy, she says, your dog was a cur : 
 and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for 
 such a present. 
 
 Pro. But she received my dog ? 
 
 Laun. No, indeed, she did not: here have T 
 »rought him back again. 
 
 1 Kestrain. 
 
 Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me' 
 
 Laun. Ay, .sir; the other squiiTel was stolen from 
 me by the liangman's boys in the market-place: 
 and then I offered her mine own ; who is a dog as 
 big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 
 
 Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again, 
 Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
 Away, I say : stay'st thou to vex me here 1 
 A slave, that, still an end," turns me to shame. 
 
 [Exit Launch. 
 Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
 Partly, that I have need of such a youth. 
 That can with some discretion do my business, 
 For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt ; 
 But, chiefly, for thy face and thy behavior; 
 Which (if my augury deceive me not) 
 Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : 
 Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
 Go presently, and take this ring with thee, 
 Deliver it to madam Silvia: 
 She loved me well, deliver'd it to me. 
 
 Jul. It seems you loved her not, to leave her 
 token : 
 She's dead, belike. 
 
 Pro. Not so; I think, she lives. 
 
 Jul. Alas! 
 
 Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas? 
 
 Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. 
 
 Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity herl 
 
 Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd youaswell 
 As you do love your lady Silvia: 
 She dreams on him, that has forgot her love ; 
 You dote on her, that cares not for your love. 
 'Tis pity, love should be so contrary; 
 And thinking on it makes me cry, alas ! 
 
 Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal 
 This letter; — That's her chamber. — 'Tell my lady 
 I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
 Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
 Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. 
 
 [Exit Proteus. 
 
 Jul. How many women would do such a message'' 
 Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd 
 A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs: 
 Alas, poor fool ! why *do I pity him 
 That with his very heart despiseth mel 
 Because he loves her, he despiseth me; 
 Because I love him, [ must pity him. 
 This ring I gave him, when he parted from me 
 To bind him to remember my good will: 
 And now am I (unhappy messenger) 
 To plead for that which 1 would not obtain; 
 To carry that which I would have refus'd ; 
 To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'ti 
 I am my master's true confirmed love; 
 But cannot be true servant to my master, 
 Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
 Yet I will woo for him; but yet so coldly, 
 As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 
 
 Enter Silvia attended. 
 
 Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my meau 
 To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. 
 
 Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she 1 
 
 Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
 To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 
 
 Sil. From whom 1 
 
 Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 
 
 Sil. O ! — ^he sends you for a picture ] 
 < In the end. 
 
/iOT V. Scene I. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 3? 
 
 Jul. Ay, madam. 
 
 Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. 
 
 [^Picture brought. 
 Go, give your master this ; tell him from rae. 
 One Julia that his changing thoughts forget, 
 Would better fit his cliamber than this shadow. 
 
 Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. — 
 Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvis'd 
 Deliver'd you a paper that I should not ; 
 This is the letter to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 
 
 Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me. 
 
 Sil. There, hold. 
 I will not look upon your master's lines: 
 I know they are stufrd with protestations. 
 And full of new-found oaths ; wliich he will break 
 As easily as I do tear his paper. 
 
 Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship tliis ring. 
 
 Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it 
 me : 
 For I have heard him say a thousand times, 
 His Julia gave it him at his departure : 
 Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring. 
 Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 
 
 Jul. She thanks you. 
 
 Sil. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Jul. I thank you, madam, tliat you tender her: 
 Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 
 
 Sil. Dost thou know her ? 
 
 /(;/. Almost as well as I do know myself. 
 To think upon her woes, I do protest, 
 Thit I have wept a hundred several times. 
 
 Sil. Bclilve, she thinks that Proteus hath for- 
 sook her. 
 
 Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of 
 sorrow. 
 
 Sil. Is she not passing fair 1 
 
 Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is : 
 VVMien she did tliink my master lov'd her well, 
 Hlie, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
 But since she did neglect her loolcing-glass, 
 And threw her sun-expelling mask away, 
 T'le air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, 
 And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 
 That now she is become as black as I. 
 
 .S7/. How tall was she ? 
 
 Jul. About my stature : for at Pentecost,* 
 ►Vhen all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
 
 Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
 And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown; 
 Which served me as fit, by all men's judgment, 
 As if the garment had been made for mc: 
 Therefore I know she is about my height. 
 And, at that time, I made her weep a-good,' 
 For I did play a lamentable part : 
 Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 
 For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight; 
 Which I so lively acted with my tears. 
 That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 
 Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead, 
 If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 
 
 Sil. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth ! — 
 Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! — 
 I weep myself to think upon thy words. 
 Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give thee this 
 For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'sther 
 Farewell. \Exit Silvia 
 
 Jul. And she shall thank you for t, if o'er you 
 know her. — 
 A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. 
 I hope my master's suit will be but cold. 
 Since she respects my mistress love so much. 
 Alas, how love can trifle with itself! 
 Here is her picture : Let me see ; I think, 
 If I had such a tire,' this face of mine 
 Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
 And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, 
 Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
 Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow • 
 If that be all the difference in his love, 
 I'll get me such a color'd periwig. 
 Her eyes are gray as glass ; and so are mine : 
 Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high 
 What should it be, that he respects in her, 
 But I can make respective in myself, 
 If this fond love were not a blinded god ? 
 Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up. 
 For 'tis thy rival. thou senseless form, 
 Thou shalt be worshipp'd,kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd; 
 And, were there sense in his idolatry. 
 My substance should be statue in thy stead 
 I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake. 
 That us'd me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, 
 I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes. 
 To make my master out of love with thee. 
 
 {Exit 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE h— The same. An Abbey. 
 
 Enter Eqlamour. 
 
 Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky ; 
 A nd now, it is about the very hour 
 That Silvia, at Patrick's cell, should meet me. 
 She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, 
 1 Jnless it be to come before their time ; 
 So much they spur their expedition. 
 
 Enter Silvia. 
 See, where she comes : Lady, a happy evening ! 
 
 <SV/. Amen, amen ! go on, good Eglamour ! 
 Out at the postern by the abbey wall ; 
 I fear I am attended by some spies. 
 
 Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues off; 
 If we reo:)ver that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt. 
 
 . • Whitsuntide. 
 
 SCENE II. — fhe same. An Apartment in ine 
 Dutke's Palace. 
 
 Enter Thtjrio, Proteus, and Julia. 
 
 Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to ray suit? 
 Pro. O, sir, I find her milder than she was ; 
 And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
 Thu. What, that my leg is too long ? 
 Pro. No ; that it is too little. 
 Thu. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat 
 
 rounder. 
 Pro. But love will not be spurr'd to what i« 
 
 loaths. 
 Thu. What says she to my face 1 
 Pro. She says, it is a fair one. [black 
 
 Thu. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face i* 
 
 • In good earnest 
 
 « Head-dres* 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 ?58 
 
 Pro. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is, 
 Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis true; such pearls as put out ladies eyes; 
 For I had rather wink than look on them. ^Aside. 
 Thu. How likes she my discourse ' 
 Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 
 Thu. But well, when I discourse of love, and 
 
 peace? 
 Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your 
 peace. {Aside. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my valor ? 
 Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 
 Jul. She needs not, when she knows it coward- 
 ice. C^*''^'^- 
 Thu. What says she to my birth t 
 Pro. That you are well derived, 
 Jul. True ; from a gentleman to a fool. lAsuh. 
 Thu. Considers she my possessions ? 
 Pro. 0, ay ; and pities them. 
 Thu. Wherefore ■? , r ^ • ; 
 Jul. That such an ass should owe* them. lAsute. 
 Pro. That they are out by lease. 
 Jul. Here comes the duke. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 Duke. How now, sir Proteus^ hownow,Thurio? 
 Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late 1 
 Thu. Not I. 
 Pro. Nor I. 
 
 Duke. Saw you my daughter .' 
 
 Pro. Neither. 
 
 Duke. Why, then, she's fled unto that peasant 
 Valentine ; 
 A nd Eglamour is in her company. 
 'Tis true ; for friar Laurence met them both, 
 As he in penance wander'd through the forest: 
 Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ; 
 But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it: 
 Besides, she did intend confession 
 Ki Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was not : 
 These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
 Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse. 
 But mount you presently; and meet with me 
 Upon the rising of the mountain foot 
 That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled : 
 Despatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [iiJ^v^ 
 
 Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl. 
 That flies her fortune when it follows her : 
 I'll after ; more to be revenged on Eglamour, 
 Than for the love of reckless' Silvia. • it.xit. 
 
 Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia s love. 
 Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. lExd. 
 Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love. 
 Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Go thou with her to the west end of the wood, 
 There is our captain; we'll follow him that's fled. 
 The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape. 
 
 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's 
 cave : 
 Fear not ; he bears an honorable mina, 
 And will not use a woman lawlessly. 
 
 &7. O Valentino, this I endure for thee! [Exeunt 
 
 BCENE III.— Frow/ierso/ Mantua. The F:'rr.st. 
 Enter Silvia and Out-laws. 
 
 Out. Come, come ; 
 Be patient, we must bring you to our captain. 
 
 Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one 
 Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 
 
 2 Out. Come, bring her away. , 
 1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with 
 
 her? , ^ 
 
 3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run 
 
 us, 
 But Moyses, and Valerius, follow hun. 
 
 SCENE lY.— Another part of the Forest- 
 Enter Valentiwe. 
 
 Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man . 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns' 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
 And, to the nightingale's complaining notes, 
 Tunc my distresses, and record' my woes. 
 O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
 Leave not the mansion so long tenantless; 
 Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall. 
 And leave no memory of what it was ! 
 Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 
 Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain 
 What halloing, and what stir is this to-day? 
 These are my mates, that make their wills their law 
 Have some unhappy passenger in chase : 
 They love me well ; yet I have much to do. 
 To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
 Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's this comes here? 
 
 [Steps aside 
 
 Enter Pkoteus, Silvia, and Julia. 
 Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you, 
 (Though you respect not aught your servant doth,) 
 To hazard life, and rescue you from him 
 That would have forc'd your honor and your love- 
 Vouchsafe me for my meed but one fair look; 
 A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, 
 And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 
 
 Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear! 
 Love, lend me patience to forbear a while. [Aside. 
 Sil. miserable, unhappy that I am ! 
 Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; 
 But, by my coming, I have made you happy. 
 Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most 
 
 unhappy. 
 Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your 
 presence. [Astae 
 
 Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
 I would have been a breakfast to the beast. 
 Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
 0, heaven be judge how I love Valentine, 
 Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ; 
 And full as much (for more there cannot be) 
 I do detest false perjur'd Proteus ; 
 Therefore begone, solicit me no more. 
 
 Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to 
 death. 
 Would I not undergo for one calm look? 
 O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd,' ^ 
 When women cannot love where they re belov d. 
 Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he a 
 bclov'd. 
 Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love. 
 For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
 Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths 
 Descended into perjury, to love me. 
 
 • Own. 
 
 * Careless. 
 
 *Sing. 
 
 • Felt, experienced. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 3& 
 
 Fiiou hast no fiiith left now, unless thou hadst 
 
 two 
 And that's far worse than none; better have 
 
 none 
 I'han plural faith, which is too much by one : 
 Thou counterfeit tc thy true friend ! 
 
 Pro. In love, 
 
 Who respects friend ? 
 
 -S'(7. All men but Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Can no way change you to a milder form, 
 ['11 woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ; 
 \nd love you 'gainst Ihe nature of love, force you.- 
 
 Sil. O heaven! 
 
 Pro. I'll force thee yield to my 
 
 desire. 
 
 Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch ; 
 Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 
 
 Pro. Valentine ! 
 
 YaJ. Thou common friend, that's without faith 
 or love ; 
 (i''or such is a friend now,) treacherous man ! 
 J'hou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine 
 
 eye 
 Ij'ould have persuaded me : Now I dare not say 
 I have one friend alive : thou wouldst disprove 
 
 me. 
 Who should be trusted now, when one's right 
 
 hand 
 fs pcrjur'd to the bosom ? Proteus, 
 [ am sorry, I must never trust thee more. 
 But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
 The private wound is deepest : time, most curst i 
 'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst ! 
 
 Pro. My shame and guilt confound me. — 
 Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow 
 Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
 [ tender i* here ; I do as truly sufTer, 
 As e'er 1 did commit. 
 
 Fff/. Then I am paid ; 
 
 And once again I do receive thee honest: — 
 Who by repentence is not satisfied. 
 Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleas'd ; 
 By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd : — 
 Ami, that my love may appear plain and free, 
 All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee. 
 
 Jul. O me unhappy ! \Faints. 
 
 Pro. Look to the boy. 
 
 \'il. Why, boy! why, wag! how now! what 
 is the matter ? 
 f 40ok up ; speak. 
 
 Jul. O good sir, my master charg'd m.e 
 
 To deliver a ring to madam Silvia ; 
 SVhich, out of my neglect, was never done. 
 
 Pro. Where is that ring, boy 1 
 
 Jul. Here 'tis : this is it. 
 
 \Givts a ring. 
 
 Pro. How ! let me see : 
 Why this is the ring I gave to Julia. 
 
 Jul. 0, cry your mercy, sir, I I.ave mistook ; 
 This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 
 
 [Shows another ring. 
 
 Pro. But, how cam'st thou by this ring; at 
 my depart, 
 I gave this unto Julia. 
 
 Jul. And Julia herself did give it me; 
 \nd Julia herself hath brought it hither. 
 
 Pro. How ! J ulia ! 
 
 •Direction. 
 
 'An uUuBion to cleaving the pin in archery. 
 
 Jul. Behold her that gave aim" to all th« 
 oaths. 
 And entertain'd them deeply in her heart : 
 How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root , 
 
 Proteus, let this habit make thee blush ! 
 Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me 
 Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live 
 In a disguise of love : 
 
 It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, 
 Women to change their shapes, than men theij 
 minds. 
 Pro. Than men their minds? 'tis true: heaven ' 
 were man 
 But constant, he were perfect : that one error 
 Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all 
 
 sins : 
 Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins : 
 What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
 More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye ? 
 
 Val. Come, come, a hand from either : 
 Let me be blest to make this happy close ; 
 'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. 
 Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for 
 
 ever. 
 Jul. And I have mine. 
 
 Enter Outlaws, with Dcke and TauRio. 
 
 Out. A prize, a prize, a prize ! 
 
 Val. Forbear, I say ; it is my lord the duke. 
 Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
 Banish'd Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine ! 
 
 Thu Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia's mine. 
 
 Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy 
 death ; 
 Come not within the measure of my wrath :* 
 Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, 
 Milan shall not behold thee. Here she stands. 
 Take but possession of her with a touch ; — 
 
 1 dare t^ee but too breathe upon my love. — 
 
 Tliu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I ; 
 I hold him but a fool that will endanger 
 His body for a girl that loves him not : 
 I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 
 
 Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou. 
 To make such means* for her as thou hast done, 
 And leave her on such slight conditions. — 
 Now, by the honor of my anccstiy, 
 I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 
 And think thee worthy of an empress' love. 
 Know then, I here forget all former griefs. 
 Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again.- 
 Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit. 
 To which I thus subscribe, — sir Valentine, 
 Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd ; 
 Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 
 
 Val. I thank your grace ; the gift hath made 
 me happy. 
 I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, 
 To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 
 
 Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whatc'er it be. 
 
 Val. These banish'd men, that I have kepi 
 withal. 
 Are men endued with worthy qualities; 
 Forgive them what they have committed here, 
 And let them be rccall'd from their exile : 
 They are reformed, civil, full of good, 
 And fit for great employment, worthy lord. 
 
 » Length of my sword. 
 * Interest. 
 
id 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 ACT ? 
 
 Duke. I'i'ju hast prevailM • I pardon tllem, and 
 thee; 
 Dispose of theiii, as thou know'st their deserts. 
 f?ome, let us go ; we will include' all jars 
 With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 
 
 Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold. 
 With our discourse to make your grace to smile : 
 VVhat think you of this page, my lord 1 
 
 Ottke. I think the boy hath gTace in liim : he 
 blusbee 
 
 Val. I warrant you, my lord ; tntjre gii.ce than 
 
 boy. 
 Duke. What mean you by that saying ■? 
 Val, Please you, I'll tell yoii as we pas* 
 along, 
 That you will wonder what hath fortuned. — 
 Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance, but to hear 
 The story of your loves discovered : 
 That done, our day of marriage shall be yours ; 
 Onn feaet, one house, one mutual happiness. 
 
 [ Exenn* 
 
)iri^rESS Fi^^E. 
 
MERRY WI7ES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Sir John Faistaff. 
 
 Fentok. 
 
 Shallow, a country Justice 
 
 Slender, cousin to Shallow. 
 
 VT ' p ' ( tiuo Gentlemen dwelling at Windsor. 
 
 William Page, a Boy, son to Mr. Page. 
 
 Sir Hugh Etans, a Welsh Parson. 
 
 Dr. Caius, a French Phyaician. 
 
 Host of the Garter Inn. 
 
 Bardolph, ^ 
 
 Pistol, > Followers of Tafr.laff. 
 
 Ntm, 5 
 
 Robin, Page to Faistaff. 
 Simple, Servant to Slender. 
 RuGBx, Servant to Dr. Caius. 
 
 Mh3. Fohd. 
 Mrs. Page. 
 Mrs. Anne Page, her Daughter, in pve witn 
 
 Fenton. 
 Mrs. Quickly, Servant to Dr. Caius. 
 
 Servants to Page, Ford, 4-c 
 
 SCENE, Windsor; and the parts adjacent. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Windsor. Before Page's House. 
 
 Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir ' Hugh 
 Evans. 
 
 Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I wUl 
 make a Star-chamber matter of it; if he weve 
 twenty sir John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert 
 Shallow, esquire. 
 
 Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, 
 and coram. 
 
 Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and Cust-alorum? 
 
 Slen. Ay, and ratolorum too ; and a gentleman 
 bom, master parson ; who writes h\a\se]f armigero.- 
 in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armi- 
 gero. 
 
 Shal. Ay, that we do: and have done anytime 
 these three hundred years. 
 
 Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have 
 done't ; and all his ancestors, that come after him, 
 may: they may give the dozen white luces in their 
 coat. 
 
 Shal. It is an old coat. 
 
 Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old 
 coat well; it agrees well, passant: it is a familiar 
 beast to man, and signifies — love. 
 
 Shal. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is 
 in old coat. 
 
 • A title formerly appropriated to ehaplains. 
 
 • Cuitm Sotulorum. 
 
 Slen. I may quarter, coz ? 
 
 Shal. You may, by marrying. 
 
 Eva. It is marring indeed, if he quarter li. 
 
 Shal Not a whit. 
 
 Eva. Yes, py'r^" lady; if he has a quarter ol 
 your coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, iq 
 my simple conjectures; but this is all one: if Sh 
 John Faistaff have committed disparagements unto 
 you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do 
 my benevolence, to make atonements and compro- 
 mises between you. 
 
 Shal. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot. 
 
 Eva. It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; there 
 is no fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, 
 shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to heai 
 a riot ; take your vizaments * in that. 
 
 Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again tho 
 sword should end it. 
 
 Eva. It is petter that friends is the sworJ, and 
 end it : and there is also another device in my pram, 
 which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with 
 it: There is Anne Page, which is daughter to 
 master George Page, which is pretty virginity. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne Page 1 She has brown hair 
 and speaks small like a woman. 
 
 Eva. It is that fcry person for all the 'orld, aa 
 just as you will desire : and seven hundred pounda 
 of monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire 
 
 ' By our. 
 
 * AdTifement 
 
 41 
 
(2 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 ipon his death's bed (Got deliver to a joyful resur- 
 ections !) give, when she is able to overtake seven- 
 een years old : it v?ere a goot motion, if we leave 
 •ur pribbles and prabblcs, and desire a marriage be- 
 ween master Abraham and mistresa Anne Page. 
 
 Skal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hun- 
 Ired pounds 1 [penny. 
 
 Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter 
 
 Skal. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has 
 {ood gifts. 
 
 Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, 
 s good gifts. 
 
 Skal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is 
 Falstaff there ] 
 
 Eva. Shall I tell you a lie 1 I do despise a Uar, 
 as I do despise one that is false ; or as I despise 
 one that is not true. The knight, sir John, is 
 there ; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well- 
 willers. I will peat the door ^knocks'] for master 
 Page. What, hoa ! pless your house here ! 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Page. Who's there 1 
 
 Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, 
 and justice Shallow : and here young master Slen- 
 der ; that peradventures shall tell you another tale, 
 if matters grow to your likings. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see your worships well : I 
 thank you for my venison, master Shallow. 
 
 Skcl. Master Page, I am glad to see you ; Much 
 good do it your good heart ! I wished your venison 
 better ; it was ill-killed : — How doth good mistress 
 Pagel — and I love you always with my heart, la; 
 with my heart. 
 
 Page. Sir, I thank you. 
 
 Skal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. 
 
 Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir ? I 
 b'^ard say he was outrun at Cotsale.' 
 
 Page. It could not be judged, sir. 
 
 Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. 
 
 Skal. That he will not ; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your 
 fault : — 'Tis a good dog. 
 
 Page. A cur, sir. 
 
 Skal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog •, Can 
 there be more said 1 he is good, and fair. — Is sir 
 John Falstaff here 1 
 
 Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could 
 do a good office between you. 
 
 Eva. It is spoke as a Christian ought to speak. 
 
 Skal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. 
 
 Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 
 
 STial. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not 
 that so, master Page T He hath wrong'd me ; in- 
 deed, he hath ; — at a word, he hath ; — believe me ; 
 ■ -Ro'jert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd. 
 
 Page. Here comes sir John. 
 Vhkr Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym, and 
 Pistol. 
 
 Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you'll complain of 
 me to the king? 
 
 Skal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed 
 ir.y deer, and broke open my lodge. 
 
 Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. 
 Skal. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answer'd. 
 Fal. I will answer it straight ; — I have done all 
 this : — That is now answer'd. 
 
 Shal. The council shall know this. 
 Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in 
 'iOUnsel : you'll be laugh'd at. 
 
 » Cotswold, in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Eva. Pauca verba, sir John, good worts. 
 
 Fal. Good worts !* good cabbage. — Slender, 1 
 broke your head ; What matter have you against me^ 
 
 Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head 
 against you ; and against your coney-catching'' 
 rascals, Bardolph, N)"m, and Pistol. They carried 
 me to the tavern, and made me drunk, and after- 
 wards picked my pocket. 
 
 Bar. You Banbury cheese !' 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Pist. How, now, Mephostophilus '!' 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Nym. Slice, I say, pauca, pauca ; slice ! tlia^'s 
 my humor. 
 
 <S7en. Where's Simple, my man 1 — can you tell, 
 cousin 1 
 
 Eva. Peace : I pray you ! Now let us understand ■ 
 There is three umpires in this matter as I under 
 stand : that is — master 'Page,fidelicet, master Page ; 
 and there is myself, Jidelicet myself; and the three 
 party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between 
 them. 
 
 Eva. Fery goot : I will make a brief of it in my 
 note-book ; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
 cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, 
 
 Pist. He hears with ears. 
 
 Eva. The tevil and his tam ! what phrase is this, 
 He hears with ear ? Why, it is affectations. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse '! 
 
 Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I 
 might never come in mine own great chamber again 
 else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Ed- 
 ward sho"°l-boards,' that cost me two shillings and 
 two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these glovp-- 
 
 Fal. Is this true. Pistol ] 
 
 Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 
 
 Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner ! — Sir Johu, 
 and master mine, 
 I combat challenge of this latten bilbo :' 
 Word of denial in thy labras' here ; 
 Word of denial ; froth and scum, thou licst 
 
 Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. 
 
 Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humor* 
 I wiil say, marry trap, with you if you run the nut- 
 hook's' humor on me ; that is the very note of it- 
 
 Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it • 
 for though I cannot remember what I did when you 
 made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 
 
 Fal. What say you. Scarlet and John 1 
 
 Bar. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentlemaii 
 had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 
 
 Eva. It is his five senses : fie, what the igno- 
 rance is ! 
 
 Bar. And being fap,* sir, was, as they say, 
 cashier'd ; and so conclusions pass'd the carelres.* 
 
 Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too : but 'tis 
 no matter : I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, 
 but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick : 
 if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have 
 the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. 
 
 Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. 
 
 Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentU 
 men ; you hear it. 
 
 « Worts was the ancient name of all the cabbage kind. 
 
 1 Sharpers. • Nothing but paring ! 
 
 »The name of an xigly spirit. 
 
 1 King Edward's shilling, used in the game of shufiB* 
 board. « Blade as thin as a lath. a Lips. 
 
 ■« If yon say I am a thief. ' Drunk. 
 
 • The bounds of good behayior- 
 
CKNE I. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 4b 
 
 '^■?iter Mi-stress Anne Page with wine,- Mistress 
 Ford and Mistress Page following. 
 
 Page. Nay, daughter, caiTy the wine in ; we'll 
 Irink within. [Exit Anne Page. 
 
 Slen. heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Page. How now, mistress Ford? 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very 
 well met: by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing her. 
 
 Page. V''ifc, hid these gentlemen welcome : — 
 Come, ■v*'j have a hot venison pasty to dinner; 
 come, ger.ir.emen, I hope we shall drink down all 
 nnkindness. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Shal., Slender, and Evans. 
 
 Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my 
 1 ook of Songs and Sonnets here : — 
 
 Enter Simple. 
 
 How now. Simple ! v^fhere have you been ! I must 
 wait on myself, must 11 You have not The Book 
 of Riddles about you, have you 1 
 
 Sim. Book of Riddles/ why, did you not lend it 
 to Alice Shortcake upon AUhallovvmas last, a fort- 
 light afore Michaelmaa!" 
 
 Shal. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. 
 A word with you, coz; many, this, coz; There 
 is, as 'twere a tender, a kind of tfjuder, made afar 
 oli' by sir Hugh here; — Do you understand me? 
 
 Skn. x\y, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if 
 it be so, I shall do that that is reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, but understand me. 
 
 Skn. So I do, sir. 
 
 -Era. Give ear to his motions, master Slender: I 
 will description the matter to you, if you be capoi- 
 city of it. 
 
 Slen. Nay I will do as my cousin Shallow says : 
 I pray you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in 
 his country, simjile though I stand here. 
 
 Eva. But this is not the question ; the question 
 is concerning your marriage. 
 
 Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir. 
 
 Ei^a. Marry, is it; the very point of it; to mis- 
 tress Anne Page. 
 
 Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon 
 nny reasonable demands. 
 
 Eva. But can you affection the 'oman? Let us 
 command to know that of your mouth, or of your 
 lips; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is 
 parcel of the mouth; — ^Therefore, precisely, can 
 yovi carry your good will to the maid? 
 
 Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? 
 
 Slen. I hope, sir, — I will do, as it shall become 
 me tha\; would do reason. 
 
 Era. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies ! you must 
 Bj^ak possitable, if you can carry her your desires 
 towards her. 
 
 Shal. That you must: Will you, upon good 
 dowiy, marry her ? 
 
 Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon 
 your request, cousin, in any reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet 
 coz; what I do, is to pleasure you, coz: Can you 
 love the maid? 
 
 Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but 
 if there be no great lo\c in the beginning, yet 
 heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, 
 when we are married, ami have more occasion to 
 know me another: I hope, upon familiarity will 
 yrow more coiitcmjit ; but if you say, man-y her, 
 • Aji intended blunder. 
 
 I will marry her. that I am freely dissolved, tun: 
 dissolutely. 
 
 Eva. It is a fery discretion answer; save, th« 
 faul' is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, according 
 to our meaning. resolutely; — his meaning is good 
 
 Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. 
 
 Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, [a. 
 
 Re-enter Anne Page. 
 
 Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne: — Wot Id 
 I were young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! 
 
 Anne. The dinner is on the table; my father 
 desires your worship's company. 
 
 Shal. I will wait on him, fair mistress .'vriiie. 
 
 Eva. Od's plessed will ! I will not be a; seuce al 
 the grace. [Exeunt Shallow and Sir H. Evans. 
 
 Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir? 
 
 Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am 
 very well. 
 
 Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 
 
 Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth: 
 Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon 
 my cousin Shallow: [Exit Simi>le.] A justice of 
 peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for 
 a man : — I keep but three men and a boy yet, till 
 my mother be dead: But what though? yet I live 
 like a poor gentleman born. 
 
 Anne. I may not go in without your worship' 
 they will not sit till you come. 
 
 Slen. V faith, I'll cat nothing; I thank you as 
 much as though I did. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 
 
 Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you: I 
 bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword 
 and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys 
 for a dish of stewed prunes; and, by my troth, I 
 cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do 
 your dogs bark so ? be there bears i' the town ? 
 
 Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them talked 
 of. 
 
 Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon 
 quarrel at it as any man in England: — ^You aro 
 afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not ? 
 
 Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 
 
 Slen. That's meat and drink to me now : I have 
 seen Sackerson" loose, twenty times : and have ta- 
 ken him by the chain: but, I wan-ant you, the 
 women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it 
 pass'd:'' — -but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em; 
 they are ill-favored, rough things. 
 
 Re-enter Page. 
 
 Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come; we 
 stay tor you. 
 
 Slen. I'll eat nothing; I thank you, sir. 
 
 Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, 
 sir; come, come. 
 
 Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 
 
 Page. Come on, sir. 
 
 Skn. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 
 
 Anne. Not I, sir, pray you, keep on. 
 
 Slen. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la; I will 
 not do you that vsToug. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sh. 
 
 Slen. I'll rather be anmanncrly than trouble^ 
 some; you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt 
 
 ' Three set-tos, bouts, or hits. 
 
 • The iiiime of a bear exhibiictf av P&riu-Ofarden, South 
 wark. • SnriwMntsa jiJt 3xar<«S8ifln. 
 
44 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 SCENE II.— ne same. 
 Enter S!i- Hugh Evans and Simple. 
 
 Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius's 
 house, whicli is the way : and there dwells one mis- 
 tress Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, 
 or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his 
 ■washer, and his wringer. 
 
 Sh:i. Well, sir. 
 
 Eva. Nay, it is petter yet: give her this 
 
 letter; for it is a'oraan that altogether's acquaintance 
 with mistress Anne Page ; and the letter is come to 
 desire and to require her to solicit your master's de- 
 sires to mistress Anne Page : I pray you begone ; I 
 will make an end of my dinner; there's pippins 
 and cheese to come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Boom in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Hcvst, Bardolph, Nyjr, Pistol, 
 and Robin. 
 
 Fal. Mine host of the Garter, — 
 
 Host. AVhat says my bully-rook ? Speak scholarly, 
 and wisely. 
 
 Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some 
 of my followers. 
 
 Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let them 
 wag : trot, trot. 
 
 Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week. 
 
 Host. Thou art an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and 
 Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, 
 he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector ? 
 
 Fal. Do so, good mine host. 
 
 Host. I have spoke ; let him follow : Let me see 
 thee froth, and lime : I am at a word ; follow. 
 
 lE.rit Host. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, follow him ; a tapster is a good 
 trade; an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a withered 
 servingraan, a fresh tapster : Go, adieu. 
 
 Bail/. It is a life that I have desired ; I will thrive. 
 
 [Exit Bard. 
 
 Plst. base Gongarian^ wight! wilt thou the 
 Bpigot wield ? 
 
 Ni/m. He was gotten in drink: is not the humor 
 conceited ? His mind is not heroic, and there's the 
 humor of it. 
 
 Fal. 1 am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box; 
 his thefts were too open : his filching was like" an 
 unskilful singer, he kept not time. 
 
 Nym. The good humor is, to steal at a minute's 
 rest. 
 
 Pist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal ! foh, a fico' 
 for the phrase ! 
 
 Fal. Well, pjs, I am almost out at heels. 
 
 Pist. Why then let kibes ensue. 
 
 Fal. There is no remedy ; I must coney-catch ; I 
 must shift. 
 
 Pist. Young ravens must have food. 
 
 Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town ? 
 
 Pist. I ken the wight; he is of substance good. 
 
 Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am 
 about. 
 
 Pist. Two yards and more. 
 
 Fal. No quips now, Pistol; indeed I am in the 
 waist two yards about; but I am now about no 
 waste ; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to 
 make love to Ford's wife; I spy entertainment in 
 her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer of 
 invitation ; I can construe the action of her familiar 
 style ; and the hardest voice of her behavior, to be 
 English'd rightly, is, / am Sir Juhn Falstaff 's. 
 
 Pist. He hath studied her well, and translated 
 her well ; out of honesty into English. 
 
 Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humor pass ? 
 
 Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of 
 Ler husband's purse ; she hath legions of angels.* 
 » For Hungarian. »Fig. « Gold coin. 
 
 Pist. As many devils entertain ; and, T^ her, hoy_ 
 say I. 
 
 Nym. The humor rises ; it is good : humor m6 
 the angels. 
 
 Fal. I have writ me hero a letter to her : and heru 
 another to Page's wife ; tvho even now gave me 
 good eyes too ; examined my parta with most judi 
 cious eyliads:^ sometimes the beam of her vie^i 
 gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. 
 
 Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 
 
 Nym. I thank thee for that humor. 
 
 Fal. 0, she did so course o'er my exteriors with 
 such a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye 
 did seem to seoi-ch me up like a burning-glass 1 
 Here's another letter to her: she bears the purs 3 
 too; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. 
 I will be cheater^ to them both, and they shall bo 
 exchequers to me ; they shall be my East and West 
 Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear 
 thou this letter to mistress Page ; and thou this 
 to mistress Ford : we will thrive, lads, we will 
 thrive. 
 
 Pist. Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become. 
 And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take all ! 
 
 Nym. I will run no base humor; here, take the 
 humor letter; I will keep the 'havior of reputation. 
 
 Fal. Hold, sirrah, [To PiOB.] bear you these let^ 
 ters tightly;^ 
 Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. — 
 Rogues, hence avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go; 
 Trudge, plod away, o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack ! 
 Falstaff will learn the humor of this age, 
 French thrift, you rogues ; myself, and skirted page. 
 
 [Exeunt Falstaff and Robin. 
 
 Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd and 
 fullam^ hold, 
 And high and low beguile the rich and poor : 
 Tester I'll have in pouch,9 when thou shalt lack, 
 Base Phrygian Turk ! 
 
 Nym. I have operations in my bead, which be 
 humors of revenge. 
 
 Pist. Wilt thou revenge ? 
 
 Nym. By welkin, and her star ! 
 
 Pist. With wit, or steel ? 
 
 Nym. With both the humors, I : 
 I will discuss the humor of this love to Pago. 
 
 Piat. And I to Ford shall eke unfold. 
 How Falstaff, varlet vile. 
 His dove will prove, his gold will hold. 
 And his soft couch defile. 
 
 Nym. My humor shall not cool : I will incense' 
 Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with 
 yellowness,^ for the revolt of mien is dangerous ; 
 that is my true humor. 
 
 Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : i second 
 thee ; troop on. [Exeufnl. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Room in Dr. Caius's House. 
 Enter BIra. QuiCKLY, Simple, and Rugby. 
 
 Quick. What; John Rugby ! — I pray thee, go to 
 the casement, and see if you can soo my master, 
 master doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i' faith, and 
 find any body in the house, here will be an old abus- 
 ing of God's patience, and the king's English. 
 
 Jing. I'll go watch. [Exit Rugbv. 
 
 Quick. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon 
 at night, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. An 
 honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall 
 
 • Eyes. 
 
 • Escheatour, an officer in the Exchequer. 
 
 I Cleverly. • False dice. 
 
 » Sixpence V\\ have in pocket. ' Instigate, 
 
 s JeaJousy. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 45 
 
 come in house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell- 
 tale, nor no breed-bate;' his worst fault is, that he 
 is given to prayer : he is something peevish ' that 
 «vay : but nobody but has his fault ; — but let that 
 pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is 1 
 
 Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 
 
 Quick. And master Slender's your master? 
 
 Sim. Ay, Ibrsooth. 
 
 Quick, Does he not wear a great round beard, 
 tike a glover's paring knife ] 
 
 Sim. No, forsooth: he hath but a little wee face, 
 with a little yellow beard; a Cain-colored beard. 
 
 Quick, A softly-sprighted man, is he not! 
 
 Si/u. Ay, forsooth: but he is as tall^ a man of 
 his hands, as any is between this and his head ; he 
 hath fouglit with a warrcner. 
 
 Quick. How say you? — O, I should remember 
 him ; docs he not hold up his head, as it were 1 and 
 strut in his gait 1 
 
 Sim. Yes, indeed, docs he. 
 
 Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse 
 fortune. Tell master parson Evans, 1 will do what 
 I can for your master; Anne is a good girl, and I 
 wish — 
 
 Re-enter Rugby. 
 
 Rug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 
 
 Quick, We shall all be shent:^ Run in here, 
 (jood young man; go into this closet. [S/nifs Sim- 
 ple in the closet.^ He will not stay long. — What, 
 Jolm Rugby ! John, what, John, I say ! — Go, John, 
 go enquire for my master ; I doubt he be not well, 
 that he conies not home: — and down, down, 
 adown-a, &c. [_Sings. 
 
 Enter Doctor Caius. 
 
 Cains. Vat is you sing 1 I do not like desc toys ; 
 Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet tin buiticr 
 verd; a box, a green-a box ; Do intend vat I speak] 
 a grecn-a box. 
 
 Quick. Ay forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad 
 he went not in himself; if he had found tlie j'oung 
 man, he would have been horn-mad. ^Aside. 
 
 Caius. Fe,fe,fe,fe/ ma foi, il fait fort ckaitd, 
 Je m'en vais a la cour, — la grande affaire. 
 
 Quick. Is it this, sii-] 
 
 ^Jaius. Ouy ; mette le an mon\>ockci\ Depeche, 
 quickly. — Vere is dat knave Rugby? 
 
 Quick. What, John Rugby! John! 
 
 Rug. Here, sir. 
 
 Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
 Rugby : Come, takc-a your rapier, and come after 
 my heel to de court. 
 
 Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 
 
 Cams. By my trot, I tariy too long: — Od's me ! 
 Qii'ay-f ouhlie? dere is some simples in my closet, 
 dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. 
 
 Quick. Ah me! he'll find the young man there, 
 und be mad. 
 
 Caius. O diahle, diahle ! vat is in my closet! — 
 Viilau}'! larron .' [^Pulliiig SiyiPLK out.} Rugby, 
 my rapier. 
 
 Quick. Good master, be content. 
 
 Caius, Verefore shall I be content-al 
 
 Quick. The young man is an honest man. 
 
 Caius, Vat shall de honest man do in my closet? 
 icTC is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 
 
 Quick, I beseech you, be not so flegmatick ; hear 
 
 • Strife. t Foolish. 
 
 ' Scolded, reprimanded. 
 
 »Br»Te. 
 
 the truth of it. He came of an errand to me fionj 
 parson Hugh. 
 
 Caius, Veil. 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to 
 
 Quick. Peace, I pray you. 
 
 Caius. Peace-ayour tongue: — Speak-a your tale. 
 Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your 
 maid, to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page 
 for my master, in the way of marrige. 
 
 Quick. This is all, indeed, la; but I'll ne'ir put 
 my finger in the fire, and need not. 
 
 Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you? — Rugby, baiU-tS 
 me some paper: — Tarry you a little-a wlule. 
 
 [ Wt itea. 
 
 Quick. I am glad he is so quiet: if he hadljeen 
 thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so 
 loud, and so melancholy: — But notwithsiandiDg, 
 man, I'll do j^our master what good I can : and the 
 very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my 
 master, — -I may call him my master, look you, for 
 I keep his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, 
 scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and 
 do all nayself; — 
 
 Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one 
 body's hand. 
 
 Quick. Are you a^is'd o' that? you shall find it 
 a great charge: and to be up early and down late: 
 — but notwithstanding, (to tell you in your ear; 
 I would have no words of it,) my master himself 
 is in love with mistress Anne Page; but notwith- 
 standing that, — I know Anne's mind, — that's 
 neither here nor there 
 
 Caius. You jack'nape; give-a dis letter to sir 
 Hugh; by gar, it is a shallenge; I vill cut his treat 
 in de park; and I will teach a scurvy jack-a-nape 
 priest to meddle or make: — you may be gone; it 
 IS not good you tarry here : — liy gar, I will cut all 
 his two stones ; by gar, he shall not have a stone 
 to trow at his dog. l_Exit Simple. 
 
 Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 
 
 Ca/iM. It is no matter-a for dat; — do not you 
 tel!-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? — 
 by g;ir, I will kill de jack priest; and I have ap- 
 pointed mine host of de Jurterre to measure our 
 weapoji : — by gar, I vill myself have Anne Page. 
 
 Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
 well : we must give iblks leave to prate : What, 
 the good-jer !" 
 
 Caius. Rugby, come to the court vit me ; — By 
 gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your 
 head out of my door : — Follow my heels, Rugby. 
 [Exeunt Caius and Rugby. 
 
 Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your 
 own. A'o, I know Anne's mind for that ; never a 
 woman in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind 
 than I do ; nor can do more than I do with her, I 
 thank heaven. 
 
 Fent. [ UV/Am.] Who's within there, ho ? 
 
 Quick, Who's there, I trow ? Come near the 
 house, I pray you. 
 
 Enter Fenton. 
 
 Fe?iT. Now now, good woman : how dost thou 1 
 
 Quick. The better, that it pleases your good 
 
 worship to ask. [AnneT 
 
 Fcni. What news ! Iiow does pretty mistress 
 
 Quick. In truth.sir, andshe is pretty, and honest, 
 
 and gentlr: and one that is your friend, I can tell 
 
 you that by tlm way ; I praise lieaven for it. 
 
 "'ill.' ^oiijiTo. v'"' ihe tiox' 
 
16 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act n. 
 
 Fent. Shall I Jo any good, thinkest thou 1 Shall 
 I not lose my suit 1 
 
 Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above ; but 
 notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a 
 book slie loves you : — Have not your worship a 
 wart above your eye 1 
 
 Fent. Yes, marry, have I ; what of that 1 
 
 Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale ; — good faith, 
 .1 is such another Nan ; but, I detest,' an honest 
 naid as ever broke bread ; — We had an hour's talk 
 if that wart ; — I shall never laugh but in that maid's 
 company ! — But, indeed, she is given too much to 
 alUcholly' and musing : But for you — Well, go to. 
 
 Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day : Hold, thcre'i 
 money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my benalf ; 
 — if thou seest her before me, commend me — 
 
 Quick. Will 1 1 i'faith, that we will : and I will 
 tell your worship more of the wart, the next time 
 we have confidence ; and of other wooers. 
 
 Fent. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste now 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Quick. Farewell to your worsliip. — Truly, an 
 honest gentleman ; but Anne loves him not : for I 
 know Anne's mind as well as another does : — Out 
 upon't ! what have I forgot 1 [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Page's House. 
 
 Enter Mistress Page, loith a letter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What ! have I 'scaped love-letters 
 in the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now 
 a subject for them 1 Let me see : [^Reads. 
 
 Aak me no reason why I love you ; for ihougli love 
 use reason for his jjrecisian,' he admits him not for 
 his counsellor. You are not young, no more am I: 
 ffo to then, there's symj^athy ; you are merry, so am 
 I: Ha! ha! then there's more sympathy ; you lore 
 sack, and so do I : Would you, desire better sympa- 
 thy ? Let it suffice thee, mistress Paije, {at the least, 
 if the love of a soldier can suffice,) that I love thee. 
 I will not say, pity me, 'tis not a soldierlilce phrase; 
 ftiit I say, love me. By me, 
 
 Thine own true Jcniyht, 
 By day or niijht, 
 Or any kind of lir/ht, 
 With all his mi()ht, 
 
 For thee to fight, JoHN Falstaff. 
 
 What a Herod of Jewry is tliis ! — O wicked, wrick- 
 ed world ! — one that is well nigh worn to pieces 
 witli age, to show himself a young gallant ! What 
 unwcighed behavior hath this Flemish drunkard 
 picked (with the devil's name) out of my conver- 
 sation, that he dares in this manner assay me ] — 
 Why, he hath not been thrice in my company !— 
 What should I say to him T — I was then frugal of my 
 mirth : — heavtn forgive me ! — W^hy, I'll exhibit a 
 bill in the parliament for the putting down of men. 
 How shall I be revenged on him 1 for revenged I 
 will be, as sure as his guts are made of puddings. 
 Enter Mistress Ford. 
 
 Mrs. F(n-d. Mrs. Page ! trust me, I was going 
 to your house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. And trust me, I was coming to you. 
 You look very ill. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that ; I have 
 to shovv' to the contrary. 
 
 Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet, I say, I could 
 show you to the contrary : O, mistress Page, give 
 me some counsel ! 
 
 M7-S. Page. What's the matter, woman 1 
 
 Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one 
 trifling respect, I could come to such honor ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang the ti-ifle, woman : — take the ho- 
 nor : What is it ? — dispense with trifles ; — what is it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eter- 
 nal moment, I could be knighted. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What ! — thou liest ! — Sir Alice 
 
 Ford ! 'Phese knights will hack ; and so thou 
 
 shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We burn daylight: — here, read, 
 
 « She means, I protest. » Melancholy. 
 
 > Most probably Sbakspeare wrote physician. 
 
 read ; — perceive how I might be knighted, — I shall 
 think the worse of fat men, as long as I have an 
 eye to make difference of men's liking : And yet 
 he would not swear ; praised women's modesty ; 
 and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to 
 all uncomeliness, that I would have sworn his 
 disposition would have gone to the truth of his 
 words : but they do no more adhere and keep place 
 together, than the hundredth psalm to the tune of 
 Green sleeves. What tempest, I trow, threw this 
 whale, with so many tons of oil in his belly, 
 ashore at Wind-sor ? How shall I be revenged on 
 him 7 I think, the best way were to entertain him 
 ^vith hope, till the wicked fire of lust have melted 
 him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like ] 
 
 Mrs. Page. Letter for letter; but that the name 
 of Page and Ford differs! — To thy great comfort 
 in this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin- 
 brother of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, 
 I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a 
 thousand of these letters writ with blank space 
 for different names, (sure more,) and these are of 
 the second edition : he will print them out of doubt : 
 for he cares not what he puts into the press, when 
 he would put us two. I had rather be a giantess, 
 and lie under mount PeHon. Well, I will find j'ou 
 twenty lascivious turtles, ere one chaste man. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why this is the very same ; the very 
 hand, the very words : What doth he think of us ' 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not: it makes ni" 
 almost ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. 
 I'll entertain myself like one that I am not ac- 
 quainted withal; for, sure, unless he knjw some 
 strain in me, that I know not myself, he would 
 never have boarded me in this fury. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it 1 I'll be sure to 
 keep him above deck. 
 
 Mrs. Page. So will I ; if he come under my 
 hatches, I'll never to sea again. Let's be revenged 
 on him ; let's appoint him a meeting ; give him a 
 show of comfort in his suit : and lead him on with 
 a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his horses 
 to mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany 
 against him, that may not sully the chariness'' of 
 our honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter ! 
 it would give eternal food to his jealousy. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and 
 my good man too : he's as far from jealousy, as 1 
 am from giving him cause ; and that, I hope, is an 
 unmeasurable distance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against thii 
 greasy knight : Come hither. [ Theij retire 
 
 a Caution. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 47 
 
 Enter Fonr, Pistol, Page, and Ntm. 
 
 Ford. Well, I hope it be not so. 
 
 Fist. Hope is a curtail' dog in some affairs: 
 Sir John affects thy wife. 
 
 Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young:. 
 
 Fist. He woos both high and low, both rich 
 and poor. 
 Both young and old, one with another, Ford; 
 He loves thy gally-mawfry ;' Ford, perpend." 
 
 Ford. Love my wife] 
 
 Fist. With liver burning hot : Prevent, or go thou 
 Like sir Acta;on he, with Ring-wood at thy heels : 
 O, odious is the name! 
 
 Ford. What name, sir? 
 
 Fist. The horn, I say: Farewell. 
 Take heed; have open eye; for thieves do foot by 
 
 night: 
 Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo-birds do 
 
 sing.— 
 Away, sir corporal Nym. — 
 Believe it. Page; he speaks sense. ^Exit Pistol. 
 
 Ford. I will be patient; I will find out this. 
 
 Nym. And this is true. [To Page.] I like not 
 the humor of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
 humors; I should have borne the humored letter 
 to her : but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon 
 my necessity. He loves }'Our wife; there's the 
 short and the long. My name is corporal Nym ; 
 I speak, and I avouch. 'Tis true: — my name is 
 Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. — Adieu ! I love 
 not the humor of bread and cheese ; and there's 
 the humor of it. Adieu. [Exit Ntm. 
 
 Fage. The humor of it, quoth 'a! here's a 
 fellow frights humor out of his wits. 
 
 ^ord. I will seek out Falstaff. 
 
 Fage. I never heard such a drawling, affecting 
 logue. 
 
 Ford. If I do find it, well. 
 
 Fage. I will not believe such a Cataian,' tho' the 
 priest o' the town commended him for a true man. 
 
 Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow: Well. 
 
 Fage. How now, Meg? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George? — Hark you. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank? why art 
 thou melancholy? 
 
 Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. — 
 Get you home, go. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 'Faith thou hast some crotchets in 
 thy head now. — Will you go, mistress Page? 
 
 Mrs. Fage. Have with you. — You'll come to 
 dinner, George? — Look, who comes yonder: she 
 ?hall be our messenger to this paltry knight. 
 
 [Aside to Mrs. Foud. 
 
 Enter Mistress Quickly. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her: she'll 
 fi( it. 
 
 Mrs. Fage. You are come to see my daughter 
 Anne? 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and, I pray, how does good 
 mistress Anne? 
 
 Mrs. Fage. Go in with us, and see; we have 
 an houi's talk with you. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Fonn, and 
 Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Page. How now, master Ford ? 
 
 Ford. You heard what this knave told me ; did 
 •oil not? 
 
 • A (log that aliases his game. 
 ' '\)ii8:dor. 
 
 • A medley. 
 
 < A lying sharper. 
 
 Page. Yes; and you heard what the (tther told me^ 
 
 Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 
 
 Page. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think th« 
 knight would oficr it: but these that accuse him in 
 his intent towards our wives, are a yoke of his dis 
 carded men ; very rogues, now they be out of ser- 
 vice. 
 
 Ford. Were they his n en ? 
 
 Page. Marry, were the_\ 
 
 Ford. I like it never the better for that. — Does 
 he lie at the Garter? 
 
 Page. Ay, marry, docs he. If he should intend 
 this voyage towards my wife, I would turn her 
 loose to him ; and what he gets more of her than 
 sharp words, let it lie on my head. 
 
 Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I would 
 be loth to turn them together : A man may be too 
 confident: I would have nothing lie on my head: 
 I cannot be thus satisfied. 
 
 Fage. Look where my ranting host of the Garter 
 comes: there is either liquor in his pate, or money 
 in his purse, when he looks so merrily. — How now, 
 mine host? 
 
 Enter Host and Shallow. 
 
 Host. How now, bully-rook? thou'rt a gentle- 
 man: cavalero-justice, I say. 
 
 Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even 
 and twenty, good master Page ! Master Page, will 
 you go with us ? we have sport in hand. 
 
 Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice ; tell him, bully 
 rook. 
 
 Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between 
 sir Hugh the Welsh priest, and Caius the French 
 doctor. 
 
 Ford. Good mine host of the Garter, a word 
 with you. 
 
 Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook ? 
 
 [They go aside 
 
 Shal. Will you [to Page] go with us to behold 
 it ? my merry host hath had the measuring of their 
 weapons; and, I think, he hath appointed them 
 contrary places : for, believe me, I hear, the parson 
 is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport 
 shall be. 
 
 Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my 
 guest-cavalier ? 
 
 Ford. None, I protest: but I'll give you a pottle 
 of burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell 
 him, my name is Brook; only for a jest. 
 
 Host. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress 
 and regress; said I well? and thy name shall be 
 Brook : It is a merry knight. — Will you go on, 
 hearts ? 
 
 Shal. Have with you, mine host. 
 
 Page. I have heard the Frenchman hath good 
 skill in his rapier. 
 
 Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more ! In 
 these times you stand on distance, your passes, 
 stoccadoes, and I know not what: 'tis the heart, 
 master Page ; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the 
 time, with my long sword, I would have made you 
 four tall fellows skip like rats. 
 
 Host. Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag? 
 
 Fage. Have with you : — I had rather hear them 
 scold than fight. 
 
 [Exeunt Host, Shallow, and Page. 
 
 Fo)-d. Though Page be a secure fool, and standi 
 so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off 
 my opinion so easily: she w«8 in his company al 
 
48 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act [1 
 
 Page's house ; and what they made there, I know 
 not. Well, I will look further into't : and I have 
 a disguise to sound FalstafF: If I find her honest, I 
 lose not my labor ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labor 
 well bestowed. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 
 
 Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 
 
 Pist. Why then the world's mine oyster, 
 Which I v/ith sword will open. — 
 I will retort the sum in equipage.^ 
 
 FaL Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
 should lay my countenance to pavvn ; I have grated 
 upon my good friends for three reprieves for you 
 and your coach-fellow' Nym ; or else you had 
 looked through the grate like a geminy of baboons. 
 I am damned in hell, for swearing to gentlemen 
 my friends, you were good soldiers, and tall fel- 
 lows : and when mistress Bridget lost the handle of 
 her fan, I took't upon my honor, thou hadst it not. 
 
 Fiat, Didst thou not share? hadst thou not 
 fifteen pence 1 
 
 Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : Think'st thou, 
 I'll endanger my soul gratis ? At a word, hang no 
 more about me, I am no gibbet for you : — go. — 
 A short knife and a throng:' — to your manor 
 of Pickt-hatch,^ go. — You'll not bear a letter for 
 me, you rogue! — ^}'ou stand upon your honor! — 
 Why, thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much 
 as I can do, to keep the terms of my honor pre- 
 cise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving the fear of 
 heaven on the left hand, and hiding mine honor in 
 my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to 
 lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce'' your 
 rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice' 
 phrases, and your bold-beating oaths, under the 
 shelter of your honor ! You will not do it, you 1 
 
 Fi^t. I do relent: what wouldst thou more of man] 
 
 Enter RoBiif. 
 
 Roh. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. 
 Fal. Let her approach. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. 
 
 Quick. Not so, an't please your worship. 
 
 Fal. Good maid, then. 
 
 Quick. I'll be sworn ; as my mother v^'as, the 
 first hour I was born. 
 
 Fal. I do believe the swearer ; What with mel 
 
 Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship aword or 
 two ] 
 
 Fuv. Two thousand, fair woman ; and I'll vouch- 
 safe thee the hearing. 
 
 Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir; — I pray, 
 come a little nearer this ways; — I myself dwell 
 with master doctor Caius. 
 
 Fal. Well, on : Mistress Ford you say, 
 
 Quick. Your worship says very true; I pray 
 your worship, come a little nearer this ways. 
 
 Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears ; — mine own 
 p«'ople, mine own people. 
 
 Quick. Are they so? Heaven bless them, and 
 jr. ike them his servants! 
 
 • fay you again ia stolen goods. 
 
 • l-ra^cs alon^ with you. » To cut purses in a crowd. 
 " Pitkt-hatch was in Clerkenwell. ' Protect. 
 
 • Alo "louse. 
 
 Fal. Well: Mistress Ford .-—What of her ? 
 
 Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature ; Lord 
 lord ! your worship's a wanton : Well, heaven for 
 give you, and all of us, I pray ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, — 
 
 Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long ol 
 it; you have brought her into such a canaries,' as 
 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all, 
 when the court lay at Windsor, could never have 
 brought her to such a canary. Yet there has been 
 knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with their 
 coaches ; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter 
 after letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly 
 (all musk) and so rushling, I warrant you, in silk 
 and gold ; and in such alligant terms ; and in such 
 wine and sugar of the best and the fairest, that would 
 have won any woman's heart ; and, I warrant you, 
 they could never get an eye-wink of her. — I hid 
 myself twenty angels given me this morning ; but 
 I defy all angels, (in any such sort, as they say,) 
 but in the way of honesty : — and, I warrant you, 
 they could never get her so much as sip on a cup 
 with the proudest of them all ; and yet there has 
 been earls, nay, which is more, pensioners ; but I 
 warrant you, all is one with her. 
 
 Fal, But what says she to mel be brief, my 
 good she-Mercury. 
 
 Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter; for 
 the which she thanks you a thousand times; and 
 she gives you to notify, that her husband will be 
 absence from his house between ten and eleven. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven? 
 
 Quick, Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come 
 and see the picture, she says that you wot' of;— 
 master Ford, her husband, will be fi'om home. 
 Alas ! the sweet woman leads an ill life with him , 
 he's a very jealousy man; she leads a very fram- 
 pold^ life with him, good heart. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven : Woman, commend me 
 to her ; I will not fail her. 
 
 Quick. Why, you say well : ButI haveanothei 
 messenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath her 
 hearty commendations to you too; — and let me 
 tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modes', 
 wife, and one (I tell you) that will not miss your 
 morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, 
 whoe'er be the other; and she bade me tell your 
 worship, that her husband is seldom from home 
 but, she hopes, there will come a time. I never 
 knew a woman so dote upon a man ; surely, I think 
 you have charms, la; yes, in truth. 
 
 Fal. Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attractior 
 of my good parts aside, I have no other charms. 
 
 Quick. Blessing on your heart for't ! 
 
 Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's 
 wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each other how 
 they love me? 
 
 Quick, That were a jest, indeed ! — they have 
 not so little grace, I hope: — that were a trick, 
 indeed ! But mistress Page would desire you to 
 send her your little page, of all loves;' her husband 
 has a marvellous infection to the little page : and, 
 truly, master Page is an honest man. Never a wife 
 in Windsor leads a better life than Rhe does ; do 
 what she will, say what she will, take all, pay all, 
 go to bed when she list, rise when she li.st, all is ai 
 she will ; and, truly, she deserves it ; for if there 
 be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. — You 
 must send her your page ; no remedy. 
 
 3 A mistake of Mr.s. Quickly's for quandar;/. 
 
 ' Know. a Fretful, pecvl*ih. ' By bH means 
 
Scene fl. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 49 
 
 Fal. Why, I will. 
 
 Quick. Nay, but do so, then ; and, look you, he 
 may come and go between you both ; and, in any 
 case, have a nay-word,* that you may know one 
 another's mind, and the boy never need to under- 
 stand any thing ; for 'tis not good that children 
 should know any wickedness : old folks, you knov/, 
 have discretion, as they say, and know the world. 
 
 Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them both: 
 
 there's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go 
 
 along with this woman. — This news distracts me. 
 
 [Exeunt Quickly and Robik. 
 
 Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : — 
 Clap on more sails ; pursue, up with your fights ; 
 Give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! 
 
 [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack 1 go thy ways; I'll 
 make more of thy old body than I have done. Will 
 they yet look after thee ] Wilt thou, after the ex- 
 pense of so much money, be now a gainer ? Good 
 body, I thank thee : Let them say, 'tis grossly done ; 
 so it be fairly done, no matter. 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 
 Bar. Sir John, there's one master Brook below 
 would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
 you ; and hath sent your worship a morning's 
 draught of sack. 
 
 Fal. Brook, is his name 1 
 
 Bar. Ay, sir. 
 
 Fal. Call him in. [Exit Bardolph.] Such 
 Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such 
 liquor. Ah ! ha ! mistress Ford and mistress 
 Page, have I encompassed you ? go to ; via ! ' 
 Re-enter Bardolph with Ford disguised. 
 
 Ford. Bless you, sir. 
 
 Fal. And you, sir : Would you speak with me? 
 
 Ford. I make bold, to press with so little prepa- 
 ration upon you. 
 
 Fal. You're welcome ; What's your will] Give 
 us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
 much ; my name is Brook. 
 
 Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaint- 
 ance of you. 
 
 Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours : not to 
 charge you ; for I must let you understand, I think 
 myself in better plight for a lender than you are : 
 the which hath something embolden'd me to this 
 unseason'd intrusion: for they say, if money go 
 before, all ways do lie open. 
 
 Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 
 
 Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here 
 troubles me : if you will help mo to bear it, sir 
 John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be 
 your porter. 
 
 Ford. I will tell y )U, sir, if you will give me the 
 hearing. 
 
 Fal. Speak, good master Brook ; I shall be glad 
 |o be your servant. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be 
 brief with you ; — and you have been a man long 
 known to me, though I had never so good means, 
 as desire, to make myself acquainted with you. I 
 shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must very 
 much lay open mine own imperfection : but, good 
 sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as 
 you hear them unfolded, turn another into the 
 register of your own ; that I may pass with a re- 
 
 • A watch- word. iA c*nt phrase of exultation. 
 
 proof the easier, sith" you yourself know, how easi 
 it is to be such an oflendcr. 
 
 Fal. Very well, sir; proceed. 
 
 Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, ha 
 husband's name is Ford. 
 
 Fal. Well, sir. 
 
 Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest tc 
 you, bestowed much on her; followed her with a 
 doting observance; engrossed opportunities to mee> 
 her; fee'd every slight occasion, that could but 
 niggardly give me sight of her ; not only bought 
 many presents to give her, but have given largely 
 to many, to know what she would have given: 
 briefly, I have pursued her, as love hath pursued 
 me ; which hath been on the wing of all occasions. 
 But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind, 
 or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received 
 none; unless experience be a jewel: that I have 
 purchas'd at an infinite rate: and that hath taught 
 me to say this: 
 
 Love like a shadow flies, when substance love pur- 
 sues,- 
 Pursuhig that that flies, and flying what pursues. 
 
 Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfac- 
 tion at her hands'? 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fal. Have you importun'd her to such a purposeT 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fal. Of what quahty was your love then ? 
 
 Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another 
 man's ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by 
 mistaking the place where I erected it. 
 
 Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to 
 me? 
 
 Ford. When I have told you that, I have told 
 you all. Some say, that, though she appear honest 
 to me, yet, in other places, she enlargeth her mirth 
 so far, that there is shrewd construction made ol 
 her. Now, sir John, here is the heart of my pur- 
 pose : You are a gentleman of excellent breeding, 
 admirable discourse, of great admittance,'' authentic 
 in your place and person, generally allowed' for your 
 many warlike, courtlike, and learned preparations. 
 
 Fal. O sir! 
 
 Ford. Believe it, for you know it. — There is 
 money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all 
 I have ; only give me so much of your time in ex- 
 change of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the 
 honesty of this Ford's wife ; use your art of wooing, 
 win her to consent to you ; if any man may, you 
 may as soon as any. 
 
 Fal, Would it apply well to the vehemency of 
 your aflfection, that I should win what you would 
 enjoy? Methinks you prescribe to yourself veiy 
 preposterously. 
 
 Ford. O, understand my drift! she dwells so 
 securely on the excellency of her honor, that the 
 folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too 
 bright to be looked against. Now, could I come 
 to her with any detection in my hand, my desires 
 had instance and argument to commend themselves; 
 I could drive her then from the ward of her purity, 
 her reputation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand 
 other her defences, which now are too strongly 
 embattled against me: What say you to't, sir John? 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will first make liold with 
 
 your money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, 
 
 as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, have 
 
 Ford's wife. 
 
 • Since. 1 1n the greatest companies. * Approved 
 
50 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act II 
 
 ford. good sir! 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I say you shall. 
 
 Furd. Want no money, sir John, you shall want 
 none. 
 
 Fed. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook, you 
 sliall want none. I shall be with her (I may tell 
 you) by her own appointment ; even as you came 
 in to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from 
 me : 1 say, I shall be with her between ten and 
 deven ; for at that time the jealous, rascally knave, 
 her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at 
 night ; you shall know how I speed. 
 
 F(ird. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you 
 know Ford, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldy knave! I know 
 ximi not : — yet I wTong him to call him poor ; they 
 say, the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money ; 
 for the which his wife seems to be well-favored. I 
 will use her as the key of the cuckoldy rogue's 
 coffer; and there's my harvest-home. 
 
 F())-d. I would you knew Ford, sir; that you 
 might avoid him, if you saw him. 
 
 Ful. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I 
 will stare him out of his wits ; I will awe him with 
 my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er the 
 cuckold's horns ; master Brook, thou shalt know, I 
 will predominate o'er the peasant, and thou shalt lie 
 vvith bis wife.- — Come to me soon at night : — Ford's 
 I knave , and I will aggravate his stile ;* thou, mas- 
 ter Bioi ik, shalt know him for a knave and cuckold : 
 — come t.i me soon at night. \^Exlt. 
 
 Foi d. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this ! 
 — My heart is ready to crack with impatience. — 
 '-Vho says this is improvident jealousy ] My wife 
 hath sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is 
 made. Would any man have thought this ? — See 
 the hell of having a false woman ! my bed shall be 
 abused, my coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn 
 at; and I shall not only receive this villanous 
 wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable 
 terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms ! 
 
 names ! Amairnon sounds well ; Lucifer, well ; 
 
 Barbason, well ; yet they are devil's additions, the 
 names of fiends . but cuckold ! wittol* cuckold ! the 
 devil himself hath no such a name. Page is an 
 ass, a secure ass ; he will trust his wife, he will not 
 be jealous : I will rather trust a Fleming with my 
 butter, parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, 
 an Irishman with my aqua-vitse bottle, or a thief to 
 walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with her- 
 self; then she plots, then she ruminates, then she 
 devises : and what they think in their hearts they 
 may effect, they will break their hearts but they 
 will effect. Heaven be praised for my jealousy ! 
 — Eleven o'clock the hour; — I will prevent this, 
 detect my wife, be revenged on Falstafl", and laugh 
 at Page. I will about it; better three hours too 
 soon, tban a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie ! cuckold ! 
 cuckold ! cuckold ! [^Exit. 
 
 SCENE m.— Windsm- Park, 
 nnter Caius and Rugby. 
 
 Cuius. Jack Rugby ! 
 
 Rug. Sir. 
 
 Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack ? 
 
 Rug. 'Tis past the hiur, sir, that sir Hugh pro- 
 mised to meet. 
 
 Cuius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is 
 m come ; he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no 
 « Add to h's titles. » Contented cuckold. 
 
 come: by gar. Jack Rugby, he is dead already, il 
 he be come. 
 
 Rug. He is wise, sir; he knew your worshij 
 would kill him, if he came. 
 
 Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vd 
 kill him. Take your rapier, Jack ; I vill tell voi 
 how I vill kill him. 
 
 Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 
 
 Cains. Villany, take your rapier. 
 Rug. Forbear, here's company. 
 
 Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. 
 Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor ! 
 
 Shal. 'Save you, master doctor Caius. 
 
 Page. Now, good master doctor. 
 
 Slen. Give you good morrow, sir. [for 
 
 Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, comt 
 
 Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin," to sec 
 thee traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there ; Ic 
 see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy 
 distance, thy montunt.'' Is he dead, my Ethiopian 1 
 is he dead, my Francisco ? ha, bully ! What says 
 my ^sculapius ? my Galen 1 my heart of elder ? 
 ha ! is he dead, bully Stale ? is he dead 1 
 
 Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest ol 
 the vorld ; he is not show his face. 
 
 Host. Thou art a Castilian king, Urinal ! Hec 
 tor of Greece, my boy ! 
 
 Cuius. I pray you, bear vitness that me hav( 
 stay six or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he 
 is no come. 
 
 Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor : he is 
 a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if you 
 should fight, you go against the hair of your pro 
 fessions : is it not true, master Page ? 
 
 Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself beer, 
 a great fighter, though now a man of peace. 
 
 Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be 
 old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my 
 finger itches to ma'iie one; though we are justices, 
 and doctors, and churchmen, master Page, we have 
 some salt of our youth in us ; we are the sons o'" 
 women, master Page. 
 
 Page. 'Tis true, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. It will be found so, master Page. Maslei 
 doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am 
 sworn of the peace ; you have showed yourself a 
 wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shown himself 
 a wise and patient churchman : you must go with 
 me, master doctor. 
 
 Host. Pardon, guest justice : — A word, monsieur 
 Muck-water?' 
 
 Caius. Muck-vater ! vat is dat 1 [valor, bully 
 
 Host. Muck-v\'ater, in our Engikh tongue, is 
 
 Caius. By gar, then I have as much muck-vatci 
 as de Englishman: — Scurvy Jack-CiOg priest! hy 
 gar, me vill cut his ears. 
 
 Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully 
 
 Caius. Clapper-de-claw ! vat is dat ? 
 
 Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 
 
 Cains. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de- 
 claw me ; for by gar, me vill have it. 
 
 Host. And I will provoke him to 't, or let him wag 
 
 Caius. Me tank you for dat. 
 
 Host. And moreover, bully, — But first, mastet 
 guest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender 
 go you through the town to Frogmore. 
 
 I Aside to them 
 
 Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? 
 
 <= Fence. 
 
 • Drain of a duni(hill. 
 
 1 Terms in fencuur. 
 
A.CT III. Scene I. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 5i 
 
 Host. He is there : see what humor he is in ; 
 und I will bring the doctor about by the fields : 
 will it do well ? 
 
 SluiL We will do it. 
 
 Page, S/ta/., and Slen. Adieu, good master doc- 
 tci. " [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 Cants. By gar, me vill kill de priest ; for he 
 upeak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 
 
 Host. Let him die : but, first, sheath thy impa- 
 tience ; throw cold water on thy choler : go about 
 the fields with me through Frogmore : I will bring 
 Ihce where Mrs. Anne Page is, at a farm-house, a 
 
 feasting ; and thou shalt woo her : Cry'd game, 
 said 4 well ] 
 
 Cuius. By gar, me tank you for dat; by gar, I 
 love you ; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, 
 de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, mj 
 patients. 
 
 Host. For the which, I will be thy adversary to. 
 wards Anne Page ; said I well 1 
 
 Cams. By gar, 'tis good ; veil said. 
 
 Host. Let us wag then. 
 
 Cuius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE L — A field near Frogmore. 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans mid Simple. 
 
 E'ju. I pray you now, good master Slender's 
 sening man, and friend Simple by your name, 
 which way have you looked for Master Caius, that 
 calls himself Doctor of Phi/sic ? 
 
 Sim. Many, sir, the city-ward, the park-ward, 
 evci-y way ; old Windsor way, and every way but 
 the town way. 
 
 Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will 
 also look that way. 
 
 Sim. I will, sir. 
 
 Eva. 'Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, 
 and trembling of mind ! — I shall be glad, if he 
 have deceived me : — how melancholies I am ! — I 
 will knog his urinals about his knave's costard," 
 when I have good opportunities for the 'ork — 
 'plcss my soul ! \_Sings. 
 
 To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 ]\fel<>diou8 hirds sing madrigals ; 
 T/iere loill loe malce our peds of roses. 
 And a thoHSdiid fragrant posies, 
 To shallow 
 
 Mercy on me ! I have a great disposition to cry. 
 
 ^telodioiis birds sing madrigals ; 
 
 When I sat in Pahylon, 
 
 And a thousand vag ram posies. 
 To shallow 
 
 Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh. 
 Evu. He's welcome : — 
 
 To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 
 Heaven prosper the right! — What weapons is he ? 
 Sim. No weapons, sir : There comes my master, 
 master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frog- 
 more, over the stile, this way. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, give jpe my gown ; or else keep 
 J ill your arms. 
 
 Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 S/ifi/. How now, master Parson? Good morrow, 
 good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice and 
 I good studeni from his book, and it is wonderful. 
 
 <S'/V/i. Ah, sweet Anne Page! 
 
 Page. 'Save you, good sir Hugh! 
 
 Era. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 
 
 S/io/. What ! the sword and the word ! do you 
 study them both, master parson 1 
 
 Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and 
 hose, this raw rheumatic day 1 
 
 Eva. There in reasons and causes for it. 
 
 Page. Wo are come to you, to do a good office, 
 master parson. 
 
 Eva. Fery well : What is it? 
 
 Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, 
 
 Sead. 
 
 who belilve, having received wrong by some person, 
 is at most odds with his own gravity and patience, 
 that ever you saw. 
 
 Skal. I have lived fourscore years and upwards ; 
 I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and 
 learning, so wide of his own respect 1 
 
 Eva. What is he 1 
 
 Page. I think you know him ; master docto» 
 Caius, the renowned French physician. 
 
 Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my heart ! 1 
 had as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge 
 
 Puge. Why] 
 
 Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates 
 and Galen, — and he is a knave besides ; a cowardly 
 knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 
 
 Page. I warrant you he's the man should fight 
 with him. 
 
 Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 Skal. It appears so, by his weapons: — Keep 
 them asunder ; — here comes doctor Caius. 
 
 Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby. 
 
 Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your 
 weapon. 
 
 Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 
 
 Host. Disarm them, and let them question : let 
 them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. 
 
 Cuius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit 
 your ear : verefore vill you not meet-a me 1 
 
 Eva. Pray you, use your patience : In good time. 
 
 Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog. 
 John ape. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to 
 other men's humors ; I desire you in friendship, 
 and I will one way or other make you amends 
 and I will knog your uiinals about your knave'a 
 cogscomb, for missing your meetings and appoint- 
 ments. 
 
 Cuius. Diuble ! — Jack Rugby, — mine Host de 
 Jurterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him 1 have 
 I not, at de place I did appoint 1 
 
 Eva. As I am a christians soul, now, look yo. 
 this is the place appointed ; I'll be judgment by 
 mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Host. Peace, I say, Guallia and Gaul, French 
 and Welsh ; soul-curer and body-curer. 
 
 Cains. Ay, dat is very good ! cxceMent ! 
 
 Host. Peace, I say ; hear mine host of the Garter 
 Am I politic 1 am I subtle ? am I a Machiavel ? Shall 
 I lose my doctor ? no ; he gives me the potions and 
 the motions. Shall I lose my parson ? my priest? 
 my sir Hugh ? no ; he gives me the proverbs and the 
 noverbs. — Give me thy hand, terrestrial ; so : — (iive 
 
 me thy hand, celestial ; so. Boys of art, I have 
 
 deceived you both ; I have directed you to wrong 
 places : your hearts arc mighty, your skins ar« 
 whole, and let burnt sack be the iosue — Coi"«> 
 
62 
 
 MERRY ^^IVE^ OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 lay their swords to pawn: — Follow me, lad of 
 peace ; follow, follow, follow. 
 
 8haL Trust me, a mad host :— Follow, gentle- 
 •Xien, follow. 
 
 Slen. 0, sweet Anne Page! 
 
 [Exeunt S;!al., Slen., Page, and Host. 
 
 Calus. Ha! do I perceive datl have you make-a 
 de HOt of us ] ha, ha ! 
 
 Eva. This is well ; he has m.ade us his vlouting- 
 stog. — I desire you, that we may be friends; and 
 let us knog our prains together, to be revenge on 
 this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the 
 host of the Garter. 
 
 Cuius. By gar, vit all my heart: he promisie to 
 bring me vere is Anne Page : by gar, he deceive 
 me too. 
 
 Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles :— Pray you, 
 follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mistress Page and Robin.^ 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; 
 you were wont to be a follower, but now you are 
 a leader: Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, 
 or eye your master's heels! 
 
 lloh. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like 
 a man, than follow him like a dwarf. 
 
 Mrs. Page. O you are a flatteriiig boy; now, I 
 see, you'll be a courtier. 
 
 Enter Forb. 
 
 Ford. Well met, mistress Page: Whither go 
 you ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife: Is she 
 at homel 
 
 Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang togeth- 
 er, for want of company : I think if your husbands 
 were dead, you two would marry. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, — two other husbands. 
 
 Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock? 
 
 Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his 
 name is my hv.sband had him of: What do you 
 call your knight's name, sirrah? 
 
 Roh. Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Ford. Sir John Falstaff! 
 
 Mrs. Page. He, he ; I can never hit on's name. 
 There is such a league between my good man and 
 he ! — Is your wife at home, indeed 1 
 
 Ford. Indeed, she is. 
 
 Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir; — I am sick, till 
 I see her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin. 
 
 Ford. Has Page any brains] hath he any eyes] 
 hath he any thinking] Sure they sleep ; he hath no 
 use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter 
 twenty miles, as easy as a cannon will shoot point- 
 blank twelve score. He pieccs-out his wife's in- 
 clination ; he gives her folly motion, and advantage : 
 and now she's going to my wife, and Falstaf5''s boy 
 with her. A man may hear this shower sing in 
 the wmd! — and Falstaff's boy with her! — Good 
 plots ! — they are laid ; and our revolted wives share 
 damnation together. Well ; I will take him, then 
 torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of mo- 
 desty trom the so seeming mistress Page, divulge 
 Page himself for a secure and wilful Actaeon ; and 
 Jo these violent proceedings all my neighbors shall 
 cry aim.* [Clock strikes.'] The clock gives me my 
 cue, and my assurance bids me search ; there I shall 
 
 * Shall encourage. 
 
 find Falstaff: I shall be rather praised for this than 
 mocked; for it is as positive as the earth is firm 
 that FalstafTis there: I v/ill go. 
 £?i^erPAGE, Shallow, Slendfr, Host, &V Hugh 
 Evans, Caics, and Rugbt. 
 
 Shal., Page, &c. Well met, master Ford. 
 
 Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I have good chee. 
 at home; and I pray you, all go with me. 
 
 Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. 
 
 Slen. And so must I, sir; wc have appointed to 
 dine with mistress Anne, and I Avould not break 
 with her for more money than I'll speak of. 
 
 S/tal. We have lingered about a match between 
 Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day 
 we shall have our answer. 
 
 Sle?i. I hope I have your good-will, father Page 
 
 Page. You have, master Slender ; I stand whol- 
 ly for yon : — but my wife, master doctor, is for you 
 altogether. 
 
 Cams. Ay, by gar; and de raaid is love-a me; 
 my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 
 
 Host. What say you to young master Fenton ? 
 he capers, he dances, hi; has eyes of youth, he 
 writes verses, he speaks holyday ; ' he smells April 
 ami May : he will cany't, he will carry't ; 'tis in 
 his buttons ; he will carry't. 
 
 Page Not by my consent, I proinise you. The 
 gentleman is of no having: he kept company vAth 
 the wild Prince and Poins ; he is of too high » 
 legion, ho knows too much. No, he shall nf 
 knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of my 
 substance : if he take her, let him take her simply ; 
 the wealth I have, waits on my consent, and my 
 consent goes not that way. 
 
 Furd. I beseech yon, heartily, some of you gt 
 home with me to dinner : besides your cheer, you 
 
 shall have sport; I will show you a monster. 
 
 Master doctor, you shall go ; — so shall you, mas- 
 ter Page ; — and you, sir Hugh. 
 
 Sltal. Well, fare you well : — we shall have the 
 freer wooing at master Page's. 
 
 [Exeufit Shallow and Slender 
 
 Cains. Go home, John Rugby ; I come anon. 
 
 [Exif RrcBT. 
 
 Host. Farewell, my hearts : I will to my honest 
 knight Falstaf!^ and drink canary with him. 
 
 [Exit Host. 
 
 Ford. [Aside.] 1 think, I shall drink in pipc-winc 
 first with him; I'll make him dance. W^ilj you 
 go, gentles ? 
 
 All. Have with yoa, to see this monster. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE HI.^ 1 Boom in Ford''s House 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What John ! what, Robert ! [ket— 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly : Is the buck-baa- 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I vvaiTant: — ^What, Robin, I sav 
 Enter Servatifs with a basket. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, lome, com"-.. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 
 
 M-s. Page. Give yom men the charge v we must 
 be brief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John 
 and Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew 
 house; and when I suddenly call you, come forth, 
 and (without any pause, or staggeiing) take thia 
 basket on your shoulders : that done trudge with 
 
 » Out of the common style. 
 
 J 
 
Scene III. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 53 
 
 it in all liastc, and carry it among the whitstnr.s in 
 Dattlict-mcad, and there empty it in the muddy 
 ditcli, close by the Thames' side. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You will do it 1 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over ; they 
 lack no direction: Begone, and come when you 
 ;uo called. [Exeunt Servants 
 
 Mrs. Pasre. Here comes Httle Robin. 
 Enter Robin. 
 
 iMrs. Furd. How now, my eyas-musket V what 
 news with you ] 
 
 Rub. My master sur John is come in at your hack- 
 door, mistress Ford; and requests your company. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-Icnt,' have you 
 been true to us? 
 
 Bub. Ay, I'll be sworn : My master knows not 
 of your being here; and hath threatened to put me 
 into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it ; for, he 
 swears, he'll turn me away. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Thou'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of 
 thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee 
 a new doublet and hose. — I'll go hide me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do so : — Go tell thy master, I am 
 alone. Mistress Page, remember you your cue. 
 
 \_Exit Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, 
 hiss me. [Exit Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go to then ; we'll use this unwhole- 
 •ome humidity, this gross watery pumpion ; we'll 
 teach him to know turtles from Java. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Ful. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel/ 
 Wliy, now let me die, for I have lived long enough : 
 this is the period of my ambition: this blessed 
 hour ! 
 
 M?'s. Ford. O sweet sir John ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, 
 mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I 
 would thy husband were dead ; I'll speak it before 
 the best lord, I would make thee my lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ! alas, I should 
 be a pitiful lady. 
 
 Ful. Let the court of France show me such an- 
 other : I see how thine eye would emulate the dia- 
 mond : Thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, 
 that becomes the ship-tiro, the tire-valiant, or any 
 tire of Venetian admittance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows 
 become nothing else; nor that well neither. 
 
 Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so: thou wouldst 
 make an absolute courtier: and the firm fixture of 
 thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait, 
 in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, 
 if fortune thy foe were not; nature is thy friend: 
 Conic, thou canst not hide it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing in 
 me. 
 
 Ful. What made me love thee? let that persuade 
 thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. — 
 Come, I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and 
 that, like a many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, 
 that come like women in men's apparel, and smell 
 like Bucklers-bury' in simple-time; I cannot: but 
 [ love thee; none but thee; and thou dcsorvest it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir; I fear, you 
 love mistress Page. 
 
 A young small hawk. 
 ' A puppet thrown at, in Lent, like shrovc-cocks. 
 ' Formerly chiefly inhabited by ilraggists. 
 
 6 
 
 Fal. Thou mightst as well say, I i'>ve to walk 
 by the Counter-gate; which is as hateful to me at 
 the reek of a lime-kiln. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well heaven knows, how I love yr.ri. 
 and you shall one day find it. 
 
 Fal. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do, oi 
 else I could not be in that mind. 
 
 Rob. [_within.^ Mistress Ford, mistress Ford ! 
 here's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and 
 blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak 
 with you presently. 
 
 Fal. She shall not see me ; I will ensconce ' xlo 
 behind the an-as. 
 
 Mrs. Ford^ Pray j'ou, do so; she's a very tattling 
 womin. — [Falstaff hides himself 
 
 Enter Mrs. Page a^id Robin. 
 
 What's th i matter 1 how now 1 
 
 Mrs. Frige. O mistress Ford, what have j'ou 
 done 1 You're shamed, you are overthrown, you 
 are undone for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good mistress 
 Page] 
 
 Mrs. Page. well-a-day, mistress Ford ! having 
 an honest man to your husband, to give him such 
 cause of suspicion ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion 1 
 
 Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion ? — O-t 
 upon you ! how am I mistook in you ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, alas! what's the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, wo- 
 man, with all the officers in Windsor, to search for 
 a gentleman, that, he says, is here, now in the 
 house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of 
 his absence: you are undone. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Speak louder. [Aside.'] — 'Tis not 
 so, I hope. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you 
 have such a man here; but 'tis most certain your 
 husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, 
 to search for such a one. I come before to tell 
 you : If you know yourself clear, why I am glad of 
 it: but if you have a friend here, convey, convey 
 him out. Be not amazed : call all your senses to 
 you: defend your reputation, or bid farewell to 
 your good life for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford, What shall I do 1 — There is a gen- 
 tleman, my dear friend: and I fear not mine own 
 shame, so much as his peril : I had rather than a 
 thousand pound, he were out of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had 
 rather, and you had rather,- your husband's here 
 at hand, bethink you of some conveyance : in the 
 house you cannot hide him. — O, how have you 
 deceived me ! — Look, here is a basket : if he be of 
 any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and 
 throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to 
 bucking : Or, it is whiting-time,' send him by your 
 two men to Datchet-mead. 
 
 Mrs. Ford, He's too big to go in there: What 
 shall I do? 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. TiCt me sce't ! let me sec't ! let me see't'. 
 I'll in, I'll in; — follow your friend's counsel ;- 
 I'll in. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What! sir John Falstaff! Arcthesa 
 your letters, knight? 
 
 * Hide. < Bleaching time 
 
54 
 
 JMERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 AOT III. 
 
 Fal. \ love thee, and none but thee; help me 
 Bway: lei. me creep in here; I'll never — • 
 
 [//e goes into Ihe basket; they cover him 
 ivilh foul linen. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy: 
 Call your men, mistress Ford : — You dissembling 
 knight. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John, Robert, John ! {^Exit 
 Romx; Re-enter Servants.] Go, take up these 
 clothes here, quickly; Where's the cowl-stafF] " 
 look, how you drunn.Io,^ carry them to the laun- 
 dress in Datcliet-mead ; quickly, come. 
 
 Enter FoRn, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect without 
 cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be 
 your jest; I deserve it. — Hov/ nowl whither bear 
 you this? 
 
 Serv, To the laundress, forsooth. 
 
 Mis. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither 
 they bear it? You were best meddle with buck- 
 washing. 
 
 Ford. Buck? I would I could wash myself of 
 the buck ! Buck, buck, buck ] Ay, buck ; I warrant 
 you, buck; and of the season too, it shall appear. 
 {^Exeunt Servants with the basket.'] Gentlemen, 
 I have dreamed to-night: I'll tell you my dream. 
 Here, here, here be my keys: ascend my chambers, 
 search, seek, find out: I'll warrant we'll unkennel 
 the fox: — Let me stop this way first: — So now 
 uncape.' 
 
 Page. Good master Ford, be contented : you 
 wrong yourself too much. 
 
 Ford. True, master Page. — Up, gentlemen; you 
 shall sec sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. [^Exit. 
 
 Eva. This is fery fantastical humors, and jea- 
 lousies. 
 
 Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France: it 
 is not jealous in France. 
 
 Page. JXay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the issue 
 
 of his search. [Exeunt Evans, Page, and Caius. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this' 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, 
 that my husband is deceived, or sir John. 
 
 ■Mrs. Page. What a taking he was in when your 
 husband asked who was in the basket? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid ho will have need 
 of washing ; so throwing him into the water will 
 do him a benefit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would, 
 all of the same strain were in the same distress. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 1 think my husband hath some 
 special suspicion of Falstaff's being here: for I 
 never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that: And we 
 will yet have more tricks with Falstalf: his dissolute 
 disease will scarce obey this medicine. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, 
 mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing 
 into the water; and give him another hope, to 
 betray him into another punishment! 
 
 Mrs. Page. We'll do it; let him be sent for to- 
 morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. 
 
 Re-enter Fonn, Pagk, Caius, and Sir Hugh 
 Evans. 
 
 Ford. I canr.ot find him : may be the knave 
 bragged of that he could not compass. 
 
 » A staff for oarr/ini; a large tub or basket. • Drone. 
 *t'nbag the fox 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heard you thati 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Ay, ay, peace: — ^you use me well 
 master Ford, do you 1 
 
 Ford. Ay, I do so. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than youi 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Ford. Amen. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wi-ong, 
 master Ford. 
 
 Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. 
 
 Era. If there be anypody in the house, and iu 
 the chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses 
 heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment ! 
 
 Cains. By gar, nor I too; dere is no bodies. 
 
 Page. Fie, fie, master Ford! are you not ashamed! 
 What spirit, what devil .'luggcsts this imagination 7 
 I would not have your distemper in this kind, for 
 the wealth of Windsor Castle. 
 
 Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page : I suffer for it. 
 
 Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience ; your wife 
 is ab honest a 'omans, as I will desires among five 
 thousand, and five hundred too. 
 
 Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 
 
 Ford. Well; — I promised you a dinner: — 
 Come, come, walk in the park : I pray you, pardon 
 me; I will hereafter make known to you, why I 
 hive done this. — Come, wife ; come, mistress Page : 
 I pray you pardon me ; pray heartily, pardon me. 
 
 Page. Let's go in, gentlemen ; but trust me, 
 we'll mock him. I do invite you to-morrow 
 morning to my house to breakfast ; after, we'll a 
 birding together ; I have a fine hawk for the bush : 
 Shall it be so ? 
 
 Fnrd. Any thing. 
 
 Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the 
 company. 
 
 Caius. If there be one or two, I shall make-a 
 de tird. 
 
 Eva. In your teeth : for shame. 
 
 Ford. Pray you go, master Page. 
 
 Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow 
 on the lousy knave, mine host. 
 
 Caius. Dat is good ; by gar, vit all my heart. 
 
 Eva. A lousy knave ; to have his gibes and his 
 mockeries. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE lY.—A Room in Page's House. 
 Enter Fenton and Mistress Anne PaCxE. 
 
 Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love* 
 Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 
 
 Anne. Alas! how then! 
 
 Feiit. Why, thou must be thysell- 
 
 He doth object, I am too great of birth ; 
 And that, my state being gall'd with my expense, 
 I seek to heal it only by his wealth : 
 
 Besides these, other bars he lays before me, 
 
 My riots pasl, my wild societies; 
 And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible 
 I should love thee, but as a property. 
 
 Anne. May be, he tells you true. 
 
 Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time U 
 come! 
 Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
 Was the first motive that I woo'd ihee, Anne: 
 Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
 Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags; 
 And 'tis the very riches of thyself 
 That now I aim at. 
 
 Anne. Gentle master Fenton, 
 
 Yet seek mv father's love: still seek it, sir.- 
 
Scene V. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 
 
 55 
 
 [f opportunilj and humblest suit 
 
 Cannot attair^ it, why then — Hark you hither. 
 
 \_Thcy converse apart. 
 
 tenter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Shal. Break their talk, Mrs. Quickly; my kins- 
 man shall speak for himself. 
 
 Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't:' slid, 'tis 
 but venturing. 
 
 Shal. Be not dismay'd. 
 
 Slcn. No, slie shall not dismay me : I care not 
 for that, — but that I am afeard. 
 
 Quick. Hark ye ; master Slender would speak a 
 word with you. 
 
 Anne. I come to him. — This is my father's 
 choice. 
 0, what a world of vile ill-favor'd faults 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! 
 
 \^Aside. 
 
 Quick. And how docs good master Fenton] 
 Pray you, a word with you. 
 
 Shal. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou 
 hadst a father. 
 
 Sten. I had a father, mistress Anne; — my uncle 
 can tell you good jests of him : — Pray you, uncle, 
 tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole 
 two geese out of a pen, good uncle. 
 
 Shut. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman 
 in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, 
 under the degree of a 'squire. 
 
 Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty 
 pounds jointure. 
 
 Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for 
 himself 
 
 Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for 
 that good comfort. She calls you, coz: I'll leave 
 you. 
 
 Anne. IV. "Jw, master Slender. 
 
 Slen. Now, good mistress Anne. 
 
 Anne. What is your will 1 
 
 Slen. My will 1 od's heartlings, that's a pretty 
 jest indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank 
 heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, I g^ve 
 heaven praise. 
 
 Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you 
 with me T 
 
 Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little 
 01 nothing with you : Your father, and my uncle, 
 have made motions: if it be my luck, so: if not, 
 happy man be his dole ! ' They can tell you how 
 things go, better than I can: You may ask your 
 father; here he comes. 
 
 Enter Page, and Mistress Page. 
 
 Page. Now, master Slender : — Love him, daugh- 
 ter Anne. — 
 Why, how now ! what does master Fenton here 1 
 You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house: 
 I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. 
 
 Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to 
 my child. 
 
 Page. She is no match for you. 
 
 Pent. Sir, will you hear me] 
 
 •A prcvc'.b— a shaft was a long arrow, and a bolt a thick 
 •hort on-j. t Lot. 
 
 Page. No, good master F ntoa 
 
 Come, master Shallow; come, son Slender, in: — 
 Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton 
 \^Exeu?it Page, Shallow, and Slexiieu 
 Quick. Speak to Mistress Page. 
 Pent. Good mistress Page, for that I love you» 
 daughter 
 In such a righteous fashion as I do. 
 Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manncrSj 
 I must advance the colors of my love. 
 And not retire : Let me have your good will. 
 Amie. Good mother, do not marry me to joji.V 
 
 fool. 
 Mrs. Page. I mean it not; I seek you a bftitr 
 
 husband. 
 Quick. That's my master, master doctor. 
 Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the eaith, 
 And bowl'd to death with turnips. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself: Gojd 
 master Fenton, 
 I will not be your friend, nor enemy : 
 My daughter will I question how she loves you, 
 And as I find her, so am I aflected; 
 'Till then, farewell, sir: — She must needs go in 
 Her father will be angry. 
 
 [^Exeunt Mrs. Page a7id Axnk 
 
 Pent. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan 
 
 Quick. This is my doing now; — Nay, said 1 
 
 will you cast away your child on a fool, and a 
 
 physician ] Look on master Fenton : — this is my 
 
 doing. 
 
 Fe?it. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to- 
 night 
 Give my sweet Nan this ring: There's for thy pains. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! A 
 kind heart he hath : a woman would run thi-ough 
 fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I 
 would my master had mistress Anne ; or I would 
 master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would 
 master Fenton had her: I will do what I can for 
 them all three ; for so I have promised, and I'll be 
 as good as my word; but speciously* for maste" 
 Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to sii 
 John Falstaft' from my two mistresses: What a 
 beast am I to slack'' it. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
 
 Pal. Bardolph, I say, — 
 
 Bar. Here, sir. 
 
 Pal. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a tcao 
 in't. [Exit Baud.] Have I lived to be carried in 
 a basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal ] and to 
 be thrown into tlie Thames 1 Well ; if I be served 
 such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, 
 and buttered, and give them to a dog for a new 
 year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river 
 with as little remorse as they would have drownec 
 blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter: and you may 
 know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in 
 sinking; if the bottom were as deep as hell, I should 
 down. I had been drowned, but that the shore 
 was shelvy and shallow: a death that I abhor; for 
 the water swells a man ; and what a thing should I 
 have been, when I had been swelled ! I should 
 have been a mountain of mummy. 
 
 • Specially. 
 
 ' Neslec* 
 
b6 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act ill 
 
 Re enter Bardolph, with the wine. 
 
 Bar. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with 
 you. 
 
 Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the 
 Thames water ; for my insidc's as cold, as if I had 
 swallowed snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. — 
 Call her in. 
 
 Bni Come in woman. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Quick, By your leave ; I cry your mercy : Give 
 your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fa/. Take away these chalices. Go brew me a 
 pottle of sack finely. 
 
 Bar. With eggs, sir ] 
 
 Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my 
 brewage. — [Exit Bardolph.] — How now ? 
 
 Quick. Marry, sir, I come to youi worship from 
 mistress Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I 
 was thrown into the ford : I have my belly full 
 of ford. 
 
 Quick. Alas the day; good heart, that was not 
 her fault ; she does so take on with her men ; they 
 mistook their erection. 
 
 Fal. So did I mine, to '^uild upon a foolish wo- 
 man's promise. 
 
 Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
 yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this 
 morning a birding ; she desires you once more to 
 come to her between eight and nine : I must carry 
 her word quickly ; she'll make you amends, I war- 
 rant you. 
 
 Fal. Well, I will visit her : Tell her so ; and bid 
 Her think what a man is: let her consider his 
 frailty, and then judge of my merit. 
 
 Quick. I will tell her. 
 
 Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st 
 thou? 
 
 Quick. Eight and nine, sir. 
 
 Fal. Well, begone : I will not miss her. 
 
 Quick. Peace be with you, sir. \_Exit. 
 
 Fal. I marvel, I hear not of master Brooks ; he 
 sent me word to stay within: I like his money 
 well. O, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Ford. 
 
 Ford. Blesa yoB, sir ! 
 
 Fal. Now, master Brook ! you come to kncTv 
 what hath passed between me and Ford's 
 \x ifc ? 
 
 Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; I was 
 a I her Louse the hour she appointed me. 
 
 Ford. And how sped you, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Very ill-favoredly, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. How so, sir T Did she change her deter- 
 mination. 
 
 Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cor- 
 nuto, her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a 
 continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the in- 
 stant of our encoimter, after we had embraced, 
 kissed, protested, and, as it were, spoke the pro- 
 logue of our comedy ; and at his heels a rabble of 
 his companions, thither provoked and instigated by 
 nis distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house 
 for his wife's love. 
 
 Ford. What, while you were there ? 
 
 Fal, While I was there. 
 
 Ford. And did he search for j ou, and could UxA 
 find you ? 
 
 Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have 
 it, comes in one mistress Page ; gives intelligence 
 of Ford's approach ; and, by her invention, and 
 Ford's wife's distraction, they con reyed me into a 
 buck-basket ! 
 
 Ford, A buck-basket 1 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket : rammed me 
 in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stock- 
 ings, and greasy napkins; that, master Brook, 
 there was the rankest compound of villanous smell, 
 that ever offended nostril. 
 
 Fard. And how long lay you there ] 
 
 Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what 
 I have suffered to bring this woman to evil for 
 your good. Being thus crammed in the basket, 
 a couple of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called 
 forth by their mistress to carry me in the name 
 of foul clothes to Datchet-lane : they took me 
 on their shoulders ; met the jealous knave theii 
 master in the door; who asked them once oi 
 twice what they had in their basket : I quaked 
 for fear, lest the lunatic knave would have 
 searched it ; but Fate, ordaining he should bt 
 a cuckold, held his hand. Well ; on went ht 
 for a search, and away went I for foul clothes. 
 But mark the sequel, master Brook: I suffered 
 the pangs of three several deaths : first an in- 
 tolerable fright, to be detected with a jealous 
 rotten-bell-wether : next, to be compassed like a 
 good bilbo,^ in the circumference of a peck, hilt 
 to point, heel to head : and then, to be stopped 
 in, like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes 
 that fretted in their own grease : think of that, — - 
 a man of my kidney, think of that; that am as 
 subject to heat as butter ; a man of continual 
 dissolution and thaw ; it was a miracle to 'scape 
 suffocation. And in the height of this bath, when 
 I was more than half stewed in grease, like a 
 Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and 
 cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse- 
 shoe; think of that; — hissing hot, — think of that, 
 master Brook. 
 
 Ford, In good sadness, sir, I am sorry thai 
 for my sake you have suffered all this. My 
 suit then is desperate ; you'll undertake her no 
 more. 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into ^tna, 
 as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her 
 thus. Her husband is this morning gone a bird- 
 ing: I have received from her another embassy 
 of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, 
 master Brook. 
 
 Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. 
 
 Fal, Is it ] I will then address me to my appoint- 
 ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, 
 and you shall know how I speed ; and the conclu- 
 sion shall be crowned with your enjoying her: 
 Adieu. You shall have her, master Brook ; master 
 Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 
 
 Ford. Hum ! ha ! is this a vision 1 is this a 
 dream ? do I sleep ? Master Ford, awake ; awake, 
 master Ford ; there's a hole made in your best 
 coat, master Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 
 'tis to have linen and buck-baskets ! — Well, I 
 will proclaim myself what I am : I will now take 
 the lecher ; he is at my house : he cannot 'scape 
 me ; 'tis impossible he should ; he cannot creep 
 
 • BUboa, where the best blades are made. 
 
Act IV. Scene li. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR; 
 
 b, 
 
 into a halfpenny purse, nor into a pepper-box: 
 but, lest the devil that guides him should aid 
 iiim, I will search impossible places. Though 
 R'hat I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would 
 
 not, shall not make me tame: if I have horns to 
 make one mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll be 
 horn mad. [Exit 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Street. 
 Enter 3[rs. Page, Mrs. Quickly, and William. 
 
 3frs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, 
 Ihink'st thou ? 
 
 Quick. Sure he is by this ; or will be presently : 
 nut truly, he is very courageous" mad, about his 
 throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires 
 you to come suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by ; I'll 
 but bring my young man here to school : look, 
 where his master comes; 'tis a playing-day, I 
 eee. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 How now, sir Hugh? no school to-day 1 
 
 Eva. No ; master Slender is let the boys leave 
 to play. 
 
 Quick. Blessing of his heart! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, 
 my son profits nothing in the world at his book ; 
 I pray you, ask him some questions in his ac- 
 cidence. 
 
 Eva. Come hither, William ; hold up your 
 head ; come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah ; hold up your head ; 
 answer your master, be not afraid. 
 
 Eva. William, how many numbers is in 
 nouns ■? 
 
 Will. Two. 
 
 Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one 
 number more ; because they say, od's nouns. 
 
 Eva. Peace your tattling. What is fair, Wil- 
 liam. 
 
 Will. Pulcher. 
 
 Quick. Poulcats ! there are fairer things than 
 poulcats, sure. 
 
 Eva. You are a very simplicity 'oman ; I pray 
 you, peace. What is lapis, William ? 
 
 Will. A stone. 
 
 Eva. And what is a stone, William 1 
 
 Will. A pebble. 
 
 Eva. No, it is lapis ,• I pray you remember in 
 your prain. 
 
 Will. Lapis. 
 
 Eva. That is good William. What is he, Wil- 
 liam, that does lend articles ? 
 
 Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun ; 
 and be thus declined, Singulariter, nominafivo, 
 hie, hacc, hoc. 
 
 Eva. Nominafivo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, 
 mark : genitivo, hujus : Well, what is your accu- 
 sative case? 
 
 Will. Accusativo, hinc. 
 
 Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child : 
 Accusative, hing, hang, hog. 
 
 Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant 
 fou. 
 
 ' Outrageous. 
 
 Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is tLe 
 focative case, William 1 
 
 Will. O — Vocativo, 0. 
 
 Eva. Remember, William ; focative is caret. 
 
 Quick. And that's a good root. 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, forbear. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Peace. 
 
 Eva. What is your genitive case, plural, Wil- 
 liam? 
 
 Will. Genitive case ? 
 
 Eva. Ay. 
 
 Will. Genitivo — horum, harum, horiim. 
 
 Quick. 'Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on her ! 
 — never name her, child, if she be a whore. 
 
 Eva. For shame, 'oman. 
 
 Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words : 
 he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll 
 do fast enough of themselves ; and to call horum : 
 — fie upon you ! 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no 
 understandings for thy cases, and the numbers of 
 the genders 1 Thou art as foolish Christian crea 
 tures as I would desires. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace. 
 
 Eva. Show me now, William, some declensions 
 of your pronouns. 
 
 Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 
 
 Eva. It is ki, kas, cod,- if you forget your kies, 
 your ka?s, and your cods, you must be preeches * 
 Go your ways, and play, go. 
 
 Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought 
 he was. 
 
 Eva. He is a good sprag* memory. Farewell, 
 mistress Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [^Exit Sir 
 Hugh.] Get you home, boy. — Come, we stay 
 too long. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in Ford's House. 
 Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath ealei. 
 up my sufferance: I see you are obsequious 
 in your love, and I profess requital to a hair's 
 breadth : not only, mistress Ford, iii the simple 
 office of love, but in all the accoutrement, com- 
 plement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure 
 of your husband now 1 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet Sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Page. [ Wifhin.l What boa ! gossip Ford i 
 what hoa ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. 
 
 [Exit Falstaff 
 
 Enter Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart! who's al 
 home besides yourself] 
 
 s Breeched, i. e. flogged. 
 
 ■Aj>t to leom. 
 
58 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act IV, 
 
 Mra. Fwd Why, none but mine own people. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I«ideed 1 
 
 Mrt,. F()7-d. No, certainly ; — speak louder. 
 
 l_ Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Page.. Truly, I am so glad you have no- 
 body here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why] 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in 
 his old luncs' again : he so takes on yonder with 
 my husband ; so rails against all married mankind ; 
 so curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion 
 soever ; and so buffets himself on the forehead, cry- 
 ing Peer out, peer out ! that any madness I ever 
 yet beheld seemed but tameness, civility, and pa- 
 tience, to this his distemper he is in now ; I am 
 glad the fat knight is not here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears, 
 lie was carried out, the last time he searched 
 for him, in a basket : protests to my husband he 
 is now here : and hath drawn him and the rest 
 of their company from their sport, to make an- 
 other experiment of his suspicion: but I am glad 
 the knight is not here ; now he shall see his own 
 foolery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will be 
 here anon. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am undone! — the knight is 
 here. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed, 
 and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you ? 
 — Away with him, away with him ; better shame 
 than murder. 
 
 Mi-s. Ford. Which way should he go 1 how 
 should I bestow him 1 Shall I put him into the 
 liasket again ] 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket : May 
 J not go out ere he come 1 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas, three of Master Ford's bro- 
 thers watch the door with pistols, that none shall 
 issue ovit ; otherwise you might slip away ere he 
 came. But what makes you here ] 
 
 Fal. What shall I do ? — I'll creep up into the 
 chimne)'. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. There they always use to dis- 
 charge their birding pieces : creep into the kiln- 
 hole. 
 
 Fal. Where is it? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He will seek there on my word. 
 xVeither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but 
 be hath an abstract for the remembrance of such 
 places, and goes to them by his note : There is no 
 hiding you in the house. 
 
 Fal. I'll go out then. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own sem- 
 blance, you die, sir John. Unless you go out dis- 
 guised, — 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him ? 
 
 M?-s. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There 
 is no woman's gown big enough for him ; other- 
 wise, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a ker- 
 chief, and so escape. 
 
 Fal. Good hearts, devise something: any ex- 
 tremity rather than a mischief. 
 
 > Mad fits. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman oi 
 Brentford, has a gown above. 
 
 Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him; 
 she's as big as he is : and there's her thrum'd hat, 
 and her muffler too : Run up, sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John : mis- 
 tress Page and I will look some linen for youi 
 head. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dicsa 
 you straight: put on the gown the while. 
 
 [Exit Fal 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would mcu 
 him in this shape : he cannot abide the old wo 
 man of Brentford; he swears she's a witch: for- 
 bade her my house, and hath threatened to beat 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy hus- 
 band's cudgel; and the devil guide his cudgel 
 afterwards ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming ] 
 
 Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness he is ; and 
 talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had in- 
 telligence. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We'll try that ; for I'll appoint my 
 men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the 
 door with it, as they did last time. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently ; 
 let's go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my men, what they 
 shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen 
 for him straight. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Haaig him, dishonest varlet! we 
 cannot misuse him enough. 
 
 We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do. 
 
 Wives may be merry, and yet honest too. 
 
 We do not act, that often jest and laugh ; 
 
 'Tis old but true, Still swine eat all the draff. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two servants. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on 
 j'our shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; if he 
 bid you set it down, obey him : quickly, dispatch 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 
 
 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight 
 again. 
 
 1 Serv. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much 
 lead. 
 
 Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir 
 Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, 
 have you any way then to unfool me again 1^ 
 Set down the basket, villain : — Somebody call my 
 
 wife: You, youth in the basket, come out 
 
 here ! — O, you panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a 
 gang, a pack, a conspiracy against me : Now 
 shall the devil be shamed. What ! wife, I say >. 
 come, come forth ; behold what honest clothes you 
 send forth to bleaching. 
 
 Page. Why, this passes! Master Ford, you 
 are not to go loose any longer; you must be 
 pinioned. 
 
 Eva. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a 
 mad dog ! 
 
 Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; in 
 deed. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 by 
 
 Er.lcT Mrs. Ford. 
 
 Ford. So say I too, sir. — Come hither, mistress 
 Ford ; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest 
 wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous 
 fool to her husband ! — I suspect without cause, 
 mistress, do I ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if 
 you suspect me in any dishonesty. 
 
 Ford. Well said, brazen-face ; hold it out. 
 
 Come forth, sirrah. 
 
 [^Pulh the clothes out of the basket. 
 
 Page. This passes ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed ? let the clothes 
 alone. 
 
 Ford. I shall find you anon. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take up your 
 wife's clothes 1 Come away. 
 
 Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, — 
 
 Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was 
 one conveyed out of my house yesterday in this 
 basket : Why may not he be there again ? In 
 my house I am sure he is: my intelligence is 
 true ; my jealousy is reasonable : Pluck me out all 
 the linen. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die 
 a flea's death. 
 
 Page. Here's no man. 
 
 Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, master 
 Ford ; this wrongs you. 
 
 Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not fol- 
 low the imaginations of your own heart : this is 
 jealousies. 
 
 Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. 
 
 Page. No, nor no where else, but in your 
 brain. 
 
 Ford. Help to search my house this one time : 
 if I find not what I seek, show no color for my 
 extremity, let me forever be your table-sport; let 
 them say of me. As jealous as Ford, that searched 
 a hollow walnut for his wife's leman.' Satisfy me 
 once more ; once more search with me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. AVhat hoa, mistress Page ! come 
 you, and the old woman down : my husband will 
 come into the chamber. 
 
 Ford. Old woman ! what old woman's that ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of 
 Brentford. 
 
 Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean ! 
 Have I not forbid her my house 1 She comes 
 of errands, does she 1 We are simple men ; we 
 do not know what's brought to pass under the 
 profession of fortune-telling. She works by charms, 
 by spells, by the figure, and such daubery as this 
 
 is, beyond our element: we know nothing. 
 
 Come down, you witch, you hag, you; come 
 down, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ; — good 
 gentirmen, let him not strike the old woman. 
 
 Enter Falstaff in woman's clothes, led by Mrs. 
 Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, mother Pratt, come, give me 
 VDur hand. 
 
 Ford. I'll prat her: out of my door, you 
 
 vitch ! [beats him.'] you rag, you baggage, you 
 \>ulc-cat, you ronyon !' out! cut! I'll conjure you, 
 I'll fortune-tell you. [^Exit Fal. 
 
 ' Lover. 
 
 •Scab 
 
 3Irs. Page. Are you not a&hameJ ? I think yoi 
 have kill'd the poor woman. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it: — 'Tis a gjodly 
 credit for you. 
 
 Ford. Hang her, witch ! 
 
 Eva. By yea and no, I think the 'oman is r 
 witch indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a greal 
 peard ; I spy a great peard under her muffler. 
 
 Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen 1 I beseech 
 you, follow ; see but the issue of my jealousy : if 1 
 ciy out thus upon no trail,^ never trust me when 
 I open again. 
 
 Page. Let's obey his humor a little further. 
 Come, gentlemen. 
 
 [Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most piti- 
 fully. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not ; 
 he beat him most unpitifully, methought. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed, and 
 hung o'er the altar ; it hath done meritorious ser- 
 vice. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What think you ? May we, with the 
 warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good 
 conscience, pursue h'm with any further revenge? 
 
 Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, 
 scared out of him ; /f the devil have him not in 
 fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, 
 I think, in the way of waste, attempt us again. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we 
 have served him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to 
 scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. If 
 they can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous 
 fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two 
 will still be the ministers. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant they'll have him pub- 
 licly shamed : and, methinks, there would be no 
 period to the jest, should he not be publicly 
 shamed. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge m ith it then, 
 shape it : I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Host and Bardolph. 
 
 Bar. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of 
 your horses : the duke himself will be to-moiTOW 
 at court, and they are going to meet him. 
 
 Host. What duke should that be, comes so se- 
 cretly 1 I hear not of him in the court : Let me 
 speak with the gentlemen ; they speak English ? 
 
 Bar. Ay, sir ; I'll call them to you. 
 
 Host. They shall have my horses ; but I'll 
 make them pay, I'll sauce them : they have had 
 my houses a week at command ; I have turned 
 away my other guests: they must come off"; I'll 
 sauce them : Come. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— yl Room in Ford's House. 
 
 Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 
 Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions ot a 'oman 
 as ever I did look upon. 
 
 Page. And did he send you both these lettcn 
 at an instant? 
 
 < Scent 
 
60 
 
 xMERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Mrs. Page, Within a quarter of an hour. 
 Ford. Paz Ion me, wife : Henceforth do what 
 thou wilt; 
 I ratlior will suspect the sun with cold, 
 Tlian thee with wantonness : now doth thy honor 
 
 stand, 
 [n him that was of late an heretic, 
 As firm as faith. 
 
 Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more. 
 
 Be not as extreme in submission, 
 As in olfencc; 
 
 But let our plot go forward: let our wives 
 Yet once again, to make us public sport. 
 Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow. 
 Where we may take him and disgrace him for it. 
 Furd. There is no better way than that they 
 
 spoke of. 
 Page. How! to send him word they'll meet him 
 in the park at midnight! fie, fie! he'll never come. 
 Eva. You say, he has been thrown in the rivers; 
 and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman : 
 methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he 
 should not come ; methinks his flesh is punished, 
 he shall have no desires. 
 Page. So think I too. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when 
 he comes. 
 And let us two devise to bring him thither. 
 
 Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme 
 the hunter, 
 Sometime a keeper in Windsor forest. 
 Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, 
 Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns ; 
 And there he blasts the tree, and takes^ the cattle ; 
 And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a 
 [n a most hideous and dreadful manner : [chain 
 You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know, 
 The superstitious idle-headed eld' 
 Received, and did deliver to our age. 
 This tale of Hcrne the hunter for a truth. 
 
 Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear 
 In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak : 
 But what of this] 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ; 
 That FalstalT at that oak shall meet with us, 
 Disguis'd like Heme, with huge horns on his head. 
 Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come, 
 And in this shape : When you have brought liim 
 
 thither, 
 What shall be done with him 1 what is your plot! 
 Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon, 
 and thus : 
 Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, 
 And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress 
 Like urchins, ouphes," and fairies, green and white, 
 With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 
 Antl rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden, 
 A3 Faktalf, she, and I, are newly met, 
 [jct them from forth a saw-pit rush at once 
 With some diffused song; upon their sight. 
 We two in great amazedness will fly : 
 Then let them all encircle him about. 
 And, fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight; 
 .And ask him, why, that hour of fairy-revel, 
 [n their so sacred paths he dares to tread, 
 In shape yjrofane. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 
 
 Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, 
 \nd burn him with their tapers. 
 ' Strikes. s Old age. • Elf, hobgoblin. 
 
 Mrs. Page. "^he truth being known, 
 
 We'll all present ourselves , dis-horn the spirit, 
 And mock him home to Windsor. 
 
 Ford. The children musl 
 
 Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't. 
 
 Eva. I will teach the children their behaviors ; 
 and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the 
 knight wi^h my taber. 
 
 Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them 
 vizards. 
 
 Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all 
 the fairies, 
 Finely attired in a robe of white. 
 
 Page. That silk will I go buy ; — and in that time 
 Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, [Aside. 
 
 And marry her at Eton. Go, send to Falstafl 
 
 straight. 
 
 Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook 
 He'll tell me all his purpose : Sure, he'll come. 
 
 Mrs, Page. Fear not you that : Go, get us pro- 
 perties. 
 And triclung for our fairies. 
 
 Eva. Let us about it • it is admirable pleasures, 
 and fery honest knaveries. 
 
 [Exeunt Page, Ford, u^nd. Ptaks. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, 
 Send quickly to sir John, to know his mina. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Ford. 
 I'll to the doctor ; he hath my good will. 
 And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
 That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
 And he my husband best of all affects: 
 The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
 Potent at court ; he, none but he, shall have her. 
 Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave 
 her. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Host and Simple. 
 
 Host. What wouldst thou have, boor? what, 
 thick-skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, 
 quick, snap. 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John 
 Falstaff from master Slender. 
 
 Host. There's liis chamber, his house, his castle, 
 his standing-bed, and truckle-bed; 'tis pamted about 
 with the story of the prodigal, fi-esh and new ; Go, 
 knock and call; he'll speak like an Anthropophor 
 ginian' unto thee : Knock, I say. 
 
 Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone 
 up into his chamber; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, 
 till she come down : I come to speak with her, in- 
 deed. 
 
 Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be 
 robbed : I'll call. — Bully knight ! Bully sir John ! 
 speak from thy lungs military : Art thou there? it 
 is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. 
 
 Fat. [aliove^ How now, mine host 1 
 
 Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the com 
 ing down of thy fat woman : Let her descend, bully, 
 let her descend; my chambers are honorable: Fye! 
 privacy ! fye ! 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman 
 even now with me; but she's gone. 
 
 Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wi woma^ 
 of Brentford 1 
 
 1 A cannibal. 
 
BCKNE V. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 61 
 
 Fid. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell; What 
 ivould you with her? 
 
 Sim. My master, sir, my master Sicnder, sent to 
 her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, 
 sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a 
 phain, had the chain, or no. 
 
 Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 
 
 Sim. And what says she, I pray, sirl 
 
 Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man, 
 that beguiled mwter Slender of his chain, cozened 
 him of it. 
 
 ^Yot. I would, I could have spoken with the 
 woiran herself; I had other things to have spoken 
 with her too, from him. 
 
 Fal. What are they^ let us know. 
 
 Host. Ay, come; quick. 
 
 Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. , 
 
 Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest. 
 
 Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about 
 mistress Anne Page ; to know, if it were my 
 •naster's fortune to have her, or no. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. 
 
 Sim. What, sir? 
 
 Fal. To have her, — or no : Go ; say, the woman 
 told me so. 
 
 Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir? 
 
 Fat. Ay, sir Tike ; who more bold 1 
 
 Sim. I thank your worship: I shall make my 
 master glad with these tidings. \^Exit Simple. 
 
 Host. Thou art clerkly,' thou art clerkly, sir 
 John. Was there a wise woman with thee 1 
 
 Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host; one, that 
 hath taught me more wit than ever I learned before 
 in my life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but 
 was paid for my learning. 
 
 Enter Bahdolph. 
 
 Bar. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage ! mere cozenage ! 
 
 Host. Where be my horses 1 speak well of them, 
 varletto. 
 
 Bar. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon 
 as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from 
 beliind one of them, in a slough of mire; and set 
 spurs, and away, like three German devils, three 
 Doctor Faustuses. 
 
 Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, 
 villain : do not say, they be fled ; Germans are 
 honest men. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Eva. Where is mine hosti 
 
 Host. What is the matter, sir 1 
 
 Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : there 
 Js a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there is 
 three cousin germans, that has cozened all the 
 hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colcbrook, 
 of horses and money. I tell you for good will, look 
 jfou: you are wise, and full of gibes and vlouting- 
 Btogs; and 'tis not convenient you should be co- 
 rencd: Fare you well. \_Exit. 
 
 * Enter Doctor Caius. 
 
 Caius. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre? 
 
 Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and 
 doubtful dilemma. 
 
 Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tcll-a me, 
 dat you make grand preparation for a duke de Jar- 
 man)/.- by my trot, dere is no duke, dat the court 
 is kiiow to come ; I tell you for good vill : Adieu. 
 
 lExit. 
 * Scholar-like 
 
 Host. Hue and cry, villain, go: — assist me, 
 knight; I am undone: — fly, run, hue and cry, vil- 
 lain! I am undone! 
 
 [Exeunt Host and Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened; 
 for I have been cozened and beaten too. If it 
 should come to the ear of the court, how I have 
 been transformed, and how my transformation hath 
 been washed and cudgeled, they would melt me 
 out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's 
 boots with me; I warrant, they would whip me 
 with their fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a 
 dried pear. I never prospered since I forswore 
 myself at Primero.^ Well, if my wind were but 
 long enough to say my prayers, I would repent. — 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quicklt. 
 
 Now ! whence come you ? 
 
 Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 
 
 Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the 
 other, and so they shall be both bestowed ! I have 
 suffered more for their sakes, more, than the vil- 
 lanous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to 
 bear. 
 
 Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, 1 
 warrant; speciously one of them: mistress Ford, 
 good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you can- 
 not see a white spot about her. 
 
 Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I 
 was beaten myself into all the colors of the rain- 
 bow, and I was like to be apprehended for the 
 witch of Brentford; but that my admirable dex- 
 terity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an 
 old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable had 
 set me i' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for a 
 witch. 
 
 Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your cham 
 ber : you shall hear how things go ; and, I warrant, 
 to your content. Here is a letter will say some- 
 what. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you 
 together ! Sure one of you does not serve heaven 
 well, that you are so crossed. 
 
 Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^?io^^er Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Fenton and Host. 
 
 Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind 
 is heavy, I will give over all. 
 
 Fent. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my pur- 
 pose. 
 And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee 
 A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. 
 
 Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I will, 
 at the least, keep your counsel. 
 
 Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
 With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page; 
 Who, mutually, hath answered my affection 
 (So far forth as herself might be her chooser) 
 Even to my wish: I have a letter from he« 
 Of such contents as you will wonder at ; 
 The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, 
 That neither, singly, can be manifested, 
 Without the show of both; — wherein fat Falstaff 
 Hath a great scene: the image of the jest 
 
 [Showing the letter. 
 I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host: 
 To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one 
 
 9 A game at cards. 
 
62 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen; 
 
 The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise, 
 
 While other jests are something rank on foot, 
 
 Her father hath commanded her to shp 
 
 Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 
 
 Immediately to maiTy: she hath consented: 
 
 Now, sir. 
 
 Her mother, ever strong against that match, 
 
 And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed 
 
 Thai he shall likewise shuffle her away. 
 
 While other sports are tasking of their minds, 
 
 And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
 
 Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot 
 
 She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
 
 Made promise to the doctor: — Now, thus it rests; 
 
 Her fether means she shall be all in white ; 
 
 And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
 
 To take her by the hand, and bid her go. 
 
 She shall go with him : her mother hath intended, 
 
 The better to denote her to the doctor, 
 (For they must all be mask'd and vizarded,) 
 That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'A 
 With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head ; 
 And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
 To pinch her by the hand, and on that token, 
 The maid hath given consent to go with him. 
 
 Host. Which means she to deceive 1 father OI 
 mother] 
 
 Fent. Both, my good host, to go along vs ith mo 
 And here it rests, — that you'll piocure the vicar 
 To stay for mo at church, 'twixt twelve and one 
 And, in the lawful name of marrying, 
 To give our hearts united ceremony. 
 
 Host. W^ell, husband your device; I'll to tbs 
 vicar : 
 Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 
 
 Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee; 
 Besides, I'll make a present recompense. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Qcickxt. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling; — go. I'll 
 
 hold : ' This is the third time ; I hope, good luck 
 lies in odd numbers. Away, go ; they say, there is 
 divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, 
 or death. — Away. 
 
 Quick. I'll provide you a chain; and I'll do what 
 I can to get you a pair of horns. 
 
 Fal. Away, I say; time wears: hold up your 
 head, and mince. [Exit Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Enter Ford. 
 
 How now, master Brook? master Brook, the 
 matter will be known to-night, or never. Be you 
 in the Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and 
 you shall see wonders. 
 
 Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as 
 you told me you had appointed! 
 
 Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, 
 like a poor old man: but I came from her, master 
 Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave. 
 Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil of 
 jealousy in him, master Brook, that ever governed 
 frenzy. I will tell you. — He beat me grievously, 
 in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, 
 master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's 
 beam ; because I know also, life is a shuttle. I am 
 in haste ; go along with me ; I'll tell you all, master 
 Urook. Since I plucked geese, played truant, and 
 whipped top, I knew not what it was to be beaten, 
 till lately. Follow me: I'll tell you strange things 
 of this knave Ford : on whom to-night I will be 
 revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your hand. 
 — Follow: Strange things in hand, master Brook! 
 follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Windsor Park. 
 
 Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 Page. Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle- 
 ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. — Remem- 
 ber, son Slender, my daughter. 
 
 • Keep to the time. 
 
 Slen. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her, an 
 we have a nay-word,' how to know one another. I 
 come to her in white, and cry mum,- she cries 
 bitdi^ef ; and by that we know one another. 
 
 Shal. That's good too: But what needs eithei 
 your ??m>n or her budget? the white will decipher 
 her well enough. — It hath struck ten o'clock. 
 
 Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will 
 become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No 
 man means evil but the devil, and we shall know 
 him by his horns. Let's away ; follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt,* 
 
 SCENE m.—The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mrs. Page, Ms. Ford, and Dr. Caius. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in 
 green: when you see your time, take her by the 
 hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch 
 it quickly : Go before into the park ; we two must 
 go together. 
 
 Caius. I know vat I have to do; Adieu. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius. 
 My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse 
 of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying 
 my daughter: but 'tis no matter; better a little 
 chiding than a great deal of heart-break. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her trorp 
 of fairies] and the Welsh devil, Hugh] 
 
 Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard 
 by Heme's oak, with obscured lights : which at tbc 
 very instant of Falstafl''s and our meeting, they will 
 at once display to the night. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze hifh. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mock- 
 ed ; if he be amazed, he will eveiy way be mocked. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. 
 
 3Irs. Page. Against sui h lewdstcrs, and their 
 lechery. 
 Those that betray them do no treachery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on ; to the oak, tc 
 the oak ! [Exewit 
 
 •Watch-word. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 63 
 
 SCENE IV.— Windsor Park. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. 
 
 Eva. Trib, trib, fairies ; come ; and remember 
 
 7»ur parts : be pold, I pray you ; follow me into the 
 
 pit ; and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid 
 
 you : Come, come ; trib, trib. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Another part of the ParJc. 
 Enter Falstaff disguised, toith a hitch's head on. 
 
 Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; the 
 minute draws on : Now, the hot-blooded gods assist 
 me ! — Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy 
 Eurnnn; love sot on thy horns. — powerful love! 
 tnat, in some respects, makes a beast a man ; in 
 some other, a man a beast. — You were also, Jupiter, 
 a swan, for the love of Leda; 0, omnipotent love ! 
 how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose ! 
 — A fault done first in the form of a beast; — Jove, 
 a beastly fault! and then another fault in the sem- 
 blance of a fowl ; think on't, Jove, a foul fault. — 
 When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men do? 
 For me, I am here a Windsor stag; and the fattest, 
 I think, i' the forest : send me a cool rut-time, Jove, 
 or who can blame me to piss my tallow ! Who comes 
 here ? my doe ? 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 
 
 Ifrs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my deer? 
 my male deer? 
 
 Fal. My doe, with the black scut? — Let the sky 
 iiin potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of Green 
 Sleeves ; hail kissing comfits, and snow eringoes ; 
 let there come a tempest of provocation, I will shel- 
 ter me here. [Embracing her. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch : 
 I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the 
 fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your 
 husbands. Am I a woodman? ha! Speak I like 
 llerne the hunter?- — Why, now is Cupid a child of 
 con.^cionce; he makes restitution. As I am a true 
 spirit, welcome. [Noise within. 
 
 Mrs. Paije. Alas ! what noise ? 
 
 J//S. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 
 
 Fal. AVhat should this be ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. ] , . _, „ 
 
 3Irs. Page. \ ^^'^^' '''"'"J'- l^^'V '"'"' ''/• 
 
 F(d. I think the devil will not have me damned, 
 lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire; he 
 would never else cross me thus. 
 
 Enter Sir IIuGH EvANS like a satyr; 3[rs. Qdickly 
 and Pistol; Anne Page as the Fairy Queen, 
 attended hy her brother and others, dressed like 
 fairies, with waxen talkers on their heads. 
 
 ^ Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 
 \ ou moon-shine revellers, and shades of night, 
 You orphan heirs of fixed destiny. 
 
 Attend your ofiBoe, and your quality. 
 
 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. 
 
 Fist. Elves, list your names ; silence, you airy toys. 
 Cricket, to AVindsor chimnies shalt thou leap: 
 Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths un- 
 
 swept. 
 There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry: 
 Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery. 
 
 Fal. They are fairies; he, that speaks to them 
 shall die : 
 ril wink and couch : No man their works must eye. 
 [Lies down upon his face. 
 
 Era. AVhere's Pedef — Go you, and where you 
 find a maid, 
 That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
 Kaise up the organs of her fantasy, 
 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy : 
 
 But those as sleep, and think not on their sins. 
 Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and 
 
 Quick. About, about; [shins, 
 
 Search AVindsor Castle, elves, within and out; 
 Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room, 
 That it may stand till the perpetual doom. 
 In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit; 
 AVorthy the owner, and the owner it. 
 The several chairs of order look you scour 
 With juice of balm, and every precious flower; 
 Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, 
 AVith royal blazon, evermore be blest ! 
 And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, 
 Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring: 
 The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
 More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
 And, Hony soit qi{i mal y pense, write. 
 In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white ; 
 Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery. 
 Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : 
 Fairies use flowers for their charactery. 
 Away; disperse: But, till 'tis one o'clock, 
 Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
 Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselvei 
 in order set: 
 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, 
 To guide our measure round about the tree. 
 But, stay ; I smell a man of middle earth. 
 
 Fal. Heavens defend me from that AVelsh fairy • 
 lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! 
 
 Fist. \\\e worm, thou wast o'erlooked even in thy 
 birth. 
 
 Quick. AVith trial-fire touch me his finger-end* 
 If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, 
 And turn him to no pain : but if he start, 
 It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
 
 Pist. A trial, come. 
 
 Eva. Come, will this wood take fire ? 
 
 [They burn him with their tapers, 
 
 Fal. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! 
 About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme ; 
 And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 
 
 Eva. It is right ; indeed ho is full of lecheries 
 and iniquity. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Eye on si nful fantasy ! 
 
 Eye on lust and luxury ! 
 
 Lust is but a bloody fire, 
 
 Kindled with unchaste desire, 
 Fed in heart ; whose /lames aspire, 
 As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. 
 Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; 
 Pinch him for his villany ; 
 Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 
 Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be ou*. 
 
 [During this song, the fairies pinch Falstaff. Doc- 
 tor Cams comes one way, and steals away a fairy 
 in green ; Slender another way, and takes off a 
 fairy in white; and Fenton comes, and steal* 
 away Mrs. Anne Page. A noise of hunting i» 
 made within. All the fairies run away. Falstaff 
 }iulls off his buck's head, and rises."] 
 
 Enter Page, Ford, 3frs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. 
 They lay hold on him. 
 
 Page. Nay, do not fly ; I think we have watch'd 
 you now ; 
 Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ? 
 Mrs. Page. I pray you, come ; hold up the jesi 
 no higher : — 
 Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives ? 
 See you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes' 
 Become the forest better than the town? 
 
 * noms which Falstaff bad. 
 
64 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Acr V. 
 
 Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now ? — Master 
 Brook, FalstafTs a knave, a cuckoldy knave ; here 
 are his horns, master Brook : And, master Brook, 
 he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck- 
 basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money ; 
 which must be paid to master Brook ; his horses 
 are arrested for it, master Brook. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John, wc have had ill luck : we 
 could never meet. I will never take you for my 
 love again, but I will always count you my deer. 
 
 Fed. I do begin to perceive that I am made an 
 ass. 
 
 Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs arf 
 extant. 
 
 Fed. And these arc not fairies ? I was three or 
 four times in the thought, they were not fairies : and 
 yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise 
 of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery 
 into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all 
 rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See 
 now, how wit may be made a jack-a-lent, when 'tis 
 upon ill employment ! 
 
 Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your 
 desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 
 
 Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 
 
 Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray 
 you. 
 
 Ford. I \n\\ never mistrust my wife again, till 
 thou art able to woo her in good English. 
 
 Ful. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried 
 it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er- 
 reaching as this 1 Am I ridden with a Welsh goat 
 too? Shall I have a coxcomb of frize 1* 'tis time I 
 were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. 
 
 £■^0!. Seese is not good to give putter ; your 
 pelly is all putter. 
 
 Fal. Seese and putter ! Have I lived to stand at 
 the taunt of one that makes fritters of English ? 
 This is enough to be the decay of latc-walkiiig 
 through the realm. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though 
 we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by 
 the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves 
 without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could 
 have made you our delight ? 
 
 Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. A puffed man 1 
 
 Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable 
 entrails. 
 
 Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan ? 
 
 Page. And as poor as Job 1 
 
 Ford. And as wicked as his wife 7 
 
 Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, 
 ftud sack, and wine, and mctheglins, and to drink- 
 ings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and 
 pralibles ? 
 
 Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have the start 
 of me: I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the 
 Welsh flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er 
 me : use me as you will. 
 
 Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to 
 one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, 
 to whom you should have been a pander : over and 
 above that you have suffered, I think to repay that 
 money will be a biting affliction. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make 
 amends; 
 Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. 
 
 * A fiwl's cap of Welsh materials. 
 
 Ford. Well, here's my hand ; all's forgiven at last. 
 
 Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a 
 
 posset to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee 
 
 to laugh at my wife that now laughs at thee : Tell 
 
 her, master Slender hath married her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : — If Anne Page 
 be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius's wife. 
 
 [Aside 
 
 Enter Slender. 
 
 Sleu. Whoo, ho ! ho! father Page! 
 
 Page. Son ! how now 1 how now, son 1 have ycu 
 despatched 1 
 
 Slen. Despatched — I'll make the best in Glou- 
 cestershire know on't ; would I were hanged, la, 
 else. 
 
 Page. Of what, sen 1 
 
 S/en. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress 
 Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy: If it 
 had not been i' the church, I would have swinged 
 him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not 
 think it had been Anne Page, would I might never 
 stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy. 
 
 Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. 
 
 Slen. What need you tell me that 1 I think so, 
 when I took a boy ibr a girl : If I had been married 
 to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would 
 not have had him. 
 
 Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not 1 
 tell you, how you should know my daughter by hei 
 garments 1 
 
 Sleii. I went to her in white, and cried mum, and 
 she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed; 
 and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. 
 
 Eva. Jeshu ! Master Slender, cannot you see 
 but marry boys 1 
 
 Page. O, I am vexed at heart : What shall I do ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew 
 of your purpose; turned my daughter into green; 
 and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the 
 deanery, and there married. 
 
 Enter Caius. 
 
 Caius. Vere is mistress Pagel By gar, I am 
 cozened ; I ha' married ungarqon, a boy ; unpaisan, 
 by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, I am 
 cozened. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green 1 
 
 Caius. Aye, by gar, and 'tis a boy : by gar, I'll 
 raise all Windsor. [Exit Caius 
 
 Ford. This is strange : Who hath got the right 
 Anne? 
 
 Page. My heait misgives me: Here comes mas. 
 ter Fenton. 
 
 Filter Fenton and Anne Page. 
 
 How now, master Fenton 1 
 
 An7ie. Pardon, good father! good my mother, 
 pardon ! 
 
 Page. Now, mistress ! how chance you went noi 
 with master Slender] 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doo 
 tor, maid] 
 
 Fent. You do amaze her : Hear the truth of it 
 You would have married her most shamefully. 
 Where there was no proportion held in love. 
 The truth is, she and I, long since contractca. 
 Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve usi 
 The offence is holy, that she hath committed 
 And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
 Of disobedience, or unduteous title ; 
 
^-.w.>^-.^.,^„,.--^-.».. ..■■■■^--j-.,— .-^_., -- 
 
 iSCENE V. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 65 
 
 Since therein she doth e\ita';e raid shun 
 A thousand ijTeligious cursed hours, 
 Which forced marriage would have brought upon 
 her. 
 
 Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy : — 
 In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state ; 
 Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 
 
 Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
 Btand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. 
 
 Page. Well, what remedy T Fenton, heaven 
 give thee joy ! 
 V¥hst camiiot be r*chew'd ravs* he embrac'd. 
 
 Fal. 
 
 When night-dogs run, all aorta of deci are 
 chas'd. 
 
 Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. 
 M?-s. Page. Well, I will muse no further:. — 
 Master Fenton, 
 Heaven give you many, many merry days! 
 Good husband, let us every one go home, 
 And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; 
 Sir John and all. 
 
 Ford. Let it be so: — Sir John, 
 
 To master Brook you yet shall hold your word. 
 For he, to-night, shall lie with Mrs, Ford. lExemi^ 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 OR, 
 
 WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 OnsiNo, Z)uA;e o/Illyria. 
 
 Sebastian, a y&uwg- Gentleman, Brother to Viola. 
 Antonio, a Sea-Captain, Friend to Sebastian. 
 A Sea-Captain, Friend to Viola. 
 
 Valentine, ) Gentlemen attendins; on the Duke. 
 
 Cunio, J 
 
 Sir Toby Belch, Uncle 0/ Olivia. 
 
 Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 
 
 Fabian, 
 Clown, 
 
 Servants to Olivia. 
 
 Olivia, a rich Countess. 
 Viola, in love with the Duke. 
 Maria, Olivia's woman. 
 
 Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, an* 
 other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, a city in lUyiia; and the Sea-Coast near it 
 
 ACTL 
 
 SCENE I.— An Apartment in the Jivke's palace. 
 
 En/erDuke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending. 
 
 Duke. If music be the food of love, play on. 
 Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, 
 
 The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
 
 That strain again; — it had a dying fall: 
 0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south. 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets. 
 Stealing, and giving odor.— Enough; no more; 
 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. 
 spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 
 That notwithstanding thy capacity 
 Reccivcth as the sea, nought enters there. 
 Of what validity and pitch soever. 
 But falls into abatement and low price, 
 Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy 
 That it alone is high-fantastical; 
 Cur. Will vou go hunt, my lordl 
 Duke. ' What, Curio] 
 
 Cur. The hart. 
 
 Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: 
 O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
 Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence ; 
 That instant was I turned into a hart ; 
 And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds. 
 E'er since pursue me.— How now? what news 
 from herl 
 
 66 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 
 Val. So please my lord, I might no' bo admitted, 
 But from her handmaid do return tbi's arswer: 
 The element itself, till seven years' heat, 
 Shall not behold her face at ample view ; 
 But, like a cloistress, she will veilcl walk. 
 And water once a day her chambf r round 
 With eye olfending brine : all this, to season 
 A brother's dead love, which she '/vould keep fresh, 
 And lasting, in her sad remembrance. 
 
 Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame 
 To pay this debt of love but to a brother. 
 How will she love, when the rich golden shaft, 
 Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart, 
 These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fiU'o 
 (Her sweet perfections) with one self king! — 
 Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 
 Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopies with bowers. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— The Sea Coist. 
 Enter Viola, Captain, and bailors. 
 
 Vio. What country, friends, is tliisl 
 
 Cap. Illyria, lady 
 
 Vio. And what should I do in Ely rial 
 

ACT I. ScKNK II. TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 67 
 
 My brother he is in Elysium. 
 Perchance, lie is not ikown'd : — What think you, 
 sailors ] 
 
 Cap. It is perchance, .hat you yourself were 
 saved. 
 
 Vio. O my poor brother ! and so, perchance, 
 may he be. 
 
 Cup. True, madam : and to comfort you with 
 chance. 
 Assure y urself, after our ship did split. 
 When yod, and that poor number saved with you. 
 Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, 
 Most provident hi peril, bind himself 
 (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) 
 To a strong mast that lived upon the sea; 
 Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
 I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves. 
 So long as I could see. 
 
 Viu. For saying so, there's gold : 
 
 Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
 Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 
 The like of him. Know'st thou this country 1 
 
 Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and born, 
 Not three hours' travel from this very place. 
 
 Vio. Who governs here] 
 
 Cap. A noble duke, in nature, 
 
 As in his name. 
 
 Vio. What is Iiis name 1 
 
 Cap. Orsino. 
 
 Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him ! 
 He was a bachelor then. * 
 
 Cup. And so is now. 
 
 Or was so very late : for but a month 
 Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh 
 In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do. 
 The less will prattle of) that he did seek 
 The love of fair Olivia. 
 
 Vio. What's she"? 
 
 Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
 That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her 
 In the protection of his son, her brother. 
 Who shortly also died : for whose dear love, 
 They say, she hath abjur'd the company 
 And sight of men. 
 
 Vio. 0, that I served that lady : 
 
 And might not be delivered to the world, 
 Till I had made mine own occasion mellow. 
 What my estate is. 
 
 Cup. That were hard to compass ; 
 
 Because she will admit no kind of suit. 
 No, not the duke's. 
 
 Vio. Th°re is a fair behavior in thee, captain; 
 .\!id thov.gh that nature with a beauteous wall 
 Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
 I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits 
 With this thy fair aard outward character. 
 I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously. 
 Conceal mc what I am ; and be my aid 
 For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
 The tbrm of my intent. I'll serve this duke; 
 Thou shall present me as a page to him: 
 It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing. 
 And speak to him in many sorts of music, 
 That will albnv me very worth his service. 
 What else may hap, to time I will conmiit; 
 Dnlv shape thou thy silence to my wit. 
 
 Cap, Be you his eunuch, and I your mute will he: 
 V\'hen my tongue blabs, let mine eyes not sec ! 
 Vio. I thank thee, lead me on. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Tout Belch, and Maiiia. 
 
 Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take 
 the death of her brother thus] I am sure, care's an 
 enemy to life. 
 
 Mar. By troth. Sir Toby, you must come in 
 earlier o' nights ; your cousin, my lady, takes greal 
 exceptions to your ill hours. 
 
 Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. 
 
 Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 
 the modest limits of order. 
 
 Sir To. Confine! I'll confine myself no finci 
 than I am : these clothes are good enough to drink 
 in, and so be these boots too ; an they be not, let 
 them liang themselves in their own straps. 
 
 Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you : 
 I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a 
 foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, 
 to be her wooer. 
 
 Sir To. Who ] Sir Andrew Ague-cheek ] 
 
 Mar. Ay, he. 
 
 Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in IllyriEu 
 
 Mar. What's that to the purpose] 
 
 Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. 
 
 3Iar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these 
 ducats ; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. 
 
 Sir To. Fyc, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the 
 viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages 
 word for word without book, and hath all the good 
 gifts of nature. 
 
 Mar. He hath, indeed, — almost natural : for, 
 besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarrellerj 
 and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay 
 the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among 
 the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. 
 
 Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and 
 substractors, that say so of him. Who are they 1 
 
 Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly 
 in your company. 
 
 Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; I'll 
 drink to her, as long as there's a passage in my 
 throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward, and a 
 coystril,' that will not drink to my niece, till his 
 brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, 
 wench ? Castiliano vulgo ; for here comes sir 
 Andrew Ague-face. 
 
 Enter Sir Andhew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, sir Tohr 
 Belch ] 
 
 Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew ! 
 
 Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 
 
 Mar. And you too, sir. 
 
 Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. 
 
 Sir And. What's that ] 
 
 Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. 
 
 Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desure bettei 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Mar. My name is Mary, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, 
 
 Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost is. front 
 her, hoard her, woo her, assail her. 
 
 Sir A nd. By my troth, I would not undertake her 
 in this company. Is that the meaning of accost 1 
 
 Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 
 
 Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would 
 thou niightst never draw sword again. 
 
 Sir And. And you part so, mistress, I would I 
 I Keystril, a bastard hawk. 
 
68 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 
 Act J 
 
 might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you 
 think you have fools in hand ? 
 
 3tar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's 
 my hand. 
 
 Mar. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you, 
 bring your hand to the buttery -bar, and let it drink. 
 
 Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your 
 metaphor ? 
 
 Mar. It's dry, sir. 
 
 ^iV And. Why, I think so ; I am not such an ass, 
 but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? 
 
 Mar. A dry jest, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Are you full of them ? 
 
 Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: 
 marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. 
 
 \_Exit Maria. 
 
 Sir To. knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary : 
 When did I see thee so put down ? 
 
 Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless you 
 see canary put me down : Methinks, sometimes I 
 have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary 
 man has : but I am a greater eater of beef, and, I 
 believe, that does harm to my wit. 
 Sir To. No question. 
 
 Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll 
 ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. Poxirquoy, my dear knight? 
 Sir And. What is 23oiirquoj/ ? do or not do? I 
 would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that 
 I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting : 0, 
 had I but followed the arts ! 
 
 Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head 
 of hair. 
 
 Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? 
 Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest, it will not 
 curl by nature. 
 
 Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't 
 not? 
 
 Sir To. Excellent ; it hangs like flax on a distaff; 
 and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her 
 legs, and spin it off. 
 
 ^iV And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, siiv Toby : 
 your niece will not be seen ; or, if she be, it's four to 
 one she'll none of me : the count, himself, here hard 
 by, woos her. 
 
 Sir To. She'll none of the count; she'll not match 
 above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; 
 I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. 
 Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow 
 o' the strangest mind in the world ; I delight in 
 masques and revels sometimes altogether. 
 
 iS(> To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? 
 Sir And. As anj' man in Illyria, whatsoever he 
 be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I will 
 not compare with an old man. 
 
 Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, 
 kaight ? 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. 
 (§> 7'o. And I can cut the mutton to't. 
 Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, 
 simply as strong as any man in Illyria. 
 
 Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid ? where- 
 fore have these gifts a curtain before them ? are 
 they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture ? 
 Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and 
 come home in a coranto ? My very walk should be 
 a jig : I would not so much as make water, but in a 
 8ink-a-pace.2 What dost thou mean? is it a world 
 to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent 
 constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star 
 of a galliard. 
 
 jS'iV And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent 
 well in a flame-colored stock.3 Shall we set about 
 jome revels ? 
 
 • Cinque^ace, the name of a dance. 
 
 "Stocking. 
 
 Sir To. What shall we do else? were we notboru 
 under Taurus ? 
 
 Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart. 
 
 Sir To. No, sir; it's legs and thighs. Let m« 
 see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha! — excellent! 
 
 \_E7ieunt, 
 
 SCENE TV.— A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Valentine and Viola in man's attire. 
 
 Val. If the duke continue these favors towards 
 you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he 
 hath known you but three days, and already you 
 are no stranger. 
 
 Vio. You either fear his humor, or my negligenLC. 
 that you call in question the continuance of his love 
 Is he inconstant, sir, in his favors ? 
 
 Val. No, believe me. 
 
 Enter Duke, CuRiO, and Attendants. 
 
 Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 
 
 Dnke. AVho saw Cesario, ho ? 
 
 Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 
 
 Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. — CesArio, 
 Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd 
 To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
 Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto Ler; 
 Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors. 
 And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, 
 Till thou have audience. 
 
 Vio. Sure, my noble lord, 
 
 If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow 
 As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 
 
 Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds. 
 Bather than make unprofited return. [then ? 
 
 Vio. Say, I 'do speak with her, my lord : What 
 
 Duke. 0, then unfold the passion of my love, 
 Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith : 
 It shall become thee well to act my woes; 
 She will attend it better in thy youth. 
 Than in a nuncio of grave aspect. 
 
 Vio. 1 think not so, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Dear lad, believe it, 
 
 For they shall yet belie thy happy years 
 That say thou art a man : Diana's lip 
 Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe 
 Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, 
 And all its semblative a woman's part. 
 I know, thy constellation is right apt 
 For this affair :— Some four, or five, attend him, 
 All, if you will ; for I myself am best. 
 When least in company : — Prosper well in this. 
 And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord. 
 To call his fortunes thine. 
 
 Vio. I'll do my best 
 
 To woo your lady: yet {Aside] a barful^ strife ! 
 Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exemtt. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Boom in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Maria and Clown. 
 
 Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast h<wn, 
 or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle Jtaj 
 enter, in way of thy excuse : my lady will hang thee 
 for thy absence. 
 
 Clo. Let her hang me ; he, that is well-hangod la 
 this world, needs to fear no colors. 
 
 Ma7\ Make that good. 
 
 Clo. He shall see none to fear. 
 
 Mar. A good lenten^ answer: I can tell thM 
 where that saying was born, of, I fear no colors. 
 
 Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? 
 
 3Iar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold to 
 say in your foolery. 
 
 Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; 
 and those that are fools, let thom use their talents. 
 
 Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long 
 absent : or, to be turned away ; is no*; that as good 
 as a hanging to you ? 
 
 * Full of impediments. » (Short and spare. 
 
r^CENE V 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 69 
 
 CI(K Man^ fl gool hanging prevents a bad mar- 
 "iago ; and, for turning away, let summer bear it ont. 
 
 }[(ir. You are resolute then? 
 
 Clo. Not s) neither; but I am resolved on two 
 points. 
 
 ^[nr TJhat, if one break, the other will hold ; or, 
 if both V eak, your gaskins fall. 
 
 Olo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy 
 way ; if sir 'Coby would leave drinking, thou wcrt as 
 witty a piec) of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. 
 
 j/in-. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here 
 c-omos my lady : make your excuse Avisely, you were 
 l)cst. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Olivia, and Malvolio. 
 
 C!i>. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good 
 fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do 
 verj' oft prove fools ; and I, that am sure 1 lack 
 thee, may pass for a wise man : For what says 
 Qiiinnpalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish 
 wit. Grod bless thee, lady! 
 
 Oli. Take the fool away. 
 
 Old. Do you not hear, fellows? Takeaway the lady. 
 
 Oil. Go to, you're a dry fool : I'll no more of you : 
 besides, you grow dishonest. 
 
 Cl'i. Two faults, madonna,'' that drink and good 
 counsel will amend : for give the dry fool drink, then 
 is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend 
 himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if 
 he cannot, let the botcher mend him : any thing, 
 that's mended, is but patched : virtue that trans- 
 gresses, is but patched with sin ; and sin, that 
 amends, is liut patched with virtue : if that this 
 simple syllogism will serve, so ; if it will not, what 
 rouieily ? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, 
 so beauty's a flower: — the lady bade take away the 
 fool : therefore, I say again, take her away. 
 
 OIL Sir, I bade them take away you. 
 
 Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! — Lady, 
 {Jiicnllns noit facit monaclnim ; that's as much as 
 to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good ma- 
 donna, give me leave to prove you a fool. 
 
 Oli. Can you do it ? 
 
 Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. 
 
 Oli. Make your proof. 
 
 ijlo. I must catechise you for it, madonna; good 
 my mouse of virtue, answer me. 
 
 Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide 
 your proof. 
 
 Clo. Good madonna, why moum'st thou? 
 
 Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. 
 
 Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 
 
 Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 
 
 Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for 
 your brother's soul being in heaven. — Take away 
 the f )ol, gentlemen. 
 
 Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth 
 he not mend ? 
 
 ^f(d. Yes : and shall do, till the pangs of death 
 shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wis6^ doth 
 ever make the better fool. * 
 
 Clo. (loil send you, sir, a speed}' infirmity, for the 
 better increasing your folly ! sir Toby will be sworn, 
 tliat I am no fox ; but he will not pass his word for 
 tv.o-pence that you are no fool. 
 
 Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mnl. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such 
 a barren rascal; I saw him jmt down the other day 
 with an ordinnry fool, that has no more brain than 
 a stone. Loolc you now, he's out of his guard 
 already ; unh\-;s you laugh and minister occasion to 
 bim, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise 
 men, that cvow so at these set kind of fools, no bet- 
 'x;r than the fool's zanies.^ 
 
 Oli. 0, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
 t»eto with a distempered appetite. To be generous. 
 
 • Pnlian, mlstres.s, dame. 
 
 6 
 
 » Fools' baubles. 
 
 guiltless, and of free disposition, is to tiike those 
 things for bird-bolts,^ that you deem cinnon -bullets: 
 There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he 
 do nothing but rail ; nor no railing in a known dis- 
 creet man, though he do nothing but rej)rove. 
 
 Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing,'' foi 
 thou speakest well of fools. 
 
 lie-enter MAniA. 
 
 3rnr. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen- 
 tleman, much desires to speak with you. 
 
 Oli. From the count Orsino, is it? 
 
 3far. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young ec i 
 and well attended. 
 
 Oli, AVho of my people hold him in delay ? 
 
 Mar. Sir Toby, madam, youi kinsman. 
 
 Oli. Fetch him off, I pray yoa; he speaks nothing 
 but madman: Fye on him! [Exit Maria.] Go 
 you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, I am 
 sick, or not at home; what j'ou will, to dismiss it. 
 [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how vour 
 fooling grows old, and people dislike it. 
 
 Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy 
 € Idest son should be a fool : whose skull Jove cram 
 with brains, for here comes one of thy kin, has a 
 most weakpia mater.s 
 
 Enter Sir ToBY Belch. 
 
 OH. By mine honor, half drunk. — What is he at 
 the gate, cousin ? 
 
 Sir To. A gentleman. 
 
 0/;'. A gentleman ! What gentleman ? 
 
 <S'(V To. 'Tis a gentleman here — A plague o' ttiese 
 pickle-herrings ! — How now, sot? 
 
 Clo. Good sir Toby, 
 
 Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early 
 by this lethargy? 
 
 Sir To. Lechery ! I defy lechery : there's one at 
 
 Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? [the gate. 
 
 Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care 
 not : give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. 
 
 Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool ? 
 
 Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman : 
 one draught above heat makes him a fool; the se- 
 cond mads him ; and a third drowns him. 
 
 Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him 
 sit o' my coz ; for he's in the third degree of drink, 
 he's drown'd : go, look after him. 
 
 Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool 
 shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown. 
 
 lie-enter Malvolio. 
 
 3fal. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will 
 speak with you. I told him you were sick ; he takes 
 on him to understand so much, and therefore comes 
 to speak with you : I told him you were asleep ; he 
 seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and 
 therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be 
 said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denisl 
 
 Oli. Tell him he shall not speak with me. 
 
 3IaI. lie has been told so; and he says, he'l! 
 stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be th< 
 supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. 
 
 Oli. What kind of a man is he ? 
 
 3Iul. Why, of man kind. 
 
 Oli. AVhat manner of man ? 
 
 3lal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, 
 will you, or no. 
 
 Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he ? 
 
 3lal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
 (nough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peas- 
 cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple; 'tis 
 with him e'en standing water, between boy and 
 man. He is very well favored, and ho speaks vcrj 
 shrewishly; one would think, his mother's mitt 
 were scarce out of him. 
 
 « Short arrows. 
 
 ' The cover p' the brain. 
 
 ■ Lyinff. 
 
70 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act I. Scene "V. 
 
 OH. liet him approach : Call m my gentlewoman. 
 Mai. Genllcvvoman, my lady calls. \^Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Maria. 
 OR. Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er my 
 IVe'U once more hear Orsino's embassy. [face; 
 
 Enter Viola. 
 
 Vio. The honorable lady of the house, which is 
 shel 
 
 on. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Your will? 
 
 Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchablc 
 
 Leauty, — I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of 
 
 the bouse, for I never saw her: I would be loth to 
 
 ast away my speech ; for, besides that it is excel- 
 
 .cntly well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con 
 
 it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn : I am 
 
 very comptible," even to the least sinister usage. 
 
 OR. Whence came you, sir ] 
 
 Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, 
 and that question's out of my part. Good gentle 
 one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady 
 of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. 
 
 OR. Are you a comedian ] 
 
 Via. No, my profound heart : and yet, by the 
 very fangs of m;ilice, I swear, I am not that I play. 
 \re you the lady of the house ? 
 
 OR If I do not usurp myself, I am. 
 
 Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
 yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours 
 to reserve. But this is from my commission : I will 
 on v/ith my speech in your praise, and then show 
 vou the heart of my message. 
 
 OR. Come to what is important in't : I forgive 
 you the praise. 
 
 Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis 
 poetical. 
 
 OR. It ii- the more like to be feigned ; I pray you, 
 keep it in, I hoard, you were saucy at my gates ; 
 and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you 
 than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone ; if 
 you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon 
 with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. 
 
 Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir ] here lies your way. 
 
 Via. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here a 
 little longer. — Some mollification for your giant,* 
 sweet lady. 
 
 0//. Tell me your mind. 
 
 Vio. I am a messenger. 
 
 OR. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- 
 liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak 
 your office. 
 
 Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over- 
 ture of war, no taxation of homage : I hold the olive 
 ill my hand : my words are as full of peace as matter. 
 
 OR. Yet you began rudely. What are you ! 
 w hat would you ? 
 
 Vio. The rudeness, that hathappear'd in me, have 
 [ learn'd tiom my entertainment. What I am, and 
 what I would, are as secret as maidenhead : to your 
 ears, divinity ; to any other's, profonation. 
 
 OR. Give us the place alone : we will hear this di- 
 vinity. [^Exii Maria.] Now, sir, what is your text? 
 
 Vio. Most sweet lady, — 
 
 OR. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
 said of it. Where lies your textl 
 17(1. In Orsino's bosom. 
 
 OR. In his bosom 1 In what chapter of his bosom ? 
 
 • Account able. 
 
 1 It appears from several parts of this play, that the on- 
 giual act: ess of Maria was \i'xy short 
 
 Vio. To answer by the method, in the first ol 
 his heart. 
 
 OR. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you 
 no more to say ] 
 
 Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 
 
 OR. Have you any commission from your lord to 
 negotiate with my faccl you are now out of your 
 text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you 
 the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I wa« 
 this present ■} Is't not well done 1 [ UnveiRng. 
 
 Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 
 
 OR. 'Tis in g^ain, sir; 'twill endure wind and 
 weather. 
 
 Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and whii« 
 Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on ; 
 Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive. 
 If you will lead these graces to the grave, 
 And leave the world no copy. 
 
 OR. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will 
 give out divers schedules of my beauty : It shall be 
 inventoried ; and every particle, and utensil, la- 
 belled to my will : as, item, two lips indilierent 
 red ; item, two gi-ey eyes, with lids to them ; item, 
 one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent 
 hither to 'praise me] 
 
 Vio. I see you what you are : you are too proud 
 But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
 My lord and master loves you ; O, such love 
 Could be but recompcns'd, thoughyou were crown'd 
 The nonpareil of beauty! 
 
 OR. How docs he love me 1 
 
 Via. With adorations, with fertile tears, 
 With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 
 
 OR. Your lord docs know my mind, I cannot 
 love him: 
 Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble. 
 Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; 
 In voices well divulg'd,^ free, learn'd, and valiant, 
 And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, 
 A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; 
 He might have took his answer long ago. 
 
 Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
 With such a suliering, such a deadly life. 
 In your denial I would find no sense, 
 I would not understand it. 
 
 OR. Why, what would you ! 
 
 Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate. 
 And call upon my soul within the house; 
 Write loyal cantons' of contemned love. 
 And sing them loud even in the dead of nigLt; 
 Holla your name to the reverberate hills, 
 And maJve the babbling gossip of the air 
 Cry out, Olivia! 0, you should not rest 
 Between the elements of air and earth, 
 But you should pity me. 
 
 OR. Youmi^htdomuch: What is your parentage? 
 
 Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 
 I am a gentleman. 
 
 OR. Get you to your lord; 
 
 I cannot love him: let him send no more, 
 Unless, perchance, you come to me again. 
 To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
 I thank you for your pains ; spend this for mc. 
 
 Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse; 
 My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
 Love make liis heart ot' flint, that you shall love, 
 And let your fervor, like my master's, be 
 Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [^Extt 
 
 " Presents. » Well spokep of by the world. 
 
 * Cantos, verses. 
 
^rr II. Scene I. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 71 
 
 OH. What is your parentage? 
 Above mi/ forf lilies, yet my state is well: 
 
 I am a gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art; 
 
 Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, 
 Do give thee five-fold blazon: — Not too fast: — 
 
 soft ! soft ! 
 Unless the master wei'c the man. — How nowl 
 Even so quickly may one catch the plague ] 
 Mcthinks, I feel this youth's perfections, 
 With an invisible and subtle stealth. 
 To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it he. — 
 What, ho, Malvolio ! — 
 
 Re-enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. Here, madam, at your service. 
 
 OH. Run after that same peevish messenger, 
 The county's man: he left this ring behind hini, 
 Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it. 
 Desire him not to flatter with his lord. 
 Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him. 
 If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, 
 I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. 
 Mai. Madam, I will. {ExU 
 
 OH. I do I know not what : and fear to find 
 Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
 Fate, show thy force: Ourselves we do not 
 
 owe ;' 
 What is decreed, must be ; and be this so ! 
 
 [hat 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Sea-coast. 
 
 Enter Axtonio and Sebastian. 
 
 Ant. Will you stay no longer! nor will you not, 
 that I go with you 1 
 
 Seh. By your patience, no : my stars shine darkly 
 over me; the malignancy of my fate might, per- 
 haps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of 
 you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: 
 It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any 
 af them on you. 
 
 Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you are 
 bound. 
 
 Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is 
 mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex- 
 cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort 
 from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it 
 charges me in manners the rather to express myself. 
 You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is 
 Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo: My fiither was 
 that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you 
 have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a 
 sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had 
 been pleas'd, would we had so ended ! but you, sir, 
 alter'd that : for, some hour before you took me 
 from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. 
 
 Ant. Alas, the day ! 
 
 Scb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- 
 sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful : 
 but, though I could not, with such estimable won- 
 der, ovcrfar beheve that, yet thus far I will boldly 
 publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not 
 [)ut rail fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt 
 water, though I seem to drown her remembrance 
 again with more. 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 
 
 Seb. O. good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 
 
 Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let 
 mc be your servant. 
 
 Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, 
 that is, kill him wliom you have recovered, desire 
 it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of 
 kindness; and I am j'et so near the manners of 
 my mother, that upon the least occasion more, 
 mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the 
 fount Orsino's court: farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee : 
 I have many enemies in Orsino's court, 
 Else would I very shortly see thee there: 
 But come what may, I do adore thee so. 
 That dang:r shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE U.—A Siree!. 
 Enter Yiola; Mal\ 01.10 following. 
 
 Mai. Were not you even now with the countesj 
 Olivia 1 
 
 Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have 
 since arrived but hither. 
 
 Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir; you 
 might have saved me my pains, to have taken it 
 away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should 
 put your lord into a desperate assurance she will 
 none of him: And one thing more; that you be 
 never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it 
 be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. 
 
 Vio. She took the ring of me ; I'll none of it. 
 
 Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her ; 
 and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be 
 worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, 
 be it his that finds it. [Exit. 
 
 Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this 
 ladyl 
 Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her ! 
 She made good view of me; indeed, so much. 
 That sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue. 
 For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
 She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion 
 Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
 None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 
 I am the man; — If it be so, (as 'tis,) 
 Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
 Disguise, I sec, thou art a wickedness. 
 Wherein the pregnant" enemy does much. 
 How easy is it, for the proper-false 
 In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
 Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; 
 For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
 How will this fadger My master loves hci (\en\j. 
 And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
 And she, mistaken, seems to dote on ice : 
 What will become of this ? As I am man. 
 My state is desperate for my master's love ; 
 As I am woman, now alas the day ! 
 What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe) 
 O time, thou must untangle this, not I; 
 It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Evit 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in Olivia's House. 
 Enter Sir T.^nY Belch, and Sir Andrew Aritk- 
 
 CHEEK. 
 
 Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew : not to be a-bed 
 » Own, possess. • Dexterous, ready. ' Suit 
 
72 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act II 
 
 afler midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo 
 r.urgere, tliou know'st, 
 
 Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I 
 know, to be uj) late, is to be up late. 
 
 Sir To. A lalsc conclusion : I hate it as an un- 
 lilled can : To be up after midnight, and to go to 
 bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after mid- 
 night, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives 
 consist of the four elements? 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith, so they say ; but, I tliink, it 
 rather consists of eating and drinking. 
 
 Sir To. Thou art a scholar ; let us tl erefore eat 
 tr.d drink. — Maria, I say ! — a stoop of wine ! 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Sir And. Here comes the fool. 
 
 Clo How now, my hearts ? Did you never see 
 the picture of we three ]' 
 
 Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a i;\tcb. 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an escf lleni 
 breast." I had rather than forty shillings I had 
 Buch a leg ; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the 
 fool has. In sooth, thou wast in veiy gracious 
 fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogro- 
 mitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of 
 Queubus; 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee 
 Bixpence for thy leman :' hadst it ! 
 
 Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity;* for Mal- 
 volio's nose is no whip-stock : my lady has a white 
 hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. 
 
 Sir And. Excellent ! Why, this is the best fool- 
 ing, when all is done. Now, a song. 
 
 Sir To. Come on ; there is a sixpence for you : 
 let's have a song. 
 
 Sir And. There's a testril of me too ; if one 
 knight give a 
 
 Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of 
 good life ? 
 
 Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, ay ; I care not for good life. 
 SONG. 
 
 (Jlo. mixlress mine, where are yoti roaming? 
 .^tay a?id hear,- your true love's coming, 
 
 That can sing both high and low: 
 Trip no further, pretty sijuceting; 
 Journeys end in lovers' meeting, 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith ! 
 
 Sir To. Good, good. 
 
 Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter,- 
 
 Present mirth hath present laughter,- 
 
 What's to come, is still unsure.- 
 In delay there lies no plenty, ■ 
 Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 
 Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
 A? And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. 
 Sir To. A contagious breath. 
 Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. 
 Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in con- 
 tagion. But shall we make the welkin dance 
 indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, 
 that will draw three souls out of one weaver ? 
 Shall we do that 1 
 
 Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am log 
 at a catch. 
 
 Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. 
 Sh- And. Most certain: let our catch be. Thou 
 
 s Loggerhea'.ls be. Voice. 
 
 • Mistress " 1 did impetticoat thy gratuity . 
 
 Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight ! I shalj 
 be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. 
 
 Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have con 
 strain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it 
 begins. Hold thy peace. 
 
 Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. 
 
 Sir And. Good, i' faith ! Come, begin. 
 
 [They sing a catch. 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Mar. What a cattenvauling do you keep here! If 
 my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, 
 and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. 
 
 Sir To. My lady's a Catalan,' we are politicians: 
 Malvolio's aPeg-a-Ramsey,'and Three merry men 
 we he. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her 
 blood? Tilly-valley,^ lady ! There dwelt a man in 
 Babylon, lady, lady.' ['^'"5""'^- 
 
 Clo. Beshrcw me, the knight's in admirable fooJ- 
 ing. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dis- 
 posed, and so do I too; he does it with a better 
 grace, but I do it more natural. 
 
 Sir To. the twelfth day of December, — [Sing- 
 ing. 
 
 Mar. For the love of God, peace. 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. My masters, are you mad ? or Avhat are 
 you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but 
 to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do yo 
 make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye 
 squeak out your coziers" catches without any mi- 
 tigation or remorse of voice ? Is there no respect 
 of place, persons, nor time, in you ? 
 
 Sir 2o. We did keep time, sir, in our catches 
 Sneck up I^ 
 
 Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 
 lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbors 
 you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to youi 
 disorders. If you can separate yourself and youi 
 misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house ; if 
 not, an it would please you to take leave of her, 
 she is very willing to bid you farewell. 
 
 Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, si?ice I must 
 needs be gone. 
 
 Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. 
 
 Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost dont 
 
 Mai. Is't even so? 
 
 Sir To. But I will never die. 
 
 Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 
 
 Mai. This is much credit to you. 
 
 Sir To. Shall I bid him go? [Smgm^ 
 
 Clo. What 071 if you do? 
 
 Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? 
 
 Clo. ne, no, no, no, you dare not. 
 
 Sir To. Out o' time? sir, ye lie. — Art any moie 
 than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou 
 art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ' 
 
 Clo. Yes, by saint Anne ; and ginger shall be 
 hot i' the mouth too. 
 
 Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. — Go, sir, rub youi 
 chain with crums: — A stoop of wine, Maria! 
 
 Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady d 
 favor at any thing more than contempt, you would 
 not give means for this uncivil rule ; she shall knovi 
 of it, by this hand. 
 
 Mar. Go shake your ears. 
 
 « Romancer. » Name of an old song. 
 
 » Equivalent to Jilly-f ally, shilly-shally. 
 * Cobblers. » Hang yourself. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 73 
 
 Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when 
 a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field ; and 
 'hen to break promise with liim, and make a fool 
 of him. 
 
 Sir To. Do't, knight ; I'll wi-ite thee a chal- 
 lenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by 
 word of mouth. 
 
 Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night: 
 rince the youth of the count's was to-day with my 
 lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur 
 Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull 
 him into a naj'-word,^ and make him a common 
 recreation, do not think I h'ive wit enough to lie 
 straight in my bed : I know, I can do it. 
 
 >S'jV To. Possess us,' possess us; tell us some- 
 thing of him. 
 
 Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. 
 
 -S'(> And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like 
 a dog. 
 
 Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exqui- 
 site reason, dear knight! 
 
 Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I 
 have reason good enough. 
 
 Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing 
 K»nstantly but a time-pleaser; an aflcctioned ass, 
 that cons state without book, and utters it by great 
 ewarths:' the best persuaded of himself, so cram- 
 med, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his 
 ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love 
 him ; and on that vice in him will my revenge find 
 notable cause to work. 
 
 Sir To. What wilt thou do 1 
 
 Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles 
 of love; wherein by the color of his beard, the 
 shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres- 
 Bure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall 
 find himself most feelingly personated: I can write 
 very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter 
 we can hardly make distinction of our hands. 
 
 iS'tV To. Excellent! I smell a device. 
 
 Sir And. I have't in my nose too. 
 
 Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou 
 wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that 
 she is in love with him. 
 
 Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color. 
 
 Sir And. And your horse now would make him 
 an ass. 
 
 Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 
 
 Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. 
 
 Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know, my 
 physic will work with him. I will plant you two, 
 and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the 
 letter; observe his construction of it. Fortius night, 
 to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. G-Dod night, Penthesilea.' 
 
 Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. 
 
 Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that 
 BuOres me: What o'that? 
 
 Sir And. I was adored once too. 
 
 Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. — Tnou hadst need 
 send for more money. 
 
 Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a 
 loul way out. 
 
 Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast 
 bi T not i' the end, call me Cut.' 
 
 Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it 
 bow you will. 
 
 • Bj-e-word. ' Inform us. 
 
 • The row of grass lef by a mower. 
 
 1 kmazou > Fool 
 
 Sir To. Come, coiiie; I'll go burn some sack, 
 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, 
 knight. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Room in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Dcke, Viola, Cunio, and others. 
 
 Duke. Give me some music : — Now, good 
 morrow, friends: — 
 Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
 That old and antique song we heard last nig »1 ; 
 Mcthought, it did relieve my passion much 
 More than light airs and recollected terms 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. — • 
 Come, but one verse. 
 
 Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, 
 that should sing it. 
 
 Duke. Who was it] 
 
 Cur. Festc, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the 
 lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is 
 about the house. 
 
 Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 
 [Exit Cunio. — Music 
 Come hither, boy : If ever thou shalt love, 
 In the sweet pangs of it, remember me : 
 For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
 Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
 Save, in that constant image of the creature 
 That is bclov'd. — How dost thou like this tune'' 
 
 Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
 Where Ijove is thron'd. 
 
 Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 
 My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye 
 Hath stay'd upon some favor that it loves : 
 Hath it not, boy? 
 
 Vio. A little, by your favor. 
 
 Duke. What kind of woman is't? 
 
 Vio. Of your complexion 
 
 Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years, 
 i'faith? 
 
 T7o. About your years, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman 
 take 
 An elder than herself; so wears she to him, 
 So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
 For, boy, however we do praise ourselves. 
 Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, ^ 
 Than women's are. 
 
 Vio. I think it well, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Then let thy love be j'ounger than thystl^ 
 Or thy aft'cction cannot hold the bent: 
 For women are as roses; whose fair flower, 
 Being once display'd, doth fall that very houi. 
 
 Vio. And so they arc : alas, that they are so; 
 To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 
 
 Re-enter Cuuio and Clown. 
 
 Duke. O, fellow, come, the song we had last 
 night : — 
 Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain: 
 The spinsters and the knitters in tlie sun, 
 And the free maids that weave their thread with 
 
 hones. 
 Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,' 
 And dallies with the innocence of love, 
 Like the old age. 
 
 Clo. Are you ready, sir? 
 
 Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing. [ilfuwe 
 
 < Simole truth. 
 
74 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHl. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Clo. Come away, come away, death, 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid; 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath,- 
 t am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 O, prepare it,- 
 My part of death, no one so true 
 Did share it. 
 Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
 On my black coffin let there be strown; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save. 
 
 Lay me, O, where 
 Sad true lover ne'er flnd my grave, 
 To weep there. 
 
 Duke. There's for thy pains. 
 
 Clo. No pains, sir ; I take pleasure in singing, sir. 
 
 Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure, tjien. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
 lime or another. 
 
 Duke. Give mc now leave to leave thee. 
 
 Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; and 
 the tailor malvc thy doublet of changeable tafleta, 
 for thy mind is a very opal. — I would have men of 
 such constancy put to sea, that their business might 
 be every thing, and their intent every where ; lor 
 that's it, that always makes a good voyage of no- 
 thing. — Farewell. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Duke. Let all the rest give place. 
 
 [Exeunt Cuhio and Attendants. 
 Once more, Cesario, 
 Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: 
 Tell her, my love, more noble than the world. 
 Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; 
 The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her. 
 Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; 
 But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, 
 That nature pranks'^ her in, attracts my souL 
 
 Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir? 
 
 Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 
 
 Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. 
 
 Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, 
 Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
 As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; 
 You tell her so; Must she not then bo answer'd? 
 
 Duke. There is no woman's sides 
 Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
 As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart 
 So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. 
 Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,— 
 No motion of the liver, but the palate, — 
 That sufier forfeit, cloyment, and revolt ; 
 But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
 And can digest as much : make no compare 
 Between that love a woman can bear me, 
 And that I owe Olivia. 
 
 Vio. Ay, but I know, — 
 
 Duke. What dost thou know 1 
 
 Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe : 
 [n faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
 My father had a daughter lov'd a man. 
 As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
 ( should your lordship. 
 
 Duke. And what's her history ! 
 
 Vio. A blank, my lord : She never told her love, 
 
 a Decks. 
 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud. 
 Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought 
 And, with a green and yellow melancholy. 
 She sat like patience on a monumcn-t, 
 Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ? 
 We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed 
 Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
 Much in our vows, but little in our love. 
 
 Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy 1 
 Vio. I am all the daugliters of my father's house, 
 And all the brothers too ; — and yet I know not : — 
 Sir, shall I to this lady 1 
 
 Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 
 
 To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say. 
 My love can give no place, bide no denay.* [Exeunt> 
 
 SCENE v.— Olivia's Garden. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Agukcheek, 
 and Fabiax. 
 
 Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. 
 
 Fab. Nay, I'll come ; if I lose a scruple of this 
 sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 
 
 Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have tlie 
 niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable 
 shame ? 
 
 Fab. I would exult, man : you know, he brought me 
 out of favor with my lady, about a bear-liaiting here- 
 
 Sir To. Toanger him, we'll have the bear agajp; 
 and we will fool him black and blue: — Shall we 
 not, sir Andrew? 
 
 Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 
 
 Enter Maiiia. 
 
 -How 
 
 Sir To. Here conies the little villain: 
 now, my nettle of India? 
 
 Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree : Mal- 
 volio's coming down this walk ; he has been yonder 
 i' the sun, practising behavior to his own shadow, 
 this half hour : observe him, for the love of mockery; 
 for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative 
 idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting ! [The 
 men hide themselves.'] Lie thou there ; [Thrown 
 down a letter,'] for here comes the trout that must 
 be caught with tickling. [Exit Maria 
 
 Enter Maltoiio. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria 
 once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard 
 herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it 
 should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses 
 me with a more exalted respect than any one else 
 that follows her. What should I think on't ? 
 
 Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue ! 
 
 Fab. 0, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare 
 turkey-cock of him; how he jets* under his ad- 
 vanced plumes ! 
 
 <S'jV And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue: — 
 
 Sir To. Peace, I say. 
 
 Mai. To be count Malvolio; — 
 
 Sir To. Ah, rogue ! 
 
 Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 
 
 Sir To. Peace, peace ! 
 
 Mul. There is example for't; the lady of th« 
 strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 
 
 Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace ! now he's deeply in, look, hort 
 imagination blows him. 
 
 Mai. Hav-ing been three months married to hex 
 sitting in my state, — 
 
 4 DenuJ. 
 
 *8tra1& 
 
0CENE V. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 75 
 
 Sir To, O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye ! 
 
 Mai. Calling my oflicers about me, in my branch- 
 ed velvet gown ; having come from a day-bed, where 
 I left Olivia sleeping. 
 
 Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! 
 
 Fab. 0, peace, peace ! 
 
 Mai, And then to have the humor of state: and 
 ofter a demure travel of regard, — telling them, I 
 know my place, as I would they should do theirs, — 
 to a 5k for my kinsman Toby : 
 
 Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace, peace, peace ! now, now. 
 
 3Ial. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, 
 make out for him : I frown the while ; and, per- 
 chance, wind up my watch, or play v\ith some rich 
 jewel. Toby approaches ; court'sies there to me : 
 
 Sir To. Shall this fellow live? 
 
 Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with 
 cars, yet peace. 
 
 Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching 
 my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: 
 
 Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' 
 the lips then? 
 
 Mai. Saying, Cousin Tobi/, my fortunes havijig 
 cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of 
 speech : — 
 
 Sir To. What, what 1 
 
 Mai. You must amend your drunkenness. 
 
 Sir To. Out, scab ! 
 
 F(d). Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of 
 cur plot. 
 
 Mai. Besides, you waste the treasure of your 
 time with a foolish knight: 
 
 Sir And, That's me, I warrant you. 
 
 Mai. One Sir Andrew : 
 
 Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool. 
 
 Mul, What employment have we here 1 
 
 [Taking up the letter. 
 
 Fab, Now is the woodcock near the gin. 
 
 Sir To, 0, peace ! and the spirit of humors in- 
 timate reading aloud to him ! 
 
 3Ial, By my life, this is my lady's hand : these be 
 her very C"s, her C/'s, and her T"s,and thus makes 
 she her gi-eat P 's. It is, in contempt of question 
 her hand. 
 
 Sir And, Her C 's, her U's, and her T's: Why 
 that? 
 
 Mai. [Reads,'] To the unknown belovedjhis and 
 my good wishes : her very phrases ! — By your leave, 
 wax, — Soil! — and the impressure her Lucrcce, 
 with which she uses to seal : 'tis my lady : To whom 
 «i>ould this ]>3l 
 
 Fab, This wins him, liver and all. 
 
 Mai. [Reads.] Jove knoivs, I love : 
 But ivho ? 
 Lips do not move, 
 No man must know. 
 No man mxist know, — What follows ] the numbers 
 altered ! — No man must know : — If this should be 
 Ihee, Malvoliol 
 
 Sir To, Marry, hang thee, brock !* 
 
 Mai. / may command, ivhere I adore : 
 But silence, like a Lucrece knife. 
 With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore,- 
 M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. 
 
 Fab, A fustian riddle! 
 
 Sir To, Excellent wench, say I. 
 
 Mai, M, O, A, I, doth sway my ///e.— Nay, but 
 fiiBt let mc see, — let me see, — let rae see. 
 * Badger. 
 
 Fab. What a dish of poison hath she dressed him' 
 
 Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel' 
 checks at it ! * 
 
 Mai. I may command where I adore. Why, she 
 may command me ; I serve her, she is my lady. 
 Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There 
 is no obstruction in this ; — And the end, — What 
 should that alphabetical position portend 1 If I 
 could make that resemble something in me, — 
 Softly l—M, 0, A, I.— 
 
 Sir To, O, ay ! make up that ; — he is now a.\ a 
 cold scent. 
 
 Fab, Sowter' will ciy upon't for all this, Ihcagb 
 it be as rank as a fox. 
 
 Mai. IM, — Malvolio ; — 31, — w hy, that legins my 
 name. 
 
 Fab, Did not I say, he would work it out ! tlo 
 cur is excellent at faults. 
 
 Mai. M, — But then there is no consonancy in 
 the sequel : that sulfers under probation : A should 
 follow, but O docs. 
 
 Fab, And shall end, I hope. 
 
 Sir To, Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him 
 cry, 0, 
 
 Mai, And then / comes behind ; — 
 
 Fab, Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you 
 might see more detraction at your heels, than for- 
 tunes before you. 
 
 Mai. M, 0,A,I; — This simulation is not as the 
 former : — and yet, to crush this a little, it would 
 bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my 
 name. Soft, here follows prose : — If this fall into 
 thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee,- 
 but be not afraid of greatness.- Some areborn great, 
 some achieve greatness, and some have greatness 
 thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands,- let 
 thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure 
 thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble 
 slough,^ and appear fresh. Be opposite with a 
 kinsman, surly ivifh sei-i^ants : let thy tongue tang 
 arguments oj stale ,- put thyself into the trick oj 
 singularity .- she thus advises thee, that sighs for 
 thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stock- 
 ings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered .- 1 
 say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou de- 
 sirest to be so,- if not, let me see thee a steward still, 
 the fellow of servants, and 7iot worthy to touch 
 fortune^ s Jingei-s, Farewell, She that would alter 
 services with thee. The fortunate-unhappy. 
 Day-light and cliampian^ discovers not more : this 
 is open. I will be proud, I will read politic 
 authors,! will bailie Sir Toby, I will wash ofl" gross 
 acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice^ the very 
 man. I do not now fool myself, to let iraagication 
 jade me ; for every reason excites to this, that my 
 lady loves me. She did commend my yellow 
 stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross- 
 gartered ; and in this she manifests herself to my 
 love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to 
 these habits of her liking. I thank my stars,I am 
 happy. I will be strange, stout, ni yellow stock- 
 ings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of 
 putting on. Jove, and my stars, be praised ! — 
 Here is j-et a postscript. Thou canst not choose but 
 know who I am. If thou cnfertuinest my love, let 
 it appear in thy smiling,- thy smiles become thee 
 well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear 
 my sweet, I pr'ythee, Jove, I thank thee. — I will 
 
 ' Hawk. 
 
 * Skin of a snake. 
 
 • Flies at it. 
 
 * Open country. 
 
 • Name of a hound 
 
 * Utmost exactnesa 
 
7(3 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; 
 
 Av\ 111 
 
 smile ; I will do every thing that thou wilt have 
 me. [Exit. 
 
 Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a 
 pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 
 
 Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. 
 
 Sir And. So could I too. 
 
 ,S'(V To. And ask no other dowry with her, but 
 such another jest. 
 
 Enter Mahia. 
 
 Sir And. Nor I neither. 
 Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 
 Sir To. V/ilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? 
 Sir And. Or o' mine either? 
 Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip/ 
 and become thy bond slave? 
 Sir And, I' faith, or I either. 
 
 Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream 
 that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run 
 mad. 
 
 3fnr. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon him ? 
 
 Sir To. Like aqua-vitas with a midwife. 
 
 3far. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 
 mark his first approach before my lady : he will 
 come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color 
 she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fiishion she de- 
 tests ; and he will smile upon her, which will now 
 be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted 
 to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn 
 him into a notable coatempt: if you will sec it, 
 follow me. 
 
 Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excel- 
 lent devil of wit ! 
 
 Sir And. I'll make one too. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Olivia's Garden. 
 Enter VioLA, and Clowtj with a Tabor. 
 Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music : Dost thou 
 live by thj' tabor? 
 
 Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. 
 Vio. Art thou a churchman ? 
 Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church : 
 for I do live at mj' house, and my house doth stand 
 by the church. 
 
 Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies' by a beg- 
 giir, if a beggar dwell near him : or, the church stands 
 bj' thy tabor, if thy tabor stands by the church. 
 
 C/o. You have said, sir. — To see this age ! — A sen- 
 tence is but a cheverilS glove to a good wit: How 
 quickly the wrong side may be turned outward ! 
 
 T7o. Nay, that's certain ; they, that dally nicely 
 with v.'ords, may quickly make them wanton. 
 
 iJlo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no 
 name, sir. 
 
 Vio. Why, man ? 
 
 Clo. Why. sir, her name's a word ; and to dally 
 ivith that word, might make my sister wanton : 
 r>ut, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds 
 disgraced them. 
 
 Vio. Thy reason, man? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
 words ; and words are grown so false, I am loath to 
 prove reason with them. 
 
 Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest 
 for nothing. 
 
 Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something : but in 
 my conscience, sir, I do not care for you ; if that be 
 10 care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you 
 invisible. 
 
 Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? 
 Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the lady Olivia has no folly : 
 she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and 
 fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to her- 
 • ing?, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not 
 her fool, but her corrupter of words. 
 
 T"io, I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. 
 Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like 
 the sun : it shines every where. I would be sorry, 
 fir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as 
 with my mistress : I think I saw your wisdom there. 
 Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more 
 with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee. 
 
 Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, 
 send thee a beard ! 
 
 Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee ; I am almost sick 
 for one ; though I would not have it grow on my 
 thin. Is thy lady within ? 
 
 Clo. AYould not a pair of these have bred, sir? 
 Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. 
 Clo. I would play lord Pandarus' of Phrygia, sir, 
 lo bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 
 
 < A boy's diversion, three a7id trip. 'Dwells. 
 
 s Kid. ' See the play of Troilus and Ch-essida. 
 
 Vio. 1 understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. 
 
 Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, beg- 
 ging but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. Mj 
 lady is within, sir. I will construe to her whence 
 you come : who you are, and what you would, are 
 out of my welkin: I might say, element; but the 
 word is over- worn. [E.vit. 
 
 Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool ; 
 And to do that well, craves a kind of wit. 
 He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
 The quality of persons, and the time ; 
 And, like the haggard^ check at every feather 
 That comes before his eye. This is a practice 
 As full of labor as a wise man's art : 
 For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; 
 But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit 
 
 Enter Sir ToBY Belch and Sir Andrew Ague- 
 cheek. 
 
 Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 
 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir And. I}ieu voua garde, monstevr. 
 
 Vio. Et votis aitssi ; votre serviteur. 
 
 Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours. 
 
 Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece 
 is desirous j'ou should enter, if your trade be to her. 
 
 Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she 
 is the list^ of my voyage. 
 
 Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion, 
 
 Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than 
 I understand what you mean by bidding me taste 
 my legs. 
 
 Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. 
 
 Vio. I wiU answer you with gait and entrance: 
 but we are prevented. 
 
 Enter Olitia and Maria. 
 
 Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain 
 odors on you ! 
 
 Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! Bain 
 odors ! well. 
 
 Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to youi 
 own most pregnant' and vouchsafed ear. 
 
 Sir And. Odors, pregnant, and vouchsafed: 
 I'll get 'em all three ready. 
 
 on. Let the garden door be shut, and leave mo 
 to my hearing. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir ToBY, Sir ANDREW, and Maria. 
 Give me your hand, sir. 
 
 Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 
 
 on. What is your name ? 
 
 Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess, 
 
 Oli. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world 
 Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment : 
 You are servant to the count Orsino, youth, 
 
 Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours 
 Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 
 
 8 A hawk not well trained. •Bound, limit 
 
 > Keady. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 7V 
 
 on. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, 
 Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me! 
 
 Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
 On his behalf: 
 
 Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you ; 
 
 I bade j^ou rover speak again of him : 
 But would you undertake another suit, 
 I had rather hear you to solicit that, 
 Than music fi-om the sphere's. 
 
 Vio. Dear lady, 
 
 Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send, 
 .v{>er the last enchantment you did here, 
 1 ring in chase of you : so did I abuse 
 Myself, my servant, and, I fear mc, you . 
 Under your hard construction must I sit. 
 To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, 
 Which you knew none of yours : What might you 
 
 think ■? 
 Have you not set mine honor at the stake. 
 And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
 That tyrannous heart can think 1 To one of your 
 
 receiving ' 
 Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, 
 Hides my poor heart : So let me hear you speak. 
 
 Vio. I pity you. 
 
 on. That's a degree to love. 
 
 Vio. No, not a grise ;' for 'tis a vulgar proof, 
 That very oft we pity enemies. 
 
 on. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again; 
 
 world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 
 If one should be a prey, how much the better 
 
 To fall before the lion than the wolf ! [Clock strikes. 
 The clock upraids me w^ith the waste of time, — 
 Bo not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : 
 And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 
 Your wife is like to reap a proper man : 
 There lies your way, due west. 
 
 Vio. Then westward-hoe : 
 
 Grace and good disposition 'tend your ladysliip ! 
 You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me 1 
 
 Oli. Stay : 
 
 1 pr'ythce, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 
 
 Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. 
 
 Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 
 
 Vio. Then think you right ; I am not what I am. 
 
 Oli. I would you were as I would have you be ! 
 
 Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, 
 I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. 
 
 Oli. O what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
 In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
 A murd'rous guilt shove's not itself more soon 
 Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. 
 Cc^ario, by the roses of the spring, 
 By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 
 [ love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, 
 Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
 Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, 
 F:r that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
 Bu., rather, reason thus with reason fetter: 
 Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. 
 
 Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
 I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, 
 And that no woman has ; nor never none 
 Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
 And so adieu, good madam ; never more 
 Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 
 
 Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, mayst move 
 That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 ' 'St'ndy apprehoasion. » Stop. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in Olivias House. 
 
 Enter Sir Tobt Belcu, Sir Andrew Ague- 
 cheek, and Fabian. 
 
 Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. 
 
 Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason 
 
 Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir 
 Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favora 
 to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed 
 upon me : I saw't i' the orchard. 
 
 Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy ? tell 
 me that. 
 
 Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 
 
 Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
 towards you. 
 
 Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me 1 
 
 Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the 
 oaths of judgment and reason. 
 
 Sir To. And they have been grpnd jury-men, 
 since before Noah was a sailor. 
 
 Fab. She did show favor to the youth in your 
 sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
 mouse valor, to put fire in your heart, and brim- 
 stone in your liver : You should then have accosted 
 her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from 
 the mint, you should have banged the youth into 
 dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and 
 this was baulked : the double gilt of this oppor- 
 tunity you let time wash off, and you are now 
 sailed into the north of my lady's opinion ; where 
 you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard 
 unless you do redeem it by some laudable attemp 
 either of valor, or policy. 
 
 Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with 
 valor ; for policy I hate : I had as lief be a Brown- 
 ist, ^ as a politician. 
 
 Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon 
 the basis of valor. Challenge me the count's youth 
 to fight with him ; hurt him in eleven places ; my 
 niece shall take note of it : and assure thyself, there 
 is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in 
 man's commendation with woman, than report of 
 valor. 
 
 Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challengi 
 to him 1 
 
 Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand ; be curst 
 and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be elo- 
 quent, and full of invention : taunt him with the 
 licence of ink : if thou fhou'st him some thrice, it 
 shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in 
 thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big 
 enough for the bed of Ware' in England, set 'cm 
 down ; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in 
 thy ink: though thou write with a goose-pen, no 
 matter : About it. 
 
 Sir And. Where shall I find you ? 
 
 SirTo. We'll call thee at the cubiculo.-^ Go. 
 
 [Exit Sir AxnnEW. 
 
 Fab. This is a dear manikin to you, sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad ; some two 
 thousand strong, or so. 
 
 Fab. We shall have a rare letter fi-om him: hut 
 you'll not deliver it 1 
 
 Sir To. Never trust me then ; and by all meoni 
 
 » Separatists in Quci-n Elizabeth's reign. * Crablied. 
 
 » In Ucrtfordshire, which held forty person*. • ChamteT 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act III 
 
 stir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and 
 wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, 
 if he were opened, and you find so much blood in 
 his Hver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the 
 rest of the anatomy. 
 
 Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his 
 visage no great presage of cruelty. 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Sir To. Look, where the youngest WTen of nine 
 comes. 
 
 Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
 yourselves into stitches, follow mc ; yon' gull Mal- 
 volio is turned heathen, a very renegado ; for there 
 is no Christian, that means to be saved by believ- 
 ing rightly, can ever believe such impossible pas- 
 sages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings. 
 
 Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 
 
 Mar. Most villanously ; like a pedant that keeps 
 a school i' the church. — I have dogged him, like 
 his murderer : He does obey every point of the 
 letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile 
 his face into more lines, than are in the new map, 
 with the augmentation of the Indies: you have 
 not seen such a thing as 'tis : I can hardly forbear 
 hurling things at him. I know, my lady will 
 strike him ; if she do, he'll smile, and take 't for 
 a great favor. 
 
 Sm- To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE m.— A Street. 
 Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 
 
 Seh. I would not, by my will, have troubled you ; 
 But since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
 I will no further chide you. 
 
 Ant. I could not stay behind you ; my desire, 
 More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth: 
 And not all love to see you, (though so much. 
 As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,) 
 But jealousy what might befall your travel, 
 Being skilless in these parts ; which to a stranger, 
 Unguided, and unfriended, often prove 
 Rough and unhospitable : My willing love, 
 The rather by these arguments of fear, 
 Set forth in your pursuit. 
 
 Seb. My kind Antonio, 
 
 I can no other answer make, but thanks, 
 And thanks, and ever thanks : Often good turns 
 Are shuffled off with such uncun-ent pay : 
 But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm. 
 You should find better dealing. What's to do 1 
 Shall we go see the reliques of this town 1 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your 
 lodging. 
 
 Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night ; 
 r pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 
 With the memorials, and the things of fame. 
 That do renown this city. 
 
 Ant. 'Would you'd pardon me ; 
 
 I do not without danger walk these streets : 
 Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the Count his gallics, 
 I did some service ; of such note, indeed, 
 That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. 
 
 Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people] 
 
 Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature ; 
 Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel, 
 Might well have given us bloody argument. 
 It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
 What we took from them ; which for traffic's sake 
 Most of our city did : only myself stood out : 
 
 For which, if I be lapsed'' in this place, 
 I shall pay dear. 
 
 Seb. Do not then walk too open. 
 
 Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's mj 
 purse ; 
 In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
 Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, 
 Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know- 
 ledge. 
 With viewing of the town ; there shall you have me. 
 
 Seb. Why I your purse 1 
 
 Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy 
 You have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
 I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 
 
 Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for 
 An hour. 
 
 Ant. To the Elephant. — 
 
 Seb. I do remember. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— OHvia's Garden. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Maria. 
 
 Oli. I have sent after him : He says, he'll come ; 
 How shall I feast him 1 what bestow on him ? 
 For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd, or bor- 
 
 I speak too loud. [row'd. 
 
 Where is Malvolio ? — he is sad, and civil. 
 
 And suits well for a servant with my fortunes ; — 
 
 Where is Malvolio ? 
 
 Mar. He's coming, madam ; 
 
 But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd. 
 
 Oli. Why, what's the matter ? does he rave ? 
 
 Mar. No, madam, 
 
 He does nothing but smile ; your ladyship 
 Were best have guard about you if he come ; 
 For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. 
 
 Oli. Go call him hither. I'm as mad as he. 
 If sad and merry madness equal be. — 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 How now, Malvoho 1 
 
 Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. [Smiles fantastically 
 
 Oli. Smil'st thou 1 
 I send for thee upon a sad* occasion. 
 
 Mai. Sad, lady ? I could be sad : This does 
 make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gar- 
 tering: But what of that, if it please the eye of 
 one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is : Please 
 one, and please all. 
 
 Oli. Why, how dost thou, man 1 what is the 
 matter with thee ? 
 
 Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in 
 my legs : It did come to his hands, and commands 
 shall be executed. I think, we do know the sweet 
 Roman hand. 
 
 Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ? [thee. 
 
 Mai. To bed] ay, sweet-heart; and I'll come to 
 
 Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile 
 so, and kiss thy hand so oft ? 
 
 Mar. How do you, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. At your request ? Yes ; Nightingales an. 
 swer daws. 
 
 Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold< 
 ness before my lady ? 
 
 Mai. Be not afraid of greatness ■ 'Twas well writ 
 
 Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio'' 
 
 Mai. Some are bom great, — 
 
 Oli. Hal 
 
 Mai. Some achieve greatness, — 
 
 Oli. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Mai. And some have greatness thrust upon them 
 
 Oli. Heaven restore thee ! 
 
 'Caught. 'Grave. 
 
SCF.NE IV. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 79 
 
 Mai. Rememler who commended thy yellow 
 iluckings : — 
 
 0/i. T^- _ jllow stockings I 
 
 Mai. ^ind ivished to see thee cross-gartered. 
 
 OH Cross-gartere'3 1 
 
 Mai. Go to T ih^i art made, if thou desirest to 
 b' so : — 
 
 </•',. Am I made ] 
 
 Ii<al If not, let me see thee a servant still. 
 
 OH. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, the young gentleman of the count 
 Orsino'a is returned ; I could hardly entreat him 
 oack: he attends your ladyshij)'s pleasure. 
 
 OH. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good 
 M.iria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my 
 cousin Toby ? Let some of my people have a special 
 care of him ; I would not have him miscarry for the 
 half of my dowry. [^Exeunt Olivia and Maria. 
 
 Mul. Oh ho ! do you come near me now 1 no 
 worse man than sir Toby to look to me 1 This con- 
 curs directly with the letter : she sends him on 
 purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him ; for 
 slic incites me to that in the letter. Cast thy hum- 
 hie slough, sa3's she : be opposite with a kinsman, 
 surly with servants, — let thy tongue tang with ar- 
 guments of state, — put thyself into the trick of 
 
 singularity ; and, consequently, sets down the 
 
 manner how ; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a 
 slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and 
 so forth. I have limed her ; but it is Jove's doing, 
 and Jove make me thankful ! And, when she Vv^ent 
 away now, Let this fellow be looked to • Fellow!' 
 not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. 
 Why, every thing adheres together; that no dram 
 of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, 
 no incredulous or unsafe circumstance, — What can 
 be said ? Nothing, that can be, can come between 
 me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, 
 not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. 
 
 Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch, andFABiAS. 
 
 Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? 
 If all the devils in hell be drawn in Httle, and Le- 
 gion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him. 
 
 Fab. Here he is, here he is : — How is't with you, 
 sir! how is't with you, man'' 
 
 3ial. Go off; I discard you, let me enjoy my 
 private ; go off. 
 
 Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within 
 him ! did not I tell you ? — Sir Toby, my lady prays 
 you to have a care of him. 
 
 Mai. Ah, ha ! does she so ? 
 
 Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must 
 deal gently with him ; let me alone. How do you, 
 Malvolio ? how is't with you 1 What, man ! defy 
 the devil : consider he's an enemy to mankind. 
 
 Mai. Do you know what you say 1 
 
 Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he 
 '.akes it at heart ! Pray God, he be not bewitched ! 
 
 Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. 
 
 Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow 
 morning, if I live. My lady would not lose him 
 for more than I'll say. 
 
 Mai. How now, mistrefs T 
 
 Mar. O lord ! 
 
 Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace : this is not the 
 way : Do you not see, you move him 1 let me alone 
 with him. 
 
 » Companion. 
 
 Fab. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently • 
 the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 
 
 Sir To. Why how now, my bawcockl' how 
 dost thou, chuck 1 
 
 Mai. Sir? 
 
 Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 
 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit' with 
 Satan ; Hang him, foul collier ! 
 
 Mar. Get him to say his prayers; good sir To- 
 by, get hi.:i to pray. 
 
 Mai. My prayer= minx ? 
 
 Mar. No, I warrant you, he will nc neai of 
 godhness. 
 
 Mai. Go hang yourselves all ! you are idle shal- 
 low things: I am not of your element; you shall 
 know more hereafter. [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. Is't possible ? 
 
 Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, 1 
 could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 
 
 Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection 
 of the device, man. 
 
 Mar. Nay, pursue him now ; lest the device take 
 air, and taint. 
 
 Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. 
 
 Mar. The house will be the quieter. 
 
 Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, 
 and bound. My niece is already in the belief that 
 he is mad ; we may caiTy it thus, for our pleasure, 
 and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of 
 breath, prompt us to have mercy on him ; at which 
 time, we will bring the device to the bar, and crown 
 thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. 
 
 Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Fab. More matter for a May morning. 
 
 Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it; I war- 
 rant, there's vinegar and pepper in't. 
 
 Fab. Is't so saucy ? 
 
 Sir And. Ay, is it, I warrant him ; do but read. 
 
 Sir To. Give me. [Reads.^ Youth, whatsoever 
 thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow. 
 
 Fab. Good and valiant. 
 
 Sir To. Wonder not nor admire not in thy 
 mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee 
 no reason forH. 
 
 Fab. A good note : that keeps you from the blow 
 of the law. 
 
 Sir To. Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in 
 my sight she uses thee kindly : but thou liest in 
 thi/ throsf, that is not the matter 1 challenge thee for. 
 
 Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less. 
 
 Sir To. Iwill way-lay thee going home ,• wherf 
 if it be thy chance to kill me, 
 
 Fab. Good. 
 
 Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain. 
 
 Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law : 
 Good. 
 
 Sir To. Fare thee well ,- And God have mercy 
 upo7i one of our souls ! He may have mercy upon 
 mine ; hut my hope is better, and .10 hiok to thyself. 
 Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn ene- 
 my. A.vRKEw Ague-cheek. 
 
 Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs 
 cannot : I'll giv't him. 
 
 Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't ; he 
 is now in some commerce with my lady, and will 
 by and by depart. 
 
 Sir To. Go, sir Andrew; scout me for him at 
 tne corner of the orchard, like a bailiff: so soon aa 
 
 ' Jolly cock, heau and coq. 
 
 3 A play among boys. 
 
80 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act III. Scene IV 
 
 ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as thou drawest, 
 swear horrible ; for it comes to pass oft, that a ter- 
 rible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged 
 off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof 
 itself would have earned him. Away. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [Exit. 
 Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : lor the 
 behavior of the young gentleman gives him out to 
 be of good capacity and breeding; his employment 
 between his lord and my niece confirms no less; 
 therefore this letter, being so pi^cellcntly ignorant, 
 mil breed no ten-or in the youth ; he will find it 
 comes from a clodpolc. But, sir, I v«'ill deliver his 
 challenge by word of mouth; set upon Ague-check 
 a notable report of valor; and drive the gentle- 
 man, (as, I know, his youth will aptly receive it,) 
 into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, 
 and impetuosity. Tliis will so fi-ightcn them both, 
 that they will kill one another by the look, like 
 cockatrices. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Viola. 
 Fah. Here he comes with your niece : give them 
 way, till he take leave, and presently after him. 
 
 Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some 
 hon-id message for a challenge. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria. 
 
 on. I have said too much unto a heart of stone. 
 And laid mine honor too unchary out : 
 There's something in me, that reproves my fault ; 
 But such a headstrong potent fault it is, 
 That it but mocks reproof. 
 
 Vio. With the same 'havior that your passion beiirs, 
 Go on my master's griefs. 
 
 Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture; 
 Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you : 
 And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. 
 What shall you ask of me, that I'll deny, 
 That honor, sav'd, may upon asking give i [tcr. 
 
 Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my mns- 
 
 Oli. How with mine honor may I give him th;;t 
 Which I have given to you ? 
 
 Vio. I will acquit you. 
 
 Oli. Well, come again to-morrow : Fare thee well, 
 A fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. 
 
 Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 
 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't : 
 of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, 
 I know not; but thy intercepter, full of despight, 
 bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard 
 end: dismount thy tuck,' be yare* in thy ])repar- 
 ition, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 
 
 Vio. You mistake, sir ; I am sure, no man hath 
 ary quarrel tome; my remembrance is very free 
 and clear from any image of offence done to any 
 man. 
 
 Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you : 
 therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake 
 you to your guard ; for your opposite hath in him 
 what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish 
 man withal. 
 
 Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he 1 
 
 Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unbacked 
 rapier, and on carpet consideration ; but he is a 
 •Jevil in private brawl: souls and bodies hath he 
 divorced three ; and his incensement at this moment 
 
 • R&pier. 
 
 Beady. 
 
 is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none bu: 
 by pangs of death and sepuk'hre : hob, nob, is hia 
 word ; give't or take't. 
 
 Vio. I will return again into the house, and de- 
 sire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. 1 
 have heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels 
 purposely on others, to taste their valor: belike, 
 tliis is a man of that quirk. 
 
 Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives itself out 
 of a very competent injury; therefore get you on, 
 and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the 
 house, unless you undertake that with me, which 
 with as much safety you might answer him : there- 
 fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked : for meddle 
 you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron 
 about you. 
 
 Vio. This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech 
 you, do me this courteous office, as to know of the 
 knight what my offence to him is: it is something 
 of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. 
 
 Sir To. I will do so. Siguier Fabian, stay you 
 by this gentleman till my return. [Exit &> Tobt. 
 
 Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter 1 
 
 Fab. I know the knight is incensed against you, 
 even to a mortal abitrement; but nothing of the 
 circumstance more. 
 
 Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he ? 
 
 Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read 
 him by his form, as you are like to find him in the 
 proof of his valor. He is, indeed, sir, the most 
 skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could 
 possibly have found in any part of Illyria : Will 
 you walk towards him 1 I will make your peace 
 with him, if I can. 
 
 Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't: I am 
 one, that would rather go with sir priest, than sii 
 knight: I care not who knows so much of my 
 mettle. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Toby with Sir Anukew. 
 
 Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I have not 
 seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, 
 scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in,' 
 with such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable ; 
 and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your 
 feet hit the ground they step on: They say he has 
 been fencer to the Sophy. 
 
 Sir And. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him. 
 
 Sir To. Ay, but he wdll not now be pacified: 
 Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. 
 
 Sir Aiid. Plague on't ; an I thought he had been 
 valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seenliim 
 damned ere I'd have challenged him. Let him let 
 the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey 
 Capilet. 
 
 Sir To. I'll make the motion: Stand here, make 
 a good show on't; this shall end without the per- 
 dition of souls. Marry, I'll ride your horse as well 
 a£j I ride you. [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Fabian and Yioj-a. 
 
 I have his horse [To Fab.] to take up the quarrel j 
 I have persuaded him, the youth's a devil. 
 
 Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; and 
 pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels. 
 
 Sir To. There's no remedy, sir ; he will fight with 
 you for his oath's sake: marry, he hath better be- 
 thought him of his quancl, and he finds that now 
 scarce to be worth talking of: therefore dran, fm 
 
 ' Stoccato, an Italian term in fencing;. 
 
ACT IV. Scene I, 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 81 
 
 the supportancc of his vow; he protests, he will 
 not hurt 3f0U. 
 
 Vio. Pray heaven defend me! A little thing 
 would make me tell them how much I lack of a 
 man. [_A<side. 
 
 Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 
 
 Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy; 
 the gentleman will, for his honor's sake, have one 
 bout with you : he cannot by the duello' avoid it : 
 but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and 
 a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on ; to't. 
 
 Sir And. Pray heaven he keep his oath! [Draws, 
 E?ifer Antonio. 
 
 Vio, I do assure you, 'tis against my will. [Draios. 
 
 Ant< Put up your sword ; — if this young gentle- 
 man 
 Have done oflence, I take the fault on me ; 
 if you olTcnd him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. 
 
 Sir To, You, sir? why, what are you ? 
 
 Atif. One, sir, that for his love dares j'et do more 
 Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 
 
 Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for 
 you. [Draws. 
 
 Enter two Officers. 
 
 Fab. good sir Toby, hold; here come the officers. 
 
 Sir To. I'll be with you anon. [To Antonio. 
 
 Vio. Pray, sir, put up 3'our sword, if you please. 
 
 [To Sir Anjikew. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, will I, sir; — and, for that I 
 promised you, I'll be as good as my word : He will 
 bear you easily, and reins well. 
 
 1 Off. This is the man, do thy office. 
 
 2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
 Of Count Orsino. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 
 
 1 Off. No, sir, no jot; I know your favor well. 
 Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. — 
 Take him away; he knows, I know him well. 
 
 Ant. I must obey. — This comes with seeking you; 
 But there's no remedy; I shall answer it. 
 What will you do ? Now my necessity 
 Makes me to ask you for my purse: It grieves me 
 Much more for what I cannot do for you. 
 Than what befals myself. You stand amaz'd; 
 But be of comfort. 
 
 2 Off. Come, sir, away. 
 
 Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money. 
 
 Vio. What money, sir] 
 For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, 
 And, part, being prompted by your present trouble. 
 Out of my lean and low ability 
 I'll lend you something: my having is not much; 
 ["11 make division of my present with you: 
 Hold, there is half my coffer. 
 
 Ant. Will you deny me now] 
 
 Is't possible that my deserts to you 
 Can lack persuasion] Do not tempt my niiserv 
 Lest that it make me so unsound a man, 
 As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
 That I have done lor you. 
 
 Vio, I know of none ; 
 
 Nor know I you by voice, or any feature : 
 I hate ingiatitude more in a man. 
 Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, 
 Or any taint of ^'ice, whose strong corruption 
 Inhabits our frail blood. 
 
 Ant. O heavens themselves! 
 
 2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go. 
 
 Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that 
 you see here, 
 I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death; 
 
 Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, 
 
 And to his image, which, methought, did promise 
 Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 
 
 1 0^. What's that to us] The time goes by; away. 
 
 Ant. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god !— 
 Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame- 
 In nature there's no blemish, but the mind; 
 None can be called deform'd, but the unkind • 
 Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil 
 Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 
 
 1 Off. The man grows mad ; away with him. 
 Come, come, sir. 
 
 Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers, with Ant. 
 
 Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passions fly, 
 That he believes himself; so do not I. 
 Prove true, imagination, 0, prove true. 
 That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 
 
 Sir To. Come hither, knight ; come hither, Fa- 
 bian ; we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most 
 sage saws. 
 
 Vio. He named Sebastian ; I my brotlier know 
 Yet living in my glass; even such, and so, 
 In favor was my brother: and he went 
 Still in this fashion, color, ornament. 
 For him I imitate : 0, if it prove, 
 Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more 
 a coward than a hare : his dishonesty appears in 
 leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying 
 him ; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. 
 
 Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious 
 in it. 
 
 Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him. 
 
 Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw 
 thy sword. 
 
 Sir And. An I do not, — [Exit. 
 
 Fab. Come, let's see tlie event. 
 
 Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing 
 yet. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 !*CEi\E I— The Street before Olivia's House, 
 Enter SEnASTiAN and Clown. 
 
 C'o. Will you make me believe that I am not 
 lent tor you 1 
 
 Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow ; 
 Let me be clear of thee. 
 
 • Laws of duel. 
 
 Ch. Well held out, i'fuith! No, I do not know 
 you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you 
 come spealt with her; nor your name is not mastei 
 Cesario ; nor this is not my nose neither. — Notliing 
 that is so, is so. 
 
 Seb. I pr'ythce, vent thy folly somewhere else 
 Thou knovv'st not me. 
 
 Ch. Vent my folly! He has hear J that word of 
 
82 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act IV 
 
 some great man, ami now applies it to a fool. Vent 
 my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, 
 will prove a cockney. — I pr'ythee now ungird thy 
 Btrangencss, and tell me what I shall vent to my 
 lady: Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming] 
 
 Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me ; 
 There's money for thee; if thou tarry longer, 
 I shall give worse payment. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand : — 
 These wise men that give fools money, get them- 
 selves a good report after fourteen years' purchase. 
 
 Enter Sir Andhew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 
 
 Sir And. Now, sir, liave I met you again"! there's 
 
 for you. [Striking Sebastian. 
 
 Sth. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there: 
 
 Are all the people mad 7 \_Beuting Sir Andhew. 
 
 Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er 
 
 the house. 
 
 Clo. 'I'his will I tell my lady straight : I would 
 not be in some of your coats for two-pence. 
 
 [^Exit Clown. 
 
 Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. [Holding Seb. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way 
 
 to work with him; I'll have an action of battery 
 
 against him, if there be any law in Illyria: though 
 
 I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that. 
 
 Seb. Let go thy hand. 
 
 Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, 
 my young soldier, put up your iron : you are well 
 fleshed; come on. 
 
 Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst 
 thou know] 
 If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. 
 
 [Draws. 
 Sir To. What, what] Nay, then I must have an 
 ounce or two of tliis malapert blood from you. 
 
 [Draws. 
 Enter Olivia. 
 
 Oli. Hold, Toby ; on thy life, I charge thee, hold. 
 
 Sir To. Madam] 
 
 Oil. Will it be ever thus] Ungracious wretch. 
 Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, 
 Wheic manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight. 
 
 Be not otfended, dear Cesario: 
 
 Rudesby,' begone ! — I pr'ythee, gentle friend, 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 
 Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
 In this uncivil and unjust extent' 
 Against thy peace. Go with me to my house ; 
 And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
 This ruffian hath botchd up, that thou thereby 
 Mayst smile at this : thou shalt not choose but go : 
 Do not deny: Beshrew his soul for me. 
 He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 
 
 Seb. What relish is in this ] how runs the stream] 
 Or I am mad, or else this is a dream : — 
 Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; 
 If it be tiius to dream, still let me sleep ! 
 
 Oli. Nay, come, I pr'ythee: 'Would thou'dsl be 
 rul'd by me ! 
 
 Seb. Madam, I will. 
 
 Oli. O, say so, and so be ! 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Mahia and Clown. 
 
 Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and 
 
 this beard ; make hiri believe thou art sir Topas, 
 
 • Rude fellow. » Violence. 
 
 the curate; do it quickly: I'll call sir Toby the 
 whilst. [Exit Mahia 
 
 Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble 
 myself in't; and I would I were the first that ever 
 dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat enough 
 to become the function well, nor lean enough to 
 be thought a good student : but to be said, an ho- 
 nest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, 
 as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The 
 competitors' enter. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. 
 
 Sir To. Jove bless thee. Master Parson. 
 
 Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby : for as the old hermit 
 of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily 
 said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that is, is,- 
 so I, being master parson, am master parson ; Fai 
 what is that, but that] and is, but is ! 
 
 Sir To. To him, sir Topas. 
 
 Clo. What, hoa, I say, — Peace in this prison ! 
 
 <S';> To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. 
 
 Mai. [In an inner chamber.'] Who calls there ] 
 
 Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit 
 Malvolio, the lunatic. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go 
 to my lady. 
 
 Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest thou 
 this man] talkest thou nothing but of ladies] 
 
 <S'/> To. Well said, master parson. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, never was a man thus ^vronged: 
 good sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have 
 laid me here in hideous darkness. 
 
 Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan ! I call thee by 
 the most modest terms ; for I am one of those 
 gentle ones, that will use the devil himself with 
 courtesy: Say'st thou, that house is dark] 
 
 Mai. As hell, sir Topas. 
 
 Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows transparent as 
 barricadoes, and the clear stones towards the south- 
 north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest 
 thou of obstruction ] 
 
 Mai. I am not mad, sir Topas ; I say to you, 
 this house is dark. 
 
 Clo. Madman, thou errcst : I say, there is no 
 darkness, but ignorance ; in which thou art more 
 puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. 
 
 Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 
 though ignorance were as dark as hell ; and I say, 
 there was never man thus abused: I am no more 
 mad than you arc; make the trial of it in any con- 
 stant question. ' 
 
 Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, con- 
 cerning wild-fowl ] 
 
 Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply 
 inhabit a bird. 
 
 Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion ] 
 
 Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way 
 approve his opinion] 
 
 Clo. Fare thee well: Remain thou still in dark- 
 ness: thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, 
 ere I will allow of thy wits ; and fear to kill a wood- 
 cock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy gran- 
 dam. Fare thee well. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, — 
 Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas ! 
 Clo. Nay, I'm for all waters.' 
 Mar. Thou mightst have done this without thy 
 beard and gown ; he sees thee not. 
 
 Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring mt 
 
 » Confederates. ' Regular convert tlon. 
 
 5 Any other Gem as well as a Topaz. 
 
BcENK II. 
 
 OR, WHAT \0{] WILi.. 
 
 83 
 
 word how til )u findest him : I would, we were well 
 rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently 
 Jelivcred, I would he were ; for I am now so far in 
 oflence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with 
 any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and 
 Oy toiny chamber. \_Exeun( Sir Toby and Maria. 
 
 Clo. Het/ Robin, jolly Robin, 
 
 Tell me how thy lady does. [Singing. 
 
 Mai. Fool.— 
 
 Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy. 
 
 Mai. Fool.— 
 
 Clo. Alas, why is she so? 
 
 Mai. T )ol, I say ; — 
 
 Clo. She loves another — 'Who calls, ha 7 
 
 Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at 
 my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and 
 paper ; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thank- 
 ful to thee for 't. 
 
 Clo. Master Malvolio ! 
 
 Mai. Ay, good fool. 
 
 Clo. A las, sir, how fell you beside your five wits ? 
 
 Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
 abused ; I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. 
 
 Clo. But as wein then you are mad, indeed, if 
 you be no better in your wits than a fool. 
 
 Mai They have here propertied mc ; keep me 
 in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all 
 they can to face me out of my wits. 
 
 Ch). Advise you what you say ; the minister is 
 here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens 
 restore ! endeavor thyself to sleep, and leave thy 
 vain hibble babble. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas 
 
 Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. — 
 Who, I, sir'' not I, sir. God b'wi'you, good sir 
 Topas. — Marry, amen. — I will, sir, I will. 
 
 Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say, — 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir 1 
 I am shent^ for speaking to you. 
 
 Mai. Good fool, help me to some light, and some 
 paper ; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any 
 man in Illyria. 
 
 Clo. Well-a-day, — that you were, sir ! 
 
 Mai. By this hand, I am : Good fool, some ink, 
 paper, and light, and convey what I will set down 
 to my lady ; it shall advantage thee more than ever 
 the bearing of letter did. 
 
 Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are 
 ou not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit] 
 
 Mai. Believe me, I am not; I tell thcc true. 
 
 Clo. Nay, FU ne'er believe a madman, till I see 
 h's brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. 
 
 Mai. Fool, Fll requite it in the highest degree: 
 I pr'ythec be gone. 
 
 Clo. / am gone, sir, 
 
 And anon, sir, 
 
 I'll be with you again. 
 
 In a trice.- 
 
 Like to the old vice* 
 Your need to sustain. 
 
 WIlo ivith dagger of lath. 
 In his rage and his wrath. 
 
 Cries, ah, ha! to the devil: 
 Like a mad lad. 
 Pare thy nails, dad. 
 
 Adieu, good man drivel. 
 
 SCENE III.— Olivia's Garden. 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 lExil 
 
 Seb. This is tlie air ; that is the glorious sun ; 
 This pearl she gave me, I do feel 't and see 't : 
 And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus. 
 Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then 1 
 I could not find him at the Elephant : 
 Yet there he was; and tliere I found this credit,' 
 That he did range the town to seek me out. 
 His counsel now might do me golden service: 
 For though my soul disputes well with my sensc« 
 That this may be some error, but no madness. 
 Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
 So far exceed all instance, all discourse. 
 That I am ready to distrust mine eyes. 
 And WTangle with my reason, that persuades me 
 To any other trust, but that I am mad, 
 Or else the lady's mad ; yet, if 'twere so. 
 She could not sway her house, command her fol- 
 lowers. 
 Take, and give back, aflfairs and their despatch. 
 With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing. 
 As, I perceive, she does: there's something in't. 
 That is deceivable. But here comes the lady. 
 
 Enter Olivia and a Priest. 
 
 on. Blame not this haste of mine: If you mean 
 v/ell. 
 Now go with me, and with this holy man, 
 Into the chantry by : there, before him. 
 And underneath that consecrated roof. 
 Plight me the full assurance of your faith , 
 That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
 May live at peace : He shall conceal it, 
 Whiles* you are wiUing it shall come to note ; 
 What time we will our celebration keep 
 According to my birth. — What do you say ? 
 
 Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you , 
 And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
 
 on. Then lead the way, good fatiier ; And 
 
 heaven so shine. 
 That they may fairly note this act of mine ! 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— The street before Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Clown and Fabiax. 
 
 Fab. Now, as thou lovcst me, let me see his letter. 
 Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another re- 
 fuest. 
 Fab A.ny thing. 
 
 • Scolded, reprimanded. 
 
 Clo. Do not desire to sec this letter. 
 Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in rccompeno*^ 
 desire my dog again. 
 
 Enter Duke, Vtola, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Qelong you to the lady Olivia, friends 1 
 
 * A buffoon chara<iter in the old plays, and father of th« 
 modern Uarleauin. » Account. • Dntii 
 
84 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act V 
 
 do. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings. 
 
 Duke. I know thee well; How dost thou, my 
 good fellow? 
 
 Clo. 'I'ruly, sir, the better for my foes, and the 
 worse for my friends. 
 
 Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy 
 (fiends. 
 
 Clo. No, sk, the worse. 
 
 Duke. How can that be 1 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass 
 Df me ; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass : so 
 ihat by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of 
 myself; and by my friends I am abused : so that, 
 conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives 
 make your two affirmatives, why then the worse for 
 my friends, and the better for my foes. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is excellent. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please you 
 to be one of my friends. 
 
 Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me; 
 there's gold. 
 
 Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I 
 would you could make it another. 
 
 Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. 
 
 Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this 
 once, and let your flesh and blootl obey it. 
 
 Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a 
 double-dealer ; there's another. 
 
 Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; and 
 the old saying is, the third pays for all : the triplex, 
 sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of 
 St. Bennet, sir, may put you in mind: One, two, 
 three. 
 
 Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at 
 this throw: if you will let your lady know, I am 
 here to speak with her, and bring her along with 
 you, it may awake my bounty further. 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come 
 again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to 
 think, that my desire of having is the sin of co vetous- 
 ness : but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a 
 nap, I will awake it anon. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Enter Antoxio and Officers. 
 Via. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 
 Duke. That face of his I do remember well ; 
 Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd 
 A.S black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war : 
 A bawbling vessel was he captain of. 
 For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable ; 
 With which such scathful grapple did he make 
 With the most noble bottom of our fleet. 
 That very envy, and the tongue of loss, 
 Cry'd fame and honor on him- What's the matter 1 
 
 1 Off. Orsiiio, this is that Antonio, 
 That took the Phoenix, and her fraught' from 
 
 Candy ; 
 And this Is he, that did the Tiger board. 
 When your young nephew Titus lost his leg : 
 Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state, 
 ji private brabble did we apprehend him. 
 
 Vio. He did me kindness, sir ; drew on my side ; 
 But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon msjj 
 [ know not what 'twas, but distraction. 
 
 Duke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief! 
 What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, 
 Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear. 
 Hast made thine enemies 1 
 ^'Ant. Orsino, noble sir, 
 
 ' Freight. 
 
 Be pleas'd that I shake ofl' these names you give me 
 Antonio never yet was thief, or pii-ate ; 
 Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, 
 Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: 
 That most ingrateful boy there, by your side. 
 From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth 
 Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : 
 His life I gave him, and did thereto add 
 My love, without retention, or restraint. 
 All his in dedication : for his sake. 
 Did I expose myself, pure for his love, 
 Into the danger of this adverse town; 
 Drew to defend him, when he was beset ; 
 W^here being apprehended, his false cunning, 
 (Not meaning to partake with me in danger,) 
 Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance. 
 And grew a twenty-years-removed thing. 
 While one would wmk ; denied me mine own purse 
 Which I had recommended to his use 
 Not half an hour before. 
 
 Vio. How can this be 1 
 
 Duke. When came he to this town ? 
 Ant. To-day, my lord ; and for three montha 
 before, 
 (No interim, not a minute's vacancy,) 
 Both day and night did we keep company. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Here comes the countess ; now heaven 
 
 walks on earth. 
 
 Butfor thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness: 
 Three months this youth hath tended upon me ; 
 But more of that anon. Take him aside. 
 
 OH. What would my lord, but that he may not 
 have. 
 Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable! 
 Ccsario, you do not keep promise with me. 
 
 Vio. Madam] 
 
 Duke. Gracious Olivia, 
 
 OH. What do you say, Cesario 1 Good my 
 
 lord, 
 
 Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 
 
 OH. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
 It is as fat'' and fulsome to mine ear. 
 As howling after music. 
 
 Duke. Still so cruel 1 
 
 OH. Still so constant, lord. 
 
 Duke. What ! to perversenessl you uncivil lady, 
 To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
 My soul the faithfuU'st ofierings hathbreath'd out, 
 That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 
 
 OH. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- 
 come him. 
 
 Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, 
 Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death. 
 Kill what I love; a savage jealousy, 
 That sometime savors nobly !^But hear me this: 
 Since you to non-rcgardance cast my faith. 
 And that I partly know the instrument 
 That screws me from my true place in your favor, 
 Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still; 
 But this, your minion, whom, I know, you love, 
 And whom, by heaven, I swear, I tender dearly. 
 Him will I tear out of that cruel eye. 
 Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.- - 
 Come boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in mis 
 
 cliief; 
 I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love. 
 To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going 
 
 » Dull, gross. 
 
SCl'NE I. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 85 
 
 Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, 
 To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 
 
 [^Following. 
 
 OH. Where goes Cesario 1 
 
 Vio. After him I love. 
 
 More than I love these eyes, more than my life. 
 More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife: 
 If I do feign, you witnesses above, 
 Punish my life, for tainting of my love ! 
 
 O'i. Ah me, detested ! how am I bcguil'd. 
 
 Yri. Who does begui'e you 1 who does do you 
 wrong 1 
 
 Olf. Hast tnou forgot thyself? Is it so long] — 
 iJall hrth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Dwe. Come away. [7b Viola. 
 
 O/i. Whiihsr, my lord? — Cesario, husband, stay. 
 
 Duke. Husbind ! 
 
 OIL Ay, husband; Can he that deny] 
 
 Duke. He I husband, sirrah? 
 
 Vio. No, my lord, not I. 
 
 OH. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear. 
 That maices *.hee strangle thy propriety : 
 Fear not, Cesano, take thy fortunes up ; 
 Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
 A.S great as that thou fear'st. — 0, welcome, father ! 
 
 Re-otfer Attendant and Priest. 
 
 Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence. 
 Here to unfold (though lately we intended 
 To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
 Reveals before 'tis ripe) what thou dost know 
 Hath newly past between this youth and me. 
 
 Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
 Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, 
 Attested by the holy close of lips. 
 Strengthened by interchangement of your rings; 
 And all the ceremony of this compact 
 Seal'd in my function, by my testimony : 
 Since when, my watch hath told luc, toward my 
 
 grave, 
 I have travell'd but two hours. 
 
 Duke. O thou dissembling cub '.what wilt thou be. 
 When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case 1 
 Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow. 
 That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow 1 
 Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet, 
 Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 
 
 Vio. My lord, I do protest, — 
 
 OH. 0, do not swear; 
 
 Hold little faith, though thou hast too much lear. 
 
 Enter Sir ANomiw Agvf.'Cii^ek, with his head 
 broken. 
 
 S:r And. For the love of heaven, a surgeon; 
 send • Hi presently to sir Toby. 
 
 Oil. What's the matter 1 
 
 Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has 
 given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too : for the love 
 of heaven, your help: I had rather than forty 
 pound, I were at home. 
 
 OH. Who has done this, sir Andrew 1 
 
 Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario: 
 wc took him for a coward, but he's the very devil 
 incardinate. 
 
 Duke. My gcntlfman, Cesario! 
 
 <S7?- And. Od's lifclings, here he is: — You broke 
 my held for nothing ; and that that I did, I was set 
 un to do't by sir Toby. 
 
 Vio. Why do you speak to me 1 1 never hurt you: 
 Vou drew your sword upon me, without cause ; 
 But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 
 
 Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you 
 have hurt me ; I think, you set nothing by a bloody 
 coxcomb. 
 
 Enter Sir Tonr Belch, drunk, ledby the Clown. 
 
 Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall hear more : 
 but if he had not been in drink, he would have 
 tickled you othergates' than he did. 
 
 Duke. How now, gentleman 1 How is't with you? 
 
 Sir To. That's all one; he has hurt me, and 
 there's the end on't. — Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon 
 sot? 
 
 Clo. O he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone; 
 his eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 
 
 Sir To. Then he's a rogue, and a passy-measure, 
 or a pavin;' I hate a drunken rogue. 
 
 OH. Away with him : Who hath made tliis havoc 
 with them? 
 
 Sir And. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll 
 be dressed together. 
 
 Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a cox- 
 comb, and a knave ? a thin-faced knave, a gull ? 
 
 OH. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. 
 [Exeunt Qown, <S/r Tobt, and Sir Andrew- 
 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kins- 
 man; 
 But had it been the brother of my blood, 
 I must have done no less, with wit, and safety. 
 You throw a strange regard upon me, and 
 By that I do perceive it hath offended you ; 
 Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
 Wc made each other but so late ago. 
 
 Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two 
 persons ; 
 A natural perspective, that is, and is not. 
 
 Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio! 
 How have the hours rack'i* *nd tortur'd me, 
 Since I have lost thee ! 
 
 Ant, Sebastian are you ? 
 
 Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio ! 
 
 Ant. How have you made division of yourself' — 
 An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
 Than these two creatures. Which is Selvjtian' 
 
 OH. Most wonderful ! 
 
 Seb. Do I stand there ? I never had a brother : 
 Nor can there be that deity in my nature. 
 Of here and every where. I had a sister, 
 Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd:— 
 Of charity, what kin are you to me? [To ^iola. 
 What countryman? what name? what parentage? 
 
 Vio. OfMessaline: Sebastian was my father; 
 Such a Sebastian was my brother too, 
 So went he suited to his watery tomb: 
 If spirits can assume both form and suit, 
 You come to fright us. 
 
 Seb. A spirit I am, indeed; 
 
 But am in that dimension grossly clad, 
 Which from the womb I did participate. 
 Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
 I should my tears let fall upon your cheek. 
 And say — Thrice welcome, drowned Viola! 
 
 Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 
 
 Seb. And so had mine. 
 
 Vio. And died that day when Viola from herbirti 
 Had number'd thirteen years. 
 
 Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
 
 • Otherways. 
 
 ' Serious dantwa 
 
86 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act V. 
 
 He finished, indeed, his mortal act 
 
 That day that made my sister thirteen years. 
 
 Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both, 
 But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
 Do not embrace me, till each circumstance 
 Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, 
 That I am Viola: which to confirm, 
 I'll bring you to a captain in this town, 
 Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help 
 I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count: 
 All the ocean ence of my fortune since 
 Hath been between this lady and this lord. 
 
 Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook : 
 
 [^To Olivia. 
 But nature to her bias drew in that. 
 You would have been contracted to a maid 
 Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived. 
 You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 
 
 Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood. — 
 If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
 r shall have share in this most happy wreck : 
 Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, 
 
 [7b Viola. 
 Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 
 
 Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear; 
 And all those swearings keep as true in soul, 
 As doth that orbed continent, the fire. 
 That severs day from night. 
 
 Duke. Give me thy hand ; 
 
 And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 
 
 Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, 
 Hath my maid's garments: he, upon some action, 
 Is now in durance ; at Malvolio's suit, 
 A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 
 
 Oli. He shall enlarge him; — Fetch Malvolio 
 hither : — 
 And yet, alas, now I remember me. 
 They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. 
 
 Re-enter Clown, with a Letter. 
 
 A most extracting frenzy of mine own 
 
 From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.- — 
 
 How does he, sirrah 1 
 
 do. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the 
 stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do : he 
 has here writ a letter to you ; I should have given it 
 to you to-day morning ; but as a madman's epis- 
 tles are no gospels, so it skills not much, when they 
 are delivered. 
 
 Oli. Open it, and read it. 
 
 Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool 
 delivers the madman: — By the Lord, madam, — 
 
 Oli. How now, art thou mad? 
 
 Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness : an your 
 ladyship wdl have it as it ought to be, you must 
 allow vox.^ 
 
 Oli. Pr'ythee, read i' thy right wits. 
 
 Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right 
 wits, is to read thus : therefore perpend,' my prin- 
 cess, and give ear. 
 
 Oli. Read ityoj, sirrah. [To Fabiajt. 
 
 Fab. [Reads.] By the Lord, madam, you wrong 
 me, and the world shall know it.- though you have 
 vut me into darkness, and given your drunken cou- 
 sin rule over me, yet have Ithe benefit of my senses 
 as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter that 
 induced me to the semblance I put on,- with the 
 which I doubt not but to do myself muchright, or 
 
 • Voice 
 
 • Attend. 
 
 you much shame. Tliink of me as you please. I 
 If are my duty a lillleunlhoughtof, and speak out 
 of my injury. The madly used Malvolio. 
 
 OH. Did he write this 1 
 
 Clo. Ay, madam. 
 
 Duke. This savors not much of distraction. 
 
 Oli. See him delivcr'd, Fabian ; bring him hith<-.r 
 
 [Exit Fa 111 ATT 
 My lord, so please you, these things further thougu 
 
 on. 
 To think me as well a sister as a wife. 
 One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, 
 Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 
 
 Duke. Aladam, I am most apt to embrcice your 
 oiler. — 
 Your master quits you; \To Viola] and, for your 
 
 service done hirn. 
 So much against the mettle' of your sex. 
 So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 
 And since you call'd me master for so long. 
 Here is my hand ; you shall from this time be 
 Your master's mistress. 
 
 Oli. A sister 1 — you are she, 
 
 Re-enter Fabian with Malvolio. 
 
 Duke. Is this the madman 1 
 
 Oli. Ay, my lord, the same. 
 
 How now, Malvolio ] 
 
 Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong, 
 
 Notorious wrong. 
 
 Oli. Have I, Malvolio 7 no. 
 
 Mai. Lady, you have. Pray vou peruse that letlai. 
 You must not now deny it is your hand. 
 Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase; 
 Or say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention : 
 You can say none of this : Well, grant it then, 
 And tell me, in the modesty of honor. 
 Why you have given me such clear lights of favor, 
 Bade me come smiling, and cross-gartered to you, 
 To put on yellow stockings, and to frown 
 Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people : 
 And, acting this in an obedient hope. 
 Why have you sufl'er'd me to be imprison'c, 
 Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest. 
 And made the most notorious geek,' and gull. 
 That e'er invention play'd on ] tell me why. 
 
 Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, 
 Though I confess much like the character: 
 But out of question, 'tis Maria's hand. 
 And now I do bethink me, it was she 
 First told me, thou wast mad; then cam'stin smiling, 
 And in such forms which here were presuppos'd 
 Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content: 
 This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee; 
 But when we know the grounds and authors of it, 
 Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge 
 Of thine own cause. 
 
 Fab. Good madam, hear me speak 
 
 And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come. 
 Taint the condition of this present hour, 
 Wliich I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not. 
 Most freely I confess, myself and Toby 
 Set this device against Malvolio here. 
 Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
 We had conceived against him : Maria writ • 
 The letter, at sir Toby's great importance;* 
 In recompense whereof, he hath married her. 
 How with a sportful malice it was follow 'd. 
 
 * Frame and constitution. 
 
 • Importunity. 
 
 *rooi 
 
Scene i. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 87 
 
 May rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; 
 If that the injuries ^6 justiy weigh'd. 
 That have on both sides past 
 
 OH. Alas, poor fool ! how have they baffled thee! 
 
 Clo. Why, some are born great, some achieve 
 greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon 
 them. I was one, sir, in this interlude ; one sir 
 Topas, sir; but that's all one: — Bt/ the Lord, 
 fool, I am not mad; — But do you remember 1 
 Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? 
 an you smile not,he'sgagg'd: And thus the whirli- 
 gig of time brings in his revenges. 
 
 Mai. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you. 
 
 [^Exit. 
 
 on. He hath been most notoriously abused. 
 
 Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace: — 
 He hath not told us of the captain yet ; 
 When that is known and golden time convents,'' 
 A solemn combination shall be made 
 Of our dear souls : — Mean time, sweet sister, 
 VVe will not pait from hence. — Cesario, come, 
 For so you shall be while you are a man: 
 
 But, when in other hahitsyou are seen, 
 Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [Exeu/fit. 
 SONG. 
 Clo. When that I was and a tittle tiny hoy, 
 With Iicy, ill), the wind and the rain, 
 Afiiolitli thin;i wan hut a toy. 
 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But token I came to man's estate, 
 
 With ticy, ho, the loind and the rain, 
 'Gainst knave and thief men shut their gate, 
 For tlie rain it raineth every day. 
 
 Bnt lohen I came, (das! to wive. 
 
 With hey, ho, the ivind and the rain, 
 By sioaijijeriny could I never thrive. 
 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came unto my bed. 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 Witli loss-pots still had drunken head, 
 For ttie rain it raineth every day. 
 
 A great while ago the world begun, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 Bat ihat'a all one, our play is done, 
 
 A»d we'll strive to pleaae you every day. 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 V'tNCENTio, Duke q/" Vienna. 
 
 A NOELO, Lord Deputy in the Duke's absence. 
 
 EscALUS, an ancient Lord, joined with Angelo in 
 
 the deputation. 
 Ci.iUDio, a young Gentleman. 
 Lucio, a Fantastic. 
 Tioo other like Gentlemen. 
 Varrius, a Gentleman, Servant to the Duke. 
 Provost. 
 Thomas, ) 
 Fetee, \ 
 A Justice. 
 Elbow, a simple Constable- 
 
 Two Friars. 
 
 Froth, a foolish Gentleman. 
 Clown, Servant to Mrs. Overdone 
 Abhorson, an Executioner. 
 Barnardine, a dissolute Prisoner. 
 
 Isabella, Sister to Claudio. 
 Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. 
 JcLiET, beloved by Claudio. 
 Francisca, a Nun. 
 Mistress Overdone, a Bawd. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Offiy^tv jcnd »th» 
 attendants. 
 
 SCENE.— Vienna. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in fAe Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Duke, Escalus, and Lords. 
 
 Duke. Escalus, — 
 
 Esc. My lord. 
 
 Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, 
 Would seem in me t' affect speech and discourse. 
 Since I am put to know, that your own science 
 Exceeds in that the lists of all advice 
 My strength can give you : Then no more remains 
 But that to your sufficiency, as your worth is able. 
 And let them work. The nature of our people. 
 Our city's institutions, and the terms 
 For common justice, y'are as pregnant in 
 As art and practice hath enriched any 
 That we remember : There is our commission. 
 From which we would not have you warp. Call 
 
 hither, 
 I say, bid come before us, Angelo. — ■ 
 What figure of us think y ou he will bear ? 
 For you must know, we have with special soul 
 Elocled him our absence to supply; 
 Lent him our terror, drest him with our love. 
 And given his deputations all the organs 
 Of our own power: What think you of it? 
 
 Esc. If any in Vienna be of worth 
 To undergo such ample grace and honor. 
 It is lord Angelo. 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 Duke. Look, where he comes. 
 
 Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
 [ come to know your pleasure. 
 88 
 
 Duke. Angelo 
 
 There is a kind of character in thy life, 
 That, to th' observer, doth thy history 
 Fully unfold : — Thyself, and thy belongings, 
 Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
 Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
 Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do, 
 Not light them for themselves : for if our wtue« 
 Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
 As if wc had them not. Spirits are not finely touchM 
 But to fine issues: nor nature never lends 
 The smallest scruple of her excellence. 
 But, like a fhrifty goddess, she determines 
 Herself the glory of a creditor. 
 Both thanks and use; but I do bend my speech 
 To one that can my part in him advertise ; 
 Hold, therefore, Angelo: 
 In our remove, be thou at full ourself; 
 Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
 Live in thy tongue and heart : Old Escalub, 
 Though first in question, is thy secondary. 
 Take thy commission. 
 
 Ang. Now, good my lord, 
 
 Let there be some more test made of my mettle. 
 Before a) noble and so great a figure 
 Be stamp'd upon it. 
 
 Duke. No more evasion : 
 
 We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
 Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honors. 
 Our haste from hence is of so quick conilition, 
 That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd 
 
A.OT I. Scene I. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 89 
 
 Matters of needful value. We shall write to you. 
 As timo and our conccrnings shall importune, 
 How it goes with us, and do look to know 
 What doth befell you here. So fare you well : 
 To th' hopeful execution do I leave you 
 Of your commissions. 
 
 Aug. Yet, give leave, my lord. 
 
 That we may bring you something on the way. 
 
 Duke. My haste may not admit it : 
 [Vor need you, on mine honor, have to do 
 With any scruple : your scope is as mine own, 
 So to enforce or qualify the laws 
 As to your soul seems good : — give me your hand : 
 I'll privily away ; I love the people, 
 I]ut do not like to stage me to their eyes: 
 I'hough it do well, I do not relish well 
 Their loud applause, and aves vehement: 
 IS'or do I think the man of safe discretion 
 i'hat docs affect it. Once more, fare you well. 
 
 -4/!^. The heavens give safety to your purposes ! 
 
 Esc. Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness! 
 
 Dulte. I thank you. — 'Fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Esc. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
 To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me 
 To look into the bottom of my place : 
 A power I have, but of what strength and nature, 
 [ am not yet instructed. 
 
 Aug. 'Tis so with me : — Let us withdraw together. 
 And we may soon our satisfaction have 
 Touching that point. 
 
 Esc. I'll wait upon your honor. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— yi Street. 
 Enter Lucio, and two Gentlemen. 
 
 Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come 
 not to composition with the king of Hungary, why 
 [hen all the dukes fall upon the king. 
 
 1st Gent. Heaven grant us its peace ; but not 
 the kiiig of Hungary's ! 
 
 2d Gent. Amen. 
 
 Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious 
 pirate, that went to sea with the ten command- 
 ments, but scraped one out of the table. 
 
 2 Gent. Thou shall not steal ? 
 
 Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 
 
 1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to com- 
 mand the captain and all the rest from their func- 
 ti(>i.s ; they put forth to steal : there's not a soldier 
 L>f us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, 
 doth relish the petition well that prays for peace. 
 
 2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 
 Lucio. I believe thee ; for, I think, thou never 
 
 wast where grace was said. 
 
 2 Gent. No ? a dozen times at least. 
 
 1 Gent. What ? in metre 1 
 
 Lucio. In any proportion,' or in any language. 
 
 I Gent. I think, or in any religion. 
 
 Lucio. Ay! why not? Grace is grace, despite of 
 nil controversy : as, for example, thou thyself art a 
 wicked villain, despite of all grace. 
 
 1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers 
 betw(!en us." 
 
 Lucio. I grant ; as there may between the lists 
 ind the velvet : thou art the list. 
 
 1 Ge7it. And thou the velvet : thou art good vel- 
 rct ; thou art a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee : I 
 lad as lief be a list of an English kersey, as be 
 
 « Mf>4.sure. « A cut of the same cloth. 
 
 pil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a French velvet.' Do 
 I speak feelingly now ? 
 
 Lucio. I think thou dost ; and, indeed, with r.iost 
 painful feeling of thy speech : I wiH, out of thine 
 own confession, learn to begin thy health , but 
 whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. 
 
 1 Ge?it. I think I have done myself wrong ; have 
 I not? 
 
 2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast ; whether thou art 
 tainted, or free. 
 
 Lucio. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation 
 comes ! I have purchased as many diseases under 
 her roof, as come to — 
 
 2 Gent. To what, I pray ? 
 
 1 Gent. Judge. 
 
 2 Gent. To three thousand dollars a year ? 
 1 Gent Ay, and more. 
 
 Lucio. A French crown* more. 
 
 1 Ge?it. Thou art always figming dktasrs in 
 me : but thou art full of error ; I am sound. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy, but 
 so sound, as things that are hollow : thy bones are 
 hollow ; impiety has made a feast of thee. 
 
 Enter Bawd. 
 
 1 Gent. How now ? Which of your hips has 
 the most profound sciatica ? 
 
 Bawd. Well, well ; there's one yonder, arrested, 
 and carried to prison, was worth five thousand of 
 you all. 
 
 1 Gent. Who's that, I pray thee 7 
 
 Bawd. Marry sir, that's Claudio, Signior Ciau- 
 dio. 
 
 1 Gent. Claudio to prison ! 'tis not so. 
 
 Bawd. Nay, but I know 'tis so : I saw him ar- 
 rested ; saw him carried away ; and, which is 
 more, within these three days his head's to be 
 chopped off. 
 
 Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not 
 have it so : art thou sure of this ? 
 
 Bawd. I am too sure of it ; and it is for getting 
 Madam Julietta with child. 
 
 Lucio. Believe me, this may be : he promised 
 to meet me two hours since ; and he was ever 
 precise in promise-keeping. 
 
 2 Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something 
 near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 
 
 1 Gent. But most of all, agreeing with the pro- 
 clamation. 
 
 Lucio. Away ; let's go learn the truth of it. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucio arid Gentlemen. 
 
 Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the 
 sweat;' what with the gallows, and what with 
 poverty, I am custom-shrunk. How now! what's 
 the news with you 1 
 
 Enter CIovvti. 
 
 Clown. Yonder man is carried to prisc-ii. 
 
 Bawd. Well ; what has he done 7 
 
 Clown. A woman. 
 
 Bawd. But what's his offence 1 
 
 Clown. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. 
 
 Bawd. What, is there a maid with child by him 
 
 Clown. No; but there's a woman with ma 
 by him : you have not heard of the proclamatior 
 have you ? 
 
 Bawd. What proclamation, man? 
 
 Clown. All houses in the suburbs of Vioni. 
 must be pluck'd down. 
 
 » A jest on the ln?8 of hair by the French dwea^t. 
 * Corona Veneris. »The sweatinR sickness. 
 
uo 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Dmvd. And what shall bt come of those in the city? 
 
 Clown. They shall stand for seed : they had 
 gone down too, but 'hat a wise burgher put in for 
 them. 
 
 Bawd. But, shall all our houses of resort in the 
 suburbs be pulled down 1 
 
 Clown. To the orround, mistress. 
 
 Bawd. Why, here's a change indeed in the 
 commonwealth : what shall become of me ? 
 
 Clown. Come, fear not you ; good counsellors 
 lack no clients. Though you change your place, 
 you need not change your trade; I'll be your 
 tapster still. Courage ; there will be pity taken on 
 you : you that have worn your eyes alnv^t out in 
 the service, you will be considered. 
 
 Bawd. What's t(/ do here ] Thomas Tapster, 
 let's withdraw. 
 
 Clown. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the 
 provost to prison : and there's Madam Juliet. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENF III.— The same. 
 Etuer Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers. 
 
 Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to 
 the world. Bear me to prison, where I am com- 
 mitted. 
 
 Prov. I do it not in evil disposition. 
 But from lord Angelo by special charge. 
 
 Claud. Thus can the demi-god. Authority, 
 Make us pay down for our offence by weight. — 
 The words of heaven ; on whom it will, it will ; 
 On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just. 
 
 Enter Lccio. 
 
 Lucio, Why, how now, Claudio 1 whence comes 
 this restraint ] 
 
 Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, 
 liberty : 
 As surfeit is the father of much fast, 
 So every scope by the immoderate use 
 Turns to restraint : Our natures do pursue 
 (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane) 
 A thirsty evil ; and when we drink, we die. 
 
 Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, 
 I would send for certain of my creditors : And yet, 
 to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery, of 
 freedom, as the morality of imprisonment. — What's 
 thy offence, Claudio ? 
 
 Claud. What, but to speak of would offend again. 
 
 Ldicio. What is it ? murder 1 
 
 Claud. No. 
 
 Lucio. Lechery ? 
 
 Claud. Call it so. 
 
 Prov. Away, sir ; you must go. 
 
 Claud. One word, good friend : — Lucio, a word 
 with you. [Takes him aside. 
 
 Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. 
 Is lechery so look'd after ? 
 
 Claud. Thus stands it with me : — Upon a true 
 contract, 
 I got possession of Julietta's bed ; 
 You know the lady ; she is fast my wife, 
 Save that we do the denunciation lack 
 Of outward order : this we came not to 
 Only for propagation of a dower 
 Remaining in the coffer of her friends ; 
 From whom we thought it meet to hide our love. 
 Till time had made them for us. But it chances, 
 The stealth of our most mutual intercourse, 
 With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. 
 
 Lucio. With child, perhaps ? 
 
 Claud. Unhappily, even so. 
 And the new deputy now for the duke, — 
 Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness i 
 Or whether that the body public be 
 A horse whereon the governor doth ride, 
 'A'^ho newly in the seat, that it may know 
 He can command, lets it straight feel the sp'jr: 
 Whether the tyranny be in his place, 
 Or in his eminence that fills it up, 
 I stagger in : — But this new governor 
 Awakes me all the unrolled penalties. 
 Which have, like unscour'd armor, hung by the 
 
 wall 
 So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, 
 And none of them been worn ; and for a name, 
 Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
 Freshly on me : — 'tis, surely, for a name. 
 
 Lucio. I warrant, it is : and thy head stands so 
 tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be 
 in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and 
 appeal to him. 
 
 Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found. 
 I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service : 
 This day my sister should the cloister enter. 
 And there receive her approbation : 
 Acquaint her with the danger of my state ; 
 Implore her, in my voice, that she makes friends 
 To the strict deputy : bid herself assay him ; 
 I have great hope in that : for in her youth 
 There is a prone and speechless dialect. 
 Such as moves men : beside, she hath prosperous art 
 When she will play with reason and discourse, 
 And well she can persuade. 
 
 Lucio. I pray, she may ; as well for the encou- 
 ragement of the like, which else would stand under 
 grievous imposition ; as for the enjoying of thy life, 
 who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost 
 at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her. 
 
 Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Within two hours, — 
 
 Claud. Come, officer, away. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Monastery. 
 
 Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 
 
 Duke. No, holy father ; throw away that thought 
 Believe not that the dribbling dart of love 
 Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire the« 
 To give me secret harbor, hath a purpose 
 More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
 Of burning youth. 
 
 Fri. May your grace speak of it ? 
 
 Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
 How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd ; 
 And held in idle price to haunt assemblies. 
 Where youth and cost, and witless bravery kc e p* 
 I have deliver'd to lord Angelo 
 (A man of stricture and firm abstinence) 
 My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
 And he suppose? me travell'd to Poland ; 
 For so I have st ew'd it in the common ear. 
 And so it is receiv'd : Now, pious sir, 
 You will demand of me, why I do this ? 
 
 Fri. Gladly, my lord. 
 
 Duke. We have strict statutes, and most bitm^ 
 laws, 
 (The needful bits and curbs for head-strong steeds,) 
 Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep 
 Even like an o'er-grown lion in a cave. 
 That goes not out to prey : Now. as fond father* 
 
bcKNa V. 
 
 MEASUilE h'OL\ MEASUliE. 
 
 9] 
 
 Having hound ip the thrcat'ning twigs of birch, 
 Only to sticlv it in their children's sight, 
 For terror, not to use ; in time the rod 
 Boiomcs more mock'd than fcar'd : so our decrees, 
 Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
 And libcrt}' plucks justice by ^he nose; 
 The bahy beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
 Goes all decorum. 
 
 F)-i. It rested in your grace 
 
 To unloose this ticd-up justice when yon pleas'd: 
 And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, 
 Than in lord Angelo. 
 
 Duke. I do fear, too dreadful: 
 
 Sith 'twas -iiy fault, to give the peopJe scope, 
 'i'vvould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them 
 For what I bid them do : For we bid tiiis be done, 
 When evil deeds have their permissive pass, 
 And not tlie punishment. Therefore, indeed, my 
 
 father, 
 I have on Angelo imposed the office; 
 Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, 
 And yet my nature never in the sight. 
 To do it slander : And to behold his sway, 
 I will, as 'twere a brother of j'our order, 
 Visit both prince and people: therefore, I pr'ythee, 
 fciupply me with the habit, and instruct me 
 How I may formally in person bear me 
 Like a true friar. More reasons for this action, 
 At our more leisure shall I render you; 
 Only, this one: — Lord Angelo is precise; 
 Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses 
 That his blood flows, or that his appetite 
 Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, 
 If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Nunnery. 
 
 Enter Isabella and Fkancisca. 
 
 hah. And have you nuns no further privileges T 
 
 Fran. Are not these large enough ] 
 
 hub. Yes, truly : I speak not as desiring more ; 
 
 But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
 
 Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of saint Clare. 
 Lucio. Ho! Peace be in this place! [VV7M//?. 
 Isab. W^ho's that which calls ? 
 
 Fran. It is a man's voice : Gentle Isabella, 
 
 Turn you the key, and know his business of him ; 
 
 You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn: 
 
 When you have vowed, you must not speak with 
 men. 
 
 But in the presence of the prioress : 
 
 Thsn, if you speak, you must not show your face; 
 
 Or if you show your face, you must not speak. 
 
 He ca!li again; I pray you answer him. 
 
 [^Ex/'f FllAXCISCA. 
 
 Isab. Peace and provsperity ! Who is't that calls 1 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you lie; as those cheek-roses 
 r-oclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me, 
 A.5 bring me lo the sight of Isabella, 
 A novice of this place, and the fair sister 
 To her unhappy brother (Jlaudio? 
 
 Ixab. Why her uidiap{)y brother? let me ask ; 
 The rather, for I now must make you know 
 I am that Isabella, and his sister. 
 
 Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets 
 you 
 N ot to be w eary with you, he's in prison. 
 
 Isab. Vv^oe me ! For what ? 
 Lucio. For that which if myself might be hn 
 judge, 
 He should i eceive liis punishment in thanks : 
 He hath got his friend with child. 
 Isab. Sir, make me not your story.* 
 Lucio. It is trua 
 
 I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin 
 With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest, 
 Tongue far from heart, — play with all virgins so . 
 I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted ; 
 By your renouncement an immortal spirit ; 
 And to be talked with in sincerity, 
 As with a saint. 
 
 Lab. You do blaspheme the good in socking 
 
 me. 
 Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 
 'tis thus : 
 Your brother and his lover have embraced : 
 As those that feed grow full ; as blossoming time 
 That from the seednessthe bare fallow brings 
 To teeming foison ;^ even so her plenteous womb 
 Expresseth his full tilth' and husbandry. 
 
 hub. Some one with child by him 1 — My cou« 
 
 sin Juliet"? 
 Lucio. Is she your cousin ? 
 hab. Adoptedly : as school-maids change theii 
 names. 
 By vain tliough apt affection. 
 
 Lucio. She it is. 
 
 hab. O, let him marry her ! 
 Lucio. This is the point. 
 
 The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 
 Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 
 In hand, and hope of action : but we do learn 
 By those that know the very nerves of state, 
 His givings-out were of an infinite distance 
 From his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
 And with full line of his authority, 
 Governs lord Angelo ; a man, whosf blood 
 Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels 
 The wanton stings and motions of ttie sense ; 
 But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
 With profits of the mind, study and fast. 
 He (to give fear to use and liberty, 
 Which have, for long, run by the hideous law, 
 As mice by lions) hath pick'd out an act, 
 Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
 Falls into forfeit ! he arrests him on it ; 
 And follows close the rigor of the statute, 
 To make him an example : all hope is gone. 
 Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
 To soften Angelo : And that's my pith 
 Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother. 
 hab. Doth he so seek his life 1 
 Lucio. Has cennir'J' hiai 
 
 Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
 A waiTant for his execution. 
 
 hab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me 
 To do him good 1 
 
 Lucio. Assay the power you have. 
 
 hab. My power! Alas! I doubt, — 
 Lucio. Our doubts are traitor^ 
 
 And make us lose the good we oft might win. 
 By fearing to attempt: Go to lord Angelo, 
 And let him learn to know, when maidens sue. 
 Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel 
 
 6 T)o not make n jost of me 
 1 Tn f'W and tnio wordR. 
 »TiIiii:2. 
 
 • Breeding plenty 
 ' Sentenced 
 
D2 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 A.1I their petitions are as freely theirs 
 As they themselves would owe' them. 
 
 hub. I'll see what I can do. 
 
 Liicio. But speedily. 
 
 Isab. I will about it straight ; 
 \<) longer staying but to give the mother 
 
 Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you : 
 Commend me to my brother : soon at night 
 I'll send him certain word of my success. 
 
 Lucio. I take my leave of you. 
 
 Isab. Good sir, adiei 
 
 [_Exennt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— .4 i/a// m Angelo's i^owse. 
 
 Enter Amgelo, Escalus, Provost, Officers, and 
 other Attendants. 
 
 Aug. We must not make a scare-crow of the 
 law, 
 Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, 
 A.7id let i-t keep one shape, till custom make it 
 Their perch and not their terror. 
 
 EscaL Ay, but yet 
 
 Let us be keen, and rather cut a little. 
 Than fall, and bruise to death : Alas ! this gentle- 
 man, 
 Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
 Let but your honor know, 
 
 (Whom I believe to be most straight in virtue,) 
 That, in the working of your owii affections. 
 Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing. 
 Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
 Could have attain'd the efiect of your own purpose, 
 Whether you had not some time in your life 
 Err'd in this point which now you censure him 
 i\nd pull'd the law upon you. 
 
 Avg. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
 Another thing to fall. I not deny, 
 The jury, passing on the prisoner's life. 
 May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
 Guiltier than him they try : What's open ma 'J 3 to 
 
 justice. 
 That justice siczes. What know the laws. 
 That thieves do pass on thieves'? 'Tis very pregnant. 
 The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it. 
 Because we see it ; but what we do not see. 
 We tread upon and never think of it. 
 You may not so extenuate his offence, 
 For'' I have had such faults ; but rather tell me, 
 When I that censure him, do so offend. 
 Let mine own judgment pattern out my death. 
 And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 
 
 Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. 
 
 A?ig. Where is the provost ? 
 
 Prov. Here, if it like your honor. 
 
 Ang. See that Claudio 
 
 Uj executed by nine to-morrow morning : 
 Dring him his confessor, let him be prepared : 
 For that's the atmost of his pilgrimage. 
 
 [Exetmt Angelo and Provost. 
 
 Escal. Well, heaven forgive him ; and forgive 
 us all ! 
 Bome rise Ly sin, and some by virtue fall : 
 Some run from brakes' of vice, and answer none ; 
 And some condemned for a fault alone. 
 
 Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, &c. 
 
 Elb. Come, bring them away : if these be good 
 
 people in a common weal,' that do nothing bvjt usr 
 their abuses in common houses, I know no law ; 
 bring them away. 
 
 Ang. How now, sir! what's your name? anJ 
 what's the matter ? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honor, I am the poor 
 duke's constable, and my name is Elb()w; I do 
 lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before 
 your good honor two notorious benefactors. 
 
 Ang. Benefactors 1 Well ; what benefactors are 
 they 1 are they not malefactors ? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honor, I know not well 
 what they are : but precise villains they are, that 
 I am sure of; and void of all profanation in the 
 world, that good Christians ought to have. 
 
 Escal. This comes off well ;" here's a wise 
 officer. 
 
 Ang. Go to ; what quality are they of? Elbow 
 is your name 1 Why dost thou not speak, Elbow ? 
 
 Clo. He cannot, sir ; he's out at elbow 
 
 Eng. What are you, sir 1 
 
 Elb. He, sir 1 a tapster, sir ; parcel' bawd ; one 
 that serves a bad woman ; whose house, sir, was, 
 as they say,pluck'd down in the suburbs ; and now 
 she professes" a hot-house, which, I think, is a very 
 ill house too. 
 
 Escal. How know you that ? 
 
 Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest* before heaven 
 and your honor — 
 
 Escal. How ! thy wife 1 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, i.s an 
 honest woman, — 
 
 Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore ? 
 
 Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as 
 well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's 
 house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty 
 house. 
 
 Escal. How dost thou know that, constable ? 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had 
 been a woman cardinally given, might have bein 
 accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleai li 
 ness there. 
 
 Escal. By the woman's means '! 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Ovcidone's means ; 
 but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. 
 
 Clo. Sir, if it please your honor, this is not so, 
 
 Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou 
 honorable man, prove it. 
 
 Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces ? 
 
 [To Angelo. 
 
 Clo. Sir, she came in great with child ; and long- 
 ing (saving your honor's reverence) for stew'd 
 prunes : sir, we had but two in the house, which at 
 that very distant time stood as it were, ui a fruiti 
 dish, a dish of some three-pence : your honors have 
 
 9 Have. 
 
 « Thickets^ tbomy paths of vice. 
 
 » Because. 
 
 » Wealth. 
 
 ' Keeps a bagnio. 
 
 • Well told. 
 
 'Paitly. 
 
 » for protest. 
 
BCENE I. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 93 
 
 (ecn such dishes ; they are not China dishes, hut 
 fery good dishes. 
 Escal. Go to, go to : no matter for the dish, 
 
 8lr. 
 
 Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are there- 
 fire in the right ; but, to the point : as I say, this 
 nistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and 
 •eing great belly'd, and longing, as I said, for 
 prunes ; and having but two in the dish, as 1 said, 
 iiaster Froth here, this very man, having eaten the 
 rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very 
 honestly ; — for, as you know, master Froth, I could 
 not give you thi'ee-pence again. 
 
 I'ruih. No, indeed. 
 
 Clo. Very well : you being then, if you be re- 
 meinbcr'd, cracking the stones of the 'foresaid 
 p"uncs. 
 
 Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. 
 
 C/o. Why, very well : I telling you then, if you 
 be remeniber'd, that such a one, and such a one, 
 wc-e past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they 
 kept very good diet, as I told you. 
 
 Pwth. All this is true. 
 
 Ch. Why, very well then. 
 
 Esuil. Come, you are a tedious fool : to the pur- 
 pose. — What was done to Elbow's wife, that he 
 hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was 
 done to her. 
 
 Clo. Sir, your honor cannot come to that yet. 
 
 Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 
 
 Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your ho- 
 nor's leave: and I beseech you, look into master 
 Froth here, sir ; a man of fourscore pound a year ; 
 whose fathei died at Hallowmas: — Was't not at 
 Hallowmas, master Froth 1 
 
 Froth. All-hollond' eve. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well : I hope here be truths : 
 he, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower' chair, sir ; — 
 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you 
 have a delight to sit : have you not '.' 
 
 Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room, 
 and good for winter. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well then ; — I hope here be 
 truths. 
 
 Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, 
 When nights are longest there : Fll take my leave. 
 And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; 
 Hoping, you'll find good cause to whip them all. 
 
 Escal. I think no less : good morrow to your 
 lordship. \^Exit Angelo. 
 
 iVow, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's 
 wife, once more 1 
 
 Clo. Once, sir T there was nothing done to her 
 .«nce. 
 
 Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man 
 did to my wife? 
 
 Clo. I beseech your honor, ask me. 
 
 Escal. Well, sir : what did this gentleman to 
 nt-r ? 
 
 Clo. I beseech you, sii-, look in this gentleman's 
 faic: — Good master Froth, look upon his honor; 
 'ti:i for a good purpose : doth your honor mark his 
 face ? 
 
 Escal. Ay, sir, very well. 
 
 Clo. Nav, I beseech you, mark it well. 
 
 Escal. Well, I do so. 
 
 Clo Doth your honor see any harm in his 
 heel 
 
 ■ Ktb of All Saints day. 
 
 'Easy. 
 
 Escal. Why, no. 
 
 Clo. ril be supposed' upon a book, his face \s 
 the worst thing about him : good then ; if his face 
 be the worst thing about him, how could rnastei 
 Froth do the constable's wife any harm ? I would 
 know that of your honor. 
 
 Escal. He's m the right: constable, what say 
 you to it ? 
 
 Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a respected 
 house ; next, this is a respected fellow ; and his 
 mistress is a respected woman. 
 
 Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a inrre ro 
 spected person tlian any of us all. 
 
 Elb. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked Toi- 
 let : the time is yet to come, that she was evet re 
 spected with man, woman, or child. 
 
 Clo. Sir, she was respected with him btfoic ha 
 married with her. 
 
 Escal. Which is the wiser here ? justice or ini- 
 quity ]* Is this true 1 
 
 Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet ! O thou 
 wicked Hannibal !' I respected with her, before I 
 was married to her ? If ever I was respected with 
 her, or she with me, let not 3-our worship think 
 me the poor duke's officer; — Prove this, thou 
 wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action of bat- 
 tery on thee. 
 
 Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear, you 
 might have your action of slander too. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it : 
 what is't your worship's pleasure I should do with 
 this wicked caitiff? 
 
 Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some of- 
 fences in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou 
 couldst, let him continue in his courses, till thoti 
 know'st what they are. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it : — thou 
 seest, thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon 
 thee ; thou art to continue now, thou varlet ; thou 
 art to continue. 
 
 Escal. Where were you born, friend. 
 
 [To Froth. 
 
 Froth, Here, in Vienna, sir. 
 
 Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year 1 
 
 Froth. Yes, and 't please you, sir. 
 
 Escal. So. — What trade are you of, sir ] 
 
 [To the Clown, 
 
 Clo. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. 
 
 Escal. Your mistress's name 1 
 
 Clo. Mistress Over-done. 
 
 Escal. Hath she had any more than one hus- 
 band 1 
 
 Clo. Nine, sir ; Over-done by the last. 
 
 Escal. Nine ! — Come hither to n.e, martet Frctli. 
 Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted 
 with tapsters ; they will draw you . ma.ster Froth, 
 and you will hang them : get you gone, and let 
 me hear no more of you. 
 
 Froth. I thank your worship: foi n.inc own 
 part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, 
 but I am drawn in. 
 
 Escal. Well ; no more of it, master Froth : 
 farewell. [Exit Fuotu.] — Come you hither tf 
 me, master tapster ; what is your name, mastei 
 tapster ? 
 
 Clo. Pompey. 
 
 Escal. What else? 
 
 > Deposed, sworn. 
 • For cannibaL 
 
 « Constalie or Clowu 
 
h>4 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Clo. Bum, sir. 
 
 Excal. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing 
 Rl)Out you ; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are 
 Pomney the great. Pompey, you are partly a 
 bawd, Pompey, howsoever you color it in being a 
 tapster. Are you not 1 come, tell me true ; it shall 
 be the better for you. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow, that would 
 live. 
 
 Escal. How would you live, Pompey ? by being 
 a bawd ? What do you think of the trade, Pom- 
 pey ? is it a lawful trade ? 
 
 Clo. If the law would allow it, sir. 
 
 Escal. But the law will not allow it, Ptmpey ; 
 nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 
 
 Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay 
 all the youth in the city 1 
 
 Escal. No, Pompey. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will 
 to 't then : if your worship will take order" for the 
 drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the 
 bawds. 
 
 Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can 
 tell you : it is but heading and hanging. 
 
 Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that 
 way but for ten years together, you'll be glad to 
 give out a commission for more heads. If this law 
 hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house 
 \n it, after three pence a day : if you live to see 
 this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. 
 
 Escal. Thank you, good Pompey : and, in 
 requital of your prophecy, hark you, — I advise 
 you, let me not find you before me again upon 
 any complaint whatsoever, no, not for dwelling 
 where you do : if I do, Pompey, I shall beat 
 you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Csesar 
 to you ; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have 
 you whipt: so for this time, Pompey, fare you 
 well. 
 
 Clo. I thank your worship for your good coun- 
 sel ; but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune 
 shall better determine. 
 
 Whip me ! No, no ; let carman whip his jade ; 
 The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow ; come 
 hither, master Constable. How long have you 
 been in this place of constable ? 
 
 Elb. Seven years and a half, sir. 
 
 Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, 
 you had continued in it sooie time : You say, seven 
 years together ? 
 
 Elb. And a half, sir. 
 
 Escal. Alas ! it hatn been great pains to you ! 
 They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't: 
 krc there not men h: your ward sufficient to 
 serve it ? 
 
 Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters ; 
 as tliey are chosen, they are glad to choose me for 
 them ; I do it for some piece of money, and go 
 through with all. 
 
 Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of 
 some six or seven of the most sufficient of your 
 parish. 
 
 Elb. To your worship's house, sir 1 
 
 Escal. To my house: Fare you well. [^Exit 
 Et^Bow.] What's o'clock, think youl 
 
 fust. Fleven, sir. 
 
 • Measures. 
 
 Escal. I pray you home to dinner with nie. 
 
 Just. I humbly thank you. 
 
 Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; 
 But there's no remedy. 
 
 Just. Lord Angelo is severe. 
 
 Escal. It is but needful 
 
 Mercy is not itself that oft looks so, 
 Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. 
 But yet, poor Claudio ! — There's no remedy. 
 Come, sir. [£,fi' 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Provost and a Servant. 
 
 Serv. He's hearing of a cause ; he will comt 
 straight. 
 I'll tell him of you. 
 
 Prov. Pray you, do. [_Exit Servant.] I'll know 
 His pleasure ; may be, he will relent : Alas, 
 He hath but as offended in a dream ! 
 All sects, all ages, smack of this vice ; and ha 
 To die for it ! 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 Ang. Now, what's the matter. Provost ^ 
 
 Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-mor- 
 row? 
 
 Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea 1 hadst thou not 
 order ? 
 Why dost thou ask again ? 
 
 Prov. Lest I might be too rash ■ 
 
 Under your good correction, I have seen. 
 When, after execution, judgment hath 
 Repented o'er his doom. 
 
 Ang. Go to ; let that be mine, 
 
 Do you your office, or give up your place. 
 And you shall well be spar'd. 
 
 Prov. I crave your honor's pardon. — 
 What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet ' 
 She's very near her hour. 
 
 Ang. Dispose of her 
 
 To some more fitter place; and that with speed 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Ang. Hath he a sister ? 
 
 Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous mait' 
 And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
 If not already. 
 
 Ang. Well, let her be admitted 
 
 [^Exit Servant 
 See you, the fornicatress be remov'd ; 
 Let her have needful, but not lavish, means , 
 There shall be order for it. 
 
 Enter Lucio and Isabella. 
 
 Prov. Save your honor i ^Offering to retirt 
 Ang. Stay a little while. — [I'o Isab.] You ar( 
 
 welcome : What's your will ? 
 Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honor : 
 
 Please but your honor hear me. 
 
 Ang. Well ; what's your suit ] 
 
 Isab. There is a vice that most I do abhor. 
 
 And most desire should meet the blow of justice 
 
 For which I would not plead, but that I must; 
 
 For which I must not plead, but that I am 
 
 At war. 'twixt will, and will not. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Dr. 
 
 Anfr, Well ; the matter 1 
 
 Isab. I have a hr other is condemned to die: 
 I do beseech you, let it be his fault. 
 And not my brother. 
 
 Prov. Heaven give thee moving' graces ! 
 
 Aug. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it! 
 Why, every fault's condemned, ere it be done: 
 Mine were the very cipher of a function, 
 To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record, 
 And let go by the actor. 
 
 Isab. O just, but severe law ! 
 
 I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honor! 
 
 [^Retiring. 
 
 Lucio, \To Isab.] Give't not o'er so: to him 
 again, intreat him; 
 Kneel down l)cfore him, hang upon his gown ; 
 You arc too cold: if you should need a pin. 
 You could not with more tame a tongue desire it : 
 To him, I say. 
 
 Isab. Must he needs die? 
 
 Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 
 
 Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him, 
 And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 
 
 Ang. I will not do't. 
 
 Isab. But can you, if you would 1 
 
 Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 
 
 Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no 
 wrong] 
 If so, your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
 As mine is to him. 
 
 Ang. He's sentenced: 'tis too late. 
 
 Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella. 
 
 Isab. Too late 1 why, no ; I, that do speak a word, 
 May call it back again : Well believe this, 
 No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. 
 Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 
 The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
 Become them with one half so good a grace, 
 As mercy does. If he had been as you, 
 And you as he, you would have slipt like him ; 
 But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 
 
 Ang. Pray you, begone. 
 
 Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency. 
 And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus] 
 No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, 
 And what a prisoner. 
 
 Lucio. Ay, touch him : there's the vein. \^Astde. 
 
 Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
 And you but waste your words. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; 
 And He that might the vantage best have took. 
 Found out the remedy: How would you be, 
 If Hi', which is the top of judgment, should 
 But judge you as you are] O, think on that; 
 And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
 Like man new made. 
 
 Ang. Be you content, fair maid ; 
 
 It is the law tot I, condemns your brother: 
 Were he mj kinsman, brother, or my son, 
 Itshould be tuuswithhim: — he must die to-morrow. 
 
 Isab. To-morrow] 0, that's sudden ! Spare him, 
 spare him: 
 He's not prepar'd for death ! Ever for our kitchens 
 We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven 
 With less respect than we do minister [you : 
 
 To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink 
 VVho is it that hath died for this offence? 
 There's many have comn itted it. 
 
 l-'ttcio. Ay, well said. 
 
 Ang. The hiw hath not been dead, though it 
 hath slept : 
 There's many had not dar'd to do that evil. 
 If the fust man that did the edict infringe, 
 Had answer'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake : 
 Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, 
 Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils 
 (Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd. 
 And so in progress to be hatch'd and born) 
 Arc now to have no successive degrees, 
 But, where they live, to end. 
 
 Isab. Yet f how some yily 
 
 A7ig. I show it most of all, when I show justice 
 For then I pity those I do not know, 
 Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall ; 
 And do him right, that answering one foul wrong 
 Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
 Your brother dies to-morrow : be content. 
 
 Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sen- 
 And he, that suffers : O, it is excellent [tence ; 
 To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
 To use it like a giant. 
 
 Lucio. That's well said. 
 
 Isab. Could great men thunder 
 As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, 
 For every pelting,' petty officer. 
 Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but 
 Merciful heaven ! [thunder. — 
 
 Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
 Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled'' oak. 
 Than the soft myrtle ; — O, but man, proud man ' 
 Brest in a little brief authority. 
 Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd. 
 His glassy essence, — like an angry ape. 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven. 
 As make the angels weep : who, with our spleens, 
 Would all themselves laugh mortal. 
 
 Luc. 0, to him, to him, wench : he will relent ; 
 He's coming, I perceive't. 
 
 Prov. Pray heaven, she win him ! 
 
 Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: 
 Great men may jest with saints ; 'tis wit in them ; 
 But, in the less, foul profiination. 
 
 Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl ; more o' that. 
 
 Isab, That in the captain's but a choleric word, 
 Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 
 
 Lucio. Art advis'd o' that ? more OTi't. 
 
 Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me 1 
 
 Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, 
 Hath a kind of medicine in itself. 
 That skins the vice o' the top : Go to j^our bosom ; 
 Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth kno^ 
 That's like my brother's fault : if it confess 
 A natural guiltiness, such as is his. 
 Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
 Against my brother's life. 
 
 Ang. She speaks, and 'tis 
 
 Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. — Fare 
 you well. 
 
 Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. 
 
 Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Good my lord 
 turn back. 
 
 Ang. How, bribe me ? 
 
 Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shali 
 share with you. 
 
 Lucio. You had marr'd all else. 
 
 Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested" golu. 
 
 «raU,rv. 
 
 1 Knotted. 
 
 ' StampeQ. 
 
96 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor, 
 As fancy values them : but with true prayers, 
 That sliall be up at heaven, and enter there, 
 Krc sun-rise ; prayers from preserved' souls, 
 From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
 To nothing temporah 
 
 A)ig. Well: come to me 
 
 1 (>-)norrow. 
 
 Liicio. Go to; it is well; away. ![Aside to Isab. 
 
 Isab. Heaven keep your honor safe ! 
 
 Ang. Amen: for I 
 
 Am that waygoing to temptation, [^Aside. 
 
 Where prayers cross. 
 
 Isab. At what hour to-morrow 
 
 Shall I attend your lordship 1 
 
 Ang. At any time 'fore-noon. 
 
 Isab. Save your honor ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucio, Isabklla, and Provost. 
 
 Ang. From thee ; even from thy virtue ! — - 
 
 What's this 1 what's this T Is this her fault or mine 1 
 The tempter, or ihc tempted, who sins most] ha! 
 Not she; nor doth she tempt: but it is I, 
 That lying by the violet, in the sun, 
 Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower, 
 Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be, 
 That modesty may more betray our sense 
 Tlinn vv'oman's lightness] Having waste ground 
 Sh;ill we desire to raze the sanctuary, [enough. 
 And pitch our evils there ] O, fye, fye, fye ! 
 What dost thou ? or what art thou, Angelo ] 
 Uost thou desire her foully, for those things 
 That make her good ? O, let her brother live : 
 Thieves for their robbery have authority. 
 When judges steal the:nselves. What? do I love her, 
 Th it I desire to hear her speak again. 
 An 1 feast upon her eyes] What is't I dream on] 
 
 cunning enemy, that to catch a saint. 
 
 With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
 Is that temptation, that doth goad us on 
 To sin in. loving virtue ; never could the strumpet 
 Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
 Subdues me quite ; — ever, till now. 
 When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how. 
 
 lExit. 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room in a Prismi. 
 Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. 
 Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so I think you are. 
 Prov. I am the provost : What's your will, good 
 
 friar 1 
 Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, 
 
 1 come to visit the afflicted spirits 
 
 Hero in the prison : do me the common right 
 'J'o let me see them ; and to make me know 
 The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
 To them accordingly. 
 
 1 ''•oy. I would do more than that, if more were 
 needful 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 I .( jk here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine, 
 V\'ho, falling in the flaines of her own youth. 
 Hath blister'd her report : She is with child ; 
 .\nd he that got it, sentenced : a young man 
 More fit to do another such offence, 
 Than die for this. 
 Duke. When must he die ? 
 
 Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. — 
 have provided for you ; stay awhile, {To Juliet. 
 And you shall be conducted. 
 
 • Preserved from the corruption of the world. 
 
 Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry] 
 
 Juliet. I do; and bear the sharaeoos', patiently. 
 
 Duke. I'll teach you how you shali arraign yout 
 conscience. 
 And try your penitnnce, if it be sound, 
 Or hollowly put on. 
 
 Juliet. I'll gladly learn. 
 
 Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd yoii . 
 
 Juliet. Yes, 9S I love the woman that wrong'd him. 
 
 Duke. So tLen, it seems, your most offcnceful act 
 Was mutually ccmrnitted] 
 
 Juliet. Mutually. 
 
 Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. 
 
 Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter: But lest you do 
 repent. 
 As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, — 
 Which son'ow is always toward ourselves, not 
 
 heaven ; 
 Showing, we'd not spare heaven, as we love k^, 
 But as we stand in fear. 
 
 Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil: 
 And take the shame with joy. 
 
 Duke. There rest. 
 
 Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow 
 And I am going with instruction to him. — 
 Grace go with you ! BenediciieJ [Exit. 
 
 Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! , injurious love, 
 That respites me a life, whose vcTy comfort 
 Is still a dying horror ! 
 
 Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Room in Angelo's House. 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and 
 pray 
 To several subjects : heaven hath my empty words ; 
 Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue. 
 Anchors on Isabel : Heaven in my mouth. 
 As if I did but only chew his name ; 
 And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil 
 Of my conception : The state, whereon I studied, 
 Is like a good thing, being often read. 
 Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity, 
 Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride, 
 Could I, with boot,' change for an idle plume, 
 Which the air beats for vain. O place ! O form ! 
 How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, 
 Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls 
 To thy false seeming] Blood, thou still art blood 
 Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
 'Tis not the devil's crest. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 How now, who's there ] 
 
 Serv. One Isabel, a sister. 
 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Ang. Teach her the way. [Exit Sei"v 
 
 O heavens ! 
 
 Why does my blood thus muster to my heart; 
 Making both it unable for itself. 
 And dispossessing all the other parts 
 Of necessary fitness ] 
 
 So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons 
 Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
 By which he should revive : and even so 
 The general,'^ subject to a well-wish'd king. 
 Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
 Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 
 Must needs appear offence. 
 
 > Profit. » Tlie people 
 
Sjene IV. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 9? 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 How now, fair maid 1 
 
 Isah. I am come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Ang. That you might know it, would much 
 better please me, 
 i'lian to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. 
 
 I.mh. Even so 1 — Heaven keep your honor ! 
 
 [Retiring. 
 
 Ang. Yet may he live a while ; and, it may be 
 As long as you or I : Yet he must die. 
 
 Isab. Under your sentence ? 
 
 Ang. Yea. 
 
 Isab. When, I beseech you 1 that in his reprieve, 
 l.onger, or shorter, he may be so fitted, 
 That his soul sicken not. 
 
 Ang. Ha ! fye, these filthy vices ! It were as good 
 To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen 
 A man already made, as to remit 
 Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, 
 [n stamps that are forbid : 'tis all as easy 
 Falsely to take away a hfe true made. 
 As to put mettle in restrained means, 
 To make a false one. 
 
 Isah. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 
 
 Ang. Say you so 1 tlien I shall pose you quickly. 
 Which had you rather, that the most just law 
 iVow took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him, 
 Give up your person to such sweet uncleanness, 
 As she that he hath stained ? 
 
 hub. Sir, believe this, 
 
 I had rather give my body than my soul. 
 
 Ang. I talk not of your soul ; ourcompell'd sins 
 Stand more for number than accompt. 
 
 Isab. flow say you ] 
 
 Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that ; for I can speak 
 Against the thing I say. Answer to this ; — 
 I, now the voice of the recorded law, 
 Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life : 
 Might there not be a charity in sin, 
 To save this brother's hfe ? 
 
 Isab. Please you to do't, 
 
 ril take it as a peril to my soul. 
 It is no sin at all, but charity. 
 
 Ang. Pleas'd you to do 't, at peril of your soul. 
 Were equal poise of sin and charity. 
 
 Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin. 
 Heaven, let me bear it ! you granting of my suit, 
 [f Ihat be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer 
 To have it added to the faults of mine. 
 And nothing of your answer. 
 
 ^1"^. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Your sense pursues not mine : either you are igno- 
 Or seem so, craftily ; and that's not good, [rant, 
 
 Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good. 
 But graciously to know I am no better. 
 
 Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright. 
 When it doth tax itself: as these black masks 
 Proclaim an enshield' beauty ten times louder 
 Thau beauty could displayed. — But mark me; 
 To be received plain, I'll speak more gjoss : 
 Your brother is to die. 
 
 Isab. So. 
 
 Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears 
 Accountant to the law upon that pain. 
 
 Isab. True. 
 
 Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, 
 (As I subscribe not that, nor any other, 
 But in the loss of question,) that you, his sister, 
 Finding yourself desir'd of such a per 
 
 person, 
 
 •Covered. 
 
 Whose credit with the judge, or own gTeat place, 
 Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
 Of the all-binding law : and that there were 
 No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
 You must lay down the treasures of your bodj 
 To this supposed, or else let him suffer ; 
 What would you do I 
 
 Isab. As much for my poor brother as myself; 
 That is, were I under the terms of death. 
 The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubie4i 
 And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
 That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield 
 My honor up to shame. 
 
 Ang. Then must your brother di« 
 
 Isah. And 'twere the cheaper way : 
 Better it were, a brother died at once. 
 Than that a sister, by redeeming him. 
 Should die for ever. 
 
 Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence 
 That you have slander'd so T 
 
 hub. Ignominy in ransom, and free pardon, 
 Are of two houses : lawful mercy is 
 Nothing akin to foul redemption. 
 
 Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant , 
 And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother 
 A men-iment than a vice. 
 
 Isab. O, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls out. 
 To have what we'd have, we speak not what we 
 I sometimes do excuse the thing I hate, [mean '. 
 For his advantage that I dearly love. 
 
 Ang. We are all frail. 
 
 Isab. Else let my brother die, 
 
 If not a feodary,' but only he. 
 Owe,* and succeed by weakness. 
 
 Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 
 
 Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view them- 
 selves ; 
 Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 
 Women ! — Help heaven ! men their creation mar 
 In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail ; 
 For we are soft as our complexions are, 
 And credulous to false prints.* 
 
 Ang. I think it well : 
 
 And from this testimony of your own sex, 
 (Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger 
 Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold ; 
 I do arrest your words ; be that you are. 
 That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're none ; 
 If you be one, (as 5'ou are well express'd 
 By all external warrants,) show it now. 
 By putting on the destin'd livery. 
 
 Isab. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord, 
 Let me entreat you, speak the former language. 
 
 Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 
 
 Isah. My brother did love Juliet; and you tell ra# 
 That he shall die for it. 
 
 Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. 
 
 Isab. I know your virtue hath a licence in't, 
 Which seems a little fouler than it is. 
 To pluck on others. 
 
 Ang. Believe me, on mine honor, 
 
 My words express my purpose. 
 
 Isab. Ha ! little honor to be much believ'd. 
 And most pernicious purjiose ! — Seeming, seeming' 
 I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look fc t: 
 Sign me a present pardon for my hrotner, 
 Or, with an outstrotch'd throat, I'll tell the world 
 Aloud, what man thou art. 
 
 Ang. 
 * Assdciate. 
 
 Who will believe thee, Isabel I 
 
 •fAru. 
 
 *IiUprC£!SiOQS- 
 
es 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 My iinwoil'd name, the austerciu'ss of my life, 
 My vouch pgainst you, ami my place i' the state, 
 Will so your accusation ovenveigh. 
 That you shall stifle in your own report, 
 And smell of calumny. I have begun ; 
 And now I give my sensual race the rein; 
 Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
 Lay by all nicety, and prolixious' blushes. 
 That banish what they sue for ; redeem thy brother 
 By yielding up thy person to my will ; 
 Or else he must not only die the death. 
 But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
 To lingering sufferance : answer me to-morrow, 
 Or, by the affection that guides me most, 
 I'll prove a tyrant to him: As for you, 
 tiav what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Isab. To whom shall I complain ! Did I tell this. 
 Who would believe me ? O perilous mouths. 
 That bear in them one and the self-same tongue^ 
 Either of condemnation or approof! 
 Bidding the law make court'sy to their will ; 
 Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, 
 To follow as it draws ! I'll to my brother : 
 Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, 
 Yet hath he in him such a mind of honor. 
 That had he twenty heads to tender down 
 On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up, 
 Before his sister should her person stoop 
 To such abhorr'd pollution. 
 Then Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die : 
 More than oui- brother is our chastity. 
 I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request. 
 And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [^Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 isCENE I. — A Room in the Prismi. 
 Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost. 
 Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord 
 
 Angclo 1 
 Claud. The miserable have no other medicine. 
 But only hope: 
 I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 
 
 Duke. Be absolute for death : either death, or life, 
 Shall thereby be the sivceter. Reason thus with life, — 
 If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
 That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, 
 (Servile to all the skiey influences,) 
 That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 
 Hourly afl^Iict: merely, thou art death's fool ; 
 For him thou labor'st by thy (light to shun, 
 And yet run'st toward him still : Thou art not noble ; 
 For all the accommodations that thou bear'st, 
 Are nurs'd by baseness: Thou art by no means 
 
 valiant ; 
 For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
 Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep, 
 And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
 Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 
 For thou exist' st on many thousand grains 
 That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not; 
 For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get; 
 And what thou hast, forgct'st : Thou art not certain; 
 For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,'' 
 After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ; 
 For, like an ass, whose back with mgots bows, 
 Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey. 
 And death unloads thee: Friend hast thou none; 
 For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire. 
 The mere effusion of thy proper loins. 
 Do curse the gout, serpigo,' and the rheum, 
 r^r ending thee no sooner: Thou hast nor youth, 
 
 nor age ; 
 B . , as it were, an after-dinner's sleep. 
 Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth 
 Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
 Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich. 
 Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty. 
 To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this. 
 That bears the name of life '' Yet in this life 
 liie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, 
 That makes these odds all even. 
 <■ Koluctant. 
 ' Affects, alfections. * Leprous eruptions. 
 
 Claud. I humbly thank yoo 
 
 To sue to live, I find, I seek to die ; 
 And seeking death, find life : Let it come on. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 Isah. What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and gooa 
 company ! 
 
 Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish deserves 
 a welcome. 
 
 Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. 
 
 Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 
 
 Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 
 
 Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's 
 your sister. 
 
 Duke. Provost, a word with you. 
 
 Prov. As many as you please 
 
 Duke. Bring them to speak, where I may be 
 conceal'd. 
 Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. 
 
 Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort ? 
 
 Isab. Why, as all comforts are ; most good indeed: 
 Lord Angelo, having affairs to he-'ven. 
 Intends you for his swift ambassador, 
 Where you shall be an everlasting lieger :® 
 Therefore your best appointment moke with speed ; 
 To-morrow you set on. 
 
 Claud. Is there no remedy 1 
 
 Isab. None, but such a remedy, as to save a head. 
 To cleave a heart in twain. 
 
 Claud. But IS there any 1 
 
 Isab. Yes, brother, you may live ; 
 There is a devilish mercy in the judge, 
 If you'll implore it, that will fre', your life. 
 But fetter you till death. 
 
 Claud. Perpetual durance 1 
 
 Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance ; a restraint, 
 Though all the world's vastidity jou had, 
 To a determined scope. 
 
 Claud. But in wuat nature ? 
 
 Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to 't) 
 Would bark your honor fiom that trunk you beai 
 And leave you naked. 
 
 Claud. Let me know the point. 
 
 Isab. 0, 1 do fear thee, Claudio; and I quako. 
 Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, 
 And six or seven winters more respect 
 
 • Besident. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MEASURE FOU MEASURE. 
 
 99 
 
 Than a perpetual honor. Dar'st thou die ? 
 Thi- sense of ileath is most in apprciiension : 
 And the poor beetle that we tread upon, 
 [n corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies. 
 
 Claud. Why give you me this shame 1 
 
 Think you I can a resolution fetch 
 From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
 [ will encounter Jarkncss as a bride, 
 And hug it in mine arms. [grave 
 
 Lab, There spake my brother ; there my father's 
 Did utter fortli a voice ! Yes, thou must die, 
 'Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
 In base appliances. I'his outward-sainted deputy, — 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Xips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew, 
 As falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil ; 
 His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell. 
 
 Claud. The princely Angelo ? 
 
 laab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, 
 The vilest body to invest and cover 
 [n princely guards ! Dost thou think, Claudio, 
 If I would yield him my virginity. 
 Thou might'st be freed ? 
 
 Claud. 0, heavens ! It cannot be. 
 
 Isab. Yes, he would give it thee, from this rank 
 offence. 
 So to offend him still : This night's the time, 
 That I should do what I abhor to name, 
 Or else thou dicst to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Thou shalt not do't. 
 
 huh. O, were it but my life, 
 I'd throw it down for your deliverance 
 As frankly as a pin. 
 
 Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 
 
 hah. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him. 
 That thus can make him bite the law by the nose. 
 When he would force it 1 Sure it is no sin ; 
 Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 
 
 hab. Which is the least ? 
 
 Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise, 
 Why, would he for the momentary trick 
 I3e perdurably fin'd — O Isabel ! 
 
 hah. What says my brother ? 
 
 Claud. Death is a fearful thing. 
 
 hab. And shamed life a hateful. 
 
 Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where, 
 To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot: 
 r .is sensible warm motion to become 
 X kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
 To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
 In thrilling regions of thick ribbed ice ; 
 To 1 r. imprison'd in the viewless winds. 
 And blown with restless violence round about 
 riie ])cndant world ; or to be worse than worst 
 t)f those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
 Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible ! 
 The weariest and most loathed worldly life. 
 That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment 
 Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
 To what we fear of death. 
 
 hab. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Claud. Sweet sister, let me live: 
 
 What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
 Nature disjienscs with the deed so far. 
 That it becomes a virtue. 
 
 Jf^fli- O, you beast ! 
 
 "». faithless coward ! 0, dishonest wretch ! 
 
 Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ? 
 
 Is't not a kind of incest, to take life [think 1 
 
 From thine own sister's shame ] What should I 
 
 Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fan-! 
 
 For such a warped slip of wilderness 
 
 Ne'er issu'd from his blood, 'i'ake my defiance • 
 
 Die; perish ! might but my bending down 
 
 Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed 
 
 I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
 
 No word to save thee. 
 
 Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 
 
 hab. C , fye, 'j e ff € 
 
 Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade : 
 Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: 
 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [^Going 
 
 Claud. O hear me, Isabella. 
 
 Re-enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but ona 
 word. 
 
 hab. What is your will 1 
 
 Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I 
 would by and by have some speech with you : the 
 satisfaction I would require, is liliewise your own 
 benefit. 
 
 hah. I have no superfluous leisure ; my stay 
 must be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend 
 you awhile. 
 
 Duke. [7b Claudio, aside.^ Son, I have over 
 heard what hath passed between you and your sister. 
 Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her ; only 
 he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise 
 his judgment with the disposition of natures ; she, 
 having the truth of honor in her, hath made him 
 that gracious denial which he is most glad to receive: 
 I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be 
 true ; therefore prepare yourself to death : Do not 
 satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible : 
 to-moiTOw you must die ; go to your knees, and 
 make ready. 
 
 Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so 
 out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it. 
 
 Duke. Hold you there : Farewell. \^Exit Claudio. 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 
 Provost, a word with you. 
 
 Prov. What's your will, father ? 
 
 Duke. That now you are come you will be gone. 
 Leave me awhile with the maid ; my mind pro- 
 mises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my 
 company. 
 
 Prov. In good time. [Exit Provost. 
 
 Duke. The hand that hath made you fiiir, hath 
 made you good : the goodness that is cheap in 
 beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness : but grace, 
 being the soul of your complexion, should keep 
 the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo 
 hath made to you, fortune hath convcy'd to my 
 understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples 
 for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How 
 would you do to content this substitute, and to 
 save your brothei ? 
 
 Isab. I am now going to resolve him : I had 
 rather my brother die by the law, than my son 
 should be unlawfully born. But O, how much is 
 the good duke deceived in Angelo! If ever ho 
 return, and I can speak to him, I will open mv 
 lips in vain, or discover his government. 
 
 Duke. That shall not be much amiss : Yet, aa 
 the matter now stands, he will avoid your accu 
 sation ; he made trial of you only. — Therefor«^ 
 
100 
 
 MEASUEE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act Til 
 
 iisti'ii your rar on my advisings : to the love I 
 li;ivc in doing good, a remedy presents itself. I 
 do make myself believe, that you may most up- 
 righfeously do a poor wronged lady a merited 
 benefit ; redeem your brother from the angry law ; 
 do no stain to your own gracious person ; and 
 much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he 
 shill ever return to have hearing of this business. 
 
 Isuh. liCt me hear you speak further ; I have 
 spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the 
 f ruth of my spirit. 
 
 DuLe. Virtue i.s bold, and goodness never fearful. 
 Have you not heard speak of Mariana the sister of 
 Frederick, the great soldier, who miscarried at sea? 
 
 hah. I have heard of tlie lady, and good words 
 went with her name. 
 
 Duke. Her should this Angelo have married ; was 
 affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed : 
 between which time of the contract, and limit of 
 the .solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked 
 at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of 
 his sister. But mark, how heavily this befel to the 
 poor gentlewoman : there she lost a noble and re- 
 nowned brother, in his love toward her ever most 
 kind and natural ; with him, the portion and sinew 
 of her fortune, her marriage-dowry ; with both, her 
 combinate'' husband, this well-seeming Angelo. 
 
 Isab. Can this be so ] Did Angelo so leave her 1 
 
 Duke. Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of 
 them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole, 
 pretending in her discoveries of dishonor : in few, 
 bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she 
 yet wears for his sake ; and he, a marble to her 
 tears, is washed with them, but relents not. 
 
 Isab. What a merit were it m death, to take 
 this poor maiden from the world ! What corrup- 
 tion in this life, that it will let this man live ! — but 
 how out of this can she avail ? 
 
 Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal : 
 and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but 
 keeps you from dishonor in doing it. 
 
 Isuh. Show me how, good father. 
 
 Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the 
 continuance of her first affection ; his unjust un- 
 kindness, that in all reason should havo quenched 
 her love, hath, like an impediment in the cunent, 
 made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo ; 
 answer his requiring with a plausible obedience ; 
 agree with his demands to the point : only refer 
 yourself to this advantage, — first, that your stay 
 with him may not be long ; that the time may have 
 all shadow and silence in it ; and the place answer 
 to convenience : this being granted in course, now 
 follows all. We shall advise this wronged maid to 
 stead up your appointment, go in your place ; if the 
 encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may 
 • compel him to her recompense : and here, by this, 
 is your brother saved, your honor untainted, the 
 poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy 
 scaled." The maid will I frame, and make fit for 
 his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you 
 may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the de- 
 ceit from reproof. What think yon of it ? 
 
 hah. The image of it gives me content already; and 
 I trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. 
 
 Duke. It lies much in your holding up : Haste 
 you speedily to Angelo ; if for this night he entreat 
 you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I 
 will presently to St. Luke's ; there, at the moated 
 
 » Betrothed. 
 
 ' Over-reached. 
 
 grange, resides this dejected Mariana: Attha 
 place call upon me ; and despatch with Angelo, lh» 
 it may be quickly. 
 
 hah. I thank you for this comfort: Fare you 
 well, good father. \_Exeu7it s:.veraii^ 
 
 SCENE II.— T/;e Street before the I rison. 
 
 Enter Duke, as a friar ,- to him Elbow, Clown, 
 and Officers. 
 
 Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy of it, but that 
 you will needs buy and sell men and' women like 
 beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and 
 white bastard.' 
 
 Duke. O, heavens ! what stuff is here ; 
 
 Clo. 'Twas never merry world, since, of twc 
 usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser 
 allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him 
 warm; and furr'd with fox and lamb skins too, to 
 signify, that craft, being richer than innocency, 
 stands for the facing. 
 
 Elb. Come your way, sir; — Bless you, good fa 
 ther friar. 
 
 Duke. And you, good brother father: What 
 offence hath this man made you, sir ? 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law ; and, 
 sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir : for we have 
 found upon him^ sir, a strange pick-lock, which we 
 have sent to the deputy. 
 
 Duke. Fye, sirrah ; a bawd, a wicked bawd ! 
 The evil that thou causest to be done. 
 That is thy means to live : do thou but think 
 What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back, 
 From such a filthy vice : say to thyself, — 
 From their abominable and beastly touches 
 I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. 
 Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 
 So stinkingly depending 1 Go, mend, go, menu. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, it docs stink in some sort, sir ; bm 
 yet, sir, I would prove [for sin, 
 
 Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs 
 Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer ; 
 Correction and instruction must both work. 
 Ere this rude beast will profit. 
 
 Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has given 
 him warning ; the deputy cannot abide a whore- 
 master: if he be a whoremonger, and comes before 
 him, he were as good go a mile on his en^and. 
 
 Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be. 
 Free from our faults, as faults from seeming free ! 
 
 Enter Lucto. 
 
 Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir 
 
 Clo. I spy comfort ; I cry bail : Here's a gentle- 
 man, and a friend of mine. 
 
 Lucia. How now, noble Pompcy .' What, at the 
 heels of Cffisar ? Art thou led in triumph 1 What 
 is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly mado 
 woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the 
 pocket, and extracting it clutch'd 1 What reply 1 
 Ha 1 What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and 
 method ? Is't not drown'd i' the last rain 1 Ha 1 
 What say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it v/as 
 man ? Which is the way ? Is it sad, and few words ? 
 Or how ? The trick of it ? 
 
 Duke. Still thus, and thus ! still worse . 
 
 Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistres* 
 Procures she still ? Ha ? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef 
 and she is herself hi the tub.* 
 
 » A sweet wine. 
 
 « Powdering tub 
 
OCENE 11. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MI^ASURE. 
 
 101 
 
 Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it ; it 
 must be so : ever your fresh whore, and j >ur pov/- 
 der'd bawd : i»n unshunn'd consequence ; it must 
 be so : art going to prison, Pompey ? 
 
 Clo. Yes, faith, sir. 
 
 Lticio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey : Farewell : 
 (lO ; say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey ? 
 Or how ? 
 
 El/j. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 
 
 Lucio. Well, then imprison him : if imprison- 
 ment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right : 
 bawd is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too ; bawd- 
 born. Farewell, good Pompey : commend me to 
 the prison, Pompey ; you will turn good husband 
 now, Pompey ; you will keep the house.' 
 
 Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. 
 
 Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it is not 
 the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your 
 bondage : if you take it not patiently, why your 
 mettle is the more : Adieu, trusty Pompey. — Bless 
 you, friar. 
 
 Duke. And you. 
 
 Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey ? Ha 1 
 
 Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 
 
 Clo. You will not bail me then, sir 1 
 
 lAicio. Then, Pompey ? nor now — What news 
 abroad, friar ? Wliat news ] 
 
 Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. 
 
 Lticio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go : 
 
 [Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers. 
 What news, friar, of the duke ] 
 
 Duke. I know none : Can you tell me of any 1 
 
 Lucio. Some say, he is with the emperor of 
 Russia ; other some, he is in Rome : But where is 
 he, think you 1 
 
 Duke. I know not where : But wheresoever, I 
 wish him well. 
 
 Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to 
 steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was 
 never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his 
 absence ; he puts transgression to't. 
 
 Duke. He does well in't. 
 
 Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do 
 no harm in him : something too crabbed that way, 
 friar. [cure it. 
 
 Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 
 
 Lticio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great 
 kindred • it is well allied : but it is impossible to 
 extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put 
 down. They say, this Angelo was not made by 
 man and woman, after the downright way of crea- 
 tion : is it true, think you ? 
 
 Duke. How should he be made then ? 
 
 Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him : — 
 Some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes : 
 but it is certain, that when he makes water, his 
 urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true : and, 
 he is a motion' ungcnerative, that's infallible. 
 
 Duke. You are pleasant, sir ; and speak apace. 
 
 Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in 
 him, for the rebellion of a cod-piece, to take away 
 the life of a man ? Would the duke, that is absent, 
 have done this ] Ere he would have liang'd a man 
 for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have 
 paid for the nursing a thousand : he hid some feel- 
 ing of the sport ; he knew the service, and that in- 
 structed him to mercy. 
 
 Duke. I never heard the absent Juke much d(- 
 tccted for women ; lie w?s not inclined »hat way. 
 
 1 Stay at borne. • Pnppf I. 
 
 8 
 
 Lucio. O sir, you are deceived. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis not possible. 
 
 Lucio. Who? not the duke] yes, your beggar of 
 fifty; — and his use was, to put a ducat in hei 
 clack-dish :' the duke had crochets in hun : Ha 
 would be drunk too ; that let me inform you. 
 
 Duke. You do him vn-ong, surely. 
 
 Ijucio. Sir, I was an inward of his : a shy fel'ow 
 was the duke : and I beUeve I know the cause of 
 his withdrawing. 
 
 Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause ? 
 
 Lucio. No, — pardon ; — 'tis a secret must be 
 lock'd within the teeth and the lips: but this I caa 
 let you understand, — The greater file of the bi b- 
 ject held the duke to be wise. 
 
 Duke. Wise 1 why, no question but he was. 
 
 Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing 
 fellow. 
 
 Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistak- 
 ing ; the very stream of his life, and the business he 
 hath helmed,' must, upon a warranted need, give 
 him a better proclamation. Let him be but testi- 
 monied in his own bringings forth, and he shall 
 appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and 
 a soldier ; Therefore, you speak unskilfully ; or, if 
 your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd in 
 your malice. 
 
 Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 
 
 Duke. "Love talks with better knowledge, and 
 knowledge with dearer love. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 
 
 Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know 
 not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, 
 (as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to 
 make your answer before him : if it be honest you 
 have spoke, you have courage to maintain it : I am 
 bound to call upon you : and, I pray you, your name ? 
 
 Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to 
 the duke. 
 
 Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may 
 live to report you. 
 
 Lucio. I fear you not. 
 
 Duke. 0, you hope the duke will return no 
 more ; or you imagine me too unhurtfui an oppo- 
 site. But, indeed, I can do you httle harm : you'll 
 forswear this again. 
 
 Lucio. I'll be hanged first : thou art deceived in 
 me, friar. But no more of this : can'st thou tell, if 
 Claudio die to-morrow, or no T 
 
 Duke. Why should he die, sir 1 
 
 Lucio. M'^hy ? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. 
 I would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again : 
 this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province 
 with continency ; sparrows must not build in hii 
 house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke 
 yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd , he 
 would never bring them to light : would he ■^erc 
 return'd ! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for 
 untrussing. Farewell, good friar : I pr'ythee pray 
 for me. The duke, I say to thee again, would eat 
 mutton on Fridays. He's now past it ; yet, and I 
 say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though 
 she .smelt brown bread and garlic : say, that I said 
 so. Farewell. [Exit 
 
 Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
 Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny 
 
 » Clack-ilhh : The beggars, two or three ronturies ago, 
 u.'sed to proclaim their want by a wooden dish with a 
 moveable cover, which they clacked, to s'low that theil 
 vessel wi.s empty. 
 
 I Gaid.-d. 
 
102 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 The whitest virtue strikes : What king so strong, 
 Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? 
 But who comes here 1 
 
 Enter Escalus, Provost, Bawd, and Officers. 
 
 Escal. Go, away with her to prison. 
 
 Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honor 
 is accounted a merciful man : good my lord. 
 
 Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still 
 forfeit" in the same kind ! This would make mercy 
 swear, and play the tyrant. 
 
 Prov. A bawd of eleven years continuance, may 
 it please your honor. 
 
 Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information 
 against me : mistress Kate Keep-down was with 
 child by him in the duke's time, he promised her 
 marriage ; his child is a year and a quarter old, 
 come Philip and Jacob : I have kept it myself; and 
 see how he goes about to abuse me. 
 
 Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much license : 
 — let him be called before us. — Away with her to 
 prison : Go to ; no more words. [^Exeunt Bawd and 
 Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be 
 altered ; Claudio must die to-morrow : let iiim lie 
 furnished with divines, and have all charitable pre- 
 paration : if my brother wrought by my pity, it 
 should not be so with him. 
 
 Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, 
 and advised him for the entertainment of death. 
 
 Escal. Good even, good father. 
 
 Duke. Bliss and goodness on you ! 
 
 Escal. Of whence are you ? 
 
 Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is 
 To use it for my time : I am a brother [now 
 
 Of gracious order, late come from the see. 
 In special business from his holiness. 
 
 Escal. What news abroad i' the world 1 
 
 Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on 
 goodness that the dissolution of it must cure it: 
 novelty is only in request ; and it is as dangerous 
 to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to 
 be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce 
 truth enough alive, to make societies secure ; but 
 security enough, to make fellowship accurs'd : much 
 upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. 
 This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. 
 I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke ? 
 
 Escal. One that, above all other strifes, con- 
 tended especially to know himself. 
 
 Duke. What pleasure was he given to ? 
 
 Escal. Rather rejoicing to see zv )\hcr merry, 
 than m<;rry at any thing which profeus'd to make 
 him rejoice: a gentleman of all ten-.f eiance. But 
 leave we him to his events, with a praver they may 
 prove prosperous : and let me desire to know how 
 you find Claudio prepared. I am made to under- 
 stand, that you have lent him visitation. 
 
 Duke. He professes to have received no sinister 
 measure from his judge, but most willingly huml)l(^s 
 himself to the determination of justice : yet had he 
 framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailly, 
 many deceiving promises of life : which I, by my 
 good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is 
 he resolved to die. 
 
 Escal. Yot have paid the heavens your function, 
 and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. ] 
 have labor'd for the poor gentleman, to the cx- 
 tremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother 
 justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced 
 me to tell him, he is indeed — ^justice. 
 
 Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of hia 
 pi-oceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, if 
 he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. 
 
 Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner : Fare 
 you well. 
 
 Duke. Peace be with you ! 
 
 [^Exeunt Escalus and Provost 
 
 He, who the sword of heaven would bear 
 
 Should be as holy as severe ; 
 
 Pattern in himself to know, 
 
 Grace to stand, and virtue go ; 
 
 More or less to others paying, 
 
 Than by self-offences weighing. 
 
 Shame to him, whose cruel striking 
 
 Kills for faults of his own liking ! 
 
 Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
 
 To weed my vice and let his grow ! 
 
 O, what may man within him hide. 
 
 Though angel on the outward side ! 
 
 How may likeness, made in crimes, 
 
 Making practice on the times. 
 
 Draw with idle spiders' strings 
 
 Most pond'rous and substantial things ! 
 
 Craft against vice I must apply : 
 
 With Angelo to-night shall lie 
 
 His old betrothed, but despis'd ; 
 
 So disguise shall, by the disguis'd, 
 
 Pay with falsehood false exacting, 
 
 And perform an old contracting. [Ejnt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Mariana's House. 
 S\ KYUkU A discovered sitting ; a Boy singing. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Take, oh, fake those lips away, 
 
 That so sweetly ivere forsworn ,- 
 And those eyes, the break of day. 
 
 Lights that do mislead the morn ; 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 bring again, 
 Sea/s of love, but seaPd 'n vain, 
 
 seal'd in vain. 
 
 Mart. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick 
 airay ; 
 
 'Transgress. 
 
 Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice 
 Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. — 
 
 \_Exii n< y 
 Enter Duke. 
 I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish 
 You had not found me here so musical : 
 Let me excuse me, and believe me so, — 
 My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis good : though music oft hath such 
 a charm, 
 To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. 
 I pray you, tell me, hath any body enquired for me 
 here to-day 1 much upon this time have I promis'd 
 here to meet. 
 
 Mari. You have not been inquired after : I havf 
 sat here all day. 
 
Scene II 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 103 
 
 Enter Isabella 
 
 Duke. I do constantly heliove you : — The time 
 Is come even now. I shall crave your forbearance 
 a little : mny be, I will call upon you anon, for 
 r,omc advantage to yourself. 
 
 Mari. I am always bound to you. \Exit. 
 
 Duke. Very v/ell met, ant! welcome. 
 What is the news from this good deputy 1 
 
 Isab. He hath a garden circummur'd^ with brick, 
 Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; 
 And to that vineyard is a planched* gate, 
 That makes his opening with this bigger key : 
 This other doth command a little door, 
 Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
 There have I made my promise to call on him, 
 Upon the heavy middle of the night. 
 
 Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find 
 this way T 
 
 Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't ; 
 With whispering and most guilty diligence, 
 In action all of precept, he did show me 
 The way twice o'er. 
 
 Duke. Are there no other tokens 
 
 Between you 'greed, concerning her observance ? 
 
 hah. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ; 
 And that I have possess'd him, my most stay 
 Can be but brief: for I have made him know, 
 I have a servant comes with me along, 
 That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is, 
 I come about my brother. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis well borne up. 
 
 r have not yet made known to Mariana 
 A word of this : — What ho ! within ! come forth ! 
 
 Re-enter Mariana. 
 I pray you, be acquainted with this maid ; 
 She comes to do you good. 
 
 Isab. I do desire the like. 
 
 Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect 
 you ? 
 
 Mari. Good friar, I know you do ; and have 
 found it. 
 
 Duke. Take then this your companion by the 
 hand. 
 Who hath a story ready for your ear : 
 [ shall attend your leisure ; but make haste ; 
 The vaporous night approaches. 
 
 Mari. Will 't please you walk aside ! 
 
 ^Exeunt Mariana and Isabella. 
 
 Duke. place and greatness, millions of false 
 Are stuck upon thee ! volumes of report [eyes 
 Hun with these false and most contrarious quests' 
 Upon thy doings ! thousand 'scapes' of wit 
 Make thee the father of their idle dream, 
 And rack thee in their fancies ! — Welcome ! How 
 agreed ? 
 
 Re-enter Mariana, and Isabella. 
 
 hab She'll take the enterprise upon her, father. 
 If you advise it. 
 
 Duke. It is not my consent, 
 
 But my intrcaty too. 
 
 hab. Little have you to say, 
 
 When you depart from him, but soft and low, 
 Netne ruber now nit/ brother. 
 
 Man. Fear me not. 
 
 Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear not you at all : 
 lie is your husband on a pre-contnlct : 
 To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin ; 
 
 ' Wiillcd round. 
 
 ' Inquisitions, InquirieB 
 
 « Planked, wooden. 
 • SaUies. 
 
 Sith that the justice of your title to him 
 Doth flourish'' the deceit. Come, let us go ; 
 Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's' to sow. 
 
 [^Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in the Prison 
 Enter Provost and Clown. 
 
 Prov. Come hither, sirrah : Can you cut ofi a 
 man's head ? 
 
 Clo. If the man be a batchelor, sir, I can : but if 
 he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I 
 can never cut off a woman's head 1 
 
 Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and 
 yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are 
 to die Claudio and Barnardine : here is in our pri- 
 son a common executioner, who in his office lacks 
 a helper : if you will take it on you to assist him, 
 it shall redeem you from your gyves ;' if not, you 
 shall have your full time of imprisonment, and youi 
 deliverance with an unpitied whipping ; for you 
 have been a notorious bawd. 
 
 C/o. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time 
 out of mind ; but yet I will be content to be a law 
 ful hangman. I would be glad to receive some 
 instruction from my fellow-partner. 
 
 Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where's Abhorson, 
 there ? 
 
 Enter Abhorson. 
 
 Abhor. Do you call, sir 1 
 
 Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to- 
 morrow in your execution : If you think it meet, 
 compound with him by the year, and let him abide 
 here with you ? if not, use him for the present, and 
 dismiss him : he cannot plead his estimation with 
 you ; he hath been a bawd. 
 
 Abhor. A bawd, sir? Fye upon him, he will 
 discredit our mystery.' 
 
 Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equally ; a feather 
 will turn the .scale. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favor, (for, surely, sir, 
 a good favor you have, but that you have a haiiging 
 look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery ? 
 
 Abhor. Ay, sir ; a mystery. 
 
 Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mys- 
 tery ; and your whores, sir, being members of my 
 occupation, using painting, do prove my occupa 
 tion a mystery : but what mystery there should bo 
 in hanging, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine. 
 
 Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 
 
 Clo. Proof. 
 
 Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: 
 if it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks 
 it big enough ; if it be too big for your thief, your 
 thief thinks it little enough : so every true man's 
 apparel fits your thief. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 
 Prov. Are you agreed 1 
 
 Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find, your 
 hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd ; 
 he doth often ask forgiveness. 
 
 Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your 
 axe, to-morrow, four o'clock. 
 
 Abhor. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct thee in 
 my trade ; follow. 
 
 Clo. I do desire to learn, sir ; and, I hope, if you 
 have occasion to use me for your own turn, jo»' 
 
 1 Oilil, or Tarnish over. 
 
 • Tilth, land prepared for sowing. 
 
 • Fetters. 
 
 'Trada 
 
104 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act ly 
 
 shall find me yaie ;° for truly, air, far your lyndness, 
 I owe you a good turn. 
 
 Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio: 
 [Exeunt Clown and ABHonsojf 
 One lias my {)ity ; not a jot the other, 
 Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 
 
 Enter Claudio. 
 
 Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death : 
 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow 
 Thou must be made immortal. Where's Bainardiiie! 
 Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless 
 labor 
 When t lies starkly in the traveller's bones : 
 He will not wake. 
 
 Prov. Who can do good on him? 
 
 Well, go, prepare yourself. B at hnrk, what noise ? 
 
 [Knocking williin. 
 Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [Exit CLAUiiio. 
 
 By and by: — 
 I hope it is some pardon or reprieve, 
 For the most gentle Claudio. — ^Welcome, father. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the 
 night 
 Envelope you, good provost! Who call'd here of late? 
 
 Prov. None, since the curlew rung. 
 
 Duke. Not Isabel ? 
 
 Prov. No. 
 
 Duke. They will then, ere't be long. 
 
 Prov. What comlbrt is for Claudio? 
 
 Duke. There's some in hope. 
 
 Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 
 
 Duke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd 
 Even with the stroke and line of his great justice ; 
 He doth with holy abstinence subdue 
 That in himself which he spurs on his power 
 To qualify in others: werchemeal'd' 
 With that which he con-ects, then were he tyrannous; 
 But this being so, he's just. — Now are they come. 
 
 [Knocking within. — Provost goes out. 
 This is a gentle provost: Seldom, when 
 The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. — 
 How now ? what noise ? That spirit's possess'd with 
 
 haste. 
 That wounds the unsisting postern with these 
 strokes. 
 
 Provost returns, speaking to one at the door. 
 
 Prov. There he must stay until the officer 
 Arise to let him in; he is calTd up. 
 
 Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet. 
 But he must die to-morrow ? 
 
 Prov. None sir, none. 
 
 Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, 
 \'()u shall hear more ere morning. 
 
 Prov. Happily,' 
 
 Yoix something know ; yet, I believe, there comes 
 No countermand ; no such example have we: 
 Besides, upon the very siege' of justice, 
 Lord Angelo hath to the public ear 
 Profess'd the contrary. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Duke. This is his lordship's man. 
 Prov. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 
 Mess. My ' rd hath sent you tliis note ; and by 
 tte this furthi r tharge, that you swerve not from 
 
 • Ready. 
 
 • Perhaps. 
 
 ' Defiled. 
 •Seat. 
 
 the smallest article of it, neither in time, mattei 
 or other circum.stance. Goo/' morrow; for, as 1 
 take it, it is almost day. 
 
 Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenget 
 
 Duke. This is his pardon ;purchas'd by such sin 
 
 [Aside. 
 For which the pardoner himself is in; 
 Hence hath oflcnce his quick celerity, 
 When it is borne in high authority : 
 When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended. 
 That for the fault's love, is the offender friended. - 
 Now, sir, what news? 
 
 Prov. I told you ; Lord Angelo, belike, thinking 
 me remiss in mine office, awakens m« with this un 
 wonted putting on: methinks, strangely; for he 
 hath not used it before. 
 
 Duke. Pray you, let's hear. 
 
 Prov. [Reads.] Whatsoever you may hear to the 
 contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the 
 clock: and, in the afternoon, Barnardine: for my 
 better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's head sent 
 me by Jive. Let this be duly performed: with a 
 thought, that more depends on it than ive must 
 yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your office, ai 
 you ivill ansiver it at your peril. 
 What say you to this, sir ? 
 
 Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be 
 executed in the afternoon ? 
 
 Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed up 
 and bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old.' 
 
 Duke. How came it, that the absent duke had 
 not either delivered him to his liberty, or executed 
 him ? I have heard, it was ever his manner to do so. 
 
 Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him ; 
 And, indeed, his fact, till now in the government 
 of lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. 
 
 Duke. Is it now apparent? 
 
 Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. 
 
 Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? 
 How seems he to be touch'd ? 
 
 Pror. A man that apprehends death no more, 
 dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep; careless, reck- 
 less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come ; 
 insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. 
 
 Duke. He wants advice. 
 
 Prov. He will hear none : he hath evermore had 
 the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape 
 hence, he would not; drunk many times a day, if 
 not many days entirely drunk. Wc have very 
 often awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, 
 and showed him a seeming warrant for it ; it hath 
 not moved him at all. 
 
 Duke. More of him anon. There is written in 
 your brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if 1 
 read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; bu» 
 in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself m 
 hazard. Claudio, whom here you have a waiTant 
 to execute, is no gi-eater forfeit to the law than 
 Angelo who hath sentenced him : To make you 
 understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but 
 four days' respite ; for the which you are to do me 
 both a present and a dangerous courtesy. 
 
 Prov. Pray, sir, in what? 
 
 Duke. In the delaying death. 
 
 Pro*. Alack ! how may I do it — having the houi 
 limited ; and an express command, under penalty, 
 to deliver his head in the view of Angelo ? I mav 
 make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in thi 
 sninllost. 
 
 ' Nine years in prisoD 
 
PCENE III. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 105 
 
 Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, 
 if my instructions may be your guide. Let this 
 Barnardinc he tlus morning executed, and hi.s head 
 borne to Angclo. 
 
 Prov. Angcio hath seen them both, and will dis- 
 Rover the tavor.* 
 
 Duke. O, death's a great disguiser: and you 
 may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard ; 
 and say, it was the desire of the penitent to be so 
 bared before his death : you know, the course is 
 common. If any thing fall to you upon this, more 
 than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom 
 I profess, I will plead against it with my life. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, good father ; it is against my 
 oath. 
 
 Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the 
 
 Prov. To him, an<l to his substitutes, [deputy ? 
 
 Duke. You will think you have made no offence, 
 if Ihc duke avouch the justice of your dealing? 
 
 Pruv. But what likelihood is in that? 
 
 Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet 
 since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, in- 
 tegrity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt 
 you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all 
 fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand 
 and seal of the duke. You know the character, I 
 doubt not ; and the signet is not strange to you. 
 
 Prov. I know them both. 
 
 Duke. The contents of this is the return of the 
 duke ; you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure ; 
 where you shall find, within these two days he will 
 be here. Tliis is a thing that Angelo knows not ; 
 for he this very day receives letters of strange tenor: 
 perchance, of the duke's death ; perchance, entering 
 into some monastery ; but, by chance, nothing of 
 what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the 
 shepherd : put not yourself into amazement, how 
 these things should be ; all difficulties are but easy 
 when they are known. Call your executioner, and 
 off with Barnardine's head : I will give him a pre- 
 sent shrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet 
 you are amazed ; but this shall absolutely resolve 
 you. Come away, it is almost clear dawn. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE in. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in 
 <>ur house of profession ; one would think it were 
 mistress Overdone's own house, for here be many 
 of her old customers. First, here's young master 
 Rash ; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and 
 old ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds ; of 
 which he made five marks, ready money : marry, 
 then, ginger was not much in request, for the old 
 women were all dead. Then there is here one 
 master Caper, at the suit of master Three-pile the 
 mercer, for some four suits of peach-color'd satin, 
 which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we 
 here young Dizy, and young master Deep-vow, and 
 master Copper-spur, and master Star\e-lackey the 
 rapier and dagger-man, and young Drop-heir that 
 kill'd lusty Pudding, and mas'er Forthright the 
 tilter, and i)ravc master Shoe-tie the great traveller, 
 and wild Half-cann that stabb'd Potts, ind, I think, 
 forty more ; all great doers in our trade, and are 
 now foi th ' Lord's sake. 
 
 Enter Abhorson. 
 Abhor. Sin ah, bring Barnardine hither. 
 'Coontenance. 
 
 Clo. Master Barnardine! you must lisc and b« 
 hang'd, master Barnardine ! 
 
 Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine ! 
 
 Barnar. [^WUhin.l A pox o' your throats! 
 Who makes that noise there ? What are you ? 
 
 Clo. Your friends, sir, the hangmen : You must 
 be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 
 
 Barnar. [^Within.'] Away, you rogue, away ; I 
 am sleepy. 
 
 Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that 
 quickly too. 
 
 Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till yaa 
 are executed, and sleep aftei-wards. 
 
 Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him oi t. 
 
 Clo. He is coming, sir, h« is coming ; I Ite&i hia 
 straw rustle. 
 
 Enter Barnardine. 
 
 Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? 
 
 Clo. Very ready, sir. 
 
 Barnar. How now, Abhorson 1 what's the news 
 with you ? 
 
 Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into 
 your prayers : for, look you, the warrant's come. 
 
 Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking al' 
 night ; I am not fitted for't. 
 
 Ch. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all 
 night, and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may 
 sleep the sounder all the next day. 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Abhor. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly 
 father : Do we jest now, think you ? 
 
 Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing 
 how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise 
 you, comfort you, and pray with you. 
 
 Barnar. Friar, not I ; I have been drinking hard 
 all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, 
 or they .shall beat out my brains with billets : I will 
 not consent to die this day, that's certain. 
 
 Duke. O, sir, you must : and therefore I beseech 
 Look forward on the journey you shall go. [you, 
 
 Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any 
 man's persuasion. 
 
 Duke. But hear you — 
 
 Barnar. Not a word; if you have any thing to 
 say to me, come to my ward ; for thence will not 
 I to-day. ^Exit. 
 
 Enter Provost. 
 
 Duke. Unfit to live, or die : 0, gravel heart ! — 
 After him, fellows ; bring him to the block. 
 
 [^Exeunt Abhorson and Clown. 
 
 Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner ? 
 
 Duke. A creature unprepared, unmeet for death; 
 And, to transport him in the mind Le is. 
 Were damnable. 
 
 Prov. Here, in the prison, father. 
 
 There died this morning of a cruel fever 
 One Ragozinc, a most notorious pirate, 
 A man of Claudio's years ; his beard and head, 
 Just of his color : What if we do omit 
 This reprobate, till he were well inclined ; 
 And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
 Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ? 
 
 Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provide* 
 Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on 
 Prefix'd by Angelo: Sec this be done, 
 And sent according to command ; whiles 1 
 Persuade lliis rude wretch willingly to die. 
 
 Prov. This shall be done, good father, prescnllv 
 But Barnardine must die this afternoon : 
 
106 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 And how ->hiill wc coiitinuo (Jla'.dio, 
 
 To save inc fnmi the danger lh<it might come, 
 
 If he wore known alive? 
 
 Duke. IjcI this l)e done: put them in secret holds, 
 Both Barnardino and Chiudio : Ere twice 
 The sun hath made his journal greeting to 
 The under generation,' you shall find 
 Your safety manifested. 
 
 Prtrv. I am your free dependant. 
 
 Duke. Quick, despatch. 
 
 And send the head to Angclo. [^Exit Provost. 
 
 Now will I write letters to Angelo, — 
 The provost, he shall hear them, whose contents 
 Shall witness to him, I am near at home ; 
 And that by great injunctions I am bound 
 To enter publicly : him I'll desire 
 To meet me at the consecrated fount, 
 A league below the city; and from thence, 
 By cold gradation and wcal-balanccd form, 
 We shall proceed with Angelo. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 
 Prov. Here is the head ; I'll carry it myself. 
 
 Duke. Convenient is it : Make a swift return ; 
 For I would commune with you of such things. 
 That want no car but yours. 
 
 I'rov. I'll make all speed. [Exit. 
 
 hah. [ Within.'] Peace, ho, be here ! 
 
 Duke. The tongue of Isabel : — She's come to 
 know. 
 If yet her brother's pardon be come hither: 
 But I will keep her ignorant of her good, 
 I'o make her heavenly comforts of despair, 
 When it is least expected. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 hnl). Ho, by your leave. 
 
 Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 
 daughter. 
 
 I.snh. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
 Vlath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? 
 
 Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the 
 His head is off, and sent to Angelo. [world : 
 
 Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 
 
 Duke. It is no other : 
 
 Slio'.v your wisdom,daughter, in your close patience. 
 
 hat). O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes. 
 
 Duke. You shall not be admitted to his siglit. 
 
 hah. Unhappy Claudio ! Wretched Isabel ! 
 Injurious world ! Most damned Angelo ! 
 
 Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot ; 
 Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. 
 Mark what I say; which you shall find 
 By every syllable, a faithful verity : 
 Tlu- duke comes home to-morrow ; — nay, dry your 
 
 eyes ; 
 One of our convent, and his confessor. 
 Gives me this instance: Already he hath carried 
 Notice to Escalus and Angelo ; 
 ^^'llo do prepare to meet liim at the gates. 
 There to give up their power. If you can, pace 
 
 your wisdom 
 In that good path that I would wish it go; 
 And you shall have your bosom' on this vrretch, 
 Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart. 
 And general honor. 
 
 hah. I am directed by you. 
 
 Duke. This letter then to friar Peter give ; 
 *Tis that he sent me of the duke's return : 
 Bay, bj this token, I desire his company 
 
 » The antipodes « Your heart's deeiro. 
 
 At Mariana's house to-nigUt. Her cause, and yours 
 I'll perfect him witlial ; and he shall bring you 
 Before the duke; and to the head of Angclo 
 Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self, 
 I am combined by a sacred vow. 
 And shall be absent. Wend* you with this letter'. 
 Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
 With a light heart; trust not my holy order 
 If I pervert your course. — Who's here T 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Good even i 
 
 Friar, where is the provost ? 
 
 Duke. Not within, sir. 
 
 Lucio. 0, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, 
 to see thine eyes so red : thou must be patient: I am 
 fain to dine and sup with water and bran ; I dare 
 not for my head fill my belly ; one fruitful meal 
 would set me to't: But they say the duke will be 
 here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy 
 brother: if the old fantastic duke of dark corners 
 had been at home, he had lived. \_Exit Isabella, 
 
 Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden 
 to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them. 
 
 Lucio. Friar, thou knowcst not the duke so well 
 as I do : he's a better woodman than thou takest 
 him for. 
 
 Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare 
 ye well. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I'll go along with thee ; I 
 can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. 
 
 Duke. You have told me too many of him 
 already, sir, if they be true ; if not true, none were 
 enough. 
 
 Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench 
 with child. 
 
 Duke. Did you such a thing ? 
 
 Lucio. Yes, marry, did I : but was fain to for- 
 swear it ; they would else have married me to the 
 rotten medlar. 
 
 Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest : 
 Rest you well. 
 
 Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the 
 lane's end : If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have 
 very little of it: Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr, I 
 shall stick. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Room in Angelo's House. 
 
 Enter Angelo and Escalds. 
 
 Escal. Every letter he hath yrc'it hath disvouch'd 
 other. 
 
 Ang. In most uneven and distracted maimer. 
 His actions show much like to madness : pray 
 heaven, his wisdom be not tainted ! And why 
 meet him at the gates, and re-dehver our authori' 
 ties there ? 
 
 Escal. I guess not. 
 
 Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an houi 
 before his entering, that, if any crave redress of 
 injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in lh« 
 street ? 
 
 Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have a 
 despatch of complaints; and to deliver us from 
 devices hereafter, which shall then have no powei 
 to stand against us. 
 
 Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd 
 Betimes i' the morn, I'll call you at your house : 
 Give notice to such men of sort and suit" 
 As are to meet him. 
 
 Escal. I shall, sir : fare you well. [Exit 
 
 I Qo. (Figure aitd ranK. 
 
Scene Y. 
 
 MEASUIlli FOR MEASURE. 
 
 101 
 
 Ang. Good wighl. 
 This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpreg- 
 
 nant, 
 And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! 
 And by an eminent body, that enforced 
 The law against it! — but that her tender shame 
 Will not proclaim against her maiden loss. 
 How might she tongue mc 1 Yet reason dares 
 
 her 1 — no : 
 For my authority bears a credent bulk, 
 That no particular scandal once can touch. 
 But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, 
 Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, 
 Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge, 
 By so receiving a dishonor'd life. 
 With ransom of such shame. 'Would yet he had 
 
 lived ! 
 Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, 
 Vothing goes right ; we would, and we would not 
 
 [ExiL 
 
 SCENE Y.— Fields without the town. 
 Enter Duke in his own habit and Friar Peter. 
 Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. 
 
 [^Giving letters. 
 The provost knows our purpose and our plqt. 
 The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, 
 And hold you ever to our special drift; 
 Though sometimes you do blench'' from this to that. 
 As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house. 
 And tell him where I stay : give the like notice 
 To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
 And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ; 
 But send me Flavius first. 
 
 F. Peter. It shall be speeded well 
 
 [Exit Friai 
 E7iter Vaurius. 
 Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast mad« 
 good haste : 
 Come, we will walk : There's other of our fricndi 
 Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Street near the city gate. 
 
 Enter Isabella and Mariana. 
 
 Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath ; 
 I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so. 
 That is your part ; yet I'm advis'd to do it ; 
 He says, to veil full" purpose. 
 
 Mari. Be rul'd by him. 
 
 Isab. Besides, he tells me, that if pcradvcnturc 
 He speak against me on the adverse side, 
 I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic 
 That's bitter to sweet end. 
 
 Mari. I would, friar Peter — 
 
 Isab. O, peace ; the friar is come. 
 
 Enter Friar Peter. 
 
 F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand 
 most fit, 
 Where you may have such 'vantage on the duke, 
 He shall not pass you : Twice have the trumpet* 
 
 sounded ; 
 The generous' and gravest citizens 
 Have hcnt'' the gates, and very near upon 
 The duke is ent'ring ; therefore hence, away. 
 
 [Exeun:. 
 
 ACT Y 
 
 SCENE I. — A public place near the City Gate. 
 
 Mariana (veird), Isabella and, Peteu at a 
 distance. Enter at opposite doors, Duke, Var- 
 rius, Lords; Angelo, Escalus, Lucio, Pro- 
 vost, Officers, and Citizens. 
 
 Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met: — 
 Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. 
 
 Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal 
 grace ! 
 
 Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
 We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear 
 Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 
 Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks. 
 Forerunning more requital. 
 
 Ang. You make my bonds still greater. 
 
 Dulce. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should 
 wrong it. 
 To lock it in the wards of covert bosom. 
 When i", deserves with characters of brass 
 A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time. 
 And razurc of oblivion: Give me your hand. 
 And let the subject see, to make them know 
 That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
 Favors that keep within. — Come, Escalus : 
 You must walk by us on our other hand ; — 
 ^nd good supporters are you. 
 
 Peteu and Isabella cunie forward. 
 
 F. Peter. Now is your time; speak loud, and 
 
 kneel before him. 
 Isab. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail' your regard 
 'Start off • Lower. 
 
 Upon a wrong'd, I'd fain have said, a maid ! 
 
 O worthy prince, dishonor not your eye 
 
 By throwing it on any other object. 
 
 Till you have heard me in my true complaint. 
 
 And given me justice, justice, justice, justice! 
 
 Duke. Relate your wrongs: In whati By whom? 
 Be brief: 
 Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice; 
 Reveal yourself to him. 
 
 Isab. O, worthy duke, 
 
 You bid me seek redemption of the devil : 
 Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak 
 Must either punish me, not being believ'd. 
 Or wring redress from you: hear me, O, hear me, here. 
 
 Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm: 
 She hath been a suitor to me for her brother 
 Cut olf by course-of justice. 
 
 I.utb. By course of justice! 
 
 Ang. And she will speak most bitterly and strange. 
 
 Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly will I speak: 
 That Angolo's forsworn, is it not strange? 
 That Angelo's a murderer, ist not strange? 
 That Angcio is an adulterous thief. 
 An hypocrite, a virgin-violator; 
 Is it not strange, and strange ! 
 
 Duke. Nay, ten times stranga 
 
 hdb. It is not truer he is Angelo, 
 Than this is all as true as it is strange : 
 Nay, it is ten times true : for truth is truth 
 To the end of reckoning. 
 
 Duke. Away with her : Poor soul. 
 
 She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. 
 
 hub. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st 
 • AvaUfiU. 'Most noble. » Seized. 
 
108 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 1 
 
 There is another comfort than this world, 
 That thou neglect me not with that opinion 
 That I am touch'd with madness : make not im- 
 possible 
 That which but seems unlike ; 'tis not impossible, 
 But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground. 
 May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, 
 As Angelo : even s« may Angelo, 
 In all his dressings,' characts, titles, forms. 
 Be an arch-villain : believe it, royal prince, j 
 
 Jf he be less, he's nothing ; but he's more, j 
 
 Had I more name for badness. ' 
 
 Duke. By mine honesty, 
 
 If she be mad, (as I believe no other,) 
 Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, | 
 
 Such a dependency of thing on thing, | 
 
 As e'er I heard in madness. j 
 
 Isab. O, gracious duke, 
 
 Harp not on that, nor 08 3 aot banish reason 
 For inequality : but let your reason serve 
 I'o make the truth appear, where it seems hid ; 
 And hide the false, seems true. 
 
 Duke. Many that are not mad, 
 
 Have sure more lack of reason. What would you 
 say 1 
 Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, ; 
 
 •Jondemn'd, upon the law of fornication. 
 To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo ! j 
 
 I, in probation of a sisterhood, ! 
 
 Was sent to by my brother : one Lucio 
 Was then the messenger ; — 
 
 Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace ; 
 
 I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her 
 To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, 
 For her poor brother's pardon. 
 
 Isab. That's he, indeed. 
 
 Duke. You were not bid to speak. 
 Lucio. No, my good lord ; 
 
 Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 
 
 Duke. I wish you now then ; 
 
 Pray you, take note of it ; and when you have 
 A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then 
 Be perfect. 
 
 Lucio. I warrant your honor. 
 
 Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed 
 
 to it. 
 Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. 
 Lucio. Right. 
 
 Duke. It may be right ; but you are in the wrong 
 To speak before your time. — Proceed. 
 
 Isab. I went 
 
 To this pernicious caitiff deputy — 
 
 Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. 
 Isab. Pardon it; 
 
 The phrase is to the matter. 
 
 Duke. Mended again : the matter ? — Proceed. 
 hah. In i)rief, — to set the needless process by, 
 How I persuaded, how I pray'd and kneel'd. 
 How he refell'd* me, and how I reply'd ; 
 (For this was of much length ;) the vile conclusion 
 I now begin with grief and shame to utter ; 
 He would not but by gift of my chaste body 
 To his concupiscible intemperate lust, 
 Release my brother ; and after much debatement 
 My sisterly remorse' confutes mine honor. 
 And I did yield to him : But the next morn betimes, 
 His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
 For my poor brother's head. 
 
 Duke. This is most likely. 
 
 » Habits and characten of office. « V, ^futed. » Pity. 
 
 Jf:ah. O, that it were as like, as it is true ! 
 Duke. By heaven, fond"' wretch, thou kno^v's) 
 not what thou spcak'st ; 
 Or else thou art suborn'd against his honor, 
 I?; hateful practice: First, his integiity 
 S';.iKis without blemish : Next, it imports no reason, 
 'J'li;it with such vchemency he should pursue 
 Faults proper to himself: If he had so offended, 
 He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, 
 And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you 
 
 on: 
 Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
 Thou cam'st here to complain. 
 
 Isab. And is this all 1 
 
 Then, oh, you blessed ministers above. 
 Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time, 
 Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
 In countenance ! — Heaven shield your grace from 
 
 woe, 
 As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go. 
 
 Duke. I know you'd fain be gone: — 'An officer ! 
 To prison with lier : — Shall we thus permit 
 A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
 On him so near us 1 This needs must be a practice. 
 Who knew of your intent, and coming hither 1 
 Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. 
 Duke. A ghostly father, belike. — Who knows 
 
 that Lodowick ■? 
 Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling fi-iar' 
 I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord, 
 For certain words he spake against your grace 
 In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly. 
 
 Duke. Words against me? This'a good fiiar, belike! 
 And to set on this wretched woman here 
 Against our substitute ! — Let this friar be found. 
 
 Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar 
 I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, 
 A very scurvy fellow. 
 
 F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace i 
 
 I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
 Your royal ear abus'd: First, hath this woman 
 Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute : 
 Who is as free from touch or guilt with her 
 As she from one ungot. 
 
 Duke, We did believe no less. 
 
 Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of! 
 F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy: 
 Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler. 
 As he's reported by this gentleman ; 
 And, on my trust, a man that never yet, 
 Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. 
 
 Lucio. My lord, most villanously ! believe it. 
 F. Peter. Well, he in time may come lo cleai 
 himself; 
 But at this instant he is sick, my lord, 
 Of a strange fever : Upon his mere request, 
 (Being come to knowledge that there was complaint 
 Intended 'gainst lord Angelo,) came I hither, 
 To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know 
 Is true, and false ; and what he with his oath, 
 And all probation, will make up full clear, 
 V/heiisoever he's convented.'' First, for this woman 
 (To justify this worthy nobleman, 
 So vulgarly' and personally accus'd,) 
 Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
 Till she herself confess it. 
 
 Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. 
 
 [Isabella is carried off, guarded; and 
 Mahiana comes fcrward. 
 Foolifili. ' Convened. Publicly. 
 
BOENE 1. 
 
 MP]ASU"RE FOK MEASURE. 
 
 lOtJ 
 
 Do you not smile at this, lord Angcio ? — 
 
 heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools ! 
 Give us some seats. — Come, cousin Angelo, 
 In this I'll be impartial ; be you judge 
 
 Of your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar ? 
 First, let her show her face ; and, after, speak. 
 
 Marl. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face, 
 Until my husband bid me. 
 
 Duke. What, are you married ? 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Duke.. Are you a maid 1 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Duke. A widow then 1 
 
 Mari, Neither, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Why, you 
 
 A re nothing then : — Neither maid,widow, nor wife T 
 
 Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk ; for many 
 of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 
 
 Duke. Silence that fellow : I would, he had 
 To prattle for himself. [some cause 
 
 Lucio. Well, my lord. 
 
 Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ; 
 And, I confess, besides, I am no maid : 
 
 1 have known my husband ; yet my husband knows 
 
 not 
 I'hat ever he knew me. 
 
 Lucio. He was drunk, then, my lord ; it can be 
 no better. 
 
 Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou 
 wert so too ! 
 
 Lucio. Well, my lord. 
 
 Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. 
 
 Mari. Now I come to't, my lord : 
 She that accuses him of fornication, 
 In self-same manner doth accuse my husband, 
 And charges him, my lord, with such a time. 
 When I'll depose I had him in mine arms, 
 With all the effect of love. 
 
 Ang. Charges she more than me ? 
 
 Mari. Not that I know. 
 
 Duke. No 1 you say your husband ? 
 
 Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo. 
 Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body, 
 But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. 
 
 Ang. This is a strange abuse:* — Let's see thy face. 
 
 Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will unmask. 
 
 [ Unveiling. 
 This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, 
 Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on : 
 This is the hand, which, in a vow'd contract, 
 Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body 
 That took away the match from Isabel, 
 And did supply thee at thy garden-house, 
 In her imagin'd person. 
 
 Duke. Know you this woman ? 
 
 Lucio, Carnally, she says. 
 
 Duke. Sirrah, no more. 
 
 Lucio. Enough, my lord. 
 
 Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this woman; 
 And, five years since, there was some speech of 
 
 marriage 
 Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off. 
 Partly, for that her promised proportions 
 Came short of composition ; but in chief, 
 For that her reputation was disvalued 
 In levity : since which time, of five years, 
 [ never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, 
 Vpon ir.y faith and honor. 
 
 ^'iri. Noble prince, 
 
 » Bcecptioa. 
 
 As there comes light from heaven, and words from 
 
 breath. 
 As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, 
 I am aflianced this man's wife, as strongly 
 As words could make up vows ; and, my good lord, 
 But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house. 
 He knew me as a wife : As this is true 
 Let me in safety raise me from my knees, 
 Or else for ever be confixed here, 
 A marble monument. 
 
 A7)g. I did but smile till now : 
 
 Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ; 
 My patience here is touch'd : I do percei\ e, 
 These poor informal' women are no more 
 But instruments of some more mightier membei, 
 That sets them on : Let me have way, my lord. 
 To find this practice'' out. 
 
 Duke. Ay, with my heart ; 
 
 And punish them unto your height of pleasure. • 
 Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, 
 Compact with her that's gone ! think'st thou thy 
 
 oaths. 
 Though they would swear down each particulai 
 
 saint. 
 Were testimonies against his worth and credit. 
 That's seal'd in approbation 1 — You, lord Escalus, 
 Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
 To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. — 
 There is another friar that set them on ; 
 Let him be sent for. 
 
 F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord ; for he. 
 indeed, 
 Hath set the women on to this complaint : 
 Your provost knows the place where he abides, 
 And he may fetch him. 
 
 Duke. Go do it instantly. — \^Exit Provost 
 And you, my noble, and well-warranted cousin, 
 Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, 
 Do with your injuries as seems you best, 
 In any chastisement : I, for a while. 
 Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have well 
 Determined upon these slanderers. 
 
 Escal. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly. — {^Exit 
 Duke.] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew 
 that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person 1 
 
 Lucio. Cucullus non facit monachum : honest 
 in nothing but in his clothes ; and one that hath 
 spoke most villanous speeches of the duke. 
 
 Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he 
 come, and enforce them against him : we shall find 
 this friar a notable fellow. 
 
 Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 
 
 Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again ; 
 [To an attendant.'] I would speak with her: Pray 
 you, my lord, give me leave to question ; you shall 
 see how I'll handle her. 
 
 Lucio. Not better than lie, by her own report. 
 
 Escal. Say you ? 
 
 Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her 
 privately, she would sooner confess ; pcrchanca 
 publicly she'll be ashamed. 
 
 lie-enter Officers, with Isabella ; the Duke, in 
 the Friar's habit, and Provost. 
 
 Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 
 
 Lucio. That's the way ; for women are light at 
 midnight. 
 
 Escal. Come on, mistress : [To Isabella.] here'j 
 a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 
 
 « Cnoy. » ConspiracT 
 
110 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke 
 of; here with the provost. 
 
 Escal. In very good time : — speak not you to 
 ^im, till we call upon you. 
 
 Lucio. Mum. 
 
 Escal. Come, sir : Did j'ou set these women on to 
 Blunder lord Angelo ? they have confess'd you did. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis false. 
 
 Escal. How ! know you where you are 1 
 
 Duke. Respect to you great place ! and let the 
 devil 
 Be some time honor'd for his burning throne : — 
 Where is the duke ] 'tis he should hear me speak. 
 
 Escal. The duke's in us ; and we will hear you 
 speak : 
 Look, you speak justly. 
 
 Duke. Boldly, at least ; — But, O, poor souls, 
 
 Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ] 
 Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone ? 
 Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, 
 Thus to retort your manifest appeal. 
 And put your trial in the villain's mouth, 
 Which here you come to accuse. 
 
 Lucio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of. 
 
 Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd 
 friar ! 
 Is't not enough, that thou hast suborn'd these 
 
 women. 
 To accuse this worthy man ; but in foul mouth, 
 And in the witness of his proper ear, 
 To call him villain ? 
 
 And then to glance from him to the duke himself: 
 To tax him with injustice ? — Take him hence ; 
 To the rack with hira : — We'll touze you joint by 
 
 joint. 
 But we will know this purpose ! — What ! unjust 1 
 
 Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke 
 Dare no more stretch this, finger of mine, than he 
 Dare rack his own : his subject am I not, 
 Nor here provincial : My business in this state 
 Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
 Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, 
 Till it o'er-run the stew : laws for all faults ; 
 But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes 
 Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
 .\s much in mock as mark. 
 
 Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to 
 prison. 
 
 Ang. What can you vouch against him, signior 
 Lucio 1 
 Is this the man that you did tell us of] 
 
 Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good- 
 man bald-pate : Do you know me 1 
 
 Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your 
 voice. I met you at the prison in the absence of 
 the duke. 
 
 Lucio. 0, did you so ? And do you remember 
 what you said of the duke 1 
 
 Duke. Most notedly, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Do you so, sir 1 And was the duke a 
 flesh-monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then 
 reported him to be 1 
 
 Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, 
 ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke 
 60 of him ; and much more, much worse. 
 
 Lucio. O thou damnable fellow ! Did not I 
 pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches ? 
 
 Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love myself. 
 
 Ang. Hark ! how the villain would close now, 
 after his treasonable abuses. 
 
 Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked withal : — 
 Away with him to prison. Where is the pro« 
 vost? — Away with him to prison; lay bolts 
 enough upon him : let him speak no more. Away 
 with those giglots^ too, and with the other con- 
 federate companion. 
 
 [The Provost lays hands on the Duke 
 
 Duke. Stay, sir ; stay awhile. 
 
 Ang. What ! resists he 1 Help him, Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ; fob, sir : 
 Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be 
 hooded, must you ? Show your knave's visage 1 
 with a pox to you ! show your sheep-biting face, 
 and be hang'd an hour ! Will't not oft'? 
 
 [Pulls off the Friar's hood, and 
 discovers the Duke. 
 
 Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er made a 
 
 duke. 
 
 First, provost, let me bail these gentle three : 
 
 Sneak not away, sir; [ToLdcio.] for the friar and 
 
 you 
 Must have a word anon : — Lay hold on him. 
 
 Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 
 
 Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you 
 
 down. [To EscALCS. 
 
 We'll borrow place of him : — Sir, by your leave : 
 
 [To Angelo. 
 Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence. 
 That yet can do thee office 1 If thou hast. 
 Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 
 And hold no longer out. 
 
 Ang. O my dread lord, 
 
 I should be guiltier than my guiltiness. 
 To tliink I can be undiscernible. 
 When I perceive your grace, like power divine. 
 Hath look'd upon my passes:* Then, good prince, 
 No longer session hold upon my shame. 
 But let my trial be mine own confession ; 
 Immediate sentence then, and sequent' death. 
 Is all the grace I beg. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Mariana : — 
 
 Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ? 
 
 Aiig. I was, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Go, take her hence, and marry her in- 
 stantly. 
 Do you the office, friar; which consummate. 
 Return him here again : — Go with him, provost. 
 [Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Peter, 
 and Provost. 
 
 Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his dis- 
 honor. 
 Than at the strangeness of it. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Isabel . 
 
 Your friar is now your prince : As I was then 
 Advertising,^ and holy to your business, 
 Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
 Attomey'd at your service. 
 
 Isab. O give me pardon, 
 
 That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 
 Your unknown sovereignty. 
 
 Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel 
 
 And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
 Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; 
 And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself, 
 Laboring to save his life ; and would not rather 
 Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power, 
 Than let him be so lost : O, most kind maid, 
 It was the swift celerity of his death, 
 
 s Wantons. 
 « Following. 
 
 < Derices. 
 
 c Attentive 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MEASUKE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Which I did think with slower foot came on, 
 That brain'd my purpose : But peace be with him ! 
 That hfe is better Hfe, past fearing death, 
 Than that which hves to fear : make it your comfort, 
 Bo happy is your brother. 
 
 Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 
 
 hab. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke. For this new-married man, approaching 
 here, 
 Wliose salt imagination ypt hath wi-ong'd 
 Your well-defended honor, you must pardon 
 For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother, 
 (Being criminal, in double violation 
 Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach, 
 Thereon dependent for your brother's life,) 
 The very mercy of the law cries out 
 Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 
 ■' An Angelo for Claudio, death for death." 
 Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; 
 Like doth quit like, and " Measure still for Mea- 
 sure !" 
 Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested; 
 Which though thou wouldst deny, denies thee 
 
 vantage : 
 We do condemn thee to the veiy block 
 Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like 
 
 haste : — 
 Away with him. 
 
 Mari. my most gracious lord, 
 
 I hope you will not mock me with a husband ! 
 
 Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a 
 husband ; 
 Consenting to the safeguard of your honor, 
 I thought your marriage fit ; else imputation. 
 For that he kr.ew you, might reproach your life. 
 And choke your good to come : for his possessions. 
 Although by confiscation they are ours. 
 We do ins(.'\te and widow you withal. 
 To buy you a better husband. 
 
 Marl. O, my dear lord, 
 
 I crave no r\her nor no better man. 
 
 Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. 
 
 Mari. Gintle my liege, — [Kneeling. 
 
 Duke. You do but lose your labor ; 
 
 Away w'>K him to death. — Now, sir, [To Lucic] 
 to you. 
 
 Man. O, my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take my 
 part; 
 I-end ■me your knees, and all my life to come 
 I'l' lend you all my life to do you service. 
 
 J^uke. Against all sense you do importune her : 
 Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact. 
 Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break. 
 And take her hence in hon-or. 
 
 Mari. Isabel, 
 
 Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; 
 Hold up your hands ; say nothing; I'll speak all. 
 They say, best men are moulded out of faults ; 
 And, for the most, become much more the better 
 For being a little bad : so may my husband. 
 0, Isabel ! will you not lend a knee 7 
 
 Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 
 
 f.iab. Most bounteous sir, 
 
 [Kneeling. 
 Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd. 
 As if my brother liv'd : I partly think, 
 .A due sincerity govern'd his deeds. 
 Till he did look on nic ; since it is so, 
 f.et him not die : My brother had but justice. 
 
 In that he did the thing for which he died : 
 
 For Angelo, 
 
 His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, 
 
 And must be buried but as an intent 
 
 That perished by the way : thoughts are no subjects,' 
 
 Intents but merely thoughts. 
 
 Mari. Merely, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Your suit's unprofitable ; stand up, 
 say.— 
 I have bethought me of another fault : — 
 Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded 
 At an unusual hour 1 
 
 Prov. It was commanded so. 
 
 Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ' 
 
 Prov. No, my good lord ; it was by private mes" 
 sage. 
 
 Duke. For which I do discharge you of youl 
 office : 
 Give up your keys. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, noble lord: 
 
 I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ; 
 Yet did repent me after more advice :' 
 For testimony whereof, one in the prison. 
 That should by private order else have ilied, 
 I have reserv'd alive. 
 
 Duke. What's he ? 
 
 Prov. His name s Barnardine 
 
 Duke. I woald thou hadst done so by Claudio.— 
 Go, fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 
 
 [Exit Provost 
 
 Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
 As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd. 
 Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, 
 And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 
 
 Ang. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure : 
 And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart. 
 That I crave death more willingly than mercy ; 
 'Tis my desei-ving, and I do entreat it. 
 
 Re-enter Provost, Barnardine, Claudio, and 
 Juliet. 
 Duke. Which is that Barnardine 1 
 Prov. This, my lord 
 
 Dnke. There was a friar told me of this man. 
 Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul. 
 That apprehends no further than this world. 
 And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt con- 
 demn'd ; 
 But, for those earthly faults I quit them all ; 
 And pray thee, take this mercy to provide 
 For better times to come : — Friar, advise him ; 
 I leave him to your hand. — What muffled fellow'i 
 that? 
 Prov. This is another prisoner, that I sav'd. 
 That should have died, when Claudio lost his head; 
 As like almost to Claudio as himself. 
 
 [ Unmtifflec Claudio, 
 Duke. If he be like your brother, [Tc Isabella.^ 
 for his sake 
 Is he pardon'd ; and for your lovely sake. 
 Give me your hand, and say you will be mine. 
 He is my brother too : But fitter time for that 
 By this lord Angelo perceives he's safe ; 
 Methinks I see a quick'ning in his eye : 
 Well, Angelo, your evil quits" you well : 
 Look that you love your wife ; her worth, wort| 
 
 yours. — 
 I find an apt remission in myself: 
 And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon : 
 
 ■< Consideration. 
 
 • Requltet 
 
112 
 
 MEASURE FOr. MEASURE, 
 
 ACT! V 
 
 You, sirrah, [^To Lccio.] that knew me for a fool, 
 
 a coward, 
 One all of luxury, an ass, a madman : 
 Wherein have I so deserved of you, 
 That you extol me thus ? 
 
 Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according 
 to the trick :' If you will hang me for it, you may ; 
 but I had rather it would please you, I might be 
 whipp'd. 
 
 Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. — 
 Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ; 
 If any woman's wroug'd by this lewd fellow, 
 (As I have heard him swear himself, there's one 
 Whom he begot with child,) let her appear. 
 And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd, 
 Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. 
 
 Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me 
 to a whore. Your highness said even now, I made 
 you a duke ; good my lord, do not recompense me 
 m making me a cuckolJ. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honor, thou tha'c marry her. 
 Thy slanders I forgive ; and thcrevv^lthal 
 » Thoughtless practice. 
 
 Remit thy other forfeits : — Take him to prison : 
 And see our pleisure herein executed. 
 
 Lucio. Manying a punk, my lord, is pressing 
 to death, whipping, and hanging. 
 
 Duke. Sland'ring a prince deser^'es it. — 
 She, Claudio, Ihat you wrong'd, look you restore 
 Joy to you, Mariana ! — love her, Angelo : 
 I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. — 
 Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much good« 
 There's more behind, that is more gratulate. [ness 
 Thanks provost, for thy care and secrecy ; 
 We shall employ thee in a worthier place : — 
 Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you homo 
 The head of Ragozine for Claudio's ; 
 The offence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel, 
 I have a motion which imports your good ; 
 Whereto if you'll a wiUing ear incline. 
 What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine i 
 So bring us to our palace ; where we'll show 
 What's yet behind, that's meet you all should 
 know. [Exeunt 
 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Do!f Pedro, Prince of Arragon. 
 Don John, his Bastard Brother. 
 Claudio, a yoimg Lord of Florence, Favorite 
 
 to Don Pedro. 
 Benedick, a young Liird of Padua, Favorite 
 
 likewise of Don Pedro. 
 Leonato, Governor o/" Messina. 
 Antonio, his Brother. 
 Balthazar, Servant to Don Pedro. 
 
 o ' > Followers of Don Johii. 
 
 LONHADE, J •' 
 
 two foolish officers. 
 
 Dogberry, 
 
 Verges, 
 A Sexton. 
 A Friar. 
 A Boy. 
 
 Hero, Daughter to Leonato. 
 Beatrice, Niece to Leonato. 
 
 jj ' > Gentlewomen attending on Hem 
 
 Watch, and Attendants 
 
 Messe7igers, 
 SCENE, Messina. 
 
 ACTl. 
 
 5SUENE I. — Before Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Lko^ato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, 
 with a Messenger. 
 
 Leonato. I learn in this letter, that don Pedro 
 »f Arragon comes this night to Messina. 
 
 Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not three 
 cagues off, when I left him. 
 
 Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in 
 diis action 1 
 
 Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 
 
 Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever 
 ^rings home full numbers. I find here that don 
 Pedro hath bestowed much honor on a young 
 Florentine, called Claudio. 
 
 Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally 
 remembered by don Pedro : He hath borne him- 
 self beyond the promise of his age ; doing, in the 
 figure of a lamb, the feats of a Uon : he hath, indeed, 
 better bettered expectation, than you must expect 
 of me to tell you how. 
 
 Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be 
 very much glad of it. 
 
 Mess. I have already delivered liim letters, and 
 there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that 
 joy could not show itself modest enough, without 
 a badge of bitterness. 
 
 Leon. Did he break out into tears 1 
 
 Mess. In great measure.' 
 
 Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : There are 
 no faces truer than those that are so washed. How 
 much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at 
 wcep'ng! 
 
 > Abundance. 
 
 Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned 
 from the wars, or no ? 
 
 Mess. I know none of that name, lady; there 
 was none such in the army of any sort. 
 
 Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece 1 
 
 Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of 
 Padua. 
 
 Mess. O, he is returned ; and as pleasant as e7ci 
 he was. 
 
 Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, ana 
 challenged Cupid at the flight : and my uncle's fool, 
 reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and 
 challenged him at the bird-bolt. — I pray you, how 
 many hath he killed and eaten in these wars ] But 
 how many hath he killed 1 for, indeed, I promised 
 to eat all of his killing. 
 
 Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too 
 much ; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. 
 
 Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these 
 wars. 
 
 Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp 
 to eat it : lie is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath 
 an excellent stomach. 
 
 Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 
 
 Beat. And a good soldier to a lady : — But what 
 is he to a lord 1 
 
 Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stufled 
 with all honorable virtues. 
 
 Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a 
 stuffed man :* but for the stufling, — Well, we are 
 all mortal. 
 
 Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there 
 
 « A cuckold. 
 
 113 
 
114 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Is a kind of meny war betwixt signior Benedick 
 and her: thc}^ never meet, but there is a skirmish 
 of wit betwee A them. 
 
 Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last 
 conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and 
 now is the whole man governed with one: so that 
 if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him 
 bear it for a dilfcrcnce between himself and his 
 horse : for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to 
 be known a reasonable creature. — Who is his com- 
 panion now 1 He hath every month a new sworn 
 brother. 
 
 Mess. Is it possible 1 
 
 Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith 
 but as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with 
 the next block. 
 
 Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your 
 books. 
 
 Beat. No: an he were, I would burn my study. 
 But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no 
 young squarer'' now, that will make a voyage with 
 him to the devil 1 
 
 Mess. He is most in the company of the right 
 noble Claudio. 
 
 Bent. O lord ! he will hang upon him like a 
 iliscase : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, 
 and the taker runs presently mad. God help the 
 noble Claudio ! if he have caught the Benedick, it 
 trill cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. 
 
 Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 
 
 Beat. Do, good friend. 
 
 Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 
 
 Beat. No, not till a hot January. 
 
 Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro aitended hy Balthazar and 
 others, Don Johx, Claudio, and Benktiick. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come 
 to meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to 
 avoid cost, and you encounter it. 
 
 Leon. Never came trouble to my house in tlie 
 likeness of your grace: for trouble being gone, 
 comfort should remain : but, when you depart from 
 me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. 
 
 D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too wil- 
 lingly. — I think, this is your daughter. 
 
 Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 
 
 Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her 1 
 
 Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you 
 a cliild. 
 
 D. Pedro. You have it full. Benedick : we may 
 guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, 
 the lady fathers herself: Be happy, lady ! for you 
 »re like an honorable father. 
 
 Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would 
 Oft have his head on her shoulders, for all Messi- 
 ui, as like him as she is. 
 
 Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, 
 tignior Benedick; no body marks you. 
 
 Bene. What my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet 
 living? 
 
 Beat. Is it possible, disdam should die, while 
 she hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Bene- 
 dick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if 
 you come in her presence. 
 
 Bene. Then is courtesj a turn-coat: — But it is 
 certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : 
 and I would I could find in my heart that I had not 
 t hard hea t ; for, truly, I love none. 
 * Quarrelsome fellow. 
 
 Rent. A d('>. Ivijipiness to women, they would 
 else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor- 
 I thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your humoi 
 for that ; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, 
 than a man swear he loves me. 
 
 Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind ! 
 so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a pre- 
 destinate scratched face. 
 
 Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 
 'twere such a face as yours were. 
 
 Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot- teacher 
 
 Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast 
 of yours. 
 
 Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your 
 tongue ; and so good a continuer : But keep your 
 way o' God's name ; I have done. 
 
 Beat. You always end with a jade's trick; I 
 know you of old. 
 
 D. Pedro. This is the sum of all ; Don John, sig- 
 nior Claudio,and signior Benedick, — my dear friend 
 Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him, we shall 
 stay here at the least a month ; and he heartily 
 prays, some occasion may detain us longer : I dare 
 swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 
 
 Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be 
 forsworn: — Let me bid you welcome, my lord: 
 being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe 
 you all duty- 
 
 D.John. I thank you: lam not of many words 
 but I thank you. 
 
 Leon. Please it your grace lead on? 
 
 D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go lu- 
 gethcr. [Exeunt all but Benedick o«cf Claudio 
 
 Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughte* 
 of signior Leonato? 
 
 Bene. I noted her not; but I looked on her. 
 
 Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? 
 
 Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man 
 should do, for my simple true judgment; or would 
 you have me speak after my custom, as being a 
 professed tyrant to their sex ? 
 
 Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. 
 
 Bene. Why, i'faith, mcthinks she is too low for 
 a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too 
 little for a great praise: only this commendation I 
 can afford her; that were she other than she is, 
 she were unhandsome ; and being no other but as 
 she is, I do not like her. 
 
 Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport; I pray 
 thee, tell me truly how thou likcst her. 
 
 Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire 
 after her? 
 
 Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? 
 
 Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak 
 you this with a sad brow? or do you play the flout- 
 ing Jack; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, 
 and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key 
 shall a man take you, to go in the song? 
 
 Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that 
 ever I look'd on. 
 
 Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see 
 no such matter : there's her cousin, an she were 
 not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in 
 beauty, as the first of May doth the last of DLtem- 
 ber. But I hope you have no intent to turn hus- 
 band ; have you ? 
 
 Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I 
 had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 
 
 Bene. Is it come to this, i' faith ? Hath not the 
 world one man, but he will wear his cap with su* 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MVA'U ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 115 
 
 picion ! Shall I never sec a biuhclor ol tlini'-seorc 
 again ? Ho to, i' faith ; an tliou wilt needs thrust thy 
 neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, iinil si^h away 
 Sundays. Look, don Pedro is returned to seek you. 
 Re-enter Don Pedro. 
 
 D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that 
 you followed not to Leonato's ? 
 
 Bene. I would your grace would constrain me 
 lo tell. 
 
 D. Pedro. I charge thee, on thy allegiance. 
 
 Bene. You hear, count Claudio : I can be secret 
 as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but on 
 my allegiance, — mark you this, on my allegiance: 
 — He is in love. With who? — now tliat is your 
 grace's part. — Mark, how short his answer is : — 
 With Hero, Leonato's short daughter. 
 
 Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 
 
 Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : it is not so, nor 
 'twas not so ; but, indeed, God forbid it should be so. 
 
 Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God 
 forbid it should be otherwise. 
 
 D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady 
 is very well worthy. 
 
 Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 
 
 Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 
 
 Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my 
 lord, I spoke mine. 
 
 Claud. That I love her, I feel. 
 
 D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 
 
 Bene. That I neither feel how she should be 
 loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the 
 opinion that fire cannot melt out of me ; I will die 
 in it at the stake. 
 
 D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic 
 in the despite of beauty. 
 
 Claud. And never could maintain his part, but 
 in the force of his will. 
 
 Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; 
 that she brought me up, I likewise give her most 
 humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat^ 
 winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an 
 invisible baldric, all women shall pardon me. Be- 
 cause I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, 
 I will do myself the right to trust none ; and the 
 fine is, (for the which I may go the finer,) I will 
 live a bachelor. 
 
 D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale 
 with love. 
 
 Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hun- 
 ger, my lord ! not with love : prove, that ever I lose 
 more blood with love, than I will get again with 
 drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's 
 pen and hang me up at the door of a brothcl-house, 
 for the siern of blind Cupid. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this 
 faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 
 
 Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, 
 and shoot at me; and he that hits me, let him Lo 
 clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam.* 
 
 I). Pedro. Well, as time shall try : 
 hi I line the savage bull doth bear the yoke. 
 
 Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the sen- 
 sible Benedick bear it, pluck oil" the bull's horns, and 
 Bct them in my forehead: and let me be vilely paint- 
 ed ; and in such great letters as they write. Here is 
 ^ood horse to hire, let Iheni signify under my sign, 
 ~Hi:re you may see Benedick, the married man. 
 
 ■ The tune sounded to call off the dogs. 
 
 * Th 3 name of a famous archer. I 
 
 Claud. If this should ever happen, thou v.'oukjsl 
 be horn-mad. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
 quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly 
 
 Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with thb 
 hours. In the meantime, good signior Benedick, 
 repair to Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tel'. 
 him, I will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he 
 hath made great preparation. 
 
 Bene. I have almost matter enough in me Pjj 
 such an embassage ; and so I commit you — 
 
 Claud. To the tuition of God : From tay 
 house, (if I had it,,) — 
 
 D. Pedro. The sixth of July: Yom lsv.u.g friend. 
 Benedick. 
 
 Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not: TLc body of 
 your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, 
 and the guards are but slightly basted on neither ; 
 ere you flout old ends any further, examine your 
 conscience; and so I leave you. [Exit Benedick. 
 
 Claud. My liege, your highness now may do 
 me good. 
 
 D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach; teach it 
 but how, 
 And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
 Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 
 
 Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? 
 
 D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir* 
 Dost thou alTect her, Claudio ? 
 
 Claud. O my lord. 
 
 When you went onward on this ended action, 
 I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 
 That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
 Than to drive liking to the name of love : 
 But now I am return'd, and that vvar-thoughta 
 Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
 Come thronging soft and delicate desires. 
 All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
 Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. 
 
 D. Pedr-o. Thou wilt be like a lover presently. 
 And tire the hearer with a book of words: 
 If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it; 
 And I will break with her, and with her father. 
 And thou shalt have her: Was't not to this end 
 That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ? 
 
 Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, 
 That know love's grief by his complexion! 
 But lest my liking might loo sudden seem, 
 I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 
 
 D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broadei 
 than the flood 1 
 The fairest grant is the necessity : 
 Look, what will serve, is fit: 'tis once,' thou loT'«t 
 And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
 I know, we shall have revelling to-night, 
 I will assume thy part in some disguise, 
 And tell fair Hero I am Claudio; 
 And in her bosom I'll uncla.sp my heart, 
 And take her hearing prisoner with the fcix 
 And strong encounter of my amorous talc : 
 Then, after, to her father will I break* 
 And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine: 
 In practice let us jiut it presently. [Exatnt, 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Jjconato's House 
 Enter Lkonato atid Antonio. 
 
 Leon. How now, '>rother? Where is my cousin, 
 
 your son 1 Hath he provided this music 1 
 > Once for aJL 
 
116 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act 11, 
 
 Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, 
 I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamed 
 not of. 
 
 Leon. Are they good ] 
 
 Ant. As the event siamps them; but they have 
 a good cover, they show well outward. The prince 
 and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached^ 
 alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by 
 a man of mine : The prince discovered to Claudio, 
 that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant 
 to acknowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if he 
 found her accordant, he meant to take the present 
 time by the top, and instantly break with you of it. 
 
 Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this? 
 
 Ant. A good sharp fellow : I will send for him, 
 and question him yourself. 
 
 Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream, till it 
 appear itself: — but I will acquaint my daughter 
 withal, that she may be the better prepared for an 
 answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and 
 tell her of it. [Several persons cross the stage.'] 
 Cousins, you know what you have to do. — 0, I 
 cry you mercy, friend ; you go with me, and I will 
 Use your skill : — Good cousins, have a care this 
 busy time. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Don John and Cox radk. 
 
 Con. What the goujere,' my lord ! why are you 
 thus out of measure sad ? 
 
 D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that 
 oreeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. 
 
 Con. You should hear reason. 
 
 D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing 
 bringeth it] 
 
 Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient suf- 
 ferance. 
 
 D. John. I wonder that thou being (as thou 
 say'st thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to 
 apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. 
 I cannot hide what I am : I must be sad when I 
 have cause, and smile at no man's jests; cat when I 
 have stomach, and wait for no man's leisure ; sleep 
 when I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business : 
 laugh when I am merry, and claw^ no man in his 
 humor. 
 
 Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show 
 of this, till you may do it without controlment. You 
 have of late stood out against your brother, and he 
 hath ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is 
 impossible you should take true root, but by the fair 
 
 weather that you make yourself: it is needful tha*. 
 you frame the season for your own harvest. 
 
 D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge 
 than a rose in his grace ; and it better fits my blood 
 to be disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage to 
 rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be said 
 to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied 
 that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with 
 a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog ; therefore I 
 have decreed not to sing in my cage : If I had my 
 mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I wouH 
 do my liking ; in the mean time, let me be that I 
 am, and seek not to alter me. 
 
 Con. Can you make no useof your discontent] 
 D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. 
 Who comes here? What news, Borachiol 
 
 Enter Bohachio. 
 
 Bora. I came yonder fi-om a great supper; the 
 prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo- 
 nato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intend- 
 ed marriage. 
 
 D.John. Will it serve for any model to build 
 mischief onl What is he for a fool, that betroths 
 himself to unquictness ] 
 
 Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 
 
 D. John. Who ? the most exquisite Claudio 1 
 
 Bora. Even he. 
 
 D.John. A proper squire ! And who, and who ' 
 which way looks he 1 
 
 Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir ol 
 Leonato. 
 
 D. John. A very forward March-chick! How 
 came you to this 1 
 
 Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I wag 
 smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and 
 Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference: I whipt 
 me behind the arras ; and there heard it agreed upon, 
 that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and 
 having obtained her, give her to count Claudio. 
 
 D. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this may 
 prove food to my displeasure ; that young start-up 
 hath all the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross 
 him any way, I bless myself every way : You are 
 both sure, and will assist me ? 
 
 Con. To the death, my lord. 
 
 D. John. Let us to the great supper; their cheer 
 is the greater, that I am subdued : 'Would the cook 
 were of my mind ! — Shall we go prove what's to be 
 done] 
 
 Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Hall in Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Leon ato, Antonio, Heko, Beatrice, and 
 others. 
 
 Leon. Was not count John here at supper* 
 
 Ant. I saw him not. 
 
 Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never 
 can see him, but 1 am heart-burned an hour after. 
 
 Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 
 
 Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made 
 
 ust in the mid-way between him and Benedick: 
 
 • Thickly interwoven. ■> The venereal disease. » Flatter. 
 
 the one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and 
 the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore 
 tattling. 
 
 Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in 
 count John's mouth, and half count John's melan- 
 choly in signior Benedick's face, — 
 
 Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, 
 and money enough in his purse, such a man would 
 win any woman in the world, — if he could get hei 
 good will. 
 
 Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get 
 thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tonguo 
 
;CKNE 1 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 117 
 
 Ant. In faith, she is too curst. 
 
 lieut. Too curst is more llian curst: I shall les- 
 hon God's nding that way ; for it is said, God 
 sends a curst cow shoi-t hum!' ; but to a cow too 
 iirst he sends none. 
 
 Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you 
 no horns. 
 
 Heat. .lust, if he send me no husband ; for the 
 which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every 
 morning and evening ; Lord ! I could not endure 
 a husband with a beard on his face ; I had rather 
 lie in the woollen. 
 
 Leon. You may light upon a husband that hath 
 no beard. 
 
 livid. What should I do with him ? dress him 
 in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentle- 
 woman '.' He that hath a beard, is more than a 
 youth ; and he that hath no beard, is less than a 
 man : and he that is more than a youth is not for 
 me ; and he that is less than a man, I am not for 
 him. Therefore, I v^'ill even take sixpence in earn- 
 est of the bear-herd, and lead his apes into hell. 
 
 Leon, Well then, go you into hell 1 
 
 Beat. No ; but to the gate ; and there will the 
 devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on 
 his head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get 
 you to heaven,- here's no place for you maids ; so 
 deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for 
 the heavens ; he shows me where the bachelors sit, 
 and there live we as meny as the day is long. 
 
 Ajit. Well, niece, [7b Hero.] I trust you will 
 be ruled by your father. 
 
 Beat. Yes, it is my cousin's duty to make courtesy, 
 and say. Father, as it please you: — but yet for all 
 that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else 
 make another courtesy, and say, Father as it 
 please me. 
 
 Leon, W^ell, niece, I hope to see you one day 
 fitted with a husband. 
 
 Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal 
 than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to ba 
 overmaster'd with a piece of valiant dust ? to make 
 an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl ? 
 No, uncle, I'll none : Adam's sons are my brethren ; 
 and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 
 
 Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if 
 the [)rince do solicit you in that kind, you know 
 your answer. 
 
 Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if 
 you be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be 
 too important,* tell him, there is measure in every 
 thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me. 
 Hero : Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a 
 Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace : the first 
 suit Is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fan- 
 tasti'^al ; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a mea- 
 sure full of state and ancientry ; and then comes re- 
 pentance, ,ind,with his bad legs, falls into the cinque- 
 pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. 
 
 Leon, Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 
 
 Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a 
 church by day-light. 
 
 Leon. The revellers are entering ; brother, make 
 good room. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, CLAcnio, Benedick, Bal- 
 thazar, Don John, Bouachio. Margaret, 
 Ursula, and others, masked. 
 D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your 
 friend 1 
 
 • Importunate. 
 9 
 
 Hero, So you walk softly, and look ewcctly, and 
 say nothing, I am yours for the walk: and, espe- 
 cially, when I walk away. 
 
 D. Pedro. With me in your company ? 
 
 Hero. I may say so when I please. 
 
 D. Pedro, And when please you to say so T 
 
 Hero. When I like your favor ; for God defend, 
 the lute should be like the case ! 
 
 D, Pedro, My visor is Philemon's roof ; within 
 the house is Jove. 
 
 Hero, Why, then your visor should be thatch d. 
 
 D, Pedro, Speak low, if you speak love. 
 
 [^Takes her ar. it. 
 
 Bene. Well, I would you did like me. 
 
 Marg. So would not I, for your own sake ; 'ct 
 I have many ill qualities. 
 
 Bene, Which is one. 
 
 Marg, I say my prayers aloud. 
 
 Bene. I love you the belter ; the hc&rers may 
 cry Amen. 
 
 Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! 
 
 Balth. Amen. 
 
 Marg, And God keep him out of my sight, when 
 the dance is done ! — Answer, clerk. 
 
 Balth, No more words ; the clerk is answeretl. 
 
 Urs, I know you well enough ; you are signior 
 
 Ant. At a word, I am not. [Antonio. 
 
 Urs. I know you by the wtggling of your head. 
 
 Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 
 
 Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless 
 you were the very mar : Here's liis dry hand up 
 and down ; you are he, you are he. 
 
 Ant, At a word, I am not. 
 
 Urs, Come, come ; do you think I do not know 
 you by your excellent wit ? Can virtue hide itself? 
 Go to, mum, you are he : graces will appear, and 
 there's an end. 
 
 Beat, Will you not tell me who told you so ? 
 
 Bene, No, you shall pardon me. 
 
 Beat, Nor will you not teU me who you are ? 
 
 Bene, Not now. 
 
 Beat, That I was disdainful. — and that I had my 
 good wit out of the Hundred Merry Tales ,- — Well, 
 this was signior Benedick that said so. 
 
 Bene. What's he 1 
 
 Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough 
 
 Bene. Not I, believe me. 
 
 Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? 
 
 Bene, I pray you, what is he 1 
 
 Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull 
 fool : only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: 
 none but libertines delight in him ; and the com- 
 mendation is not in his wit, but in his villany; for 
 he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and then 
 they laugh at him, and beat him : I am sure, he '.t 
 in the fleet ; I would he had boarded' me. 
 
 Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell .'lim 
 what you sa\'. 
 
 Bene, Do, do ; he'll but break a comparison or 
 two on me ; which, peradventure, not marked, cr 
 not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; and 
 then there's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool 
 will cat no sujipcr that night. \^Music within.] 
 We must follow the leaders. 
 
 Bene. In every good thing. 
 
 Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leava 
 them at the next turning, 
 
 [^Dance. Then exeunt all but Don Johh 
 BoRACuio, and Clacdio 
 ■ Acoosted. 
 
118 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act Dl. 
 
 D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, 
 and hath withdrawn her father to break with him 
 about it : The ladies follow her, and but one visor 
 remains. 
 
 Bora. And that is Claudio ; I know him by his 
 bearing.' 
 
 D. John. Are not you signior Benedick 7 
 
 Claud. You know me well ; I am he. 
 
 D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother 
 in his love ; he is enamored on Hero ; I pray you, 
 dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth ; 
 vou may do the part of an honest man in it. 
 
 Ciaiid. How know you he loves her ? 
 
 D. John. I heard him swear his affection. 
 
 Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would 
 OaiTy her to night. 
 
 D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. 
 
 J^Exeunt Don John and BoRACnio. 
 
 Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, 
 But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio, — 
 'Tis certain so ; — the prince woos for himself. 
 Friendship is constant in all other things. 
 Save in the office and affairs of love : 
 Therefore, ail hearts in love use their own tongues ; 
 Let every eye negotiate for itself, 
 And trust no agent : for beauty is a witch. 
 Against whose charms faith meltelh into blood.' 
 This is an accident of hourly proof. 
 Which I mibtrusted not : Farewell therefore, Hero ! 
 
 Re-tnter Benedick. 
 
 Btne. Count Claudio 1 
 
 Claud. Yea, the same. 
 
 Btne. Come, will you go with me ? 
 
 Claud. Whither? 
 
 Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
 business, count. What fashion will you wear the 
 garland of? About your neck, like a usurer's 
 chain ? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's 
 scarf? You must wear it one way, for the prince 
 hath got your Hero. 
 
 Claud. I wish him joy of her. 
 
 Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover ; 
 so they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince 
 would have served you thus. 
 
 Claud. I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man ; 
 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat 
 the post. 
 
 Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [^Exit. 
 
 Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep 
 
 into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should 
 
 know me, and not know me ! The prince's fool ! — 
 Ila, I may be, I go under that title, because I am 
 in.erry. — Yea ; but so ; I am apt to do myself wrong : 
 I am not so reputed : it is the base, the bitter dis- 
 position of Beatrice, that puts the world into her 
 person, and so gives me out. Well. I'll be re- 
 venged as I may. 
 
 Re-enter Don Pedro. 
 
 D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count ? 
 Did you see him ? 
 
 Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of 
 lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a 
 lodge in a warren ; I told him, and, I think, I told 
 him true, that your grace had got the good will of 
 this young lady ; and I offered him my company to 
 
 • Csrriage. demeanor. 
 
 > Passion. 
 
 a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, at 
 being forsaken, or to bind him up a lod, as being 
 worthy to be whipped. 
 
 D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault ? 
 
 Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy ; 
 who, being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest 
 shows it his companion, and he steals it. 
 
 D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgres- 
 sion ■? The transgression is in the stealer. 
 
 Bene. Yet it had not been anaiss, the rod had 
 been made, and the garland too; for the garland 
 he might have worn himself; and the rod b( 
 might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it 
 have stol'n his bird's nest. 
 
 D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, tJ;<J 
 restore them to the owner. 
 
 Bene. If their singing answer your saying, bv 
 my faith, you say honestly. 
 
 D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to 
 you : the gentleman that danced with her, told 
 her, she is much vvTongcd by you. 
 
 Bene. 0, she misused me past the enduranco 
 of a block ; an oak, with but one green leaf on it, 
 would have answered her ; my very visor bejjan to 
 assume life, and scold with her. She told me, not 
 thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince's 
 jester ; that I was duller than a great thaw ; hud- 
 dling jest upon jest, with such impi)ssible convey- 
 ance, upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, 
 with a whole army shooting at me : She speaks 
 poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were 
 as terrible as her terminations, there were no living 
 near her, she would infect to the north star. I 
 would not marry her, though she were endowed 
 with all that Adam had left him before he trans 
 gressed : she would have made Hercules have 
 turned spit ; yea, and have cleft his club to make 
 the fire too. — Come, talk not of her: you shall find 
 her the infernal At^"* in good apparel. I would to 
 God, some scholar would conjure her ; for certainly 
 while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell, 
 as in a sanctuary ; and people sin upon pui-pose 
 because they would go thither; so, indeed, all di* 
 quiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. 
 
 Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leonato, and 
 Hero. 
 
 D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 
 
 Bene. Will your grace command me any ser- 
 vice to the world's end 1 I will go on the slightest 
 errand now to the Antipodes, thi^t you can devise 
 to send me on : I will fetch you a toothpicker now 
 from the farthest inch of Asia; bring you the 
 length of Prcster John's foot ; fetch you a hair off 
 the great Cham's beard ; do you any embassage 
 to the Pigmies, rather than hold three words' con 
 ference with this harpy: You have no employ 
 ment for me 1 
 
 D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good coin 
 pany. 
 
 Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not ; I 
 cannot endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the 
 heart of signior Benedick. 
 
 Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while , 
 and I gave him use' for it, a double heart lor hia 
 single one : marry, once before, he won it of me 
 with false dice, therefore your grace may well say 
 I have lost it. 
 
 • The Goddess of Discord. 
 
 •I&t«T«St. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 119 
 
 D. Perfrn. You have put ■ him down, lady, you 
 have put him down. 
 
 Beat. So I would not he should do me, my 
 lord, lest I shouhl prove the mother of" fools. I 
 have brought count Claudio, whom you sent me 
 'o seek. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, how now, count, wherefore 
 ire you sad 1 
 
 Claud. Not sad, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. How then T Sick 1 
 Claud. Neither, 'iiy lord. 
 
 Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
 incrry, nor well : hut civil, count,- civil as an orange, 
 and something of that jealous complexion. 
 
 D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be 
 frue ; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit 
 is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, 
 and fair Hero is won ; I have broke with her father, 
 and his good will obtained : name the day of mar- 
 riage, and God give thee Joy ! 
 
 Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with 
 her my fortunes : his grace hath made the match, 
 ind all grace say Amen to it! 
 
 Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue." 
 
 Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy; I 
 were but little happy, if I could say how much. — 
 Lady, as you are mine, I am youis; I give away 
 myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. 
 
 Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop 
 his mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak 
 neither. 
 
 D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry 
 heart. 
 
 Beat. Yea, my lord ; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps 
 on the windy side of care : — My cousin tells him 
 1 his ear, that he is in her heart. 
 
 Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 
 
 Beat. Good lord, for alliance ! — Thus goes every 
 one to the world but I, and I am sunburned ; I 
 may sit in a corner and cry heigh ho ! for a hus- 
 band. 
 
 D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 
 
 Beat. I would rather have one of your father's 
 getting : Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? 
 Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could 
 come by them. 
 
 D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ? 
 
 Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have an- 
 other for working days ; your grace is too costly 
 lo wear every day: — But, I beseech your grace, 
 pardon me: I was born to speak all mirth and 
 no matter. 
 
 D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to 
 b<; merry best becomes you ; for out of question, 
 you were born in a meny hour. 
 
 Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried ; but 
 Iheii there was a star danced, and under that was 
 I born. — Cousins, God give you joy ! 
 
 Lemi. Niece, w ill you look to those things I told 
 y. u of? 
 
 Beat, I cry you mercy, uncle. — ^y your grace's 
 warden. [Exit Beatrice. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited 
 ady. 
 
 Leon. There's little of the melancholy element 
 m her, my lord : .she is never sad, but when she 
 ileeps: and not ever .<;ad then; for I have heard 
 my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of un- 
 'iap[)iness, and waked herself with laughing. 
 
 • Turn : a phrase urjd among the players. 
 
 D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a 
 husband. 
 
 Leon. 0, by no neans; she mocks all her woDers 
 out of suit. 
 
 D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Bene- 
 dick. 
 
 Leon. Lord, my lord, if they were but a week 
 married, they would talk themselves mad. 
 
 D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to 
 go to church ? 
 
 Claud. To-moiTow, my lord : Time goes on 
 crutches, till love have all his rites. 
 
 Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, 'xhu h if 
 hence a just seven-night; and a time too !. rief too, 
 to have all things answer my mind. 
 
 Z>. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long 
 a breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time 
 shall not go dully by us; I will, in the interim, 
 undertake one of Hercules' labors ; which is, to 
 bring signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into 
 a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I 
 would fain have it a match ; and I doubt not but 
 to fashion it, if you three will but minister such 
 assistance as I shall give you direction. 
 
 Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me 
 ten nights' watchings. 
 
 Claud. And I, my lord. 
 
 Z>. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero 1 
 
 Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to 
 help my cousin to a good hu.sband. 
 
 D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest 
 husband that I know : thus far can I praise him ; 
 he is of a noble strain,' of approved valor, and con- 
 firmed honesty. I will teach you how to humoi 
 your cousin, that she shall fill in love with Bene- 
 dick : — and I, with your two helps, will so practise 
 on Benedick, that, in despite of his (juick wit and 
 his queasy* stomach, he shall fall in love with Bea- 
 trice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an 
 archer ; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only 
 love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my 
 drift. ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
 
 Eiiter Don John and Borachio. 
 
 D. John, It is so ; the count Claudio shall marry 
 the daughter of Leonato. 
 
 Bora. Yea, my lord ; but I can cross it. 
 
 D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment 
 will be mcdicinable to me : I am sick in displeasure 
 to him ; and whatsoever comes athwart his affec- 
 tion, ranges evenly with mine. How canst ihou 
 cross this mamage 1 
 
 Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertlj, 
 that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 
 
 D. John. Show me briefly how. 
 
 Bora. I think I told your lordship, a year since, 
 how much I am in the favor of Margaret, the 
 waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. 
 
 D. John. I remember. 
 
 Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the 
 night, appoint her to look out at her lady's clian' 
 ber-window. 
 
 D. John. What life is in that, to be the death 
 of this marriage 1 
 
 Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper 
 Go you to the prince your brother ; spare not to tell 
 him, that he hath wronged his honor in marryi'ia 
 
 > Lineage. 
 
 ■ Fastirlinus 
 
J20 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act II 
 
 ihe renowned Clandio (whose estimation do you 
 miglitily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such 
 1 one as Hero. 
 
 D. John. What proof shall I make of that? 
 
 Bora. Proof enough lo misuse the prince, to vex 
 Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Lconato: Look 
 you for an}^ other issue ? 
 
 D. John. Only tu d?spite them, I will endeavor 
 any thing. 
 
 Boi a. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw don 
 Pedro and the count Claudio alone: tell thrn.. ihat 
 you know that Hero loves me; intend' a kind of i 
 Mai hoth to the prince and Claudio, as — in love \ 
 of your jrolher's honor, who hath made this match ; j 
 and his friend's reputation, who is tlius like to he 
 cozened with the semblance of a maid. — that you 
 have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe 
 this without trial : offer them instances; whi( h shall 
 bear no less likelihood, than to see me at her cham- 
 ber-window ; hear me call .Margaret, Hero ; hear 
 Margaret term mc Borachio ; and bring them to 
 see this, the very night before the intendi^d wed- 
 ding : for, in the mean time, I will so fashion the 
 matter, that Hero shall be al)sent; and there shall 
 appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, (hat 
 jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the pre- 
 paration overthrown. 
 
 D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 
 I will put it in practice: Be cunning in the work- 
 ing this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 
 
 Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and 
 my cunning shall not shame me. 
 
 D.John. I will presently go learn their day of 
 marriage. • [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE HI.— Leonato's Garden. 
 
 Enter Benedick and a Boy. 
 Bene. Boy, — 
 
 Boy. Signior. 
 
 Bene, In my chamber-window lies a book; bring 
 It hither to me in the orchard. 
 
 Boy. I am here already, sir. 
 
 Bene. I know that;- — but I would have thee 
 hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] — I do much 
 wonder, that one man, seeing how much another 
 man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors to 
 love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow 
 follies in others, become tlie argument of his own 
 scorn by, falling in love: And such a man is Clau- 
 dio. I have known, when there was no music with 
 him but the drum and fife ; and now had he rather 
 hear the tabor and the pipe : I have known, when 
 he would have walked ten mile afoot, to see a good 
 •jrmor ; and now will he lie ten nights awake carv- 
 _:;g tlie fashion of a new doublet. He was wont 
 3 speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest 
 man, and a soldier; and now is he turn'd orthogra- 
 j/her; his words are a very fantastical banquet, 
 just so many strange dishes. May I be so con- 
 verted, and see with these eyes ] I cannot tell ; 
 I think not: I will not be sworn, but love may 
 transform me to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath 
 on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall 
 never make me such a fool. One woman is fair ; 
 yet I am well: another is wise; yet I am well: 
 another virtuous ; yet I am well : but till all graces 
 be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my 
 grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or 
 
 ' Pretend. 
 
 I'll none ; virtuous, or I'll never cherpeii her ; fair, 
 or I'll never look on her , mild, or come not near ' 
 noble, or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an 
 excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what 
 color it please God. Ha ! the prince and monsieuf 
 Love ! I will hide mc in the arbor. [ Withdraws 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music 1 
 
 Claud. Yea, my good lord : — How still tho 
 evening is. 
 As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! [self! 
 
 D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid him- 
 
 Clnud. O, very well, my lord : the music ended, 
 We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth. 
 Enter Balthazar with music. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song 
 again. 
 
 Ballh. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
 To slander music any more than once. 
 
 D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, 
 To put a strange face on his own perfection : 
 I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 
 
 Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing: 
 Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
 To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he woos ; 
 Yet will he swear, he loves. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come • 
 
 Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument. 
 Do it in notes. 
 
 Balth. Note this before my notes. 
 
 There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he 
 speaks ; 
 Note, notes, forsooth, and noting ! [Music 
 
 Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravish'd ! 
 — Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale 
 souls out of men's bodies'? — Well, a horn for my 
 money, when all's done. 
 
 Balthazar sings. 
 I. 
 
 Balth. Sigh no mere, ladies, sigh no more, 
 Men were deceivers ever ; 
 One foot in sea, and one on shore i 
 To one thing constant never: 
 Then sigh not so, 
 But let them go. 
 And be you blithe and bonny: 
 Converting all your sounds of tooe 
 Into, Hey nonny, nanny. 
 
 IT. 
 Sing no more ditties, sing no mo* 
 
 Of dumps so dull and heavy; 
 The fraud of men was ever so, 
 Since summer first was leavy: 
 Then sigh not so, cCv. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 
 
 Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Hal no ; no, faith ; thou singest well 
 enough for a shift. 
 
 Bene. [Aside."] An he had been a dog, that 
 should have howled thus, they would have hanged 
 him ; and, I pray God, his bad voice bode no mis- 
 chief I I bad as Hef have heard the night-raven, 
 come what plague could have come after it. 
 
 D.Pedro. Yea, marry; [To Claudio.] — Dos) 
 thou hear, Balthazar ? I pray thee get us some ex- 
 cellent music; for to-morrow night we would have 
 it at the lady Hero's chamber-window. 
 
 Balth. The best I can, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt Balthazab 
 and music.'] Come hither, Leonato : What was it 
 » More. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHKsG. 
 
 121 
 
 you told me of lo-day 1 that your niece Beatrice 
 was in love with signior Benedick 1 
 
 Claud. O, ay ; — Stalk on, stalk on ; the fowl 
 tits. [Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that 
 lady would have loved any man. 
 
 Leo7i. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that 
 she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she 
 hath in all outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor. 
 
 Bene. Is't possible ? Sits the wind in that corner ? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what 
 to think of it ; but that she loves him with an en- 
 raged atfection, — it is past the infinite of thought. 
 
 D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 
 
 Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 
 
 Leon. O God ! counterfeit ! There never was 
 counterfeit of piission came so near the life of pas- 
 sion, as she discovers it. [she T 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows 
 
 d/aud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you — 
 Vou heard my daughter tell you how. 
 
 Claud. She did, indeed. 
 
 D. Pedro. How, how, I pi ny you ? You amaze 
 me ; I would have thought her spirit had been in- 
 vincible against all assaults of affection. 
 
 Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; es- 
 pecially against Benedick. 
 
 Bene, [Aside.^ I should think this a gull, but 
 that the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery 
 cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. 
 
 Claud. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known 
 to Benedick ? 
 
 Ijeon. No ; and swears she never will ; that's 
 her torment. 
 
 Claud. 'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says : 
 Shall I, says she, that have so oft encoimter'd him 
 with scorn, lurife to him that 1 love him ? 
 
 Leon. This says she now when she is beginning 
 to write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a night ; 
 and there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ 
 a sheet of paper : — my daughter tells us all. 
 
 Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, re- 
 member a pretty jest your daughter told us of 
 
 Leon. ! — When she had writ it, and was read- 
 ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice be- 
 tween the sheet? 
 
 Claud. That. 
 
 Leon. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand 
 Lalf-pence ; railed at herself, that she should be so 
 immodest to write to one that she knew would flout 
 her : I measure him, says she, by my own spirit ,- 
 foi I should flout him, if he writ to me ; yea, 
 thouoh I love him, I should. 
 
 Claud. Then down upon her luiees she falls, 
 weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, 
 curses: — O sweet Benedick! God give me pa- 
 tience ! 
 
 Leon. She doth, indeed ; my daughter says so : 
 and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that 
 my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a des- 
 perate outrage to herself: It is very true. 
 
 D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of 
 it by some other, if she will not discover it. 
 
 Claud. To what end 1 He would make but a 
 iport of it, and torment the poor lady worse. 
 
 /t Prdro. An he should, it were an alms to hang 
 
 him: She's an excellent sweet lady; and, out ol 
 all suspicion, she is virtuous. 
 
 Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 
 
 D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 
 
 Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating 
 in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that 
 blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I 
 have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. 
 
 D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage 
 on me ; I would have daff 'd' all other respects, and 
 made her half myself: I pray you, tell Bent li- k 
 of it, and hear what he will say. 
 
 Leon. Were it good, think you 1 
 
 Claud. Hero thinks surely, she wil die: foi ghe 
 says, she will die if he love her not ; Lind slie will 
 die ere she make her love known ; and she will die 
 if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath 
 of her accustomed crossness. 
 
 D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make 
 tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it ; 
 for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptuous 
 spirit. 
 
 Claud. He is a very proper man. 
 
 D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. 
 
 D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks 
 that are like wit. 
 
 Leon. And I take him to be valiant. 
 
 D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the 
 managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for 
 either he avoids them with great discretion, or un- 
 dertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. 
 
 Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily 
 keep peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to 
 enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. 
 
 D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man doth 
 fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some 
 large jests he will make. Well, I am sony for 
 your niece : Shall we go see Benedick, and tell 
 him of her love. 
 
 Claud. Never tell him, my lord ; let her wear 
 it out with good counsel. 
 
 Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may weai 
 her heart out first. 
 
 D. Pcdj-o. W^ell, we'll hear further of it by your 
 daughter ; let it cool the while. I love Benedick 
 well ; and I could wish he would modestly examine 
 himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good 
 a lady. 
 
 Leon. My lord, will you walk 1 dinner is ready. 
 
 Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I 
 will never trust my expectation. [Aside. 
 
 D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for 
 her; and that must your daughter and her gentle- 
 woman carry. The sport will be, when they hold 
 one an opinion of another's dotage, and no sucii 
 matter; that's the scene that I would see, (vhich 
 will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to 
 call him in to dinner. [Aside 
 
 [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato 
 
 Benedick advances from the Arbor. 
 
 Bene. This can be no trick: The conference was 
 sadly borne.' — They have the truth of this fi-om 
 Hero. They seem to i)ity the lady ; it seems, her 
 affections have their full bent. Love me ! why, it 
 must be reijuited. I hear how I am censured : they 
 say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive th« 
 
 > Thrown off. « Seriously jarrieii oq. 
 
I2!i 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Acr in 
 
 ove come fiom her; they say too, tliat she will ra- 
 ther die than give any sign of affection. — I did 
 never think to maiTy : — I must not seem proud : 
 — Happy are they that hear their detractions, and 
 can put them to mending. They say, the lady is 
 fair ; 'tis a truth I can bear them witness : and vir- 
 tuous ; — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but 
 for loving me : — By my troth, it is no addition to 
 her wit; — nor no great argument of her folly, for 
 I will be hombly in love with her. — I may chance 
 have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken 
 on me, because I have railed so long against mar- 
 riage : — But doth not the appetite alter 1 A man 
 loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure 
 in his age : Shall quips, and sentences, and these 
 paper bullets of the brain, awe a man fi-om the 
 career of his humor 1 No : The world must be 
 peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I 
 did not think I should live till I were married. — 
 Here comes Beatrice : By this day, she's a fair 
 lady : I do spy some marks of love in her. 
 
 Enter Beatrice. 
 
 Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you 
 come in to dinner. 
 
 Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you foi joui 
 pains. 
 
 Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, 
 than you take pains to thank me ; if it had bef.n 
 painful, I would not have come. 
 
 Bene. You take pleasure in the message 1 
 
 Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon 
 a knife's point, and choke a daw withal :— -You 
 have no stomach, signior : fare you well. \^Exit. 
 
 Bene. Ha ! Against my will, I am sent to bid 
 you come to dinner — there's a double meaning in 
 that. I took no more pains fin- lhose thanks, than 
 you took pains to thank me — that s as much as 
 to say. Any pains that I take for you is as easy as 
 thanks : — If I do not take pity of her, I am a vil- 
 lain ; if I do not love her, I am a Jew : I will go 
 get her picture. [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 1 
 
 SCENE I.— Leonato's Garden. 
 Hunter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
 
 Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlor : 
 There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
 Proposing' with the prince and Claudio : 
 Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
 M^alk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
 Is all of her ; say, that thou overheard'st us ; 
 And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
 Wliere honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun. 
 Forbid the sun to enter ; — like favorites, 
 Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
 Against that power that bred it : — there will she 
 
 hide her. 
 To listen our propose : This is thy office, 
 Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 
 
 Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pre- 
 sently. [Exit. 
 
 Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come. 
 As we do trace this alley up and down, 
 Our talk must only be of Benedick ; 
 When I do name him, let it be thy part 
 To praise him more than ever man did merit : 
 My talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
 Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter 
 Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
 That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin : 
 
 Enter Beatrice, behind. 
 
 For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
 Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 
 
 Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
 Cut with her golden oars the silver stream. 
 And greedily devour the treacherous bait: 
 So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
 Is couched in the woodbine coverture : 
 Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 
 
 Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose 
 nothing 
 Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — 
 
 [They advance to the bower. 
 No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
 t know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
 As haggards of the rock.' 
 
 • Discoursing. • A species of hawks. 
 
 Urs. But are you sure, 
 
 That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely 1 
 
 Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed 
 lord. 
 
 Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? 
 
 Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it : 
 But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, 
 To wish him wrestle with affection. 
 And never to let Beatrice know of it. 
 
 Urs. Why did you so T Doth not the gentleman 
 Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, 
 As ever Beatrice shall couch upon 1 
 
 Hero. God of love ! I know, he doth deserve 
 As much as may be yielded to a man : 
 But nature never fram'd a woman's heart 
 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes. 
 Misprising what they look on ; and her wit 
 Values itself so highly, that to her 
 All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
 She is so self-endeared. 
 
 Urs. Sure, I think so ; 
 
 And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
 She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 
 
 i/ero. Why, you speak truth: I neveryetsawman, 
 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, 
 But she would spell him backward : if fair "accd. 
 She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister; 
 If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick, 
 Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-hcadcd: 
 If low, an agate very vilely cut : 
 If speaking, why, a vare blown with all wind : 
 If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
 So turns she every man the wrong side out ; 
 And never gives to truth and virtue, that 
 Which simpleness and merit purchascth. 
 
 Urs. Sure, sure, such carjnng is not commendablu 
 
 Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashionj 
 As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable* 
 But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, 
 She'd mock me into air ; O, she would laugh in« 
 Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
 Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire. 
 Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 12ii 
 
 It were a better death thin die with mocks; 
 
 Wliich is as bad as die with tickhng. 
 
 Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say. 
 
 Hero, No ; rather I will go to Benedick 
 And counsel him to fight against his passion: 
 And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders 
 To stain my cousin with : One doth not know, 
 How much an ill word may empoison liking. 
 
 U?-s. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
 She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
 (Having so swift and excellent a wit, 
 As she is priz'd to have.) as to refuse 
 80 rare a gentleman as signipr Benedick. 
 
 Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
 Always excepted my dear Claudio. 
 
 Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, 
 Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick, 
 Fur shape, for bearing, argument, and valor. 
 Goes foremost in report through Italy. 
 
 Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name. 
 
 Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. — 
 When are you married, madam ? 
 
 Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow : Come : 
 go in; 
 I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel. 
 Which is the best to furnish nic to-morrow. 
 
 Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you ; we have caught 
 her, madam. [Aside. 
 
 Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps : 
 Bome Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 
 
 [Exeunt Hero and Ursula. 
 
 Beatrice advances. 
 
 Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can thisbetruel 
 
 Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much 1 
 Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 
 
 No glory lives behind the back of such. 
 And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee; 
 
 Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand; 
 If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 
 
 To bind our loves up in a holy band: 
 For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I 
 Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Don Pedho, Claudio, Be>-edick, and 
 Leonato. 
 
 D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be 
 consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. 
 
 Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll 
 vouchsafe me. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in 
 the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child 
 .■".is new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only 
 hb l)old with Benedick for his company; for, from 
 the ciowu of his head to the sole of his foot, he is 
 all mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow- 
 string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at 
 him: he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his 
 tongue is the clapper ; for what his heart thinks, 
 kis tongue speaks. 
 
 Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 
 
 Leon. So say I ; methinks you are sadder. 
 
 Claud. I hope, he be in love. 
 
 D. Pedro. Hang him, trunnt; there's no true 
 <Irop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love : 
 T he be sad, he wants money. 
 
 Bene. I have the tooth-ache. 
 
 P Pedro. Draw it 
 
 Be>ie. Hang it ! [wards, 
 
 Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after 
 
 Z>. Pedro. What ! sigh for the tooth-ache '? 
 
 Leon. Where is but a humor, or a worm ? 
 
 Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but 
 he that has it. 
 
 Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 
 
 D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, 
 unless it he a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; 
 fis, to be a Dutchman to-day; a Frenchman to-mor* 
 row; or in the shape of two countries at once, as a 
 German from the waist downward, all slop;' and 
 a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet: un- 
 less ho have a fancy to this foolery, as it a^-i^^arf 
 ho hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you wouid have 
 it appear he is. 
 
 Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, 
 there is no believing old signs : he brushes his hat 
 o' mornings : What should that bode ? 
 I). Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? 
 
 Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen 
 with him ; and the old ornament of his cheek hath 
 already stuffed tennis-balls. 
 
 Leoti. Indeed, he looks younger than he did by 
 the loss of a beard. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet : Can 
 you smell him out by that ? 
 
 Claud. That's as much as to say, The sweet 
 youth's in love. 
 
 D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. 
 
 ('laud. And when was he wont to wash his face t 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself 1 for the 
 which, I hear what they say of him. 
 
 Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now 
 crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops 
 
 D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him 
 Conclude, conclude, he is in love. 
 
 Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. 
 
 D. Pedro. That would I know, too ; I warrant, 
 one that knows him not. 
 
 Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and, in despite 
 of all, dies for him. [wards. 
 
 D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up 
 
 Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. — 
 Old signior, walk aside with me : I have studied 
 eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which 
 these hobby-horses must not hear. 
 
 [Exeunt Bent:dick and Leonato. 
 
 D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about 
 Beatrice. 
 
 Claud. 'Tis even so: Hero and Margaret haveb^ 
 this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then the 
 two bears will not bite one another, when they meet 
 
 Enter Don .Tohn. 
 
 D. .Tohn. My lord and brother, God save yon- 
 
 D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 
 
 D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak 
 with you. 
 
 D. Pedro. In private ? 
 
 D. John. If it please you ; — yet count Claudio 
 may hear ; for what I would speak of, concerns him. 
 
 D. Pedro. What's the matter 1 
 
 D. John. Means your lordship to be married 
 to-morrow 1 [To ClauptOi 
 
 D. Pedro. You know, he does. [I know, 
 
 D. John. I know not that, when he knows what 
 
 Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, 
 discover it. 
 
 D. John. You may think I love you not; let that 
 1 Larxe loose breeches. 
 
124 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Scene III 
 
 appear heieaflcr, and aim hotter at me by that I 
 now will manifest: F,or my brother, I think ho 
 holds you well ; and in dearness of heart hath holp 
 to eifect your ensuing marriage: surely, suit ill 
 •pent, and labor ill bestowed ! 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 D. John. I came hither to tell you ; and, cir- 
 cumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long 
 a talking of,) the lady is disloyal. 
 
 Claud. Who] Hero? 
 
 D. John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, 
 every man's Hero. 
 
 Claud. Disloyal ? 
 
 D.JoIir. The word is too good to paint out her i 
 wickediiCss; I could say, she were worse; think j 
 you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder \ 
 not till further warrant : go but with me to-night, 
 you shall see her chamber-window entered ; even 
 the night before her wedding-day : if you love her 
 then, to-morrow wed her ; but it would better fit 
 yjur honor to change your mind. 
 
 Claud. May this be so ? 
 
 D Pedro. I will not think it. 
 
 D.John. If you dare not trust thatyou see, con- 
 fess not that you know : if you will follow me, I 
 will show you enough ; and when you have seen 
 more and heard more, proceed accordingly. j 
 
 Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should 
 not marry her to-morrow ; in the congregation, j 
 where I should wed, there will I shame her. 
 
 D. Pedro. And as I wooed for thee to obtain ; 
 her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. t 
 
 D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you 
 are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till midnight, 
 and let the issue show itself. 
 
 D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! 
 
 Claud. mischief strangely thwarting ! 
 
 D. John. O plague right well prevented I 
 So will you say when you have seen the sequel. 
 
 \_Excunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Street. 
 
 Enter Dogbehry and Verges, with the Watch. 
 
 Dogb. Are you good men and true ? 
 
 Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should 
 Buffer salvation, body and soul. 
 
 Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
 them, if they should have any allegiance in them, 
 being chosen for the prince's watch. 
 
 Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbor 
 Dogberry. 
 
 Dogb. First, who think you the most disheart- 
 Icss man to be constable ? 
 
 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ; 
 for they can write and read. 
 
 Dogb. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal. God 
 hsth blessed you with a good name :1 to be a well- 
 favored man is the gift of fortune ; but to write 
 and read comes by nature. 
 
 2 Watch. Both which, master constable, 
 
 Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your answer. 
 
 Well, for your favor, sir, why, give God thanks, and 
 make no boast of it ; and for your writing and read- 
 ing, let that appear when there is no need of such 
 vanity. You are thought here to be the most sense- 
 less and fit man for the constable of the watch ; 
 therefore bear you the lantern : This is j'our charge ; 
 You shall comprehend all vagrom men ; you are to 
 bid any man stand in the prince's name. 
 2 Watch How, if he will not stand ? 
 
 Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but lei 
 him go; and presently call the rest of the watch 
 together, and thank God you are rid of a knave. 
 
 Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, 
 he is none- of the prince's subjects. 
 
 Dogb. True, and ihey are to meddle with none 
 but the princtv's subjects : — You shall also make no 
 noise in the streets; for, for the watch to babble and 
 talk is most tolerable, and not to be endured. 
 
 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk; we 
 know what belongs to a watch. 
 
 Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
 ^1 et watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping 
 should offend: only have a care that your bills' 
 be not stolen: — Well, you are to call at all the 
 ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them 
 to bed. 
 
 2 Watch. How, if they will noti 
 
 Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are 
 sober; if they make you not then the better an 
 swer, you may say, they are not the men you took 
 them for. 
 
 2 Watch. Well, sir. 
 
 Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, 
 by virtue of your office, to be no true man ; and 
 for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make 
 with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 
 
 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall 
 we not lay hands on himi 
 
 Dogb. Truly, by your ofTice, you may; but, I 
 think, they that touch pitch will be defiled: the 
 most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thiefi 
 is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal 
 out of your company. 
 
 Verg. You have been always called a merciful 
 man, partner. 
 
 Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ; 
 much more a man who hath anj' honesty in him. 
 
 Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you 
 must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 
 
 2 Watch. How, if the nurse be asleep, and will 
 not hear us? 
 
 Dogb. Why, then depart in peace, and let the 
 child wake her with crying; for the ewe that wil 
 not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answei 
 a calf when he bleats. 
 
 Verg. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con 
 
 stable, are to present the prince's own person: if 
 
 1 you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him 
 
 ; t'erg-. Nay, by'r lady, that, I think, he cannot 
 
 Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man 
 that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry, 
 not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, th«- 
 watch ought to offend no man; and it is an offenc* 
 to stay a man against his will. 
 Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so 
 
 Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night 
 : an there be any matter of weight chances, call uj 
 me : keep your fellows' counsel and your own, aiitt 
 good night. — Come, neighbor. 
 
 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : 1& 
 us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, ani 
 then all to-bed. 
 
 Dogb. One word more, honest neighbors : 1 
 ' pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door; foi 
 : the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great 
 j coil to-night: Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. 
 
 [^Exeunt Dogbehry and Vehgi* 
 I » Weapons of the watchmea. 
 
80ENE IV 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 120 
 
 Enter Borachio and Conradr. 
 
 Bora. What! Conradc, — 
 
 Watch. Peace, stir not. [^Aside. 
 
 Bora. Conrade, I say ! 
 
 Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. 
 
 Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought 
 lliere would a scab follow. 
 
 Con. I will owe thee an answer for that ; and 
 now forward with thy tale. 
 
 Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent- 
 house, for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true 
 drunkard, utter all to thee. 
 
 Watch, [yls«(/e.] Some treason, masters ; yet 
 stand cliMe. 
 
 Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of don 
 John a thousand ducats. 
 
 Con. Is it possible that any villany should be 
 BO dear? 
 
 Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were pos- 
 sible any villany should be so rich ; for when rich 
 villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may 
 make what price they will. 
 
 Con. I wonder at it. 
 
 Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed :' Thou 
 knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or 
 a cloak, is nothing to a man. 
 
 Con. Yes, it is apparel. 
 
 Bora. I mean the fashion. 
 
 Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 
 
 Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the 
 fool. But see'st thou not what a deformed thief 
 this fashion is 1 
 
 Watch. I know thct Deformed ; he has been a 
 vile thief this seven year; he goes up and down 
 like a gentleman : I remember his name. 
 
 Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody 1 
 
 Con. Nj ; 'twas the vane on the house. 
 
 Bora. Seest thou not, I say, wliat a deformed 
 thief this fashion is ] how giddily he turns about 
 all the hot bloods between fourteen and five-and- 
 thirty ? sometune, fashioning them like Pharaoh's 
 soldiers in the reechy' painting ; sometime, like god 
 Bel's priests in the old church window ; sometime, 
 like the shaven Hercules in the smirched'' worm- 
 eaten tapestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy 
 as his club ? 
 
 Con. All this I see ; and see that the fashion 
 wears out more apparel than the man : But art not 
 thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou 
 hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the 
 fashion 1 
 
 Bora. Not so neither : but know, that I have 
 to-night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentle- 
 woman, by the name of Hero ; she leans me out 
 at her mi.-^.iess' chamber window, bids me a thou- 
 sand tunes good night, — I tell this tale vilely : — I 
 shcald firsi tell thee, how the prince, Claudio, and 
 my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by 
 my master don John, saw afar off in the orchard 
 this amiable encounter. 
 
 Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero? 
 
 Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Clau- 
 'lio ; bnt the devil my master knew she was Mar- 
 garet; and partly by his oaths, which first pos- 
 «esscd them, partly by the dark night, which did 
 leccive them, Imt chiefly by my villany, which 
 'id confirm any slander that don John had 
 
 •Unpractised in the ways of the world. 
 ' Smoke 1 
 
 9 Soiled. 
 
 made, away went Claudio enraged ; swore he 
 would meet her, as he was appointed, next morn- 
 ing at the temple, and there, before the whola 
 congregation, shame her with what he saw over* 
 night, and send her home again without a hus- 
 band. 
 
 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, 
 stand. 
 
 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable : 
 We have here recovered the most dangerous 
 piece of lechery that ever was known in the 
 commonwealth. 
 
 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them ; I 
 know him, he wears a lock. 
 
 Con. Masters, masters, — 
 
 1 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, 
 I wan-ant you. 
 
 Con. Masters, — 
 
 1 Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let ua 
 obey you to go with us. 
 
 Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commo- 
 dity, being taken up of these men's bills. 
 
 Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. 
 Come, we'll obey you. \Extunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— -^ Room in Leonato's House 
 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
 
 Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatricfl 
 and desire her to rise. 
 
 Urs. I will, lady. 
 
 Hero. And bid her come hither. 
 
 Urs. Well. [Exit Ursula. 
 
 Marg. Troth, I tlimk, yoir otier rabato' were 
 better. 
 
 Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear 
 this. 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it is not so good ; and 1 
 warrant your cousin will say so. 
 
 Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another 
 I'll wear none but this. 
 
 Marg. I like the new attire within excellently 
 if the hair were a thought browner: and your 
 gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the 
 duchess of Milan's gown, that they praise so. 
 
 Hero. O that exceeds, they say. 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in 
 respect of yours: Cloth of gold, and cuts, and 
 laced with silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, 
 side-sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a 
 bluish tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and 
 excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. 
 
 Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heait 
 is exceeding hca^y ! 
 
 Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of 
 a man. 
 
 Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed ? 
 
 Marg. Of what, lady ? of speaking honorably ! 
 Is not marriage honorable in a beggar? Is not 
 your lord honorable without marriage 1 I tliink 
 you would have me say, saving your reverence, — 
 a hushand: an bad thinking do not wrest truo 
 speaking, I'll oflcnd nobody : Is there any harm in 
 — the heavier for a hiistmnd ? None, I think, an 
 if it be the right husband, and the right wife ; 
 otherwise, 'tis light, and not heavy : Ask my lad.l 
 Beatrice else, here she comes. 
 
 • A kind of ruff. 
 
126 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHINa. Act III. Scene V 
 
 Enter Beatrice. 
 
 Hero. GcDtl morrow, coz. 
 
 Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 
 
 Hero. Why, how now ! do you speak in the 
 sif k tune 1 
 
 Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 
 
 Marg. Clap us into — Light of love; that 
 goes without a burden ; do you sing it, and I'll 
 dance it. 
 
 Beat. Yea, Light o' love, with your heels! — 
 then if your husband have stables enough, you'll 
 SCO he shall lack no barns. 
 
 Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn that 
 with my heels. 
 
 Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time 
 you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding 
 ill : — hey ho ! 
 
 Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband 1 
 
 Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.* 
 
 Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's 
 no more sailing by the star. 
 
 Beat. What means the fool, trow 1 
 
 Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one their 
 heart's desire ! 
 
 Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are 
 iin excellent perfume. 
 
 Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. 
 
 Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly 
 catching of cold. 
 
 Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how long 
 have you profcss'd apprehension ? 
 
 Marg. Ever since you left it : doth not my wit 
 become me rarely ? 
 
 Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it 
 in your cap. — By my troth, I am sick. 
 
 Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 
 Benedictus, and lay it to your heart ; it is the only 
 thing for a qualm. 
 
 Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 
 
 Beat. Benedictus ! why Benedictus 1 you have 
 some moral in this Benedictus. 
 
 Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no mo- 
 ral meaning ; I meant plain holy thistle. You 
 may think, perchance, that I think you are in 
 love : nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to 
 think what I list ; nor I list not to think what I 
 can ; nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would 
 think my heart out of thinking, that you are in 
 love, or that you will be in love, or that you 
 can be in love ; yet Benedick was such another, 
 and now is he become a man : he swore he 
 would never marry ; and yet now, in despite of 
 his heart, he eats his meat without grudging : 
 and how you may be converted, I know not ; 
 but, methinks, you look with your eyes as other 
 women do. 
 
 Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue 
 keeps ? 
 
 Marg, Not a false gallop. 
 
 Re-enter Ursula. 
 
 Urs. Madam, withdraw ; the prince, the count, 
 eignior Benedick, don John, and all the gallants 
 of the town are come to fetch you to church. 
 
 Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, 
 good Ursula. \_Exeunt. 
 
 *i.t. An ache or pain. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in Leonato's House 
 Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. 
 
 Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh 
 bor. 
 
 Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence 
 with you, that decerns you nearly. 
 
 Leon. Brief, I pray you, for, you see, 'tis a busy 
 time with me. 
 
 Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. 
 
 Verg. Yes, in truth, it is, sir. 
 
 Leon. What is it, my good friends? 
 
 Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little 
 off the matter ; an old man, sir, and his wits are 
 not so blunt, as, God help, I would desire they 
 were ; but, in faith, honest, as the skin between 
 his brows. 
 
 Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any 
 man living, that is an old man, and no honester 
 than I. 
 
 Dogb. Comparisons are odorous : palabras, 
 neighbor Verges. 
 
 Leon. Neighbors, you are tedious. 
 
 Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we 
 are the poor duke's officers ; but truly, for mine 
 own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find 
 in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. 
 
 Leon. All thy tediousness on me ! ha ! 
 
 Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more 
 than tis : for I hear as good exclamation on your 
 worship, as of any man in the city ; and thougli I 
 be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. 
 
 Verg. And so am I. 
 
 Leon. I would fain know what you have to 
 say. 
 
 Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting 
 your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of aa 
 arrant knaves as any in Messina. 
 
 Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking; 
 as they say, when the age is in, the wit is out : 
 God help us ! it is a world to see !' — Well said, 
 i'faith, neighbor Verges : — well, God's a good man , 
 an two men ride of a horse, one must ride be- 
 hind: — An honest soul, i'faith, sir; by my troth 
 he is, as ever broke bread : but, God is to be 
 worshipped : all men are not alike ; alas, good 
 neighbor ! 
 
 Leon. Indeed, neighbor, he comes too short ol 
 you. 
 
 Dogb. Gifts, that God gives. 
 
 Leon. I must leave you. 
 
 Dogb. One word, sir ; our watch, sir, have, in- 
 deed, comprehended two aspicious persons, and we 
 would have them this morning examined before 
 your worship. 
 
 Leon. Take their examination yourself, and 
 bring it me ; I am now in great haste, as it may 
 appear unto you. 
 
 Dogb. It shall be suffigance. 
 
 Leon. Drink some wine ere you go ; fare you 
 well. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give youi 
 daughter to her husband. 
 
 Leon. I will wait upon them ; I am ready. 
 
 [^Exeunt Leonato and Messenger 
 Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Franci* 
 
 • ». e. It is wonderful to see. 
 
A«^T IV. Scene I. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 I2i 
 
 ^eacoai. bid him bring his pen and ink horn to the I hpreV that [Tmtching his fore/ieac/.] shall drive 
 
 gaol; we arc now to examination these men. 
 IW^. And we must do it wisely. 
 
 We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; 
 
 Do^rb. 
 
 some of them to a non com: only get the learned 
 writer to set down our excommunication, and meet 
 me at the gaol. \Exeuni 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE l.—Tlie Inside of a Church. 
 
 Lnler Don Pedro, Do7i Joiix, Leoxato, Friar, 
 Claudio, Bexf.dick, Hero, Beatrick, c\c. 
 
 Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the 
 plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 
 particular duties afterwards. 
 
 Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marrv this 
 ladyl 
 
 Claud. No. 
 
 Leon. To be married to her, friar; you come to 
 marry her. 
 
 Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to 
 this count 1 
 
 Hero. I do. 
 
 Friar. If either of you know any inward impe- 
 diment why you should not be conjoined, I charge 
 you, on your souls, to utter it. 
 
 Claud. Know you an}'. Hero? 
 
 Hero. None, my lord. 
 
 Friar. Know you any, count ? 
 
 Leon. I dare make his answer, none. 
 , ' Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men may do ! 
 what men daily do! not knowine: what they do! 
 
 Bene. How now ! Interjections ! Why, then some 
 be of laughing, as ha ! ha ! he ! 
 
 Claud. Stand thee by, friar ■.' — -Father, by your 
 leave ! 
 Will you with free and unconstrained soul 
 rJive me this maid, your daughter] 
 
 Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. 
 
 Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose 
 worth 
 May counterpoise this rich and precious gift ? 
 
 D. Fedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. 
 
 Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank- 
 There, Lconato, take her back again ; [fulness. — 
 Give not this rotten orange to your friend ; 
 She's but the sign and semlilance of her honor : — 
 Behold, how like a maid she blushes here : 
 O, what authority and show of trutii 
 Cjn cunning sin cover itself withal ! 
 C'lmf-s not that blood, as modest evidence, 
 '!■) witness simple virtue? Would you not swear. 
 All you that sec her, that she were a maid, 
 By these exterior shows ? But she is none : 
 she knows the heat of a luxurious' bed : 
 H^r blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 
 
 Leon. What do you mean, my lord 1 
 
 Claud. Not to be married, 
 
 Not knit my soul to an aj)proved wanton. 
 
 Leon. Dear my lord, if you in your own proof 
 Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, 
 .'Vud made defeat of her virginity, 
 
 Claud. I know what you would say; if I have 
 known hoi. 
 You'll say, she did ci/ibrace mc as a husband, 
 And so extenuate the 'forehand sin: 
 "Vo, Leonato, 
 never tempted her with word too large,' 
 « Lascivious 'Licentious. 
 
 But, as a brother to his sister, show'd 
 Bashful sincerity, and comely love. 
 
 Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to yor f 
 
 Claud. Out on thy seeming ! I will writ: irf jItrI 
 it: 
 You seem to me as Dian in her orb: 
 As chaste as is the bud ere it be blow ; 
 But you are more intemperate in yen blood 
 Than Venus, or those pamper'd ani nals 
 That rage in savage sensuality. 
 
 Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak sowldcls 
 
 Leon. Sweet ])rince, why speak not yrul 
 
 D. Fedro. What should I speak! 
 
 I stand dishonor'd, that have gone about 
 To link my dear friend to a common stale. 
 
 Leon. Are these things spoken? or do Ibutdreami 
 
 D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these tliinga 
 are true. 
 
 Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. 
 
 Hero. True ? O God ! 
 
 Claud. Leonato, stand I here 1 
 Is this the jwince ! Is this the prince's brother? 
 Is this fare Hero's? Are our eyes our own? 
 
 Leon. All this is so ; But what of this, my lord 1 
 
 Claud. Let me but move one question to youi 
 daughter : 
 And, by that fatherly and kindly power 
 That you have in her. bid her ansv\er truly. 
 
 Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. 
 
 Hero. O God defend me ! how am I beset !- 
 Wlwt kind of catechising call you this ? 
 
 Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 
 
 Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that name 
 With any just reproach ? 
 
 Claud. Marry, that can Hero ■ 
 
 Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
 What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
 Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one 1 
 Now, if you arc a maid, answer to this. 
 
 Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 
 
 D.Pedro. Why, then arc you no maiden. — Lco- 
 nato, 
 I am sorry you must hear ; Upon mine honor. 
 Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, 
 Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night. 
 Talk with a rutlian at her chamber-window; 
 Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal' villain, 
 Confess'd the vile encounters they have had 
 A thousand times in secret. 
 
 D. John. Fye, fye ! they are 
 
 Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of; 
 There is not chastity enough in language. 
 Without olfence to utter them : 'i'hus, pretty lady, 
 I am sorry for thy much misgovernment 
 
 Claud. Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been, 
 If half thy outward graces had been placed 
 About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart! 
 But, fare thee well, most (bul, most fair! farewell 
 Thou pure impiety, and imjjious purity! 
 For thee I'll lock up ail the gptes of love, 
 
 • Wildly. • Too free ol tonguo. 
 
128 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT Nr^THING. 
 
 And on my e5'elids shall conjecture hang, 
 To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
 And never shall it more be gracious. 
 
 Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? 
 
 [He HO swooJis. 
 Beat. Why, how now, cousin 1 ivherefore sink 
 
 you down': 
 1). John. Come, let us go; these things, come 
 thus to light, 
 Smother her spirits up. 
 
 [Exeunt Don Pkdro, Don John, and Clacdio. 
 Bene. How doth the lady ] 
 B^of, Dead, I think ; — help, uncle ; — 
 
 Her:) why. Hero ! — Uncle! — Signior Benedick! 
 friar! 
 Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand ! 
 Death is the fairest cover for her shame, 
 1'hat may be wish'd for. 
 
 Beat. How now, cousin Hero 1 
 
 Friar. Have comfort, lady. 
 Leo7i. ' Dost thou look up ] 
 
 Friar. Yea; wherefore should she not? 
 Leon. Wherefore ? Why, doth not every earthly 
 Cry shame upon her] Could she here deny [thing 
 The story that is printed in her blood 1 
 Do not live. Hero : do not ope thine eyes : 
 For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die. 
 Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames. 
 Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches. 
 Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one 1 
 Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame 1' 
 0, one too much by thee! Why had I one? 
 Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ? 
 Why had I not, with charitable hand. 
 Took up a beggar's issue at my gates; 
 Who smirched" thus, and mir'd with infamy, 
 I might have said, No part of it is mine, 
 This shame derives itself from unknow7i loins ? 
 But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd. 
 And mine that I was proud on : mine so much. 
 That I myself was to myself not mine. 
 Valuing of her ; why, she — O, she is fallen 
 Into a pit of ink ! that the wdde sea 
 Hath drops too few to wash her clean again ; 
 And salt too little, which may season give 
 To her foul tainted flesh ! 
 
 Bene. Sir, sir, be patient : 
 For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Beat O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! 
 Bent. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? 
 Beat. No, truly, not: although until last night, 
 ! have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 
 
 Leon. Confirm'd, confirm 'd ! O, that is stronger 
 A'hich was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! [made, 
 Would the two princes lie 1 and Claudio lie — 
 Who JDv'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 
 V^'ash'd it with tears 1 Hence from her ; let her die. 
 
 Friar. Hear me a little : 
 For I havi' only been silent so long. 
 And givca ^'ay unto this course of fortune. 
 By noting of the lady : I have mark'd 
 A thousand blushing apparitions start 
 Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
 In angel whiteness bear away those blushes ; 
 And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire. 
 To burn the errors that these princes hold 
 Against U^x maiden truth : — Call me a fool; 
 Trust not my reading, nor my observations, 
 » Disposition of things. a Sullied. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Which with experimental seal dofti warrant 
 The tenor of my book ; trust not my age, 
 My reverence, calling, nor divinity. 
 If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
 Under some biting enor. 
 
 Leon. Friar, it cannot b#t 
 
 Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left. 
 Is, that she will not add to her damnation 
 A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : 
 Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
 That which appears in proper nakedness 1 
 
 Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd o/l 
 Hero. They know, that do accuse me; I knc^ 
 none : 
 If I know more of any man alive, 
 Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
 Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O my fother, 
 Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
 At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
 Mamtain'd the change of words with any creature; 
 Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. 
 
 Friar. There is some strange misprision' in the 
 
 princes. 
 Beiie. Two of them have the very bent of honor ; 
 And if their wisdoms be misled in this. 
 The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 
 Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 
 
 Leon. I knov/ not ; If they speak but truth of her, 
 These hands shall fear her; if they wrong her honor, 
 The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
 Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine 
 Nor age so eat up my invention. 
 Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, 
 Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends. 
 But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind. 
 Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, 
 Ability in means, and choice of friends. 
 To quit me of them thoroughly. 
 
 Friar. Pause a while. 
 
 And let my counsel sway you in this case, 
 Vour daughter here the princes left for dead 
 Let her awhile be secretly ke])t in, 
 And pubhsh it, that she is dead indeed: 
 Maintain a mourning ostentation : 
 And on your family's old monument 
 Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
 That appertain unto a burial. 
 
 Leon. What shall become of this? What wili 
 
 this do? 
 Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her bt* 
 half 
 Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : 
 But not for that, dream I on this strange course- 
 But on this travail look for greater birth. 
 She dying, as it must be so maintained, 
 Upon the instant that she was accus'd, 
 Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd. 
 Of every hearer : For it so falls out. 
 That what we have we prize not to the worth, 
 Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost, 
 \yhy, then we rack' the value ; then we find 
 The virtue, that possession woui 1 not show us 
 Whiles it was ours: — So will it fare withClandie 
 When he shall hear she died upon his words, 
 The idea of her life .shall sweetly creep 
 Into his study of imagination ; 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
 More movmg-delicate, and full uf life, 
 
 ' Misconception. « Oyer-rata 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 129 
 
 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
 
 Than v/hcn she Uv'd indeed : — then shall he mourn, 
 
 (If ever love had interest in his liver,) 
 
 And wish he had not so accused her ; 
 
 No, though he thought his accusation true. 
 
 Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
 
 Will fashion the event in better shape 
 
 Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 
 
 But if all aim but this be levell'd false, 
 
 The supposition of the lady's death 
 
 Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
 
 And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 
 
 (As best befits her wounded reputation) 
 
 In some reclusive and religious life. 
 
 Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and iiijuries. 
 
 Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you r 
 And though, you know, my inwardness' and love 
 Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
 Yet, by mine honor, I will deal in this 
 As secretly, and justly, as your soul 
 Should with jour body. 
 
 Leon. Being that I flow in gi'ief, 
 
 T!ie smallest twine may lead me. 
 
 Friar. 'Tis well consented; presently away; 
 For lo strange sores strangely they strain the 
 cure : — 
 Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day. 
 
 Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience, and 
 endure. 
 
 \_Exeu7it Friar, Heuo, mid LEOTrATo. 
 
 Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this 
 while 1 
 
 Brat, Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 
 
 Bene. I will not desire that. 
 
 Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. 
 
 Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is 
 wrong'd. 
 
 Beuf. Ah, how much might the man deserve of 
 rae, that would right her ! 
 
 Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship 1 
 
 Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 
 
 Bene. May a man do iti 
 
 lieaf. It is a man's olHce, but not yours. 
 
 Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as 
 you: Is not that strange] 
 
 Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It 
 were as possible for me to say, I love nothing so 
 well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie not ; 
 I confess nothing, nor, I deny nothing : — I am sony 
 for my cousin. 
 
 Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 
 
 Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. 
 
 Berx. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and 
 
 will rrake him eat it, that says I love not you. 
 
 Beat. Will you not eat your word ? 
 
 Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it : 
 1 protest, I love thee. 
 
 Beat. Why then, God forgive me ! 
 
 Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ] 
 
 Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour ; I was 
 nbout to protest, I loved you. 
 
 Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 
 
 Beat. I love you with so nmch of my heart, that 
 none is left to protest. 
 
 Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 
 
 Beat. Kill Claudio. 
 
 nene. Ha! not for the wide world. 
 
 Beat. You kill me to deny it : Farewell 
 
 Setie. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 
 » Intimacy. 
 
 Beat. I am gone, though I am here: — Ttiere U 
 no love in you : — Nay, I pray you, let me go- 
 
 Bene. Beatrice, — 
 
 Beat. In faith, I will go. 
 
 Bene. We'll be friends first. 
 
 Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than 
 fight with mine enemV' 
 
 Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy? 
 
 Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, 
 that hath slandered, scorned, dishonored my kins- 
 woman ? — O, that I were a man! — What! bear 
 her in hand until they come to take hands ; and 
 then with public accusation, inicovercd slander, ttj:- 
 mitigated rancor, — O God, that I were a maa ! 1 
 would eat his heart in the market-place. 
 
 Boie. Hear me, Beatrice; — 
 
 Beat. Talk with a man out at a v.'indow ? — a 
 proper saying ! 
 
 Bene. Nay, biit, Beatrice; — 
 
 Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wronged, she is 
 slandered, she is undone. 
 
 Bene. Beat — 
 
 Beat. Princes and counties ! ^ Surely, a princely 
 testimony, a goodly count-confect ;' a sweet gal- 
 lant, surely ! O, that I were a man for his sake ! or 
 that I had any friend would be a man for my sake ! 
 But manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into 
 compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, 
 and trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercu- 
 les, that only tells a lie, and swears it: — I cannot 
 be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a wo- 
 man with grieving. 
 
 Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice: By this hand, I 
 love thee. 
 
 Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
 swearing by it. 
 
 Bene. Think you in your soul the count Clau 
 dio hath wronged Hero ? 
 
 Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a 
 soul. 
 
 Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge 
 him ; I will kiss your hand, and so leave you : By 
 this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account: 
 As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort 
 your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, fare- 
 well. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ rrison. 
 
 EnterDoGRT.unr, Verges, c??c? Sexton, z'/?. gowns: 
 and the Watch, iw/ZA Conuaue tc?!;^ BonAcnio. 
 
 Dogh. Is our whole dissembly appeared ! 
 
 Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sextOQ ! 
 
 Sexton. Which be the malefactors] 
 
 Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner. 
 
 Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the CAhiki' 
 tion to examine. 
 
 Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to ba 
 examined] let them come before master constable. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before tne. — 
 What is your name, friend ] 
 
 Bora. Borachio. 
 
 Dogb. Pray write down — Borachio. Yours^ 
 
 sirrah ] 
 
 Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name ii 
 Conrade. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — master gentleman Con- 
 rade. — Masters, do you serve God ? 
 
 Can. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope. 
 « Noblemen. ' Noblemen matle of suenr 
 
130 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Dogb. Write clown — that they hope they serve 
 God : — and write GoJ first ; for God defend but 
 (jtod should go before such villains ! — Masters, it is 
 proved already that you are little better than false 
 knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so 
 shortly. How answer you for yourselves 1 
 
 Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 
 
 Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; 
 but I will go about with him. — Come you hither, 
 sirrah : a word in your ear, sir ; I say to you, it is 
 thought you are false knaves. 
 
 Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 
 
 Dogb. Well, stand aside. — 'Fore God, they are 
 both in a tale : Have you writ down — that they 
 are none 1 
 
 Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way 
 to examine : you must call forth the watch that 
 are their accusers. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, maiTy, that's the eftest way : — Let 
 the watch come forth. — Masters, I charge you, in 
 the prince's name, accuse these men. 
 
 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that don John, the 
 prince's brother, was a villain. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain: — 
 Why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother 
 — villain. 
 
 Bora, Master constable, — 
 
 Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like 
 thy look, I promise thee. 
 
 Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 
 
 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thou- 
 sand ducats of don John, for accusing the lady 
 Hero ^vrongfuIly. 
 
 Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. 
 Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 
 Sexton. What else, fellow ? 
 
 1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, 
 upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whoU 
 assembly, and not marry her. 
 
 Dogb. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into 
 everlasting redemption for this. 
 Sexton. What else 1 
 
 2 Watch. This is all. 
 
 Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can 
 deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen 
 away ; Hero was in this manner accused, in this 
 very manner refused, and upon the grief of this 
 suddenly died. — Master constable, let these men be 
 bound, and brought to Leonato's ; I will go before, 
 and show him their examination. [^Exii. 
 
 Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. 
 
 Verg. Let them be in band. 
 
 Con. Off, coxcomb. 
 
 Dogb. God's my life ! where's the sexton ? let 
 him write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — 
 Come, bind them : Thou naughty varlet ! 
 
 Co?i. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 
 
 Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place ] Dost 
 thou not suspect my years 1 — O that he were here 
 to write me down — an ass! — but, masters, remem- 
 ber, that I am an ass ; though it be not written 
 down, yet forget not that I am an ass : — No, thou 
 villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved 
 upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow ; 
 and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, 
 a householder: and, which is more, as pretty a 
 piece of flesh as any is in Messina ; and one that 
 knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, 
 go to ; and a fellow that hath had losses ; and one 
 that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome 
 about him : — Bring him away. O, that I ]iad 
 been writ down — an ass. \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Leonato'd House. 
 
 Enter Leonato and AifToirio. 
 
 A7it. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
 And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief 
 Against yourself. 
 
 Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 
 Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
 As water in a sieve: give not me counsel; 
 Nor let no comforter delight mine ear. 
 But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine 
 Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child. 
 Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, 
 And bid him speak of patience; 
 Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, 
 And let it answer every strain for strain ; 
 As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, 
 fn every lineament, branch, shape, and form : 
 If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard: 
 Cry — sorrow, wag ! and hem, when he should groan; 
 •^Qtch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk 
 With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me, 
 And I of him will gather patience. 
 But there is no such man : For, brother, men 
 Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief 
 Which they themselves not feel; but tasting it, 
 Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
 Would give prcceptial medicine to rage, 
 ^'etter strong madness in a silken thread, 
 '^haTii ache wi«h air, and agony with words: 
 
 No, no: 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
 
 To those that wring under the load of son-ow. 
 
 But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency. 
 
 To be so moral, when he shall endure 
 
 The like himself: therefore give me no counsel : 
 
 My griefs cry louder than advertisement.' 
 
 Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. 
 
 Leoti. I pray thee, peace : I will be flesh and blood ; 
 For there was never yet philosopher. 
 That could endure the tooth-ache patiently ; 
 However they have writ the style of gods. 
 And made a pish at chance and sufferance. 
 
 Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
 Make those, that do olTend 3-ou, suffer too. 
 
 Leon. There thou speak'st reascn : nay, I wnll 
 do so : 
 My soul doth tell me. Hero is belied ; 
 And that shall Claudio know, so shall the p-\r.ce 
 And all of them, that thus dishonor her. 
 
 Enter Don Pedho and Claudio. 
 
 Ant. Here conies the prince, and Claudio, hastily, 
 D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 
 Claud. Good day to both of you, 
 
 Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 
 D. Pedro. We have some haste, liConata 
 
 Leon. Some haste, my lord ! — well, fare y ou w ell 
 my lord : — 
 Are you so hasty now ? — well, all is one. 
 
 ■ Admonition. 
 
Scene 1 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 131 
 
 D. Ptdro. Nay do not quaiTel with us, good old 
 mail. 
 
 .1;*/. If he could right himself with quarrelling, 
 Some of us would lie low. 
 
 Claud. Who wrongs him 1 
 
 Leon. ■ Marry, 
 
 riiou, thou dost wrong mc: thou dissembler, thou:— 
 Niiv, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, 
 I Icar thee not. 
 
 Claud. Marry, bcshrcw my hand, 
 
 If it should give your age such cause of fear : 
 In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 
 
 Leon. Tush, tush, man, never llccrand jest atmc; 
 I s[)calv not like a dotard, nor a fool ; 
 As, under privilege of age, to brag 
 X^'liat r have done being young, or what would do, 
 Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thy head, 
 Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me, 
 Th.it I am forc'd to lay my reverence by; 
 And, with grey liau-s, and bruise of many days. 
 Do challenge thee to trial of a man. 
 I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ; 
 Thy slander hath gone through and through her 
 
 heart. 
 And she lies buried with her ancestors : 
 O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept. 
 Save this of hers Irarn'd l)y tliy villany i 
 
 Claud. My villany! 
 
 Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. 
 
 D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 
 
 Leon. My lord, my lord, 
 
 I'll prove it on his body, if he dare ; 
 Despite his nice fence, and his active practice. 
 His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood. 
 
 Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you. 
 
 Leon. Canst thou so dair me? Thou hast kill'd 
 my child ; 
 If thou kilTsl me, bo\', thou shalt kill a man. 
 
 Aut. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed: 
 But that's no matter; let him kill one first; 
 Win me and wear me, — let him answer mc, — ■ 
 Come, follow me, boy ; come, boy, follow mc : 
 Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining' fence ; 
 Nav, as I am a gentleman, I will. 
 
 Leon. Brother, — 
 
 int. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my 
 niece ; 
 And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains; 
 That dare as well answer a man, indeed, 
 A.s I dare take a serpent by the tongue : 
 Boys, apes, braggarts. Jacks, milksops ! — 
 
 Leoti. Brother Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Hold you content: What, man! I know 
 them, yea. 
 And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple: 
 Scaiiililmg, out-facing, tashion-mong'ring boys. 
 That lie, and cog, and flout, de{)rave, and slander. 
 Go anticly, and show outward hideousncss. 
 And sjteak oil' half a dozen dangerous words. 
 How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst, 
 And this is all. 
 
 Lron. But, brother Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Come, 'tis no matter; 
 
 Do not you meddle, let mc deal in this. 
 
 D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake 
 your jiatience. 
 My lieart is sorry for your daughter's death ; 
 But, on rny honor, she was charg'd with nothing 
 B.U what was true, and very full of proof. 
 Thrusting. 
 
 Leon. My lord, my lord, — 
 
 D. Pedro. I will not hear yoa 
 
 Leon. No' 
 
 Brother, away: — I will be heard; — 
 
 Ant. And shall. 
 
 Or some of us will smart for it. 
 
 [^Exeunt Lhoxato and Antonio. 
 
 Enter Benedick. 
 
 D. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man we.weiil 
 to seek. 
 
 Claud. Now, signior ! what news I 
 
 Bene. Good day, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: You are ahnool 
 come to part almost a fray 
 
 Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
 snapped off with two old men without teeth. 
 
 D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother; What 
 think'st thou ? Had wc fought, I doubt we should 
 have been too young for them. 
 
 Bene. In a false quan-el there is no true valor. 
 I came to seek you both. 
 
 Claud. Wc have been up and down to seek thee ; 
 for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain 
 have it beaten away: Wilt tliou use thy witi 
 
 Bene. It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it? 
 
 D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ? 
 
 Claud. Never any did so, though very mary 
 liave been beside their wit. — I will bid thee draw, 
 as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us. 
 
 D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he look? 
 pale: — Art thou sick, or angry ] 
 
 Claud. What ! courage, man ! What though 
 care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to 
 kill care. 
 
 Bene. Sir, I shall meet yonr wit in the career, 
 an you charge it against me: — I pray you, choose 
 another subject. 
 
 Claud. Nay, then give liim another staff; this 
 last was broke cross. 
 
 D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
 more; I think, he be angiy indeed. 
 
 Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. 
 
 Bene. Shall I speak a word in your earl 
 
 Claud. God bless me from a challange ! 
 
 Bene, You are a villain; — I jest not: — 1 will 
 make it good how you dare, with what you dare, 
 and when you dare: — Do me right, or I will pro- 
 tost your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, 
 and her death shall fall heavy on you : Let me hear 
 from you. 
 
 Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have 
 good cheer. 
 
 D. Pedro. What a feast? a feast? 
 
 Claud. Tfaith, I thank him ; he hath hid me to 
 a calf's head and a capon; the which if I do not 
 carve most curiously, say, my knife's naught. — 
 Shall I not find a woodcock too? 
 
 Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily. 
 
 D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy 
 wit the other day: I said thou hadst a fine wit: 
 True, says s\\c,a fine little one: No, said l,a ^reat 
 wit; Rigid, says she, a great gross one: A"«y, said I, 
 a good ivit; Just, said she, it hurts nobody: Nay, 
 said I, the gentleman is ivise,- Certain, said she, a 
 ivi.ie gentleman: Nay, said I, he hath the to7igues; 
 That I believe, said s\u', for he sitwe a thing to int 
 on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday 
 morning ,■ there's a double-tongue ; there's two 
 (ungues. Thus did she, an hour toirether.transshape 
 
132 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act V 
 
 hy particular virtues ; yet, at last, she concluded 
 Vith a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy, 
 
 Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and 
 jaid she cared not. 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet for all that, 
 an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love 
 Iiim dearly : the old man's daughter told us all. 
 
 Claud. All, all ; and moreover, God saw him, 
 when he was hid in the garden. 
 
 D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage 
 jull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head 1 
 
 Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells 
 Benedick the married man ? 
 
 Bene. Fare you well, boy ; you know my mind ; I 
 will leave you now to your gossip-like humor : you 
 break jests as braggarts do their blades, which,God be 
 thanked, hurt not. — My lord, for your many courte- 
 sies, I thank you : I must discontinue your company: 
 your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina : you 
 have, among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady : 
 For my lord lack-beard, there, he and I shall meet; 
 and till then, peace be with him. [Exit Benedick. 
 
 D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 
 
 Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll war- 
 rant you, for the love of Beatrice. 
 
 D. Pedro. And hath cliallenged thee. 
 
 Claud. Most sincerely. 
 
 D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he 
 goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit ! 
 
 Enter Dogberbt, Veuges, and the Watch, with 
 CoNKADE and Borachio. 
 
 Claud. He is then a giant to an ape : but then 
 is an ape a doctor to such a man. 
 
 D. Pedro. But, soft you, let be ; pluck up, my 
 heart, and be sad !' Did he not say, my brother was 
 fledl 
 
 Dogh. Come, you, sir; if justi' e cannot tame you, 
 she shall ne'er weigh more reabons in her balance : 
 nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must 
 be looked to. 
 
 D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men 
 bo'ind ! Borachio, one ! 
 
 Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord ! 
 
 D. Pedro. Oflicers, what offence have these men 
 done? 
 
 Dogb. MaiTy, sir, they have committed false re- 
 port; moreover, they have spoken untruths; se- 
 condarily, they are slanders; sixth, and lastly, they 
 have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified un- 
 just things; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. 
 
 D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done ; 
 thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth and 
 lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude, 
 what you lay to their charge ] 
 
 Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; 
 and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. 
 
 D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, 
 that you arc thus bound to your answer 1 this learn- 
 ed constable is too cunning to be understood : 
 What's your offence 1 
 
 Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine 
 answer ; do you hear mc, and let this count kill me. 
 I have deceived even your very eyes ; what your 
 wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools 
 have brought to light; who, in the night, over- 
 heard me confessing to this man, how don John 
 your brother incensed* me to slander the lady 
 Hero : how you were brought mto the orchard, and 
 
 ' Serious. * Incited. 
 
 saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments ; how 
 you disgraced her, when you should marry her: 
 my villany they have upon record; which I had 
 rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my 
 shame : the lady is dead upon mine and my master's 
 false accusation; and, briefly, I desire nothing bui 
 the reward of a villain. 
 
 D.Pedro. Runs not this speech like ir^r. through 
 your blood 1 
 
 Claud. I have drunk poison whiles l»3 utter'd it. 
 
 D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this 1 
 
 Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice 
 of it. 
 
 D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of trea- 
 chery : — 
 And fled he is upon this villany. 
 
 Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear 
 In the rare semblance that I loved it first. 
 
 Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs ; by this 
 time our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of 
 the matter. And, masters, do not forget to specify, 
 when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. 
 
 Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato 
 and the sexton too. 
 
 i?e-e«ier Leoxato and Avtojuo, with the Sexton. 
 
 Leon. Which is the villain 1 Let me see his eyes ; 
 That when I note another man like him, 
 I may avoid him: Which of these is he? 
 
 Bora. If you would know your wronger, look 
 on me. 
 
 Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath 
 hast kill'd 
 Mine innocent child 1 
 
 Bora, Yea, even I alone. 
 
 Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou bely'st thyself; 
 Here stand a pair of honorable men, 
 A third is fled, that had a hand in it : — 
 I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death; 
 Record it with your high and worthy deeds; 
 'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 
 
 Claud. I know not how to pray your patience, 
 Yet I must speak : Choose your revenge yourself 
 Impose me to what penance your invention 
 Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not, 
 But in mistaking. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ; 
 
 And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
 I would bend under any heavy weight 
 That he'll enjoin me to. 
 
 Leo?!. I cannot bid you bid my daugnter live, 
 That were impossible: but, I pray you both. 
 Possess" the people in Messina here 
 How innocent she died : and, if your love 
 Can labor aught in sad invention, 
 Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, 
 And sing it to her bones; sing it to-night: — 
 To-morrow morning come you to my house ; 
 And since you could not be my son-in-law. 
 Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daughter, 
 Almost the copy of my child that's dead. 
 And she alone is heir to both of us; 
 Give her the right you should have given her cousin 
 And so dies my revenge. 
 
 Claud. O, noble sir, 
 
 Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me> 
 I do embrace your offer; and dispose 
 For henceforth of poor Claudio, 
 
 ' Acquamu 
 
Mdene II. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 I3S 
 
 Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming ; 
 I'o-night I take my leave. — This naughty man 
 Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
 Who, I believe, was pack'd' in all this wrong, 
 Hir'd to it by your brother. 
 
 Bora. No, by my soul, she was not; 
 
 IVor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me ; 
 But always hath been just and virtuous 
 [n any thing that I do know by her. 
 
 Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under 
 white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offender, 
 lid call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered 
 in his punishment : And also the watch heard them 
 (alk of one Deformed : they say, he wears a key in 
 his oar, and a lock hanging by it ; and borrows mo- 
 ney in God's name ; the which he hath used so 
 long, and never paid, that now men grow hard- 
 hearted, and vnll lend nothing for God's sake : Pray 
 you, examine him upon that point. 
 
 Leo7i. 1 thank thee for thy care and honest pains. 
 
 Dof;h. Your worship speaks like a most thank- 
 ful an<i reverend youth ; and I praise God for you. 
 
 1^:071. There's for thy pains. 
 
 Jj'jgb. God save the foundation ! 
 
 Lton. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and 
 I (hiink thee. 
 
 Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship ; 
 which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, 
 for the example of others. God keep your wor- 
 ship ; I wish your worship well ; God restore you 
 to health : I humbly give you leave to depart ; and 
 if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit 
 it. — Come, neighbor. 
 
 [^Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch. 
 
 Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. 
 
 Atit. Farewell, my lords ; we look for you to- 
 morrow. 
 D. Pedro. We will not fail. 
 
 Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. 
 
 [Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. 
 
 Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk 
 with Margaret, 
 How her acquaintance grew with this lewd" fellow. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE n.— Leonato's Garden. 
 
 Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. 
 
 Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, de- 
 serve well at my hands, by helping me to the 
 speech of Beatrice. 
 
 Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in 
 praise of my beauty 1 
 
 Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man 
 living shall come over it; for in most comely truth, 
 thou deserA'est it. 
 
 Marg. To have no man come over me 1 why, 
 ehall I always keep below stairs ? 
 
 Bene, Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
 mouth, it catches. 
 
 Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, 
 which hit, but hurt not. 
 
 Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not 
 hurt a woman ; and so I pray thee, call Beatrice : 
 I give thee the bucklers. 
 
 Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of 
 •ur own. 
 
 Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put 
 
 * Combined. i Wicked. 
 
 10 
 
 in the pikes with a vice ; and they are dangerous 
 weapons for maids. 
 
 Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, 1 
 think, hath legs. [Exit Margaret, 
 
 Bene. And therefore will come. 
 
 The god of love, [Singing.] 
 
 That sits above, 
 And knows me, and knows me. 
 
 How pitiful I deserve, — 
 I mean, in singing : but in loving, — Leandcr the 
 good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pan- 
 dars, and a whole book full of these quondam car- 
 pet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the 
 even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so 
 truly turned over and over as my poor self, in love : 
 Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme ; I have tried ; I 
 can find out no rhyme to lady but baby, an innocent 
 rhyme ; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme ; for school, 
 fool, a babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings : 
 No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I 
 cannot woo in festival terms. 
 
 E?iter Beatrice. 
 Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called 
 thee t 
 
 Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. 
 
 Bene. O, stay but till then ! 
 
 Beat. Then, is spoken ; fare you well now : — 
 
 and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, 
 
 which is, with knowing what hath passed between 
 
 you and Claudio. 
 
 Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will 
 kiss thee 
 
 Beat. Foul words are but foul breath, and foul 
 breath is noisome ; therefore I will depart unkissed. 
 Be7ie. Thou hast frighted the word out of his 
 right sense, so forcible is thy wit : But I must tell 
 thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge ; 
 and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will 
 subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, 
 tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first 
 fall in love with me ? 
 
 Beat, For them altogether ; which maintained 
 so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit 
 any good part to intermingle with them. But for 
 which of my good parts did you first sufler love 
 for me ? 
 
 Bene. Suffer love,- a good epithet! I do suffer 
 love, indeed, for I love thee against my will. 
 
 Beat. In spite of your heart, I think ; alas ! poor 
 heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for 
 yours ; for I will never love that which my friend 
 hates. 
 
 Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. 
 Beat. It appears not in this confession : there's 
 not one wise man among twenty that will pvaire 
 himself. 
 
 Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that 
 lived in the time of good neighbors : if a man do 
 not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he 
 shall live no longer in monument than the bell 
 rings, and the widow weeps. 
 
 Beat. And how long is that, think you ? 
 Bene. Question? — Why, an hour in clamor, 
 and a quarter in rheum : Therefore it is most ex- 
 pedient for the wise, (if don Worm his conscience 
 find no impediment to the contrary,) to be the 
 trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself: So 
 much for praising myself, (who, I myself will bear 
 witness, is praise-worthy,) and now teO me, how 
 doth your cousin 1 
 
("M-aaMMMMftaJ^te- . 
 
 134 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHINa. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Beat. Very ill. 
 Bene. And how do you 1 
 Beat. Very ill too. 
 
 Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there 
 will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 
 
 Enter Ursula. 
 
 XJrs. Madam, you must come to your uncle ; 
 vender's old coil'* at home : it is proved, my lady 
 ilf-ro hath been falsely accused, the prince and 
 (yliudio mightily abused ; and don John is the 
 author of all, who is fled and gone : will you come 
 presently ? 
 
 Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior 1 
 Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and 
 be buried in thy eyes, and, moreover, I will go 
 with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Inside of a Church. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with 
 music and tapers. 
 Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato 1 
 Atten. It is, my lord. 
 Claud. [Reads from a scroll.'] 
 
 Done to death by slanderous tongues, 
 
 Was the Hero that here lies • 
 Death in guerdon'' of her wrongs, 
 
 Gives her fame which never dies : 
 So the life, that died with shame. 
 Lives in death with glorious fame. 
 
 Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Affixing it. 
 Praising her when I am dumb. — 
 
 Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 
 SONG. 
 
 Pardon, goddess of the night. 
 Those that slew thy virgin knight, 
 For the which, with songs of woe. 
 Round about her to?nb they go. 
 Midnight, assist our moan ; 
 Help us to sigh and groan. 
 
 Heavily, heavily : 
 Graves yawn, and yield your dead, 
 Till death be uttered. 
 Heavily, heavily. 
 Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! 
 
 Yearly will I do this rite. 
 J). Pedro. Good moiTow, n»asters; put your 
 
 torches out : 
 The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day. 
 Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 
 
 Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey : 
 Thanks to you all, and leave us ; fare you well. 
 Claud. Good mon-ow, masters ; each his several 
 
 way. 
 D. Pedro. Come, let us Lence, and put on other 
 weeds ; 
 And then to Leonato's we will go. 
 
 Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue 
 speeds, 
 Thau this, for whom we render'd up this woe ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, 
 
 Ursula, Friar, and Hero. 
 Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? 
 
 • Stir. 'Keward. 
 
 Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who ac- 
 cus'd her, 
 Upon the error that you heard debated : 
 But Margaret was in some fault for this. 
 Although against her will, as it appears 
 In the true course of all the question. 
 
 Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well 
 
 Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd 
 To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 
 
 Leon. Well, daughter, and you, gentlewomen all, 
 Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ; 
 And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd : 
 The prince and Claudio promised by this hour 
 To visit me : — You know your office, brother : 
 You must be father to your brother's daughter, 
 And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, (hink. 
 
 Friar. To do what, signior 1 
 
 Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them^— 
 Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior. 
 Your niece regards me with an eye of favor. 
 
 Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: Tia 
 most true. 
 
 Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 
 
 Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from 
 me, 
 From Claudio and the prince: But what's you3 
 will? 
 
 Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical : 
 But, for my will, my will is, your good will 
 May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
 In the estate of honorable marriage; — 
 In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 
 
 Leon. My heart is with your liking. 
 
 Friar. And my help. 
 
 Here comes the prince, and Claudio. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro and Ci,kvmo,with Attendants. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
 
 Leon. Good morrow, prince : good morrow, 
 Claudio ; 
 We here attend you ; are you yet detcrmin'd 
 To-day to marry with my brother's daughter ? 
 
 Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiop. 
 
 Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar 
 ready. [Eocit Antonio. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick : Why, 
 what's the matter. 
 That you have such a February face. 
 So full of frost, of starm, and cloudiness 1 
 
 Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull : — 
 Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with g'ild, 
 And all Europa shall rejoice at thee ; 
 As once Eu.cpa did at lusty Jove, 
 When he would play the noble beast in love. 
 
 Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; 
 And some such strange bull leap'd your father's 
 
 cow, 
 And got a calf in that same noble feat. 
 Much like to y^^, for you have just his bleat. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked. 
 
 Claud. For this I owe you: here come other 
 
 reckonings. 
 Which is the lady I must seize upon 1 
 
 Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 
 Claud. Why, then she's mine : Sweet, let m« 
 
 see your face. 
 
Scene FV 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 136 
 
 Leon. N ), that you sliall not, till you take hei 
 hand, 
 Uefore this fiiar, and swear to marry her. 
 
 Ciaud. Give me your hand before this holy friar ; 
 [ am your husband, if you like of me. 
 
 Hero. And when I lived I was your other wife ; 
 
 [Unmasking. 
 And when you loved, you were my other husband. 
 Claud. Another Hero ? 
 
 Hero. Nothing certainer : 
 
 One Hero died defam'd ; but I do lixe, 
 \nd, surely as I live, I am a maid. 
 D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! 
 Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander 
 
 lived. 
 Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; 
 When, after that the holy rites are ended, 
 I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death : 
 Mean time let wonder seem familiar. 
 And to the chapel let us presently. 
 
 Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice ? 
 Beat. I answer to that name ; [ UnmasIdngJ] 
 
 What is your will ? 
 Be7ie. Do not you love me ? 
 Beat. No, no more than reason. 
 
 Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, 
 and Claudio, 
 Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. 
 Beat. Do you not love me ? 
 Bene. No, no more than reason. 
 
 -Ber//. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, 
 Arc jnuch deceiv'd ; for they did swear you did. 
 Bene. They swore that you were almost sick 
 
 for me. 
 Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead 
 
 for me. 
 Be7ie. 'Tis no such matter: — Then you do not 
 
 love me ? 
 Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 
 Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the 
 
 gentleman. 
 Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves 
 her; 
 For here's a paper written in his hand, 
 A halting sonnet of his o\vn pure brain, 
 Fashion'd to Beatrice. 
 
 Hero. And here's another, 
 
 Writ in my cousin's hand, s-tolcn from her pocket, 
 Containing her affection unto Benedick. 
 
 Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands ag oIjisI 
 our hearts ! — Come, I will have thee ; but, by tills 
 light, I take thcc for pity. 
 
 Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this good 
 day, I yield upon gre.it persuasion; and, partly, to 
 save your life ; for I was told you were in a con- 
 sumption. 
 
 Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. — 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married 
 nianl 
 
 Bene. Fll tell thee what, prince ; a college of 
 wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor ; 
 Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram 
 No : If a man will be beaten with brains, he shall 
 wear nothing handsome about him : In brief, since 
 I do propose to marry, I will think nothing to any 
 purpose that the world can say against it; and 
 therefore never flout at me for what I have said 
 against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my 
 conclusion. — For thy part, Claudio, I did think to 
 have beaten thee; but in that' thou art like to be 
 my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. 
 
 Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have 
 denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee 
 out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer ; 
 which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin 
 do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. 
 
 Bene. Come, come, we are friends : — ^let's have 
 a dance, ere we are married, that we might lighten 
 our own hearts and our wives' heels. 
 
 Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. 
 
 Bene. First, o'my word; therefore, play, music 
 — Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee 
 a wife ; there is no staff more reverend than one 
 tipped with horn. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in 
 flight. 
 And brought with armed men back to Messina 
 
 Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow ; I'i'. 
 devise thee brave punishments for him. — Strike up\ 
 pipers. [Dance. — Exctini, 
 
 *8eesase. 
 

 /r^a^ 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Theseus, Duke of Athens. 
 
 Egeus, Father to Hermia. 
 
 Ltsander, -i .^^ i^^^ ^.^^ Hermia. 
 
 Uemetrics, ) 
 
 Philosthate, Master of the Revels to Theseus. 
 
 Qdisce, the Carpenter. 
 
 Snug, the Joiner. 
 
 Bottom, the Weaver. 
 
 Flute, the Belloivs-mender. 
 
 Snout, the Tiiiker. 
 
 Starveling, (lie Tailor. 
 
 HiproLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to 
 
 Theseus. 
 Hermia, Daughter ^o Egeus, in love with Lysander. 
 Helena, in love with Demetrius. 
 
 SCENE, Athens ; and a Wood not far from it. 
 
 Oberon, King of the Fairies. 
 Titania, Queen of the Fairies. 
 Puck, or Robin-goodfellow, a Fairy, 
 Peas-blossom, 
 
 Cobweb, 
 Moth, 
 
 Mustard-Seed, 
 
 Pyramus, 
 
 T/iisbe, 
 
 Wall, 
 
 Moonshine, 
 
 Lion, 
 
 > Fairies, 
 
 Characters in the Interlude 
 performed by the Clowns. 
 
 Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. 
 Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Athens. A Room in the Palace of 
 Theseus. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, PniiosTRATE, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
 Draws on apace; four happy days bring in 
 Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow 
 This ol<l moon wanes ! she lingers my desires. 
 Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, 
 Long withering out a young man's revenue. 
 
 Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves 
 in nights; 
 Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; 
 And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
 New bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
 Of our solemnities. 
 
 The. Go, Philostrate, 
 
 Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
 Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mulh ; 
 Turn melancholy forth to funerals. 
 The pale companion is not for our pomp. 
 
 [Exit Philostrate. 
 Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
 And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; 
 But I will wed thee in another key, 
 With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 
 
 Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and 
 Demetrius. 
 
 Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 
 136 
 
 The. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the newa 
 with thee 1 
 
 Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
 Against my child, my daughter Hermia. — 
 Stand forth, Demetrius; — My noble lord, 
 This man hath my consent to marry her : — 
 Stand forth, Lysander; — and, my gracious duke, 
 This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child: 
 Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymet", 
 And interchang'd love-tokens with my child: 
 Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung. 
 With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
 And stol'n the impression of her fantasy 
 With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits, 
 Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats ; messengers 
 Of strong prevailment in unharden'd 3'outh: 
 With cunning hast thou fdch'd my dauglitei-'a 
 
 heart ; 
 Turn'd her obedience, which is due to mc. 
 To stubborn harshness: — And, my gracious duke 
 Be it so she will not here before your grace 
 Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
 I beg the ancient privilege of Athens; 
 As she is mine, I may dispose of her : 
 Which shall be either to this gentleman. 
 Or to her death ; according to our law. 
 Immediately provided in that case. 
 
 The. What say you, Hermia? be advised, fail 
 maid: 
 To you your father should be as a god; 
 
Scene I. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 13? 
 
 One that comiios'd your beauties ; yea, and one 
 To whom you are but as a form in wax, 
 By him imprinted, and within his power 
 To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
 Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
 
 Her. So is Lysander. 
 
 The. In himself he is: 
 
 But in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
 The other must be held the worthier. 
 
 Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes. 
 
 The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment 
 
 Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. [look. 
 I know not by what power I am made bold ; 
 Nor how it may concern my modesty, 
 In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts : 
 But I beseech your grace that I may know 
 The worst that may befal me in this case, 
 [f I refuse to wed Demetrius. 
 
 The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
 For ever the society of men. 
 Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, 
 Know of your youth, examine well your blood. 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
 You can endure the livery of a nun ; 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
 To live a barren sister all your life, 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
 Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
 But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, 
 Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn. 
 Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. 
 
 Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
 Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
 Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
 My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 
 
 The. Take time to pause; and, by the next new 
 moon, 
 (The scaling-day betwixt my love and me. 
 For everlasting bond of fellowship,) 
 Upon that day either prepare to die. 
 For disobedience to your fathc-'s will ; 
 Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would ; 
 Or on Diana's altar to protest. 
 For aye, austerity and single life. 
 
 Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia ; — And, Lysander, 
 yield 
 I'hy crazed title to my certain right. 
 
 Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius : 
 Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. 
 
 Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love ; 
 And what is mine my love shall render him : 
 And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
 [ do estate unto Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, 
 .\s well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 
 My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd. 
 If not with vantage, as Demetrius' ; 
 And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
 I am bclov'd of beauteous Hermia: 
 Why should not I then prosecute my right? 
 Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, 
 Made love to Ncdar's daughter, Helena, 
 And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes 
 Upon this spotted ' and inconstant man. 
 
 The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, 
 .\nd with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; 
 But, being over-full of self-affairs, 
 
 » WickeC. 
 
 My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come ; 
 And come, Egeus ;you shall go with me; 
 I have some private schooling for you both. — 
 For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
 To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
 Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
 (Which by no means we may extenuate) 
 To death, or to a vow of single life. — 
 Come, my Hippolyta; What cheer, my loveJ 
 Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
 I must employ you in some business 
 Against our nuptial ; and confer with yo^ 
 Of something nearly that concerns yourse vts 
 
 Ege. With duty and desire, we follow you. 
 [Exeu72t Thes., Hip., Ehk., Dem., andtrak)t 
 
 Lys. How now, my love ] Why is your cheek so 
 How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? [])ale ? 
 
 Her. Belike, for want of rain ; which I could neii 
 Beteem" them from the tempest of mine eyes. 
 
 Lys. Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, 
 Could ever hear by tale or history. 
 The course of true love never did run smooth : 
 But, either it was different in b.accj ; 
 
 Her. O cross! too high to le enthrall'd to low? ! 
 
 Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years ; 
 
 Her, O spite ! too old to be engag'd to young ! 
 
 Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends ; 
 
 Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's eye ! 
 
 Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice. 
 War, death, or sickness did lay siege to i* 
 Making it momentany' as a sound. 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
 Brief as the lightning in the collied* night. 
 That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
 And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold ! 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. 
 
 Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, 
 It stands as an edict in destiny : 
 Then let us teach our trial patience. 
 Because it is a customary cross ; 
 As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and signsj 
 Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's' followers. 
 
 Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, 
 I have a widow aunt, a dowager [Hermia 
 
 Of great revenue, and she hath no child : 
 From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
 And she respects me as her only son. 
 There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
 And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
 Cannot pursue us : If thou lov'st me then. 
 Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night : 
 And in the wood, a league without the town, 
 Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
 To do observance to a morn jf May, 
 There will I stay for thee. 
 
 Her. My good Iiysander ! 
 
 I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow ; 
 By his best arrow with the golden head ; 
 By the simplicity of Venus' doves ; 
 By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves , 
 And by that fire which buni'd the Carthage queen 
 When 'he false Trojan under sail was seen ; 
 By all the vows that ever men have broke> 
 In number more than ever women spoke ; — 
 In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. [Heleim 
 
 Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes 
 
 'Give, bestow. 
 ♦Black. 
 
 » Momeiitan^ 
 
1J)8 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 
 
 A.OT I 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Her. Gv»d speed fair Helena! Whither away? 
 
 Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. 
 Demetrius loves you fair; O happy fair! [air 
 
 Your eyes are lode-stars f and your tongue's sweet 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
 Sickness is catching ; O, were favor'' so ! 
 Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 
 My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye. 
 My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
 Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 
 The rest I'll give to be to you translated. 
 0, teach me how you look; and with what art 
 You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
 
 Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 
 
 Hcl. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles 
 such skill ! 
 
 Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 
 
 Hel. 0, that my prayers could such affection move! 
 
 Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 
 
 Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 
 
 Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 
 
 Hel. None, but your beauty : 'Would that fault 
 were mine ! 
 
 Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face, 
 Lysander and myself will fly this place. — 
 Before the time I did Lysander see, 
 Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me : 
 then, what graces in my love do dwell. 
 That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell ! 
 
 Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold ! 
 To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold 
 Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, 
 Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
 (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) 
 Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal. 
 
 Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
 Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie. 
 Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ; 
 There my Lysander and myself shall moet : 
 And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes. 
 To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
 Farewell, sweet play-fellow ; pray thou for us, 
 And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius! 
 Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight 
 From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 
 
 [Exit Herm. 
 
 Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu : 
 As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [Exit Lts. 
 
 Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be ! 
 
 Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
 
 But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so ; 
 
 He will not know what all but he do know. 
 
 And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 
 
 8o I, admiring of his qualities. 
 
 Things base and vile, holding no quantity. 
 
 Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
 
 Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; 
 
 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
 
 iVor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste ; 
 
 Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : 
 
 And therefore is Love said to be a child. 
 
 Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
 
 As waggish boys in game' themselves forswear, 
 
 So the boy Love is perjur'd every where : 
 
 For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,' 
 
 He hail'd down oaths, tLat he was only mine ; 
 
 6 Pole stars. i Countenance. 
 
 • Sport. » Eyes. 
 
 And when this hail some heat from Heimia felt 
 So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 
 I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight ; 
 Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night. 
 Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 
 If I have thanks, it is a dear expence : 
 But herein mean I to enrich my pain. 
 To have his sight thither, and back again. [Exit 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. A Room in a Cottage. 
 
 Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quincb, 
 and Starveling. 
 
 Qtiin. Is all our company here 1 
 
 Bot. You were best to call them generally, mau 
 by man, according to the scrip. 
 
 Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
 which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in 
 our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his 
 wedding-day at night. 
 
 Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the 
 play treats on ; then read the names of the actors ; 
 and so g^ow to a point. 
 
 Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable 
 comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and 
 Thisby. 
 
 Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and 
 a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your 
 actors by the scroll : Masters, spread yourselves. 
 
 Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, 
 the weaver. 
 
 Bot. Ready: Name what part I am for, and 
 proceed. 
 
 Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for 
 Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ? 
 
 Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly 
 for love. 
 
 Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- 
 forming of it : If I do it, let the audience look to 
 their eyes ; I will move storms, I will condole in 
 some measure. To the rest : — Yet my chief hu- 
 mor is for a tyrant: I could play Erclcs rarely, or 
 a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. 
 
 " The raging rocks, 
 
 " With shivering shocks, 
 
 " Shall break the locks 
 
 " Of prison gates : 
 " And Phibbus' car 
 " Shall shine from far, 
 "And make and mar 
 
 « The foolish fates." 
 
 This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players. 
 — This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover ia 
 more condoling. 
 
 Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-menuer. 
 
 Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You must take Thisby on you. 
 
 Flu. What is Thisby 1 a wandering knight? 
 
 Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 
 
 Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman ; I 
 have a beard coming. 
 
 Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a 
 mask, and you may speak as small as you will. 
 
 Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby 
 too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice ; — Thisnc, 
 Thisne, — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear,- thy Thisby 
 dear: and lady dear! 
 
 Quin. No, no: you must play Pyranius, cnij 
 Flute, you Thisby. 
 
 Bot. Well, proceed. 
 
/LCT 11. iS'JENE I. 
 
 MIDSUMMP]Il-NIGHT'S DKEAM. 
 
 135 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 
 
 Starv. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quiji. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's 
 another. — Tom Snout, the tinker. 
 
 Snuuf. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You, Pyramus's father ; myself Thisby's 
 father ; — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part : — 
 and, I hope, here is a play fitted. 
 
 Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray 
 you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 
 
 Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing 
 but roaring. 
 
 J3ot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that 
 I will do ai y man's heart good to hear me ; I will 
 roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him roar 
 again, Let him roar again, 
 
 Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you 
 VFOuld fright the duchess and the ladies, that they 
 would shriek : and that were enough to hang us all. 
 
 All. That would hang us every mother's son. 
 
 Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should 
 fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have 
 no more discretion but to hang us : but I will ag- 
 gravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently 
 as any sucking dove; I will roar you an' 'twere 
 any nightingale. 
 
 Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for 
 
 Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper man, a» 
 one shall see in a summer's day : a most lovely , 
 gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs 
 play Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. Well, I will undertake it, What beard 
 were I best to play it in ] 
 
 Qui?i. Why, what you will. 
 
 Bot, I will discharge it in either your straw 
 colored beard, your orange-tawny beard, youi 
 purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colo? 
 beard, your perfect yellow. 
 
 Quin. Some of your French crowns have n<i 
 hair at all, and then you will play bare-faced. — 
 But, masters, here are your parts : and I im to 
 entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con 
 them by to-mon-ow night; and meet me in the 
 palace wood, a mile without the town, by moon- 
 light ; there will we rehearse : for if we meet in 
 the city, we shall be dog'd with company, and our 
 devices known. In the mean time, I will draw a 
 bill of properties,' such as our play wants. I pray 
 you, fail me not. 
 
 Bot, We will meet ; and there we may rehearse 
 more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains : 
 be perfect; adieu. 
 
 Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 
 
 Bot. Enough : Hold, or cut bow-strings. '[-Earim^. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Wood near Athens. 
 
 Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another. 
 
 Fuck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you 1 
 Fai. Over hill, over dale, 
 
 'Iliorough bush, thorough briar. 
 Over park, over pale. 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 I do wander every where. 
 Swifter than the moone's sphere; 
 And I serve the fairy queen. 
 To dew her orbs^ upon the green : 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favors, 
 In those freckles live their savors : 
 I must go seek some dew-drops here. 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 Fai-ewell, thou lob ^ of spirits, I'll be gone ; 
 Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 
 
 Fuck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night; 
 Fake heed, the queen come not within his sight, 
 for Obcron is passing fell and wrath, 
 Because that she, as her attendant, hath 
 A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king ; 
 She never had so sweet a changeling : 
 AnJ jealous Oberon would have the child 
 Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild : 
 But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy. 
 Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy: 
 And now they never meet in grove, or green. 
 By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen,' 
 But they do square ; ' that all their elves, for fear, 
 Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 
 Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making 
 quite, 
 v)r else you arc that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
 Call'd Robin Goodfcllow : are you not he, 
 That fright the maidens of the villagery ; 
 
 Asif. 
 Bhining. 
 
 » Circles. 
 » Quarrel. 
 
 » A term of contempt 
 
 Skim milk; and sometimes labor in the quern,' 
 And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; 
 And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm ;' 
 Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm 1 
 Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
 You do their work, and they shall have good luck: 
 Are not you hel 
 
 Fuck. Thou speak'st aright; 
 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon, and make him smile. 
 When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile. 
 Neighing in likeness of a silly foal : 
 And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl. 
 In very likeness of a roasted crab ; ' 
 And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
 And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
 The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale. 
 Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me , 
 Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
 And tailor cries, and falls into a cough; 
 And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe 
 And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there. — 
 But room. Fairy, here comes Oberon. 
 
 Fai, And here my mistress: — 'Would that he 
 were gone ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Obeuox, at one door, with his traM,and 
 TiTAJJiA, at another, with hers, 
 
 Obe, 111 met by moonlight, proud Titania. 
 
 Tita. What, jealous Obcron ? Fairy, skip hence 
 I have forsworn his bed and company. 
 
 Obe. Tarry, rash wanton: Am not I thy lord 1 
 
 Tita. Then I nnist be thy lady: But I know 
 When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land. 
 And in the shape of Corin sat all day, 
 
 • Articles required in performing a play. 
 
 ' At all events. • Mill. 
 
 • Yeaat » Wild »ppl«. 
 
140 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 Act n 
 
 Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love 
 To amorous Phillida. Why ai-t thou here, 
 Come frora the farthest steep of India? 
 But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
 Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love, 
 To Theseus must bo wedded ; and j'ou come 
 To give their bed joy and prosperity. 
 
 Ohe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, 
 Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
 Knowing I know thy love to Theseus'! 
 Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering i 
 From Perigenia, whom he ravished ? [night, 
 
 And make him with fair *^gle break his faith, ^ 
 With Ariadne, and Antiopa? i 
 
 Titn. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
 And never since the middle summer's spring, 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead. 
 By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
 Or on the beached margcnt of the sea. 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
 But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
 Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain. 
 As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
 Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land. 
 Have every pelting' river made so proud. 
 That they have overborne their continents : ' 
 The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain. 
 The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn 
 Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard : 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned field. 
 And crows are fatted with the murrain flock , 
 The nine men's morris* is fill'd up with mud , 
 And the quaint mazes in the wanton green. 
 For lack of tread, are undistinguishable : 
 The human mortals want their winter here ; 
 No night is now with hymn or carol blest: — 
 Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
 Pale in her anger, washes all the air. 
 That rheumatic diseases do abound : 
 And thorough this distemperature, we see 
 The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
 And on old Hyems' chin, and icy crown. 
 An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 I?, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer. 
 The childing* autumn, angry winter, change 
 Their wonted liveries; and the 'mazed world. 
 By their increase, now knows not which is which : 
 And this same progeny of evils comes 
 From our debate, from our dissension ; 
 We are their parents and original. 
 
 Obe. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you : 
 Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? 
 i do but beg a little changeling boy. 
 To be my henchman." 
 
 Tita. Set your heart at rest. 
 
 The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
 His mother was a vot'rcss of my order : 
 And, in the spiced Indian air, by night. 
 Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ; 
 And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
 (Vlarking the embarked traders on the flood ; 
 When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive. 
 And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind : 
 Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait 
 ^Following her womb, then rich with my young 
 Would imitate; and sail upon the land, ['squire,) 
 To fetch me trifles, and return again, 
 « Petty. ' Banks which contain them. 
 
 * Holes made for a game played by boys. 
 
 • Autumn Broduciiig flowers unsoaoonably. « Page. 
 
 As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 
 But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ; 
 And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy ; 
 And, for her sake, I will not part with him. 
 
 Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay. 
 
 Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day 
 If you will patiently dance in our round, 
 And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; 
 If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 
 
 Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee 
 
 Tita. Not for thy kingdom. — Fairies, away; 
 We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 
 
 [^Exeunt Titania, and her train. 
 
 Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from thia 
 Till I torment thee for this injury. — [grovo, 
 
 My gentle Puck, come hither : Thou re?nembci'£< 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back, 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
 And certain stars shot madly frora their spheres, 
 To hear the sea-maid's music. 
 
 Puck. I remember. 
 
 Obe. That very time I saw, but thou could'st not, 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
 Cupid all arm'd : A certain aim he took 
 At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 
 And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
 As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
 But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
 Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon ; 
 And the imperial vot'ress passed on. 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
 Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
 It fell upon a little western flower, — 
 Before, milk-white; now purple with love's wound — 
 And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
 Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee once 
 The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid. 
 Will make or man or woman madly dote 
 Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
 Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again, 
 Ere the Leviathan can swim a league. 
 
 Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes. [^Exit PoCKc 
 
 Obe. Having once this juice, 
 
 I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
 And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : 
 The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
 (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull. 
 On meddhng monkey, or on busy ape,) 
 She shall pursue it with the soul of love. 
 And ere I take this charm off from her sight, 
 (As I can take it with another herb,) 
 I'll make her render up her page to me. 
 But who comes here 1 I am invisible ; 
 And I vdll over-hear their conference. 
 
 Enter Demetrius, Nelesa following .him. 
 
 Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
 Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia 1 
 The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. 
 Thou told'st me they were stolen into this wood. 
 And here am I, and wood' within this wood. 
 Because I cannot meet with Hermia. 
 Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 
 
 Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant 
 But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
 Is true as steel : Leave you your power to diaw 
 And I shall have no power to follow ynu. 
 ' Raving mad. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 14J 
 
 Dem. Do I entic'i you ? Do I speak you fair ? 
 Or ritlier, do [ not in plainest truth 
 Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot love you? 
 
 Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
 I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
 Tlie more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
 Usu me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, 
 Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave, 
 Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
 What worser place can I beg in your love, 
 (And yet a place of high respect with me,) 
 Than to be used as you use your dog? 
 
 Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit; 
 For I am sick, when I do look on thee. 
 
 Hel, And I am sick when I look not on you. 
 
 Dem. You do impeach^ your modesty too much, 
 To leav3 the city, and commit yourself 
 Into the hands of one that loves you not; 
 To trust the opportunitj' of night, 
 And the ill counsel of a desert place, 
 With the rich worth of your virginity. 
 
 Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that 
 It is not night, when I do see your face, 
 Therefore I think I am not in the night : 
 Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company; 
 For you, in my respect, are all the world : 
 Then how can it be said, I am alone. 
 When all the world is here to look on me ? 
 
 Dim. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, 
 And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 
 
 hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
 Kun when you will, the story shall be chang'd; 
 Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
 The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
 Makes speed to catch the tiger : Bootless speed ! 
 When cowardice pursues, and valor flies. 
 
 Dem. I will not stay thy questions : let me go : 
 Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
 But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 
 
 IIcl. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, 
 You do me mischief. Fye, Demetrius ! 
 Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex ! 
 We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; 
 We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. 
 I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell. 
 To die upon^ the hand I love so well. 
 
 [Exeunt Dem. and Hel. 
 
 Ohe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave 
 this grove. 
 Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. — 
 
 Re-enter Puck. 
 Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer. 
 
 Fvclc. Ay, there it is. 
 
 Ohe. I pray thee, give it me. 
 
 I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows. 
 Where ox-lips' and the nodding violet grows ; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush^ woodbine. 
 With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine : 
 There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, 
 LuU'd in these flowers with dances and delight; 
 And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, 
 Weed wide enough to warp a fairy in : 
 And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes 
 Anil make her full of hateful fantasies. 
 Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove: 
 A sv(-eet Athenian lady is in love 
 With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes; 
 But do it, when the next thing he espies 
 May be the lady : Thou shalt know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
 Effect it with some care ; that he may prove 
 More fond on her, than she upon her love; 
 And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
 I'uclc. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do 
 so. [Exeunt. 
 
 • Bring (n question. • By. 
 
 ■ The Kn^ter cow.s1id. « Vigorous. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another j)art of the Wooa. 
 Enter Titania, with her train. 
 
 Tita. Come, now a roundel,^ and a fairy song 
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 
 Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; 
 Some, war with rear-mice' for their leathern wings, 
 To make my small elves coats ; and, some, keep back 
 The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders 
 At our quaint spirits :3 Sing me now asleep ; 
 Then to your oflBces, and let me rest. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1 Fai. Tou spotted snakes, with doubU tongv/i. 
 
 Thorny hedge-hogs, he not seen; 
 Newts,* and blind-worms,'' do no wrong , 
 
 Come not near our fairy queen: 
 Chorus. Philomel, with melody. 
 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby; 
 Lulla, Ivlla, lullaby ; luUa, lulla, lullaby 
 
 Never harm, nor spell, nor charm. 
 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 
 So good night, with lullaby. 
 II. 
 
 2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here ; 
 
 Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence ; 
 Beetles blade, approach not near; 
 Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 
 
 Chorus. Philomel, with melody, <£c. 
 1 FaL Hence, away : now all is well : 
 One, aloof, stand sentinel. 
 
 [Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleep*. 
 
 Enter Oberon. 
 Ohe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 
 
 [Squeezes the floiaer on Titania's eye-lidt 
 Do it for thy true love take ; 
 Love and languish for his sake : 
 Be it ounce,8 or cat, or bear, 
 Pard, or boar with bristled hair, 
 In thy eye that shall appear 
 AVhen thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; 
 Wake when some vile thing is near. [ExiU 
 
 Enter Lysander and Hermia. 
 
 Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in th« 
 wood; 
 
 And to speak truth, I have forgot our way ; 
 We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, 
 
 And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
 
 Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed, 
 For I upon this bank will rest my head. 
 
 Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both ; 
 One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. 
 
 Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear, 
 Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. 
 
 Lys. 0, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence 
 Love takes the meaning, in love's conference. 
 I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit. 
 So that but one heart we can make of it : 
 Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
 So then, two bosoms, and a single troth. 
 Then, by your side no bed-room me deny ; 
 For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 
 
 Her. Lysander riddles very prettily : — 
 Now much beshrew my manners and my priaoj 
 If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. 
 But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
 Lie further ofi'; in human modesty, 
 Such separation, as, may well be said. 
 Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid 
 So far be distant ; and good night, sweet fnemt . 
 Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end ! 
 
 Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say i; 
 And then end life, when I end loyalty ! 
 Here is ra.y bcnl : sleep give thee all his rest ! 
 
 H<r. Witli half that wish the wisher's eyea bi 
 press'd ! [They sleef^ 
 
 » A kind of dance. ■■ B.its. • Sports. 
 
 6 Efts. ' Slow- worms 'The smi'i ti«er 
 
 /^ 
 
142 
 
 MIDSUMxMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Enter Pdck. 
 
 Pack. Through the forest have I gone, 
 But Athenian found I none, 
 On whose eyes I might approve 
 This flower's force in stirring love. 
 Night and silence! who is here? 
 Weeds of Athens he doth wear: 
 This is he my master said, 
 Despised the Athenian maid: 
 And here the maiden, sleeping sound, 
 On the dank and dirty ground. 
 Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
 Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. 
 Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
 All the power this charm doth owe :' 
 When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
 Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid. 
 So dwake, when I am gone ; 
 For I must now to Oberon. [^Exit. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 
 
 Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me 
 thus. 
 
 Hel. O, wilt thou darkling' leave me? do not 
 so. 
 
 Dem. Stay, on thy peril; I alone will go. 
 
 ^Exit Demetrius. 
 
 Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! 
 The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
 Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 
 Fo) she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
 How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt 
 
 tears : 
 If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
 No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
 For beasts that meet me, run away for fear: 
 Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius 
 Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus: 
 What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
 Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne? — 
 But who is here 1 — Lysander ! on the ground ! 
 Dead ? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound: — 
 Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 
 
 Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet 
 sake, [ Waking. 
 
 Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art. 
 That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
 Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word 
 Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 
 
 Hel. Do not say so, Lysander : say not so ; 
 What tho' he love your Hermia ! Lord,what though^ 
 Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 
 
 Lys. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent 
 The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
 Not Hermia, but Helena I love : 
 Who will not change a raven for a dove? 
 The will of man is by his reason sway'd; 
 And reason says j^ou arc the worthier maid. 
 Things growing are not ripe until their season; 
 So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason, 
 And touching now the point of human skill, 
 Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
 And leads rne to your eyes; where I o'erlook 
 Love's stories written in love's richest book. 
 
 Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery boinl 
 When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn? 
 Is't not enough, is't not enough, yoimg man. 
 That I did never, no, nor never can. 
 Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
 But you must flout my insufficiency? 
 Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth you do, 
 In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
 But fare you well : perforce I must confess, 
 I thought you lord of more true gentleness 
 0, that a lady, of one man refus'd. 
 Should of another, therefore, be alius'd ! [^Exit. 
 
 Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep thou 
 there ; 
 And never may'st thou come Lysander near ! 
 For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
 The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; 
 Or, as the heresies that men do leave. 
 Are hated most of those they did deceive; 
 So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, 
 Of all be hated; but the most of me! 
 And all my powers, address your love and might, 
 To honor Helen, and to be her knight ! J^Exit, 
 
 Her. l_Starting1 Help me, Lysander ! help me ! 
 do thy best, 
 To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ' 
 Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ? 
 Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear ! 
 Methought a serpent eat my heart away. 
 And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : — 
 Lysander ! what, removed ? Lysander! lord! 
 What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word? 
 Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; 
 Speak, of all loves ;^ I swoon almost with fear. 
 No ? — then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
 Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 B-SENE I.— The same. The Queen of Fairies 
 lying asleep. 
 
 Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flutf, Snout, 
 and Starveling. 
 
 Bof. Are we all met'' 
 
 Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous conve- 
 nient place for our rehearsal : This green plot shall 
 be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tyring-house , 
 and wc will do it in action, as we will do it before 
 the duke. 
 
 Bot. Petei Quince, — 
 
 » PoBsesu. » In the dark. 
 
 Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom ? 
 
 Bof. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus 
 and Thishy, that will never please. First, Pyra- 
 mus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the 
 ladies cannot abide. How answer you that ? 
 
 Stiout. By'rlakin," a parlous fear. 
 
 Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, 
 when all is done. 
 
 Bot. Not a whit; I have a device to make all 
 well. Write me a prologue : and let the prologuo 
 seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords 
 
 « By all that is dear. 
 
 a Br our ladykin. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 143 
 
 and that Pyramus is not killed indeed : and for the 
 more better assurance, tell them, that I Pyramus 
 am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: This 
 will put them out of fear. 
 
 Qiu'n. Well, we will have such a prologue; and 
 it shall be written in eight and six. 
 
 Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written in 
 eight and eiglit. 
 
 Snout. Will not the ladies be afeardof the lion? 
 
 Star. I fear it, I promiso you. 
 
 Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your- 
 selves : to bring m, God shield us ! a lion among 
 ladies, is a most dreadful thing ; for there is not a 
 more fearful wild-fowl than your lion, living ; and 
 we ought to look to it. 
 
 Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell, 
 he is not a lion. 
 
 Bot. Nay, j'ou must name his name, and half his 
 face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he 
 himself must speak througb, saying thus, or to ihe 
 same defect, — Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish 
 you, or I would request you, or, I would entreat 
 you, not to fear, not to tremble : my life for yours. 
 If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity 
 of my life : No, I am no such thing ; I am a man 
 as other men are : — and there, indeed, let him 
 name his name ; and tell them plainly, he is Snug 
 the joiner. 
 
 Quia. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard 
 things ; that is, to bring the moon-light into a cham- 
 ber: for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by 
 moon-light. 
 
 Snug. Doth the moon shine, that night we play 
 our play] 
 
 Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look in the alma- 
 nac; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine. 
 
 Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 
 
 Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of 
 the great chamber window, where we play, open; 
 and the moon may shine in at the casement. 
 
 Quia. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush 
 of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to dis- 
 figure, or to present, the person of moon-shine. 
 Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall 
 in the great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says 
 the story, did talk through the chinks of a wall. 
 
 Snug. You never can bring in a wall. — What 
 say you. Bottom ] 
 
 Bot. Some man or other must present wall : and 
 let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some 
 rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; or let him 
 hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall 
 P3'iamus and Thisby whisper. 
 
 Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
 down, over}' mother's son, and rehearse your parts. 
 Pyramus, you l)egin: when you have spoken your 
 speech, enter into that brake;* and so every one 
 ae wording to his cue. 
 
 Enter Puck behind. 
 
 I'uck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- 
 gering hero, 
 80 near the cradle of the fairy queen 1 
 What, a play toward! I'll be an auditor; 
 .\n actor too, perhaps, if I sec cause. 
 
 Quin. Speak, Pyramus : — Thisby, stand forth. 
 
 Pyr. Thinly, the Jh avers of odious savors sweet — 
 
 "^uin. Odors, odors. 
 
 « Thicket. 
 
 -(jdors savors sweet: 
 
 Pyr. 
 
 So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. — 
 But, hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile, 
 
 And by and by I tvill to thee appear. ^ExiL 
 
 Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play 'd here 
 
 l_Aside. — Exit 
 
 This. Must I speak now 1 
 
 Quin. Ay, marry, must you: for you must un 
 derstand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, 
 and is to come again. 
 
 This. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-whiit 
 of hue. 
 
 Of color like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
 Most brisky Juvenal,^ arid eke most lovely Jew, 
 
 As true as truest horse, that yet wonld never tire, 
 I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninriy's tomb. 
 
 Quin. Ninus' tomb, man : Why you must not 
 speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : you 
 speak all your part at once, cues" and all. — Pyra- 
 mus, enter; your cue is past; it is, ?iever tire. 
 
 Re-enter Puck aiid Bottom with an Ass's head. 
 
 This. O, — As true as truest horse, that yet 
 
 would never tire. 
 Tyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine: — 
 Quin. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are ha inted. 
 Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! help ! 
 
 \^Exeunt C lowns. 
 Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, 
 Through bog, through bush, through brake- 
 through brier; 
 Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 
 A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
 And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, 
 Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Bot. Why do they run away ! this is a knavery 
 of them, to make me afeard. 
 
 Re-enter Sxout. 
 
 S7wut. O Bottom, thou art changed ! what do 1 
 see on thee? [Exit. 
 
 Bot. What do you see 1 you see an ass's head 
 of your own ; Do you ] 
 
 Re-enter Quince. 
 
 Qui77. Bless thee. Bottom! bless thee! thou art 
 translated. [Exit. 
 
 Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an asa 
 of me ; to fi-ight me, if they could. But I will not 
 stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk 
 up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall 
 hear I am not afraid. [Sings. 
 
 The ousel cock, so black of hue, 
 
 With orange-tawny hill, 
 The throstle with his note so true, 
 The wren with little quill. 
 
 Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery 
 bed? [Waking 
 
 Bot. The Jinch, the sparroio, and the lark, 
 The plain-song cuckoo grey. 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark. 
 And dares ?wt answer, nay,- — 
 or, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a 
 bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry, 
 cuckoo, never sol 
 
 Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
 Mine ear is much cnamor'd of thy note, 
 
 • Young man. 
 
 • The last words of the preceding speech, which eery* 
 as a hint to him who is to speak next. 
 
44 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act III 
 
 So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
 
 And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me, 
 
 On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 
 
 Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have httle 
 reason for that: And yet, to say the truth, reason 
 and love keep little company together now-a-days : 
 The more the pity, that some honest neighbors 
 will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek' upon 
 occasion. 
 
 Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
 
 Bot. Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to 
 get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine 
 own turn. 
 
 Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go; 
 Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
 I am a spirit of no common rate : 
 The summer still doth tend upon my state. 
 And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; 
 I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee ; 
 And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 
 And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep: 
 And I will purge thy mortal grossness so. 
 That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. — 
 P«!as-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard-seed ! 
 
 Enter four Fairies. 
 
 1 Fai. Ready. 
 
 2 Fai. And I. 
 
 3 Fai. And I. 
 
 4 Fai, Where shall we go 1 
 Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
 
 Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes; 
 Feed him with apricocks and dewberries. 
 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; 
 The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, 
 And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, 
 And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
 To have my love to bed, and to arise ; 
 And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, 
 To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes : 
 Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 
 
 1 Fai. Hail mortal! 
 
 2 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 3 Fai. Hail ! 
 \ Fai. Hail ! 
 
 Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — I 
 beseech, your worship's namel 
 
 Cob. Cobweb. 
 
 Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, 
 good master Cobweb: If I cut my finger, I shall 
 make bold with you. — Your name, honest gentle- 
 man! 
 
 Peas. Peas-blossom. 
 
 Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, 
 your mother, and to master Pcascod, your father. 
 Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more 
 Bcquaintance too. — Your name, I beseech you, sir 1 
 
 Mus. Mustard-seed. 
 
 Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your 
 patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox- 
 beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your 
 house : I promise you , your kindred hath made my 
 syes water ere now. I desire you more acquaint- 
 lince, good master Mustard-seed. 
 
 Tita. Come wait upon him ; lead him to my bower. 
 
 The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye ; 
 And when she weeps, weeps every little flower. 
 
 Lamenting some enforced chastity. 
 
 Tie \ip my love's tongue, bring him silently. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE l\.— Another part of the Wood. 
 
 Enter Oberon. 
 
 Ohe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd; 
 Then, what it was that next came in her eye, 
 Which she must dote on in extremity. 
 
 Enter Puck. 
 Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit 
 What night-rule now about this haunted grove? 
 Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
 Near to her close and consecrated bower. 
 While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
 A crew of patches,^ rude mechanicals. 
 That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 
 Were met together to rehearse a play. 
 Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. 
 The shallowest thick-skin of that ban-en sort, 
 Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 
 Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake : 
 When I did him at this advantage take, 
 An ass's nowl I fixed on his head; 
 Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, 
 And forth my mimic comes : When they hia ttjty, 
 As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 
 Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, 
 Rising and cawing at the gun's report 
 Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky, 
 So, at his sight, away his fellows fly ; 
 And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls; 
 He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 
 Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus 
 
 strong, 
 Made senseless things begin to do them wrong : 
 For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch; 
 Some, sleeves ; some, hats : from yielders all tiiingi 
 
 catch. 
 I led them on in this distracted fear. 
 And left sweet Pyramus ti'anslated there : 
 When in that moment, (so it came to pass,) 
 Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 
 
 Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. 
 But hast thou yet latch'd' the Athenian's eyes 
 With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do 1 
 
 Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too,— 
 And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
 That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. 
 
 Enter Demethius and Hermia. 
 
 Obe. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian. 
 
 Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. 
 
 Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so ? 
 Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 
 
 Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse; 
 For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
 If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep. 
 Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, 
 And kill me too. 
 
 The sun was not so true unto the day. 
 As he to me : Would he have stol'n away 
 From sleeping Hermia ] I'll believe as soon, 
 This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that the moon 
 May through the centre creep, and so displease 
 Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes. 
 It cannot be but thou hast murdcr'd him ; 
 So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim. 
 
 Dem. So should the murder'd look; and so should I 
 Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty 
 Yet you, the murderer, look as iTight, as clear, 
 As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 
 • Simple fellowB. » Infected 
 
r 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 145 
 
 Her. What's this to my Lysandcr 1 where is hel 
 A h, good Deinetrius, wilt thou give him me ] 
 
 Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. 
 
 Her. Out, dog! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past 
 the bounds 
 Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then? 
 Henceforth be never number'd among men ! 
 
 ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ; 
 Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake. 
 And hast thou kill'd him sleeping"! brave touch ! 
 Could not a worm, an adder, do so much 1 
 
 An adder did it ; for with doublet tongue 
 Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 
 Dtm. You spend j'our passion on a mispris'd ' 
 mood : 
 
 1 am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; 
 Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
 
 Her. I pray thee, tell me then, that he is. well. 
 Dem. And if I could, what should I get therefore? 
 Her. A privilege, never to see me more. — 
 And from thy hated presence part I so : 
 See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit. 
 Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein: 
 Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. 
 So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier g^ow 
 For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ; 
 Which now, in some slight measure, it will pay, 
 If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down. 
 Obe. What hast thou done 1 thou hast mistaken 
 quite, 
 And laid the love-juice on some true love's s'ght: 
 Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
 Some true love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. 
 Puck. Then fate o'er-rulcs ; that, one man hold- 
 ing troth, 
 A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 
 
 Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, 
 .\nd Helena of Athens look thou find: 
 All fancy-sick^ she is, and pale of cheer,' 
 With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear: 
 By some illusion see thou bring her here; 
 I'll charm his eyes, against she do appear. 
 
 Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go ; 
 Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. 
 Obe. Flower of this purple die, 
 Hit with Cupid's archery. 
 Sink in apple of his eye ! 
 When his love he doth espy, 
 Let her shine as gloriously 
 As the Venus of the sky. — 
 \^lien thou wak'st, if she be by, 
 Beg of her for remedy. 
 
 Re-enter Puck. 
 Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 
 Helena is here at hand ; 
 And the youth, mistook by me, 
 Pleading for a lover's fee ; 
 Shall we their fond pageant see 1 
 O, what fools these mortals be ! 
 
 Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make, 
 Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
 
 Puck. Then will two at once, woo one ; 
 That must needs be sport alone ; 
 And those things do best please me, 
 That befal prcposterouslj'. 
 
 Enter Ltsander and Helkna. 
 Li/s. Why should you think, that I should wo j 
 
 in scorn 1 
 • Mistaken. « Love-sick. • Countenance. 
 
 Scorn and derision never come in tears: 
 Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born. 
 
 In their nativity all truth appears. 
 How can these things in me seem scorn to you. 
 Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true 'i 
 
 Hel. You do advance your cunning more and 
 more. 
 
 When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray 
 These vows are Hermia's: Will you give her o'erl 
 
 Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothiiig 
 weigh : 
 Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales, 
 Will even weigh; and both as light as tales. 
 
 Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 
 
 Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her 
 o'er. 
 
 Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 
 
 Dem. [awaking.'} O Helen, goddess, nymph, 
 perfect, divine ! 
 To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne'? 
 Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
 Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
 That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
 Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow, 
 When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss 
 This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 
 
 Hel. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent 
 To set againct me, for your merriment. 
 If you were civil, and knew courtesy, 
 You would not do me thus much injury. 
 Can you hot hate me, as I know you do. 
 But you must join, in souls,* to mock me too'' 
 If you were men, as men you are in show, 
 You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
 To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 
 M'^hen, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. 
 You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 
 And now both rivals, to mock Helena : 
 A trim exploit, a manly enterprise. 
 To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, 
 With your derision ! none, of noble sort, 
 Would so oflfend a virgin; and extort 
 A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
 
 Lys. You are unldnd, Demetrius: be not so; 
 For you love Hermia ; this, you know, I know : 
 And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
 In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
 And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
 Whom I do love, and will do to my death. 
 
 Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath 
 
 Dem. Lysandcr, keep thy Hermia ; I will none 
 If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. 
 My heart with her, but as guest-wise, sojourn 'd; 
 And now to Helen is it home return'd. 
 There to remain. 
 
 Lys. Helen, it is not so. 
 
 Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know 
 Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.' — 
 Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 
 
 Enter Hkrjiia. 
 Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
 
 takes, 
 The ear more quick of apprehension makes • 
 Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense. 
 It pays the hearing double recompense : — 
 Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; 
 Mine car, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
 But why unliindly didst thou leave me sol 
 
 * Heartily. 
 
 » Pav dearly for it 
 
146 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act III, 
 
 Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press 
 to go ? 
 
 Her. What love could press Lysander from my 
 sidel 
 
 Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide. 
 Fair Helena : who more engilds the night 
 Than all yon fiery ocs^ and eyes of light. 
 Why seek'st thou me 1 could not this make thee 
 
 know, 
 The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so? 
 
 Her. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be. 
 
 Heh Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
 Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three, 
 To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
 Injurious Hermia : most ungrateful maid ! 
 Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
 To bait me with this foul derision 1 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, — O, and is all forgot 1 
 All school-days' fiicndship, childhood innocence 1 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial' gods. 
 Have with our neelds^ created both one flower. 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds. 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted; 
 But yet a union in partition. 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem: 
 So with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; 
 Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
 Due but to one, and crowned with one crest: 
 And will you rent our ancient love asunder. 
 To join with men in scorning your poor friend ? 
 It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : 
 Our sex as well as I, may chide you for it; 
 Though I alone do feel the injury. 
 
 Her. I am amazed at your passionate words : 
 I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me. 
 
 Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn. 
 To follow me, and praise my eyes and face 1 
 And made your other love, Demetrius, 
 (Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) 
 To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare. 
 Precious, celestial 1 Wherefore speaks he this 
 To her he hates 1 and wherefore doth Lysander 
 Deny your love, so rich within his soul, 
 And tender me, forsooth, affection ; 
 But by your setting on, by your consent ] 
 What though I be not so in grace as you. 
 So hung upon with love, so fortunate ; 
 But miserable most, to love unlov'dl 
 This you should pity, rather than despise. 
 
 Her. I understand not what you mean by this. 
 
 Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks. 
 Make mows" upon me when I turn my back; 
 Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up: 
 This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
 If you have any pity, grace, or manners. 
 You would not make me such an argument. 
 But fare ye well : 'tis partly mine own fault 
 Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. 
 
 Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse ; 
 My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 
 Hel. O excellent' 
 Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 
 
 • Circles. 
 •" Needles. 
 
 ' Ingenious. 
 » Wry faces. 
 
 Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 
 
 Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she en 
 treat ; 
 Thy threats have no more strength than her weak 
 
 prayers. — 
 Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do ; 
 1 swear by that which I will lose for thee, 
 To prove him false, that says I love thee not. 
 
 Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do. 
 
 Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too 
 
 Dem. Quick, come, — 
 
 Her. Lysander, whereto tends all tliis ! 
 
 Lys. Away, you Ethiop! 
 
 Dem. No, no, sir: — he will 
 
 Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow : 
 But yet come not: you are a tame man, go ! 
 
 Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr: vile thing, 
 let loose ; 
 Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. 
 
 Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what change 
 is this, 
 Sweet lovel 
 
 Lys. Thy love 1 out, tawny Tartar, out ! 
 
 Her. Do you not jest? 
 
 Hel. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. 
 
 Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 
 
 Dem. I would, I had your bond ; for, I perceive, 
 A weak bond holds you ; I'll not trust your word. 
 
 Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill 
 her dead ? 
 Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. 
 
 Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than 
 hate? 
 Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! what news, my love ? 
 Am not I Hermia ? Are not you Lysander ? 
 I am as fair now, as I was erewhile. 
 Since night, you lov'dme; yet, since night you left 
 
 me : 
 Why, then you left me — 0, the gods forbid ! — 
 In earnest shall I say ? 
 
 Lys. Ay, by my life ; 
 
 And never did desire to see thee more. 
 Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt. 
 Be certain, nothing truer ; 'tis no jest. 
 That I do hate thee, and love Helena. 
 
 Her. O me ! you juggler ! you canker blossom ! ' 
 You thief of love ! what, have you come by night, 
 And stol'n my love's heart from him ? 
 
 Hel. Fine, i'faith! 
 
 Have you no modesty, no maiden shame. 
 No touch of bashfulness ? What, will you tear 
 Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? 
 Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet you ! 
 
 Her. Puppet ! why so ? Ay, that way goes ^ae 
 game. 
 Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
 Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height ; 
 And with her personage, her tall personage. 
 Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.— > 
 And are you grown so high in his esteem. 
 Because I am so dwarfish, and so low? 
 How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; 
 How low am I ? I am not yet so low. 
 But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 
 
 Hel, I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen 
 Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; ' 
 I have no gift at all in shrewishness; 
 I am a right maid for my cowardice ; 
 
 • A worm that preys tin butls of flowers. 
 ' Shrewist or mJscJwa»«i' e. 
 
ficENE II. 
 
 MIUSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 147 
 
 Let her not strike me : you, perhaps, may think, 
 Because she's sometliing lower than myself. 
 That I can match her. 
 
 Her. Ijower ! hark, again ! 
 
 Hel. G.)od Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
 I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
 Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ; 
 Save, that, in love unto Demetrius, 
 I told him of your stealth unto this wood: 
 He followed you ; for love, I follow'd him : 
 But he hath chid me hence; and thrcaten'd me 
 To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
 And now, so you will let me quiet go, 
 To Athens will I bear my folly back, 
 And follow you no further : Let me go : 
 You see how simple and how fond' I am. 
 
 Her. Why, get you gone : Who is't that hinders 
 youl 
 
 Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 
 
 Her. What, with Lysander? 
 
 Hel. With Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. Be not afraid: she shall not harm thee, 
 Helena. 
 
 Dem. No, sir; she shall not, though you take 
 her part. 
 
 Hel. 0, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd: 
 She was a vixen, when she went to school; 
 And, though she be but little, she is fierce. 
 
 Her. Little again 1 nothing but low and little ] — 
 Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? 
 Let me come to her. 
 
 Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf; 
 
 You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass' made; 
 You bead, you acorn. 
 
 Dem. You are too officious 
 
 In her behalf that scorns your services. 
 Let her alone; speak not of Helena; 
 Take not her part: for if thou dost intend' 
 Never so little show of love to her. 
 Thou shalt aby it. 
 
 hys. Now, she holds me not; 
 
 Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, 
 Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. 
 
 Dem. Follow] nay, I'll go with thee cheek by 
 jole. [^Exeunt Lts. and Dem. 
 
 Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you : 
 Nay, go not back. 
 
 Hel. I will not trust you, I ; 
 
 Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
 Your hands, than mine, are qu.i 4.er for a fray ; 
 My legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit. 
 
 Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. 
 [Exit, pursuing Helena. 
 
 Obe. This is thy negligence: still thou mistak'st. 
 Or else commit'st thy kna-'eries wilfully. 
 
 Pu<k. Believe me, king "f shad'ows, I mistook. 
 Did not you tell me, I should know the man 
 By tl£ Athenian garments he had on? 
 And f.o far blameless proves my enterprize, 
 Tha'i I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes: 
 And so far am I glad it so did sort. 
 As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 
 
 Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight: 
 Hie, therefore, Robin, overcast the night; 
 The starry welkin cover thou anon 
 With drooping fog, as black as Acheron ; 
 l^nd lead these testy rivals so astray, 
 
 » Foolish. 
 
 * Anciently, knot-grass was believed to prevent the 
 frowth of children. » Pretend. 
 
 As one come not within another's way. 
 Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 
 Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 
 And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
 And from each other look thou lead them thas, 
 Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
 With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep ; 
 Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye; 
 Whose liquor hath this virtuous property. 
 To take from thence all error, with his might. 
 And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight 
 When they next wake, all this derision 
 Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision; 
 And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,' 
 With league, whose date till death shall never end 
 Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
 I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; 
 And then I will her charmed eye release 
 From monster's view, and all things shall be peace, 
 Fuck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste; 
 For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast. 
 And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; 
 At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and 
 
 there, 
 Troop home to church-yards : damned spirits all, 
 That in crossways and floods have burial, 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
 For fear lest day should look their shames upon. 
 They wilfully themselves exile from liglit. 
 And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night 
 
 Obe. But we are spirits of another sort: 
 I with the Morning's Love' have oft made sport; 
 And, like a forester, the groves may tread. 
 Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red. 
 Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
 Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams 
 But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: 
 We may effect this business yet ere day. [Exit Ou 
 Puck. Up and down, up and down ; 
 
 I will lead them up and down : 
 
 I am fear'd in field and town ; 
 
 Goblin, lead them up and down. 
 Here comes one. 
 
 Enter Ltsattdeii. 
 Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius .' Speak 
 
 thou now. 
 Puck. Here, villain ; drawn and ready. Where 
 
 art thou 1 
 Lys. I will be with thee straight. 
 Puck. Follow me then 
 
 To plainer ground. 
 
 [Exit Lysander, as following the voice. 
 Enter Demetrius. 
 Dem. Lysander ! speak again. 
 
 Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? 
 Speak. In some bush ] Where dost thou hide thy 
 headi 
 Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, 
 Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars. 
 And wilt not come] Come, recreant; come, thou 
 
 child ; 
 I'll whip thee with a rod : He is defil'd, 
 That draws a sword on thee. 
 
 Dem. Yea ; art thou there 
 
 Puck. Follow my voice ; we'll try no manhood 
 here. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter LisANnEn. 
 Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on 
 * Qo. * Cepbaluii, the paramour of Autonu 
 
I4b 
 
 When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
 The villain is much lighter heel'd than I : 
 t foUow'd fast, but taster he did fly ; 
 That lallen am I in dark uneven way. 
 And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! 
 
 [Lies down. 
 For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
 I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. iSkeps. 
 
 Reenter Puck and Dkmethius. 
 Puck. Ho, ho! ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou 
 
 not? 
 Dan. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot, 
 rhou runn'st before me, shifting every place ; 
 And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
 Where art thoul 
 
 Puck. Come hither ; I am here. 
 
 Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt 
 buy this dear, 
 [f ever I thy face by daylight see : 
 \ow, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
 To measure out"^my length on this cold bed. — 
 By day's approach look to be visited. 
 
 \_Lies dotvn and sleeps. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Hel. weary night, O long and tedious night. 
 Abate thy hours: shine, comforts, from the east; 
 That I may back to Athens, by day-light, 
 
 From'thesc that my poor company detest. — 
 And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye. 
 Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 ActR 
 
 Puck. Yet but three 1 Come one more; 
 Two ef both kinds makes up four. 
 Here she comes, curst and sad : — 
 Cupid is a knavish lad, 
 Thus to make poor females mad. 
 Enter Heumia. 
 
 Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, 
 
 Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers , 
 I can no further crawl, no further go ; 
 
 My legs can keep no pace with my desircsi 
 Here will I rest me till the break of day. 
 Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 
 
 [Lies down. 
 Puck. On the ground 
 Sleep sound: 
 I'll apply 
 To your eye, 
 Gentle lover, remedy. 
 [Squeezing the juice on Ltsander's eye. 
 When thou wak'st, 
 Thou tak'st 
 True delight 
 In the sight 
 Of thy former lady's eye : 
 And the country proverb known, 
 That every man should take his own, 
 In your waking shall be shown : 
 Jack shall have Jill ; 
 Nought shall go ill ; 
 The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be 
 well. 
 
 [Exit Puck. — ^Dem., Hel., S[C., ; 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 
 Enter Titaxia and Bottom, Fairies attend- 
 ing: ■ Oberon behind tmseen. 
 Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed. 
 While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,' 
 And stick musk roses in thy sleek smooth head. 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
 Bot. Where's Peas-blossom ] 
 Peas. Ready. , 
 
 Bot. Scratch my head. Peas-blossom.— Where s 
 monsieur Cobweb 1 
 Cob. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get your 
 weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped 
 humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good mon- 
 sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret your- 
 self too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good 
 monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not: I 
 would be loath to have you overflown with a honey- 
 bag, signior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed] 
 ^Must. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Give me your nief,' monsieur Mustard-seed. 
 Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 
 Must. What's your will 1 
 
 Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalero 
 Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, mon- 
 sieur; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about 
 !he face: and I am such a tender ass, if my hair 
 80 but tickle me, I must scratch. 
 
 Tita. What, wilt thou bear some music, my 
 sweet love] 
 s Stroke. * Visit. 
 
 Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music: let 
 us have the tongs and the bones. 
 
 Tita. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 
 
 Bot. Truly, a peck of provender ; I could munch 
 your dry good oats. Metliinks I have a great de- 
 sire to a bottle of hay ; good hay, sweet hay hath 
 no fellow. 
 
 Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
 The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
 
 Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried 
 peas. But I pray you, let none of your people stir 
 me : I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. 
 
 Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. 
 Fairies, begone, and be all ways away. 
 
 [Exeunt Fairies. 
 So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, 
 Gently entwist, — the female ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
 0, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! 
 
 [They sleep, 
 
 Obehon advances. Enter Puck. 
 Ohe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou thtf 
 sweet sight 1 
 Her dotage now I do begin to pity. 
 For meeting her of late, behind the wood, 
 Seeking sweet savors for this hateful fool, 
 I did upbraid her, and fall out with her: 
 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers, 
 And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 
 Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls. 
 Stood now within the pretty flowrets' eyes. 
 
ScENK I. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 149 
 
 Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail. 
 When I had, at iny pleasure, taunted her, 
 And she, in mild terms, bcgg'd my patience, 
 I then did ask of her her changehng child; 
 Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent 
 To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
 And now I have the boy, I will undo 
 This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
 An'', gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
 Frt.in olT the head of this Atlienian swain ; 
 That he awaking when the others do. 
 May all to Athens back again repair; 
 And think no more of this night's accidents, 
 But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
 But first I will release the fairy queen. 
 Be, as thou wast wont to be ; 
 
 \_Tuuching her eyes with an herb. 
 See, as thou wast wont to see : 
 Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
 Hath such force and blessed power. 
 Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen. 
 
 Tiia. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
 Methought, I was enamor'd of an ass. 
 
 Obe. There lies your love. 
 
 Tita. How canre these things to pass 1 
 
 O how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! 
 
 Obe. Silence, awhile. — Robin, take ofT this head. 
 Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
 Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 
 
 Tita. Music, ho ! music, such as charmeth sleep. 
 
 Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own 
 fool's eyes peep. 
 
 Obe. Sound, music. IStitl mttsic.'\ Come, my 
 queen, take hands with me. 
 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
 Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
 And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly. 
 Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
 And bless it to all fair posterity : 
 There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
 Wedded, with Theseus, all in jolhty. 
 
 Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark; 
 
 I do hear the morning lark. 
 
 Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
 
 Trip Vi'e after the night's shade : 
 
 We the globe can compass soon, 
 
 Swifter than the wand'ring moon. 
 
 Tita. Come, my lord ; and in our flight. 
 
 Tell me how it came this night. 
 
 That I sleeping here was found. 
 
 With these mortals, on the ground. [^Exeunt. 
 
 [^Horns sound within. 
 Enter Tiikseus, Hitroi.rrA, Egeus, and train. 
 
 The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; — 
 For now our observation is perform 'd ; 
 And since we have the vaward' of the day. 
 My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
 Uncouple in the western valley; go: — 
 Despatch, I say, and find the forester. — 
 We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 
 
 Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, 
 Wlien in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
 With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
 Such ffallant chiding; for, besides the groves. 
 The skies, the fountains, every region near 
 Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard 
 So musical a discord, such sweet thumlcr. 
 • Forepart. 
 11 
 
 The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kintl, 
 So flcw'd,'^ so sanded; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
 Crook-knee'd, and dew-Iap'd like Thessalian bulls- 
 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 
 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
 Was never hoUa'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly: 
 Judge, when you hear. — But, soft; what nymphs 
 are these 1 
 
 Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep ■ 
 And this, Lysandcr; this Demetrius is; 
 This Helena, old Ncdar's Helena. 
 I wonder of their being here together. 
 
 The. No doubt, they rose up early, to obser\ e 
 The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent. 
 Came here in grace of our solemnity. — 
 But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
 That Hermia jjhould give answer of her choice '^ 
 
 Ege. It is, my lord. 
 
 The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them withtheii 
 horns. 
 
 Horns and shouts within. Dsmethius,Ltsandek, 
 Heumia, and Helena, wake and start up. 
 
 The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 
 past; 
 Begin these wood-birds but to couple now 1 
 
 Lys. Pardon, my lord. 
 
 [^He and the rest kneel to Theseus, 
 
 The. I pray you all, stand up. 
 
 I know you are two rival enemies ; 
 How comes this gentle concord in the world. 
 That hatred is so far from jealousy. 
 To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ] 
 
 Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly. 
 Half 'sleep, half waking : I3ut as yet, I sweat 
 I cannot truly say how I came here: 
 But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — 
 And now I do bethink me, so it is,) 
 I came with Hermia hither: our intent 
 Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
 Without the peril of the Athenian law. 
 
 Ege. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have 
 enough : 
 I beg the law, the law, upon his head. — 
 They would have stol'n away, they would, Deme 
 
 trius. 
 Thereby to have defeated you and me : 
 You, of your wife; and me, of my consent; 
 Of my consent that she should be your wife. 
 
 Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, 
 Of this their purporje hither to this wood ; 
 And I in fury hither foUow'd them ; 
 Fair Helena in fancy' following me. 
 But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
 (But by some power it is.) my love to Hermia 
 Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now 
 As the remembrance of an idle gawd. 
 Which in my childhood I did dote upon : 
 And all the faith, the virtue of my heart. 
 The object, and the pleasure of mine eye, 
 Is only Helena. To her, my lord. 
 Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : 
 But, like in sickness, did I loath this food: 
 But, as in health, come to my mitural taste, 
 Now ilo I wish it, love it, long for it. 
 And will for evermore be true to it. 
 
 » Tbi,' ll<;w s ari! th(? largo chaps of a ho'ind. 
 
 »LOT«. 
 
150 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act V 
 
 The. Fair luvers, you are fortunately met: I 
 
 Df this discourse we more will hear anon.— 
 Effcus, I will overbear your will ; 
 For in the temple, by and by with us, 
 These couples shall eternally be knit. 
 And, for the morning now is something worn, 
 Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside.— 
 Away, with us, to Athens: Three and three. 
 We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.— 
 Come, Hipp3^yt.^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^..,and tra^r. 
 Dem. These things seem small and undistm- 
 guishable, 
 Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 
 UefMethinks, I see these things with parted 
 
 When every thing seems double. ^^^^^.^^^_ 
 
 And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 
 Mine own, and not mine own. ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ 
 
 Tl«t y^t we sleep, we dream.-Do not you think, 
 The duke was here, and bid us iollow him ! 
 Her. Yea; and my father. • 
 
 IT 7 And Hippolyta. 
 
 Lv's. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 
 Dem. Why then, we are awake : let's iollow him ; 
 And, by the way, let us recount our ^l-'e.uns.^^^^^^^ 
 
 As they go out, Bottom awakes. 
 
 Bot When my cue comes, call me, and I will 
 anfwer :-my next is, Most fair Fynnnas.-^e^j 
 ho Seter Quince ! Flute, the belows-mender 
 Snout the tinker! Starveling! God's my hie! 
 Sen henL and left me asleep ! I have ha^i a mos 
 rare vision. I have had a dream,— past the ^^ it ot 
 man to say what dieam it was : Man is but an ass 
 if he go about to expound this dream. J^Ieth°"S ^j 
 f ^^Lthere is no man can tell what. Methought I 
 wis and methought I had,-But man is but a 
 patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought 
 I had. The eye of man hath not heard he ear of 
 man hath not seen ; man's hand is not able to taste 
 Ss ton-ue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what 
 ^; dream was. I will get Peter Quince to ..ite^ a 
 ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bo oms 
 Dr am, because it hath no bottom ; and I wdUmg 
 
 t in the latter end of the play, before the duke . 
 
 Peradventure, to make it the more graciou^ shall 
 
 sing it at her death. l 
 
 SCENE II.— Athens. A Room in Quince's House. 
 
 Enter Quince, Fi-ute, Sxoct, and Staiivelikg, 
 
 Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house 1 is he 
 
 " "Ln nVctnnot be heard of. Out of doubt, he 
 
 '^ ¥/«!^lThe come not, then the play is marred: 
 It goes not forward, doth it^ 
 
 Quin. It is not possible : you have not a man ii. 
 all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he. 
 
 Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit ot acy 
 handicraft man in Athens. 
 
 Quin. Yea, and the best person too: and lie u 
 a very paramour, for a sweet voice. 
 
 Flu. You must say, paragon : a paramour is. 
 God bless us, a thing of nought. 
 
 Enter Ssro. ^ 
 
 Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from tne 
 templeTand there is two or three lords and ladies 
 moreman-ied: if our sport had gone forward, we 
 
 had all been made men. , „ i, i„„* 
 
 Flu. sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost 
 sixpence a day during his life; he could not have 
 Waped sixpence a-day : an the duke had not given 
 him sixpence a-day for playmg Pyramus, 1 11 be 
 hanged ; he would have deserved it : sixpence a-day, 
 in Pyramus, or nothing. 
 
 Enter Bottom. 
 Bot. Where are these ladsl where are these heartsl 
 Quin. Bottom !— O most courageous day ! U 
 
 most happy hour ! i u * „^i, 
 
 Bot. Masters. I am to discourse wonders : but ask 
 me not what ; for, if I tell you, I am no tyvie Athe- 
 nian. I will tell you every thing, right as it iell out. 
 Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 
 Bot Not a word of me. All that I will tell you, 
 is that the duke hath dined: Get your apparel to- 
 gether; good strings to your beards, new ribbons 
 fo your pumps; meet presently at the palace; 
 eve?y man look o'er his part; for the short and 
 the long is, our play is preferred. In any cjtse le 
 Thisbv have clean hnen; and let not hm that 
 pi vs the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang 
 out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, 
 eat no onions, nor garlic, for we are to utter swe« 
 breath; and I do not doubt, but to hear them say, 
 it is a sweet comedy. No more words; aw^y ;^go. 
 away. ' 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 BCENE I.— An Apartment in the Pulace of 
 Theseus. 
 
 Enter Thesp.xts, Hippolyta P.iilostuatk, 
 Lords, and Attendants. 
 Hip. 'Tis strange, ray Theseus, that these lovers 
 
 The. Mm-e strange than true, I never may believe 
 These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
 Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains, 
 Buch shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
 More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
 J'he lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
 Ase of imagination all compact:* 
 « Compacted, made. 
 
 One sees more devils than vast he can nolo , 
 That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic. 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling. 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth t^ 
 
 heaven. 
 And, as imagination bodies forth 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet s pei. 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothmg 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination ; _ 
 That if it would but apprehend some joy, 
 It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
 Or, in the night, imagining some fear. 
 How easy is a bush suppos d a bear ? 
 
Scene I. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 151 
 
 Hip. But all the stor)' of the night told over, 
 And all their minds transfigur'd so together, 
 More witncsscth tlian fancy's images, 
 And grows to something of great constancy; 
 But, howsoever, strange and admirable. 
 
 Enter Lxsandeh, DEMETnius, Hermia, and 
 Helena. 
 
 The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth, — 
 Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love. 
 Accompany your hearts ! 
 
 Lys. More than to us 
 
 Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed ! 
 
 The. Come now; what masks, what dances shall 
 we have. 
 To wear away this long age of three hours, 
 Between our after-supper, and bed-time 1 
 Where is our usual manager of mirth 1 
 What revels are in liandl Is there no play. 
 To case the anguish of a torturing hour 1 
 Call Philostrate. 
 
 Pliilosf. Here, mighty Theseus. 
 
 The. Say what abridgment' have you for this 
 evening 1 
 What mask] what music! How shall we beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight ] 
 
 Phi lost. There is a brief,*^ how many sports are ripe; 
 Make choice of which your highness will see first. 
 
 [^Giving a paper. 
 
 The. [^Reads.'] The battle with the Centaurs, 
 to be sung, 
 
 Bi/ an Athenian eunuch to the harp. 
 We'll none of that: that have I told my love, 
 In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
 
 The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
 
 Tearing the Tliracian singer in their rage. 
 That is an old device; and it was play'd 
 WlicTi I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
 
 The thrice three Muses mourning fur the death 
 
 Of learning, late dcceas\l in beggary. 
 'J'hat is some satire, keen, and critical. 
 Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 
 
 A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, 
 
 And his love Tkisbe: very tragical mirth. 
 Merry and tragical^ Tedious and brief? 
 That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow. 
 How shall we find the concord of this discord] 
 
 Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words 
 long; 
 Which is as brief as I have known a play : 
 But by ten words, my lord, it is too long; 
 Wiiich makes it tedious: for in all the play 
 There is not one word apt, one player fitted. 
 And tragical, my noble lord, it is; 
 For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
 Which, when I saw rehcars'd, I must confess. 
 Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears 
 The ])assion of loud laughter never shed. 
 
 The. What are tht-y, that do play it] 
 
 Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens 
 here, 
 V\ hich never labor'd in their minds till now ; 
 And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories 
 With this same play, against your nuptial. 
 
 The. And we will hear it. 
 
 Philost. No, my noble lord, 
 
 [t is not for you : I have heard it over, 
 And it is nothing, nothing in the world; 
 Unless you can find sport in their intents, 
 
 s Pas'jmo • Short account 
 
 Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pairv 
 To do you service. 
 
 The. I will hear that play ; 
 
 For never anything can be amiss, 
 When simpleness and duty tender it. 
 Go, bring them in ; — and take your places, ladies. 
 
 \^Exit Philostrate. 
 
 Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd. 
 And duty in his service perishing. 
 
 The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such 
 thing. 
 
 Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind 
 
 The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for noth- 
 ing. 
 Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake: 
 And what poor duty can do. 
 Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
 Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
 To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
 Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences. 
 Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, 
 And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off. 
 Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet. 
 Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome; 
 And in the modesty of fearful duty 
 I read as much, as from the rattling tongue 
 Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 
 Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, 
 In least, speak most, to my capacity. 
 
 Enter Philostrate. 
 
 Philost. So please your grace, the prologue la 
 
 addrest.'' 
 The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 
 Prol. If we offend, it is with our good-will. 
 
 That you should think, we come not to offend, 
 But with good-will. To show our simple skill. 
 
 That is the true beginning of our end. 
 Consider then, we come but in despite. 
 
 We do not come as miriding to content you. 
 Our true intent is. All for your delight. 
 
 We are not here. That you should here repenJ 
 you. 
 The actors are at hand; and, by their show. 
 You shall know all, that you are like to know. 
 
 The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
 
 Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt; 
 he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: 
 It is not enough to speak, but to speak true. 
 
 Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, 
 like a child on a recorder;' a sound, but not in 
 government. 
 
 The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; no- 
 thing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next? 
 
 Enter Pyramus and Thishe-, Wall, Moonshine, 
 and Lion, as in dumb show. 
 
 Prol. " Gentles, perchance, j'ou wonder at ihis 
 
 show ; 
 " But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. 
 "This man is Pyramus, if you would know; 
 
 " This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. 
 " This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 
 " Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers 
 sunder : 
 
 ' Ready. 
 
 • A musical instrumeat 
 
152 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act Y 
 
 " A.nd through wall's chink, poor souls, they are 
 content 
 
 '' To whisper; at the which let no man wonder. 
 " This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 
 
 " Prcsenteth moon-shine: for, if you will know, 
 " By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn 
 
 " To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
 " This grisly beast, which by name lion hight," 
 " Tiie trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
 " Did scare away, or rather did affiight : 
 " And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall ; 
 
 " Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain : 
 " Anon comes Pyi-amus, sweet youth, and tall, 
 
 " And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain : 
 " Whereat with blade, -with bloody blameful blade, 
 
 " He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast ; 
 *' And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry sliade, 
 
 " His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
 " Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, 
 " At large discourse, while here they do remain." 
 
 J[Ex. Prol., Pth., This It k. Lion, Grtc? Moonshine. 
 
 The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. 
 
 Dent. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, when 
 many asses do. 
 
 Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befall, 
 " That I, one Snout by name, present a wall : 
 " And such a wall, as I would have you think, 
 " That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, 
 " Through which the lovers, Pyranius and Thisby, 
 " Did whisper often very secretly. 
 " This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth 
 
 show, 
 " That I am that same wall ; the truth is so : 
 " And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 
 " Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." 
 
 The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 
 better 1 
 
 Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 
 discourse, my lord. 
 
 TTie. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! 
 Enter Ptkamus. 
 
 Fi/r. " O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue 
 so black ! 
 
 " night, which ever art, when day is not ! 
 •* night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 
 
 " I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! — 
 "And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, 
 
 " That stand'st between her father's ground and 
 mine ! 
 " Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, 
 
 " Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine 
 eync. [Wall holds up his fingers. 
 
 " Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for 
 this ! 
 
 " But what see I ? No Thisby do I see. 
 " O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; 
 
 " Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! " 
 
 The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 
 curse again. 
 
 Pyr. No,intruth, sir, he should not. Deceiving 
 me, is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I am 
 to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will 
 fall pat as I told you : — Yonder she comes. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 This. "O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, 
 " For parting my fair Pyramus and me : 
 " My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ; 
 •' Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." 
 9 Called. 
 
 Pyr. " I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 
 
 " To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 
 
 " Thisby ! " 
 
 This. " My love, thou art my love, I think.' 
 Pyr. "Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's gi-acc, 
 
 " And like Limandcr am I trusty still." 
 
 This. " And I like Helen, till the fates me kill " 
 Pyr. " Not Shafalus to Procrus was so trae.' 
 This. " As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." 
 Pyr. " O, kiss me through the hole of this vilf 
 
 wall." 
 This. " I kiss the wall's hole,not your lips at all.' 
 Pyr. " Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me 
 
 straightway 1 " 
 This. " Tide life, tide death, I come without delay." 
 Wall. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so ; 
 
 " And, being done, thus wall away doth go." 
 
 [Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. 
 The. Now is the mural down between the two 
 
 neighbors. 
 
 Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are sc 
 
 wilful to hear without warning. 
 
 Hip. Tliis is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
 The. The best in this kind are but shadows : and 
 
 the worst arc no worse, if imagination amend them. 
 Hip. It must be your imagination then, and nol 
 
 theirs. 
 
 The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they 
 
 of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. 
 
 Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. 
 
 Enter Lion and Moonshine. 
 
 Lion. " You, ladies, you, wliose gentle hearts 
 
 do fear 
 " The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on 
 floor, 
 " May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, 
 
 " When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
 " Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am 
 " A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam : 
 " For if I should as lion come in strife 
 " Into this place, 'twere pity on my life." 
 
 The. A very gentle beast and of a good conscience. 
 Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er 
 
 I saw. 
 Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valor. 
 
 vL 
 
 The. True ; and a goose for his discretion. 
 
 Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valor cannot 
 carry his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose. 
 
 The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his 
 valor ; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well : 
 leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the 
 moon. 
 
 Moo7i. " This lantern doth the horned moon 
 present : — " 
 
 Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head* 
 
 The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisi- 
 ble within the circumference. 
 
 Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon 
 present ; 
 " Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be." 
 
 The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : the 
 man should be put into the lantern : How is it elsa 
 the man i'the moon 1 
 
 Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: 
 for you see, it is already in snuff.' 
 
 Hip. I aTu aweary of this moon : Would, hfl 
 would change ! 
 
 The. It appears, by his small light of discretioir, 
 
 « In anger ; a quibble. 
 
ScE\K I. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 155 
 
 that lie is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy, in all 
 reason, we must stay the time. 
 
 Lys. Proceed, moon. 
 
 Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that 
 the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this 
 thorn-busji, my thorn-bush ; and this dog, my dog. 
 
 Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern ; 
 for they are in the moon. But, silence; here 
 comes Thisbe. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 This. " This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my 
 
 loveT" 
 Liori. "Oh.—" 
 
 [The Lion roars. — ^Thisbe runs off. 
 Dem. Well roared, lion. 
 The. Well run, Thisbe. 
 Hip. Well shone, moon. — Truly, the moon 
 
 shines with a good grace. 
 The. Well moused, lion. 
 
 [Tlie Lion tears Tuisbe's mantle, and exit. 
 Dem. And so comes Pyramus. 
 Lys. And so the lion vanish'd. 
 
 Enter Piramus. 
 
 t^yr. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
 
 beams; 
 " I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright ; 
 ' For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, 
 " I trust to taste of truest Tliisbe's sight 
 " But stay ; — O spite ! 
 " But mark ; — Poor knight, 
 " What dreadful dole is here ] 
 " Eyes, do you see 1 
 " How can it be T 
 " dainty duck ! O dear ! 
 " Thy mantle good, 
 " What, stain'd with blood] 
 " Approach, ye furies fell ! 
 " fates ! come, come ; 
 " Cut thread and thrum ;' 
 " Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! " 
 The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, 
 would go near to make a man look sad. 
 Hip Beshrcw my heart, but I pity the man. 
 Pyr. " O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions 
 
 frame 1 
 " Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear : 
 ' Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame, 
 " That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd 
 " with cheer.' 
 "• Come, tears, confound ; 
 " Out, sword, and wound 
 •* The pap of Pyramus : 
 " Ay, that left pap, 
 " Where heart doth hop : 
 " Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
 ' Now am I dead, 
 " Now am I fled, 
 " My soul is in the sky : 
 
 " Tongue, loose thy light ! 
 " Moon, take thy flight ! 
 " Now die, die, die, die, die." 
 
 [Dies. — Exit Moonshine. 
 Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. 
 Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead ; he 
 Is nothing. 
 
 The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet 
 recover, and prove an ass. 
 
 • Coarse yam. • Countenance. 
 
 Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, befor* 
 Thisbe comes back and finds her lover 1 
 
 The. She will find him by star-light. — Here sh« 
 comes; and her passion ends the play. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 Hip, Methinks, she should not use a long one, 
 for such a Pyramus : I hope, she will be brief. 
 
 Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Py- 
 ramus, which Thisbe, is the better. 
 
 Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweol 
 eyes. 
 
 Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. — 
 This. " Asleep, my love 1 
 " What, dead, my dove 1 
 " O Pyramus, arise, 
 
 " Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 
 " Dead, dead 1 A tomb 
 " Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
 " These lily brows, 
 " This cherry nose, 
 " These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
 " Are gone, are gone : 
 " Trovers, make moan ! 
 " His eyes were green as leeks. 
 " sisters three, 
 " Come, come, to me, 
 " With hands as pale as milk; 
 " Lay them in gore, 
 " Since you have shore 
 " With shears his thread of silk. 
 " Tongue, not a word : — 
 " Come, trusty sword; 
 " Come, blade, my breast imbrue : 
 " And farewell, friends ; — 
 " Thus Thisbe ends : 
 " Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies, 
 
 The. Moonsliine and lion are left to bury the dead. 
 Dem. Ay, and wall too. 
 
 Bot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that 
 parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the 
 epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between 
 two of our company 1 
 
 The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play 
 needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the 
 players arc all dead, there need none to be blamed 
 Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and 
 hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have 
 been a fine tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very 
 notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: 
 let your epilogue alone. 
 
 [Here a dance of Clowns. 
 The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : — • 
 liOvcrs, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 
 I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn, 
 As much as we this night have overwatch't! 
 This palpable gross play hath well beguil'd 
 The heavy gait of night. — Sweet friends, to bed.— 
 A fortnight hold we this solemnity. 
 In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE H. 
 
 Enter Pcck. 
 
 Puck. Now the hungry lion roars. 
 And the wolf behowls the moon; 
 
 \MiiIst the heavy ploughman snores, 
 Ail with weary task fordone.* 
 
 Now the wasted brands do glow. 
 
 Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching bud, 
 * Overcome. 
 
154 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Puis the wretch, that lies in woe, 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is the time of night, 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide. 
 Every one lets fortli his sprite. 
 
 In tlie church-way paths to ghde: 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 
 By the triple Hecate's team, 
 From the presence of the sun. 
 
 Following darkness like a dream, 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 Shall disturb this hallow'd house : 
 I am sent, with broom, before. 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Enter Obehon a7id Titania, with their Train. 
 
 Obe. Through this house give glimmering light. 
 By the dead and drowsy fire: 
 
 Every elf, and fairy sprite. 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier ; 
 And his ditty, after me, 
 Shig, and dance it trippingly. 
 
 Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote • 
 To each word a warbling note, 
 Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 
 Will we sing, and bless this place. 
 
 SONG, AND DANCE. 
 
 Obe. Now, until the break of day, 
 Through this house each fairy stray. 
 To the best bride-bed will we. 
 Which by us shall blessed be ; 
 And the issue, there create, 
 Ever shall be fortunate. 
 So shall all the couples three 
 Ever true in loving be ; 
 
 And the blots of nature's hand 
 Shall not in their issue stand ; 
 Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, 
 Nor mark prodigious,' such as are 
 Despised in nativity. 
 Shall upon their children be. — 
 With this field-dew consecrate, 
 Every fairy take his gait ;' 
 And each several chamber bless. 
 Through this palace with sweet peace : 
 E'er shall it in safety rest. 
 And the owner of it blest. 
 Trip away ; 
 Make no stay ; 
 Meet me all by break of day. 
 
 \_Exeunt Obehon, Titania, and Traiu 
 
 Puck. If we shadows have offended, 
 
 Think but this, {and all is mended^ 
 That you have but slumbered here, 
 While these visions did appear, 
 And this weak and idle theme. 
 No more yielding but a dream, 
 Gentles, do not reprehend; 
 If you pardon, we will mend. 
 And, as I am honest Puck, 
 If we have unearned luck. 
 Now to ^ scape the serpenfs tongue, 
 We will make amends, ere lo7ig: 
 Else the Puck a liar call. 
 So, good night u7ito you all. 
 Give me your hands, if we be friends. 
 And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit 
 « Portentous. « Wfcy. 
 
 V 
 
LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 FfinniiTAND, Kmg of Navarre. 
 
 BiKoir, ^ 
 
 LoNGAviLLE, > Lords, attending on the King. 
 
 DCMAIN, ) 
 
 BoTET, ) Lords, atteyidlng 07i the Princess 
 
 Mehcade, 5 q/" France. 
 
 Dojf Aduiano de ARMAro,aya?2to//ca/Spaniard. 
 
 Sir Nathastiel, a Curate. 
 
 HoLOFERjrEs,a Schoolmaster. 
 
 Dull, a Constable. 
 
 f)o ARD, a Clown. 
 
 Moth, Page to Armado. 
 A Forester. 
 
 Princess of 1 ha^ce. 
 
 rosaliue, ^ 
 
 Maria, > Ladies, attending on tht Princess 
 
 Katuarine, j 
 
 JAauENETTA, a Country Girl. 
 
 Officers and others, attendants on the King ana 
 Princess. 
 
 SCENE, Navarre. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L — Navarre. A Park,witha Palaceinit. 
 Enter the Kino, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain. 
 
 King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, 
 Live registcr'd upon our brazen tombs. 
 And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; 
 When, spite of cormorant devouring time, 
 The endeavor of this present breath may buy 
 That honor, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, 
 And make us heirs of all eternity. 
 Therefore, brave conquerors : — for so you are, 
 That war against your own affections, 
 And the huge army of the world's desires, — 
 Our late edict shall strongly stand in force : 
 Navane shall be the wonder of the world ; 
 Our court shall be a little Academe, 
 Still and contemplative in living art. 
 You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, 
 Have sworn for three years' term to live with me. 
 My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, 
 That are recorded in this schedule here : 
 Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ; 
 That his own hand may strike his honor down. 
 That violates the smallest branch herein : 
 if you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do. 
 Subscribe to your deep oath and keep it too. 
 
 Long. I am rcsolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast ; 
 The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: 
 Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits 
 Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. 
 
 ^ Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified ; 
 The grosser manner of these world's delights 
 He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves : 
 To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ; 
 With all these living in philosophy. 
 ^ Biro7t. I can but say their protestation over, 
 So much, dear liege, I have already sworn. 
 
 That is. To live and study here tliree yea» 
 But there are other strict observances : 
 As, not to see a woman in that term ; 
 Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
 And, one day in a week to touch no food • 
 And but one meal on every day beside ; 
 The which, I hope, is not enrolled there; 
 And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, 
 And not be seen to wink of all the day ; 
 (When I was wont to think no harm all night. 
 And make a dark night too of half the day ;) 
 Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
 O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep , 
 Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. 
 
 King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. 
 
 Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please 1 
 I only swore, to study with your grace. 
 And stay here in your court for three years' space. 
 
 Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. 
 
 Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest^— 
 What is the end of study ? let me know. 
 
 King. Why that to know, which else we £U Ai 
 not know. 
 
 Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, front 
 common sense ? 
 
 King. Ay, that is study's god-hke recompense 
 
 Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so, 
 To know the thing I am forbid to know : 
 As thus — To study where I well may dine. 
 
 When I to feast expressly am forbid ; 
 Or, study where to meet some mistress fine, 
 
 "When mistresses from common sense are hid : 
 Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, 
 Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
 If study's gain be thus, and this beso, 
 Study knows that, which yet it doth not krow 
 Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no. 
 155 
 
156 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, 
 
 A-nd train our intellects to vain delight. [vam, 
 Biron. Whj', all delights arc vain ; but that most 
 Which with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain : 
 As, painfully to pore upon a book, 
 
 To seek the light of truth ; while truth the while 
 Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : 
 
 Light, seeking light, doth light of Ught beguile : 
 So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, 
 Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
 Study me how to please the eye indeed, 
 
 By fixing it upon a fairer eye ; 
 V^ ho dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, 
 And give him light that was it blinded by. 
 ■.iuidy is like the heaven's glorious sun. 
 
 That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks ; 
 Small have continual plodders ever won, 
 
 Save Dase authority from others' books. 
 These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 
 
 That give "a name to every fixed star. 
 Have no more profit of their shining nights. 
 
 Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. 
 
 Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame ; 
 
 And every godfather can give a name. [ing ! 
 
 Ki7ig. How well he's read, to reason against read- 
 
 Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! 
 
 Lons;- He weeds the corn, and still let's grow 
 
 ^he weeding. [a breeding. 
 
 Blron. The spring is near, when gi-een geese are 
 
 Bum. How follows that ? 
 
 Biron. Fit in his place and time. 
 
 Bum. In reason nothing. 
 
 Biro7i. Somethhig then in rhyme. 
 
 Lotig. Biron is like an envious sneaping' frost, 
 I'hat bites the first-born infants of the spring. 
 
 Biron. Well, say I am ; why should proud sum- 
 Before the birds have any cause to sing? [mer boast. 
 Why should I joy in an abortive birth ? 
 At Christmas I no more desire a rose 
 Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows ; 
 But like of each thing, that in season grows. 
 So you, to study now it is too late, 
 Climb o'er the house t' unlock the little gate. 
 King. Well, sit you out: go home, Biron; adieu! 
 Biron. No, my good lord ; I have sworn to stay 
 with you : 
 And, though I have for barbarism spoke more. 
 Than ibr that angel knowledge you can say, 
 Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore. 
 
 And bide the penance of each three years' day. 
 Give me the paper, let me road the same ; 
 And to the strict decrees I'll write my name. 
 Kino-. How well this yielding rescues thee from 
 
 shame ! 
 Biron. [Reads.'] Item, T/iat no woman shall 
 wne ivithin a mile of my court. — 
 And halh this been proclaim'd 1 
 Long. Four days ago. 
 
 Biron. Let's see the penalty. 
 \ Reads.']— On pain of losing her tongue.— 
 
 Who devis'd this ? 
 
 Long. Marry, that did I. 
 
 Biron. Sweet lord, and why 1 [nalty. 
 
 Long. To fright them hence with that dread pe- 
 
 Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. 
 
 [Reads.] Item, Ifani/ man be seen to talk with 
 a woman within the term of three years, he shall 
 endure stick public shame as the rest of the court 
 can possibly devise. — 
 
 > Nipiing. 
 
 This article, my liege, yourself must break ; 
 
 For, well you know, here comes in embassy 
 The French king's <lau,s:hter, with yourself t« 
 speak, — 
 A maid of grace, and complete majesty, — 
 About surrender-up of Aquitain 
 
 To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: 
 Therefore this article is made in vain, 
 
 Or vainly comes the admired princess hither. 
 King. What say you, lords 1 why, this was quite 
 Biron. So study evermore is overshot ; [forgot 
 While it doth study to have what it would, 
 It doth forget to do the thing it should : 
 And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
 'Tis won, as tovrns with fire ; so won, so lost. 
 
 King. We must offeree, dispense with this decree, 
 She must lie" here on mere necessity. 
 
 Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 
 Three thousand times within this th'-ce years' space; 
 For every man with his afie-cts is born ; 
 
 Not by might master'd, but by special gr&ce : 
 If I break faith, this word ehall speak for me, 
 I am forsworn on mere necessity. — 
 So to the laws at large I write my name : [SubscnbeJ> 
 
 And he, that breaks them in the least degree. 
 Stands in attainder of eternal shame : 
 
 Suggestions' are to others, as to me ; 
 But, I believe, although I seem so loath, 
 I am the last that will keep last his oath. 
 But is there no quick recreation granted 1 
 
 Kiiig. Ay, that there is : our court, you know, i« 
 With a refined traveller of Spain ; [haunted 
 A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 
 
 That hath a mint of phrases in his brain : 
 One, whom the music of his own vain tongue 
 Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ; 
 A man of compliments, whom right and wiong 
 
 Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : 
 This child of fancy, that Armado hight,' 
 For interim to our studies, shall relate. 
 In high-born words, the worth of many a knight 
 From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. 
 How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ; 
 But, I protest, I love to hear him lie. 
 And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 
 
 Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight- 
 A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 
 
 Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be oui 
 And, so to study, three years is but short, [sport : 
 Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. 
 Dull. Which is the duke's own person 1 
 Biron. This, fellow ; What would'st ? 
 Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for 1 
 am his grace's tharborough :* but I would see lii.s 
 own person in flesh and blood. 
 Biron. This is he. 
 
 Dull. Siguier Arme—Arme— commends you.- 
 There's villany abroad ; this letter will tell you more. 
 Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touch- 
 ing me. ./. A J 
 Kino-. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 
 Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope m 
 God for high words. _ 
 
 Long. A high hope for a low having : God grant 
 us patience ! , . , 
 
 Biron. To hear ? or forbear hearing ^ 
 Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh mod» 
 rately ; or to forbear both. 
 
 oReside. 3 Temptations. « Called- 
 
 » j. e^ Third-borough, a peace officer. 
 
BCENE 11, 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Ib-r 
 
 Biron. Well, sir, bo it as the style shall give us 
 cause to climb in the meniness. 
 
 Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning 
 Jaquenctta. The manner of it is, I was taken 
 with the manner." 
 
 Biron. In what manner ? 
 
 Cost. In manner and form following, sir ; all 
 those three ; I was seen with her in the manor 
 house, silting with her upon the form, and taken 
 following her into the park ; which, put together, 
 is, in manneT ar. 1 form followmg. Now, sir, for 
 the manntr —it is the manner of a man to speak 
 l^ a W3ma/i : for the form, — in some form. 
 
 Biron. For the following, sir 1 
 
 Cost. As it shall follow in my correction ; and 
 (Jod defend the right ! 
 
 King. Will you hear this letter with attention ? 
 
 Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 
 
 Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken 
 after the flesh. 
 
 King. l^Reads.'] Great deputy, the welkinh vice- 
 gerent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my souVs 
 eartWs God, and body's fosteri7ig patron, — 
 
 Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 
 
 King. So it is, — 
 
 Cost. It may be so : but if he say it is so, he is, 
 Ln telling true, but so, so. 
 
 King. Peace. [not fight ! 
 
 Cost. — be to me, and every man that dares 
 
 King. No words. 
 
 Cost. — of other men's secrets, I beseech you. 
 
 King. So it is, besieged with sable-colored me- 
 lancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing hu- 
 mor to the most wholesome physic of thy health- 
 giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook 
 myself to ivalk. The time ivhen ? About the sixth 
 hour ; xohcn beasts m,ost graze, birds best peck, and 
 men sit down to that nourishment which is called 
 supper. So much for the time when. Now for 
 the groundivhich ,- which, I m,ean,I walked upon ; 
 it is ycleped thy park. Then for the place where ,• 
 where, I meaii, I did encounter that obscene and 
 most preposterous event, that draiveth from my 
 snow-white pen the ebon-colored ink, which here 
 thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest : but to 
 the place, where, — Itstandeth north-north-east and 
 by east from the west corner of thy curious-knot- 
 ted garden: there did I see that low-spirited swain, 
 that base minnow of thy m.irth, 
 
 Cost. Me. 
 
 King. — • that unletter'd small-knowing soul, 
 
 Cost. Me. 
 
 King. — that shallow vassal, 
 
 Cost. Still me. 
 
 King. — which, as I remember, hight Costard, 
 
 Cost. O me ! 
 
 King. — sorted and corisjrted, contrary to thy 
 ii'ztdshed proclaimed sdict and continent canon, 
 itttit — with, — with — but with this I passion to 
 say wherewith — 
 
 Cost. With a wench. 
 
 King. — luith a child of our grandmother Eve, 
 a female ; or, for thy more sweet understanding, 
 a woman. Him I (as my ever-esteemed duty pricks 
 me on) have sent to thee, to receive the meed of 
 punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Antony 
 Dull ; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, 
 tnd estimation. [Dull. 
 
 Dull. Me, an't shall please you ; I am Antony 
 « In the fact 
 
 King. For Jaquenctta, (so is the weaker vessel 
 called, which I apprehended with the aforesaid 
 swain,) I keep her as a vessel of thy law s fury ,■ 
 and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring 
 her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted 
 and heart-burning heat of duty. 
 
 Don Adeiano De Akmado. 
 
 Biron. This is not so well as [ looked for, but 
 the best that ever I heard. 
 
 King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, 
 what say you to this 1 
 
 Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. 
 
 Ki7ig. Did you hear the proclamatior ? 
 
 Cost. I do confess much of the hearing ii, biU 
 little of the marking of it. 
 
 King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, 
 to be taken with a wench. 
 
 Cost. I was taken with none, sir, I was taken 
 with a damosel. 
 
 King. Well, it was proclaimed damosel. 
 
 Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir ; she was 
 a virgin. 
 
 King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed, 
 virgin. 
 
 Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity ; I was 
 taken with a maid. 
 
 King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 
 
 Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 
 
 King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence ; Yon 
 shall fast a week with bran and water. 
 
 Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton 
 and porridge. 
 
 King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. 
 My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er. — 
 
 And go we, lords, to put in practice that 
 
 Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. — 
 [Exeunt King, Longaville, and Dumain. 
 
 Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, 
 These oaths and laws wUl prove an idle scorn. 
 — Sirrah, come on. 
 
 Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir : for true it is, I 
 was taken with Jaquenctta, and Jaquenctta is a 
 true girl ; and therefore. Welcome the sour cup of 
 prosperity! Afiliction may one day smile again, 
 and till then. Sit thee down, soitow ! \ExeMnt 
 
 SCENE II.— Armado's House. 
 Enter Armado and Moth. 
 
 Arm. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great 
 spirit grows melancholy ? 
 
 Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 
 
 Arm. why, sadness is one and the self-same 
 thing, dear imp. 
 
 Moth. No, no ; lord, sir, no. 
 
 Arm. How canst thou part sadness and nelan- 
 choly, my tender juvenal V 
 
 Moth. By a famiUar demonstration of the work 
 ing, my tough senior. 
 
 Arm. Why tough senior ? why t^ugh senior ? 
 
 Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal? 
 
 Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent 
 epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which 
 we may nominate tender. 
 
 Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title 
 to your old time, which we may name tough. 
 
 Arm. Pretty and apt. 
 
 Moth. How mean you, sir 1 I pretty, and nt 
 saying apt 1 or, I apt, and my saying pretty t 
 
 Arm. Thou pretty, because little. 
 '< Young man. 
 
LOVE'S LABOll'S LOST. 
 
 L58 
 
 Moth. Little pretty, because little: Wherefore 
 Arm. And therefore apt, because quick, [apt 1 
 Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master ? 
 Arm. In thy condign praise. 
 Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. 
 Arm. What ? that an eel is ingenious 1 
 Moth. That an eel is quick. 
 Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers : Thou 
 heatest my blood. 
 
 Moth. I am answered, sir. 
 
 Arm. I love not to be crossed. 
 
 Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses' love 
 
 not him. l^''^«- 
 
 Arm. I have promised to study three years with 
 Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. [the duke. 
 Arm. Lnpossible. 
 
 3Ioth. How many is one thrice told 1 
 Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit 
 of a tapster. 
 
 3Ioth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. 
 Ar7n. I confess both ; they are both the varnish 
 of a complete man. 
 
 Moth. Then, I am sure you know how much 
 the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 
 
 Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 
 3Ioth. Which the base vulgar do call three. 
 Arm. True. 
 
 Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study .' 
 Now here is three studies, ere you'll thrice wink : 
 and how easy it is to put years to the word three, 
 and study three years in two words, the dancing 
 horse will tell you. 
 
 Arm. A most fine figure ! 
 Moth. To prove you a cipher. _ [Aside. 
 
 Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love : and 
 as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love 
 with a^base wench. If drawing my sword against 
 the humor of affection would deliver me from the 
 reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, 
 and ransom him to any French courtier for a new 
 devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh ; methmks, 
 I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy: 
 What great men have been in love 1 
 
 Wloth. Hercules, master. , 
 
 Arm. Most sweet Hercules !— More authority, 
 dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let 
 them be men of good repute and carnage. 
 
 Moth. Samson, master : he was a man of good 
 carriage, great carnage ; for he carried the tovra- 
 gates on his back, like a porter : and he was in love. 
 Arm. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Sam- 
 eon ! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou 
 didst me in carryhig gates. I am in love too, — 
 Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth ? 
 Moth. A woman, master. 
 Arm. Of what complexion 1 
 Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two ; 
 or one of the four. 
 
 Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. 
 Moth.. Of the sea-water green, sir. 
 Arm. Is that one of the four complexions 1 
 Moth. As I have read, sir ; and the best of them too. 
 Arm. Green, indeed, is the color of lovers : but to 
 have a love of that color, methinks, Samson had small 
 »eason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit. 
 Moth. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit. 
 Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. 
 Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are 
 tnasked under such colors. 
 
 8 The name of a coin once current. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. 
 Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue 
 assist me ! 
 
 Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty, 
 
 and pathetical ! 
 
 Moth. If she be made of white and red. 
 Her faults will ne'er be known ; 
 For blushing cheeks by faults are bred. 
 
 And fears by pale white shown : 
 Then, if she fear, or be to blame. 
 
 By this you shall not know ; 
 For still her cheeks possess the same, 
 Which native she doth owe.' 
 A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason ct 
 white and red. 
 
 Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the ffing and 
 the Beggar. 
 
 Moth. Theworld was very guilty of such a ballad 
 some three ages since : but, I think, now 'tis not to 
 be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for 
 the writing nor the tune. 
 
 Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er, 
 that I may example my digression by some mighty 
 precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that 
 I took in the park vrith the rational hind, Costard ; 
 she deserves well. 
 
 3Ioth. To be whipped; and yet a better love 
 than my master. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy m love. 
 Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light 
 Arm. I say sing. [wench. 
 
 3Ioth. Forbear till this company be past. 
 
 Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaqdenetta. 
 Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep 
 Costard safe : and you must let him take no delight, 
 nor no penance ; but a' must fast three days a-week : 
 For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she 
 is allowed for the day-woman.' Fare you well. 
 Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — Maid. 
 Jaq. Man. 
 
 Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. 
 Jaq. That's hereby. 
 Arm. I know where it is situate. 
 Jaq. Lord, how wise you are ! 
 Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 
 Jaq. With that face 1 
 Arm. I love thee. 
 Jaq. So I heard you say. 
 Arm. And so farewell. 
 Jaq. Fair weather after you ! 
 Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. 
 
 [Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. 
 Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere 
 thou be pardoned. 
 
 Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall d(S 
 it on a full stomach. 
 
 Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. 
 Cost. I am more bound to you than your el« 
 lows, for they are but lightly rewarded. 
 
 Arm. Take away this villain; shut him up. 
 3Ioth. Come, you transgressing slave ; away. 
 Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, 
 being loose. 
 
 Moth. No, sir, that were fast and loose : thou 
 
 shalt to prison. 
 
 Cost. Well, if ever I do see tte merry days of 
 desolation that I have seen, some shall see— 
 
 Moth. What shall some see ? 
 
 Cost. Nay, nothing, master Mc th, but what thc| 
 
 » Of which she is naturally possessed. • Dairy-woman. 
 
 u 
 
Act n. Scene I. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 159 
 
 ook upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent 
 in their words ; and, therefore, I will say nothing : 
 I thank God, I have as httle patience as another 
 man ; and therefore I can be quiet. 
 
 [Bxeunt Moth and Costard. 
 Arm. I do affect' the very ground, which is base, 
 where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, 
 which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, 
 (which is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love : 
 And how can that be true love, which is falsely at- 
 tempted ? Love is a familiar ; love is a devil : there is 
 no evil angel but love. Yet Samson was so tempted ; 
 
 and he had an excellent strength : yet was iSolomon 
 so seduced ; and he had a very good wit. Cupid's 
 butt-shaft' is tou hard for Hercules' club, and there- 
 fore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first 
 and second cause will not serve my turn ; the passa* 
 do he respects not, the duello he regards not : his dis- 
 gi"ace is to be called boy ; but his glory is *.o subdue 
 men. Adieu, valor ! rust, rapier ! be still, drum ! for 
 your manager is in love ; yea, he loveth. Assist me, 
 some extemporal god of rhyme, for, I am sure, I 
 shall turn sonnetteer. Devise, wit ; write, pen ; for 
 I am for whole volumes i.i folio. \_Exit, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Pavilion, and lents at a distance. 
 
 E7iter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Ma- 
 ria, Katharine, Botet, Lords, and. other At- 
 tendants. 
 
 Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest 
 spirits : 
 Consider who the king your father sends; 
 To whom he sends; and wh;it's his embassy: 
 Yourself, held precious in the vi'orld's esteem. 
 To parley with the sole inheritor 
 Of all perfections that a man may owe. 
 Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight 
 Than Aquitain ; a dowry for a queen. 
 Be now as prodigal of all dear grace, 
 As nature was in making graces dear. 
 When she did starve the general world beside, 
 And prodigally gave them all to you. 
 
 Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but 
 mean, 
 Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ; 
 Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, 
 Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues: 
 I am less proud to hear 3'ou tell my worth, 
 Than you much willing to be counted wise 
 In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
 But now to task the tasker. — Good Boyet, ' 
 You are not ignorant, all-telling fame 
 Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow. 
 Till painful study shall out-wear three years. 
 No woman may approach his silent court: 
 Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course, 
 Before we enter his forbidden gates, 
 To know his pleasure; and, in that behalf, 
 Bold of your worthiness, we single you 
 As our best-moving fair solicitor: 
 Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, 
 On serious business, craving quick despatch. 
 Importunes personal conference with his grace. 
 Haste, signify so much ; while we attend, 
 Jjike humbly-visag'd suitors, his high will. 
 B)yet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. 
 
 lExit. 
 Prin. \\l pride is willing pride, and yours is so. — 
 Who arc the votaries, my loving lords, 
 That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? 
 1 Lord. Longaville is one. 
 Prin. Know you the manl 
 
 Mar. I know him, madam ; at a marriage feast, 
 Between lord Perigortand the beauteous heir 
 Of Jaques Falconbridge solemnized, 
 [n Normandy saw I this Longaville : 
 .V man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ; 
 Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms : 
 
 • Love. • Arrow to shoot at butts with. 
 
 Nothing becomes him ill, that he would veil. 
 The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 
 (If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil.) 
 Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will; 
 \^'hose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills 
 It should none spare that come within his power 
 
 Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike ;is't spo 
 
 Mar. They say so most, that most his humors 
 know. 
 
 Pri7i. Such sb.ort-liv'd wits do wither as they 
 grow. 
 Who are the rest] 
 
 Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd 
 youth, 
 Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd : 
 Most power to do mo.st harm, least knowing ill , 
 For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, 
 And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
 I saw him at the duke Alcncon's once ; 
 And much too little of that good I saw. 
 Is my report to his great worthiness. 
 
 Ros. Another of these students at that time 
 Was there with him : if I have heard a truth, 
 Birrfn they call him ; but a merrier man. 
 Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
 His eye begets occasion for his wit; 
 For every object that the one doth catch, 
 The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; 
 Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor) 
 Delivers in such apt and gracious words. 
 That aged ears play truant at his talcs. 
 And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 
 So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 
 
 Prin. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love, 
 That every one her own hath garnished 
 With such bedecking ornaments of praise 1 
 
 Mar. Here comes Boyet. 
 
 Re-enter Botet. 
 
 Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ! 
 
 Boyet. Navarre hath notice of your fair approach ; 
 And he, and his competitors ' in oath. 
 Were all addrcss'd^ to meet you, gentle lady, 
 Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, 
 He rather means to lodge you in the field, 
 (Like one that comes here to besiege his court,) 
 Than seek a dispensation for his oath. 
 To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
 Here comes Navarre. [The ladies maslt. 
 
 Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Bihon, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of 
 Navarre. 
 
 > Confederates. 
 
 » Prepared. 
 
160 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act it 
 
 King. 
 Prill. 
 King. 
 Prin. 
 
 Prin. Fair, I give you back again ; and, welcome 
 I have not yet : the roof of this court is too high to 
 be yours ; and welcome to the wild fields too base 
 to be mine. 
 
 King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. 
 Prii. I will be welcome then ; conduct me 
 thither. 
 Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath. 
 Our lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn. 
 Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. 
 Why, will shall break it ; will, and notliing 
 else. 
 King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. 
 Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise. 
 Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. 
 I hear, your grace hath sworn-out house-keeping : 
 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord. 
 And sin to break it: 
 But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold; 
 To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
 Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, 
 And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives apaper. 
 King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. 
 Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away ; 
 For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. 
 Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant oncel 
 Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant oncel 
 Biron. I know you did. 
 
 Ros. How needless was it then 
 
 To ask the question ! 
 
 Biron. You must not be so quick. 
 
 Ros. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such 
 
 questions. 
 Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill 
 
 tire. 
 Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. 
 Biron. What time o' day 1 
 Ros. The hour that fools shall ask. 
 Bh'on. Now fair befall your mask ! 
 Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! 
 Biron. And send you many lovers! 
 Ros. Amen, so you be none. 
 Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. 
 King. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
 The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ; 
 Being but the one half of an entire sum, 
 Disbursed by my father in liis wars. 
 But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,) 
 Receiv'd that sum ; yet there remains unpaid 
 A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which. 
 One part of Aquitain is bound to us, 
 Although not valued to the money's worth. 
 If then the king your father will restore 
 But that one half which is unsatisfied, 
 We will give up our right in Aquitain, 
 And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
 But that, it seems, he little purposeth. 
 For here he doth demand to have repaid 
 A hundred thousand crowns ; and not demands, 
 On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, 
 To have his title live in Aquitain; 
 Which we much rather had depart' withal. 
 And have the money by our father lent. 
 Than Aquitain so gelded as it is. 
 Dear princess, were not his requests so far 
 From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 
 A. yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast, 
 And go well satisfied to France again. 
 
 Vrin. You do the Icing my father too much wrong, 
 'Part. 
 
 And wrong the reputation of your name, 
 
 In so unsceming to confess receipt 
 
 Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. 
 
 King. I do protest, I never heard of it; 
 And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back, 
 Or yield up Aquitain. 
 
 Prin. We arrest your wor«l: — 
 
 Boyet, you can produce acquittances, 
 For such a sum, from special officers 
 Of Charles liis father. 
 
 King. Satisfy me so. 
 
 Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is nol 
 come. 
 Where that and other specialties are bound ; 
 To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 
 
 King. It shall suffice me: at which interview, 
 All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
 Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand, 
 As honor, without breach of honor, may 
 Make tender of to thy true worthiness : 
 You may not come, fair princess, in my gates, 
 But here without, you shall be so receiv'd. 
 As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart. 
 Though so denied fair harbor in my house. 
 Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell 
 To-morrow shall we visit you again. 
 
 Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort youi 
 grace ! 
 
 King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place ! 
 [Exeunt King and his Train. 
 
 Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own 
 heart. 
 
 Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations ; I would 
 be glad to see it. 
 
 Biron. I would, you heard it groan. 
 
 Ros. Is the fool sick I 
 
 Biron. Sick at heart. 
 
 Ros. Alack, let it blood. 
 
 Biron. Would that do it good ? 
 
 Ros. My physic says, I." 
 
 Biron. Will you prick't with your eye 1 
 
 Ros. No poynt,^ with my knife. 
 
 Biron. Now, God save thy life ! 
 
 Ros. And yours from long living ! 
 
 Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring 
 
 Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word : What lady is 
 that same ] 
 
 Boyet. The heir of Alen^on, Rosaline her name. 
 
 Dum. A gallant lady! f«Ionsieur, fare you well. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Long. I beseech you a word ; What is she in 
 the white? 
 
 Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in 
 the light. [name. 
 
 Long. Perchance, light in the light : I desire hei 
 
 Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire 
 that, were a shame. 
 
 Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter ? 
 
 Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. 
 
 Long. God's blessing on your beard ! 
 
 Boyet. Good sir, be not offended : 
 She is an heir of Falconbridge. 
 
 Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 
 She is a most sweet lady. 
 
 Boyet. Not unlike, sir ; that may be. [Exit Long 
 
 Biron. What's her name in the cap 1 
 
 Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. 
 
 Biron. Is she wedded or no 1 
 
 Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 
 
 ' Ay, yes. 
 
 • A French particle of negation. 
 
A.CT ill. Scene I. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 IGl 
 
 J2tron. You aro welcome, sir; adieu! 
 
 lioyet. Farewell to me, sir, anci welcome to j'ou. 
 \_Exit BmON.— ZflrrffVs unmash. 
 
 Mar. That last is Biron, tbe merry mad-cap lord; 
 Not a word with him but a jest. 
 
 Boyet. And every jest but a word. 
 
 Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his 
 word. 
 
 Boyet. I was willing to grapple, as he was to board. 
 
 ilar. Two hot shceps, marry. 
 
 Boyet. And wherefore not ships ! 
 
 N :< sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. 
 
 3Iar You sheep, and I pasture ; Shall that finish 
 the jest? 
 
 Boyzt. So jou grant pasture for me. 
 
 [ Offering to kiss her. 
 
 Mar. Not so, gentle beast; 
 
 My lips .are no common, though several^ they be. 
 
 Boyet. Belonging to whom? 
 
 3[ar. To my fortunes and me. 
 
 Prin. Good wits will be jangling : but, gentles, 
 agree ; 
 The civil war of wits were much better used 
 On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 'tis abused. 
 
 Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) 
 By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, 
 Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 
 
 Prin. AVith what? 
 
 Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. 
 
 Prin. Your reason ? 
 
 Boyet. AVhy all his behaviors did make their retire 
 To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : 
 
 His heart, like an agate, with your {.rint impressed, 
 Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed : 
 His tongue all impatient to speak and not see. 
 Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be; 
 All senses to that sense did make their repair 
 To feel only looking on fairest of fair : 
 Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye. 
 As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ; 
 Who, tendering their own worth, from where thej 
 
 were glass'd. 
 Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. 
 His face's own margent did quote such amazes. 
 That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes;. 
 I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his. 
 An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss, 
 
 Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'J — 
 
 Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his ej« 
 hath disclos'd : 
 I only have made a mouth of his eye. 
 By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. 
 
 Eos. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st 
 skilfully. 
 
 Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news 
 of him. 
 
 Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her 
 father is but grim. 
 
 Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ? 
 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Boyet. What then, do you see ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 
 
 Boyet. You are too hard for me. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Park, near the Palace. 
 
 Enter Armado and Moth. 
 
 Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense 
 of hearing. 
 
 Moth. Concolinel [Sinijinrj. 
 
 Arm. Sweet air! — Go, tenderness of years; take 
 this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him 
 festinatelj'' hither; I must employ him in a letter 
 to my love. 
 
 Moth. Master, will you win your love with a 
 French brawl ?^ 
 
 Arm. How mcan'st thou? brawling in French? 
 
 Moth. No, my complete master; but to jig oflF a 
 tune at the tongue's end, canary^ to it with your 
 feet, humor it with turning up your eye-lids : sigh a 
 note, and sing a note ; sometime through the throat, 
 as if you swallowed love with singing love ; some- 
 time through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by 
 smelling love ; vvith your hat penthouse-like, o'er the 
 shop of your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your 
 thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your 
 hands iu your pocket, like a man after the old paint- 
 ing ; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip 
 and away : These are complements, these are humors ; 
 these betray nice wenches — that would be betrayed 
 without these ; and make them men of note (do you 
 lote, men ?) that are most affected to these. 
 
 Arm. IIow hast thou purchased this experience? 
 
 Moth. By my penny of observation. 
 
 Arm. But 0,"— but 0,— 
 
 Moth. — the hobby-horse is forgot. 
 
 Arm. Callest thou my love hobby-horse? 
 
 Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, 
 ind your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you 
 forgot your love ? 
 
 Arm. Almost I had. 
 
 Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart. 
 
 Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. 
 
 • A quibble, several signified unenclosed lands. 
 
 » IliiMUy. a A kind of dance. 
 
 • Canary was the name of a sprightly dance 
 
 Bloth. And out of heart, master : all those three 
 I will prove. 
 
 Arm. What will that prove? 
 
 Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and 
 without, upon the instant : By heart you love her, 
 because your heart cannot come by her : in heart 
 you love her, because your heart is in love with her : 
 and out of heart you love her, being out of heart 
 that you cannot enjoy her. 
 
 Arm. I am all these three. 
 
 Ifoth. And three times as much more, and yet 
 nothing at all. 
 
 Ar7n. Fetch hither the swain ; he must carry me 
 a letter. 
 
 Moth. A message well sympathised ; a horse to be 
 ambassador for an ass ! 
 
 Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou? 
 
 3foth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the 
 horse, for he is very slow gaited : But I go. 
 
 Arm. The way is but short; away. 
 
 Moth. As'swift as lead, sir. 
 
 Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
 Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? [no. 
 
 Moth. J/nu'me, honest master; or rather, mastai 
 
 Arm. I say, lead is slow. 
 
 3[oth. You are too swift, sir, to say bj | 
 
 Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? 
 
 Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric: 
 He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's he :— 
 I shoot thee at the swain. 
 
 3Ioth. Thump then, and I flee. \_Exit, 
 
 Arm. A most acute juvenal ; voluble and free of 
 grace ! 
 By thy favor, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face ; 
 Most rude melancholy, valor gives thee place. 
 My herald is return'd. 
 
 Re-enter MoTH and Costard. 
 Jfoth. A wonder, master; here's a costard^ broken 
 in a shin. [I'envoy; — begin. 
 
 Arm. Some enigma, some riddle : come, — tht 
 'Ahead. 
 
162 
 
 LOVES LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act Hi 
 
 Cost. No egma, no riddle, no renvoi/,-'' no salve 
 m the mail, sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; 
 no V envoy, no V envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! 
 Arm. By ^^rtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy 
 Billy thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs 
 provokes mc to ridiculous smiling : 0, pardon me, 
 my stars ! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for 
 r envoy, and the word, Feiivoy, for a salve ! 
 
 Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not 
 V envoy a salve 1 
 
 Arm. Nc, page: it is an epilogue or discourse 
 to nake plain 
 8ome obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. 
 I will example it : 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three. 
 There's the moral : Now the I'envoy. 
 
 Moth. I will add the r envoy.- Say the moral again. 
 Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 Moth. Until the goose came out of door, 
 
 And stay'd the odds by adding four. 
 Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow 
 with my F envoy. 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 Arm. Until the goose came out of door. 
 Staying the odds by adding four. 
 Moth. A good V envoy, ending in the goose: 
 Would you desire more ? 
 
 Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, 
 
 that's flat :— 
 
 Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. — 
 
 To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose: 
 
 Let me see a fat Venvoy,- ay, that's a fat goose. 
 
 Arm. Come hither, come hither : How did this 
 
 argument begin 1 
 Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a 
 Then call'd you for the I'envoy. [shin. 
 
 Cost. True, and I for a plantain : Thus came 
 your argument in ; 
 Then the boy's fat Penvoy, the goose that you 
 And he ended the market. [bought ; 
 
 Arm. But tell me ; how was there a Costard 
 broken in a shin 1 ' 
 
 Moth. I will tell you sensibly. 
 Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it. Moth ; I will 
 speak that I'envoy : 
 
 I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, 
 Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. 
 Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
 Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 
 Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. 
 Cost. 0, maiTy me to one Frances: — I smell 
 BOTne I'envoy, some goose, in this. 
 
 irm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee 
 3* liberty, enfreedoming thy person ; thou wert im- 
 mured, restrained, captivated, bound. 
 
 Cost. True, true ; and now you will be my pur- 
 jition, and let me loose. 
 
 Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur- 
 ance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing 
 but this : Bear this significant to the country maid 
 Jaquenetta: there is remuneration ; [Giving him 
 money.'] for the best ward of mine honor, is re- 
 warding my dependents. Moth, follow. [^0,7/. 
 Moth Like the sequel, L— Signior Costard, 
 adieu. 
 
 i An old French term for conchuUng verses, which served 
 either to ronvey the moral, or to address the poem to some 
 feerson. 
 
 Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! my m 
 cony" Jew !— [Exit Moth. 
 
 Nov/ will I look to his remuneration. Remunera- 
 tion ! 0, that's the Latin word for three farthinri 
 three farthings — remuneration. — What's the prici 
 of this inkle ? a penny .—No, I'll give you a re 
 muneration .- why, it carries it.— Remuneration !— 
 why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I 
 will never buy and sell out of this word. 
 
 Enter Biron. 
 
 Biron. 0, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly 
 well met. 
 
 Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbot 
 may a man buy for a remuneration 1 
 Biron. What is a remuneration ? 
 Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. 
 Biron. O, why then, three-farthings-worth of silk 
 Cost. I thank your worship : God be with you ' 
 Biro7i. O, stay, slave ; I must employ thee 
 As thou wilt win my favor, good my knave, 
 Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 
 Cost. When would you have it done, sir "^ 
 Biron. O, this afternoon. 
 Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : Fare you well. 
 Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is. 
 Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done il. 
 Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 
 Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark. 
 slave, it is but this ; — 
 
 The princess comes to hunt here in the park. 
 And in her train there is a gentle lady ; [nnme. 
 When tongues speak sweetly, then they name Iw.' 
 And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ; 
 And to her white hand see thou do commend 
 This seal'd up counsel. There's thy guerdon ; 
 
 go. [Gives him money 
 
 Cost. Guerdon, — sweet guerdon ! better than 
 remuneration ; eleven-pence farthing better : Most 
 sweet guerdon ! — I will do it, sir, in print.'—Guer- 
 don — remuneration. [Exit 
 
 Biron. ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, tha«. 
 have been love's whip ; 
 A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
 A critic ; nay, a night-watch constable ; 
 A domineering pedant o'er the boy. 
 Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 
 This whimpled," whining, purblind, wayward boy 
 This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid : 
 Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 
 The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
 Liege of all loiterers and malcontents. 
 Dread prince of plackets,' king of cod-pieces. 
 Sole imperator, and great general 
 Of trotting paritors,''— O my little heart !- 
 And I to be a corporal of his field, 
 And wear his colors like a tumbler's hoop ! 
 What ? I ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife ! 
 A woman, that is lOce a German clock, 
 Still a repairing ; ever out of frame ; 
 And never going aright, being a watch, 
 But being watch'd that it may still go right ? 
 Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ; 
 Anil, among three, to love the worst of all ; 
 A whitely wanton with a velvet brow. 
 
 cDeli-htful. 'Keward. 
 
 « With the utmost exactness. ' Hooded, veiled. 
 
 1 Petticoats. 
 
 aihe officers of the spiritual courts who serve citJiUoM 
 
Act IV. ScjiNE i. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 With two pitch halls stuck in her face for eyes ; 
 Ay, and, by heaven, one tliat will do the deed, 
 Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard: 
 'k nd I sigh to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! 
 To fray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 
 
 IG^ 
 
 That Cupid will impose for my neglect 
 Of his most almighty dreadful little might. 
 Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan 
 Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Pavilion in a Park. 
 
 Filter the Princess, Ro3aline, Maria, Katha- 
 rine, BoYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. 
 
 Prin. Was that the lung, that spurred his horse 
 Against the steep uprising of the hill ? [so hard 
 
 Jioi/et. I know not ; but I think, it was not he. 
 
 Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting 
 mind. 
 Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ; 
 On Saturday we will return to France. — 
 Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush, 
 That we must stand and play the murderer in 1 
 
 For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice ; 
 A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. 
 
 Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot. 
 And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot. 
 
 Fur. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 
 
 Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say, 
 sliort-liv'd pride ! Not fair ? alack for woe ! [no? 
 
 P'or. Yes, madam, fair. 
 
 Prin. Nay, never paint me now ; 
 
 Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
 Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; 
 
 [Giving him money. 
 Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 
 
 For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. 
 
 Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. 
 O heresy in fair, fit for these days ! 
 A giving hand, though foul, sliall have fair praise. — 
 But come, the bow : — Now mercy goes to kill. 
 And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
 Thus will I save my credit in the shoot : 
 Not wounding, pity wnuld not let me do't ; 
 If wounding, then it was to show my skill. 
 That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. 
 And, out of question, so it is sometimes ; 
 Glory grows guilty of detested crimes ; 
 When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, 
 We bend to that the working of the heart : 
 As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill 
 The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. 
 
 Bojjet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sove- 
 reignty 
 '.)nly for praise' sake, when they strive to be 
 Lords o'er their lords 1 
 
 Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may afford 
 To any lady that subdue 5 a lord. 
 
 Enter Costard. 
 Prin, Here comes a member of the common- 
 wealth. 
 CoU God dig-you-deti' al. ! Praj- you, which 
 IS the head lady ? 
 
 Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest 
 rt.it have no heads. 
 
 fust. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ? 
 I'rin. The thickest, and the tallest. 
 Cost. The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; 
 truth is truth. 
 
 ' God give you good eren. 
 
 An your waist, mistress, were as slender as :ny w \ 
 
 One of these maids' girdles for your waist sh.:uid 
 
 be fit. [est hero 
 
 Are not you the chief woman] you are the thick 
 
 Prin. What's your will, sir ? what's your will? 
 
 Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to 
 one lady Rosaline. 
 
 Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ; he's a good frieu 
 of mine : 
 Stand aside, good bearer. — Boyet, you can carve , 
 Break up this capon. 
 
 Boyet. I am bound to sei-ve.^ — 
 
 This letter is mistook, it importeth none here ; 
 It is writ to Jaquenetta. 
 
 Prin. We will read it, I swear • 
 
 Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear, 
 
 Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven, that thou art fait 
 is most infaUihle ; true, that thou art beauteous; 
 truth itself, that thou art lovely : More fairer than 
 fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth 
 itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal.' 
 The magnanimous and most illustrate kins; Co- 
 phetua set eye upon the pernicious and indiibitate 
 beggar Zenelophon ; and he it was that might 
 rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ; which to anatomize in 
 the vulgar, (0 base a7id obscure vulgar.') videlicet, 
 he came, saw, and overcame,- he came, one,- saw, 
 two ; overcame, three. Who came? the king.- Wry 
 did he come ? to see : Why did he see ? to over- 
 come .- To whom came he ? to the beggar : What 
 saw he? the beggar.- Who overcame he? the beggar. - 
 the conclusion is victory,- On whose side? the king's: 
 The captive is enriclied ,- On whose side? the 
 beggar s .- The catastrophe is a nuptial ,- On whose 
 side? the king's? — no, on both in one, or one in 
 both. lam the king ,- for so stands the comparison.- 
 thou the beggar ,- for so witnesseth thy loiuliness. 
 Shall I command thy love? I may.- Shall I enforce 
 thy love? I could: Shall I entreat thy love? twill. 
 What shalt thou exchange for rags ? robes ,- For 
 tittles, titles,- For thyself, me. Thus, expecting thy 
 reply, Iprofane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy 
 picture, and my heart on thy every part. 
 
 Thine, in the dearest design of i7idustrif, 
 Don Adriano De AaxivDa 
 Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 
 
 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standcstas his prej 
 Submissive fall his princely feet before. 
 
 And he from forage will incline to p ay : 
 But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then f 
 Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 
 
 Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited 
 
 this letter 1 [lietter ] 
 
 What vane ? what weathercock? did you ever hear 
 
 Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember me 
 style. [erewhile.* 
 
 Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it 
 
 Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keep* 
 here in court ; 
 
 « Jvist now. 
 
164 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST 
 
 Act IV 
 
 A phantasm, aMonarcho, and one that makes sport 
 To the prince, and his book-mates. 
 
 Prin. Thou, fellow, a word : 
 
 Who gave thee this letter 1 
 
 Cost. I told you ; my lord. 
 
 Prm. To whom shoulJst thou give it ? 
 
 Cost. From my lord to my lady. 
 
 Prin. From which lord, to which lady 1 
 
 Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, 
 T>? a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. 
 
 Prin. Thou hast mistaken this letter. Come, 
 lords, away. 
 rif.re, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another 
 day. [Exit Princess and Train. 
 
 Boyet. M'ho is the suitor ? who is the suitor 1 
 
 Ros. Shall I teach you to know 1 
 
 Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 
 
 Ros, Why she that bears the bow. 
 
 Finely put off! [marry, 
 
 Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if thou 
 Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscaiTy. 
 Finely put on ! 
 
 Ros. Well then, I am the shooter. 
 
 Boyet. And who is your deer ? 
 
 Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come 
 Finely put on, indeed ! [near. 
 
 Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she 
 strikes at the brow. 
 
 Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : Have I hit 
 her now 1 
 
 Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, 
 that was a man when king Pepin of France was a 
 little boy, as touching the hit it ? 
 
 Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, 
 that was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain 
 was a little wench, as touching the hit it. 
 
 Ros. Thmi canst not hit it, hit it, hit it; [Singing. 
 
 Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
 Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot. 
 An I cannot, another can. 
 
 \_Exeunt Ros. and Kath. 
 
 Cost. By my troth, most pleasant ! how both did 
 
 fit it! 
 Mar. A mark marvellous well shot ; for they both 
 
 did hit it. 
 Boyet. A mark! O, mark but that mark; A 
 
 mark, says my lady ! 
 Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it 
 
 may be. 
 Mar. Wide o' the bow hand ! Ffaith, your hand 
 
 is out. 
 Cost. Indeed, a'must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er 
 
 hit the clout. 
 Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your 
 
 hand is in. 
 Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving 
 
 the pin. 
 Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips 
 
 grow foul. 
 Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir ; chal- 
 lenge her to bowl. 
 Boyet. I fear too much rubbing ; Good night, my 
 
 good owl. lExewit Boyet and Maria. 
 
 Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple clovm ! 
 
 uord, lord ! how the ladies and I have put him 
 
 down ! [wit ! 
 
 O'my troth, most sweet jests ! most incony vulgar 
 When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it 
 
 were, so fit 
 
 Armatho o' the one side, — 0, a most dainty man 
 To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan 
 To see him kiss his hand ! and how most swccth 
 
 a' will swear ! — 
 And his page o' t'other side, that handful of wit ! 
 Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit ! 
 Sola, sola! [Shouting within 
 
 [Exit Costard, running- 
 
 SCENE 11.— The same. 
 
 Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 
 Nath. Very reverent sport, truly ; and done in 
 the testimony of a good conscience. 
 
 Hoi. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, — 
 blood ; ripe as a pomewater,' who now hangeth like 
 a jewel in the ear of calo, — the sky, the welkin, 
 the heaven ; and anon falleth like a crab, on the 
 face of te7-ra, — the soil, the land, the earth. 
 
 Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are 
 sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least : But, sir, 
 I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head." 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. 
 Dull. 'Twas not a hand credo, 'twas a pricket. 
 Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind of in- 
 sinuation as it were, m via, in way of explication ; 
 facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, 
 to show, as it were, his inclination, — after his un- 
 dressed,unpolished,uneducated, unpruncd, untrain- 
 ed, or rather unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed 
 fashion, — to insert again my haud credo for a deer. 
 Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo : 
 'twas a pricket. 
 
 Hoi. Tvnce sod simplicity, bis coctus ! — thou 
 monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look ! 
 Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties thai 
 are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it 
 were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is not 
 replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible 
 in the duller parts ; 
 And such barren plants are set before us, that wo 
 
 thankful should be 
 (Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts 
 
 that do fructify in us more than he. 
 For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, 
 
 or a fool. 
 So, were there a patch' set on learning, to see hni: 
 
 in a school : 
 'Q\x1,omne bene,sa.jl; being of an old father's mind 
 Many can brook the tveather, that love not the wind. 
 Dull. You two are bookmen : Can you tell by 
 your wit. 
 What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not 
 five weeks old as yet 1 
 Hoi. Dictynna, good man Dull ; Dictynna, good 
 
 man Dull. 
 Dull. What is Dictynna ? 
 Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 
 Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam 
 was no more ; 
 And raught* not to five weeks, when he came tc 
 The allusion holds in the exchange. [fivescore 
 
 ' A species of apple. . i „• - 
 
 • To render some of the allusions in this scene mteuigi- 
 ble to persons who are not acquainted -with the language 
 of park-keepers and foresters, it may be necessary to men- 
 tion, that a fawn, when it is a year old, is called by them 
 a pricket; when it is two years old, it is a sorel ; when it is 
 three years old, it is a sore ; when it is four years, it is a 
 buck of the first head; at five years, it is an old buck. 
 lA low fellow. "Reached. 
 
SCENK II. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 165 
 
 Dull. 'Tis true indeed ; the collusion holds in 
 tlie exchange. 
 
 Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allu- 
 sion holds the exchange. 
 
 Dull. And I say the pollution holds in the ex- 
 change ; for the moon is never but a month old : 
 and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin- 
 cess kill'd. 
 
 Hul. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
 epitaph on the death of the deer 1 and, to humor 
 the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess 
 kill'd a pricket. 
 
 Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, /jero-e ,• 
 so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 
 
 Hoi. I will something affect the letter; for it 
 argues facility. 
 
 The 23>'aise/iil princess pierc'd and prich'd a pretty 
 pleasing ^»'!e7i;e<y 
 
 Some say a sore/ but not a sore, till note made 
 sore icith shooting. 
 The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jum^n 
 from thicket; 
 
 Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall a 
 hooting. 
 If sore be sore, then L to sore makes jifty sores ; 
 
 sore L ! 
 Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one 
 more L. 
 
 Nath. A rare talent ! 
 
 Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws 
 him with a talent. 
 
 Hul. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; 
 a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, 
 shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revo- 
 lutions : these are begot in the ventricle of memory, 
 nourished in the womb of pia mater; and deliver'd 
 upon the mellowing of occasion : But the gift is 
 good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thank- 
 ful for it. 
 
 Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may 
 my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutor'd by 
 you, and their daughters profit very greatly under 
 YOU : you are a good member of the commonwealth. 
 
 Hoi. Mekercle, if their sons be ingenious, they 
 shall want no instruction : if their daughters be ca- 
 pable, I will put it to them : But, vir sapit, qui 
 pauca loquitur.- a soul feminine saluteth us. 
 
 Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 
 
 Jaq. God give you good morrow, master parson. 
 
 Hoi. Master person, — quasi pers-on. And if one 
 should be pierced, which is the one ? 
 
 Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is 
 likest to a hogshead. 
 
 Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of 
 conceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a flint, 
 pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty ; it is well. 
 
 Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me 
 this letter ; it was given me by Costard, and sent 
 me from Don Armatho : I beseech you, read. 
 
 Hoi. Fauste,precor gelida quando pecus omne 
 sub umbra 
 Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan : 
 I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice ! 
 
 Vincgia, Vinegia, 
 
 Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. 
 
 Old Mantuan ! old Mantuan ! Who understandcth 
 thee not, loves thee not. — Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. — 
 Under pardon, sir, what are the contents] or, rather, 
 as Horace soys in his — What, my soul, verses? 
 Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned ^ 
 
 12 
 
 Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a atanza, a verse 
 Lege, dominc. 
 
 Nath. [Reads.] If love make me furvirorn, hoie 
 
 shall I swear to love ? 
 Ah, never faith could hold, if not to henuty vowed ! 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; 
 
 Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thte like osiern 
 bowed. 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyf$; 
 
 Where all those jyleasurcs live, that art would 
 comprehend: 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; 
 
 Well learned is that tongue, that loell can thet 
 commend : 
 All ignorant that soul, that sees thee loithovt wonder; 
 
 ( Which is to me some praise, that I thy fart* 
 admire;) 
 Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread- 
 fxd thunder. 
 
 Which not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fre. 
 Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong. 
 That sings heaven's 2iraise icith such an earthly 
 tongue ! 
 
 Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss 
 the accent : let me superv'ise the canzonet. Here 
 are only numbers ratified ; but for the elegancy, 
 facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius 
 Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso ; but 
 for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, 
 the jerks of invention 1 Imitari, is nothing : so doth 
 the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired' 
 horse his rider. But damosella virgin, vias this 
 directed to you 1 
 
 Jaq. Ay, sir, from one monsieur Biron, one of 
 the strange queen's lords. 
 
 Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. To the 
 snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady 
 Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect of the 
 letter, for the nomination of the party writing to 
 the person written unto : 
 
 Your ladi/ship's in all desired employment, Biron. 
 Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with 
 the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a 
 sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, 
 or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. — 
 Trip and go, my sweet ; deliver this paper into the 
 royal hand of the king; it may concern much : Stay 
 not thy compliment : I forgive thy duty ; adieu. 
 
 Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God save 
 your life ! 
 
 Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 
 
 [Exeimt Cost, and Jaq. 
 
 Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, 
 very religiously ; and, as a certain father saith 
 
 Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co- 
 lorable colors. But, to return to the verses ; Did 
 they please you, sir Nathaniel ? 
 
 Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. 
 
 Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain 
 pupil of mine ; where if, before repast, it shall olease 
 you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my 
 privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid 
 child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where 
 I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, 
 neither savoring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I 
 beseech your society. 
 
 Nath. And thank you too: for society, (saith 
 the text,) is the happiness of life. 
 
 Hoi. And, certes,'^ the text most infallibly con- 
 cludes it. — Sir, [Ta Dull.] I do invite you too; 
 
 I Attired, caparisoned. 
 
 »In truth. 
 
166 
 
 LOVE'S LABuPt'S LOST. 
 
 Act n 
 
 you shall not say me, nay : pauca verba. Away ; 
 the gentles are at their game, and we will to our 
 recreation. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another part of the Park. 
 Enter Biron, ivith a paper. 
 Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I am 
 coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil ; I am 
 toiling in a pitch ; pitch that defiles ; defile ! a foul 
 word. Well, set thee down, sorrow ! for so, they 
 say, the fool said ; and so say I, and I the fool. — 
 Well proved, wit ! By the lord, this love is as mad 
 as Ajax : it kills sheep ; it kills me, I a sheep : Well 
 proved again on my side ! I will not love : if I do, 
 hang me ; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye, — by 
 this light, but for her eye, I would not love her ; 
 yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the 
 world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I 
 do love : and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be 
 melancholy ; and here is part of my rhyme, and 
 here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my son- 
 nets already ; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and 
 the lady hath it : sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest 
 lady 1 By the world, I would not care a pin if the 
 other three were in : Here comes one with a paper. 
 God give him grace to groan. \_Gets tip into a tree. 
 Enter the King, with a paper. 
 
 King. Ah me ! 
 
 Biron. [Aside-I Shot, by heaven ! — Proceed, 
 Bwect Cupid ; thou hast thump'd him with thy 
 bird-bolt under the left pap : — I'faith, secrets, — 
 
 King. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the (/olden sun 
 (/ices not 
 
 To those fresh morning drops vpon the rose 
 As thy eyr-heams, when their fresh rays have smote 
 
 The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: 
 Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 
 
 Through the transjiarent hosom of the deep, 
 As doth thy face through tears of mine give light; 
 
 Thou shin'st in every fear that I do loeejy: 
 Ko drop, but as a coach doth carry thee, 
 
 So ridest thou triumphing in my woe; 
 Bo but behold the tears that swell in me. 
 
 And they thy glory through my grief toill show, 
 But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
 My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
 queen of queens, hoto far dost thou excel! 
 Ko thought can thinic, nor tongue of mortal tell. — 
 
 How shall she know my griefs 1 I'll drop the paper ; 
 Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here ] 
 
 [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter Lonqaville, with a paper. 
 What, Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear. 
 
 Biron. Now, in thy hkeness, one more fool ap- 
 pear ! [Aside. 
 Long. Ah me ! I am forsworn. 
 Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wear- 
 ing papers. [Aside. 
 King. In love, I hope : sweet fellowship in 
 shame ! [Aside. 
 Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Long. Am I the first that have been perjured so ? 
 
 Biron. [Aside."] I could put thee in comfort ; not 
 
 by two, that I know : 
 
 Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, 
 
 The shape of love's Tyburn that hangs up simpUcity. 
 
 Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to 
 
 sweet Maria, empress of my love ! [move : 
 
 Tliese numbers will I tear, and write in prose. 
 
 Biron. [Aside.] O, rhymes aie guards on wantc " 
 Cupid's hose • 
 Disfigure not his slop. 
 
 Long. This same shall go. — 
 
 [He reads the so.in.<t. 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 
 
 {'Gainst whom the tvorld cannot hold argtimcMt) 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
 
 Vows for thee broke, deserve not puiiishmenl 
 A woman I forswore; but, I tvill prove. 
 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: 
 3Iy vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; 
 
 Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in ^i» 
 Vows are but breath, and breath a vapor is: 
 
 Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth doth '.hi e, 
 Exhal'st this vapor vow; in thee it is: 
 
 If broJcen, then, it is no fault of mine: 
 If by me broke, what fool is not so ivisc. 
 To lose an oath to win a p>aradise ? 
 
 Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein, wlu :h 
 makes flesh a deity ; 
 A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. 
 God amend us, God amend ! we are much ouf j' 
 the way. 
 
 Enter Dumain, with a paper. 
 
 Long. By whom shall I send this ? — Company ', 
 stay. [Stepping aside. 
 
 Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant 
 Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, [play ; 
 
 And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 
 More sacks to the mill ! O heavens, I have my wish ; 
 Dumain transform'd : four woodcocks in a dish ! 
 Diim. O most divine Kate ! 
 Biron. O most profane coxcomb ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye '. 
 
 Biron. By earth, she is but corporal ; there you 
 
 lie. [Aside. 
 
 Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber 
 
 coted." 
 Biron. An amber-color'd raven was well noted. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Dum. As upright as the cedar. 
 Biron. Stoop, I say ; 
 
 Her shoulder is with child. [Aside. 
 
 Dum. As fair as day. 
 
 Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must 
 shine. [Aside. 
 
 Dum. O that I had my wish ! 
 Long. And I had mine ! [Aside- 
 
 King. And I mine too, good lord ! [Aside. 
 
 Biron. Amen, so I had mine : Is not that a good 
 word 1 [Aside. 
 
 Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she 
 Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. 
 
 Biron. A fever in your blood, why then incision 
 Would let hex out in saucers ; Sweet misprision ! 
 
 [Aside 
 Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I huve 
 
 writ. 
 Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can larv 
 wit. [Aside 
 
 Dum. On a day, {alack the day!) 
 
 Love, whose month is ever May, 
 Spied a blossom, passing fair. 
 Playing in the wanton air: 
 Through the velvet leaves the wina, 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find, 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 Wish'd himself the heaven's breath, 
 
 ■» Outstripped, surpa«s»ii. 
 
Scene in. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 167 
 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 
 Air, would I miijht triumph so! 
 But, alack, my hand ia sworn, 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: 
 
 Vow, aliick, for youth unmeet; 
 
 Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 Bo not call it sin in me. 
 That I am forsworn for thee; 
 
 Thou for whom even Jove would swear 
 Juno hut an Ethiop were; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 
 Turning mortal for thy love. — 
 This will I send ; and something else more plain, 
 That shall express my true love's fasting pain 
 
 would the King, Biron, and Longaville, 
 Were lovers too ! Ill to example ill. 
 
 Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note ; 
 For none offend, where all alike do dote. 
 
 Long. Dumain, [^Advancing.'] thy love is far 
 That in love's grief desir'st society, [from charity. 
 You nitty look pale, but I should blush, I know, 
 To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. 
 
 King. Come, sir, [Advancing.'] you blush ; as 
 his your case is such ; 
 ifou chide at him, offending twice as much : 
 You do not love Maria ; Longaville 
 Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; 
 Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
 His loving bosom, to keep down his heart 1 
 
 1 have been closely shrouded in this bush. 
 
 And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. 
 I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion ; 
 Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion : 
 Ah me ! says one ; Jove ! the other cries ; 
 One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes : 
 You v/ould for paradise break faith and troth; 
 
 [7b Long. 
 And Jove, for j'our love, would infringe an oath. 
 
 [To Dumain. 
 What will Biron say, when that he shall hear 
 A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear "? 
 How will he scorn 1 how will he spend his wit \ 
 How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it ? 
 For all the wealth that ever I did see, 
 I would not have him know so much by me. 
 
 Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. — 
 Ah, good my Uege, I pray thee pardon me : 
 
 [Descends from the tree. 
 Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove 
 These worms for loving, that art most in love 1 
 Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears 
 There is no certain princess that appears : 
 You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing ; 
 Tush, none but minstrels like of sonnetting. 
 But arc you not asham'd 1 nay, are you not, 
 All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? 
 You found his mote ; the king your mote did see ; 
 But I a beam do find in each of three. 
 what a scene of foolery I have seen. 
 Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen !' 
 me, with what strict patience have I sat, 
 To sec a king transformed to a gnat ! 
 To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, 
 And profound Solomon to tune a jigg. 
 And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, 
 And critic' Timon laugh at idle toys! 
 Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain 1 
 Vnd, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain 7 
 ,\nd where my liege's? all about the breast: — 
 K caudle, ho ! 
 
 -Gri<-f. « Cynic 
 
 King. Too bitter is thy jest. 
 
 Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view ] 
 
 Biron. Not you by mc, hut I betray'd to you , 
 I, that am honest ; \, that hold it sin 
 To break the vow I am engaged in ! 
 I am betray'd, by keeping company 
 With moon-like men of strange inconstancy. 
 When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme ' 
 Or groan for Joan ? or spend a minute's time 
 In pruning' me 1 When shall you hear that I 
 Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye ? 
 A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
 A leg, a limb 1 — 
 
 King. Soft : Whither awsy so fast ' 
 
 A true man, or a thief, that gallops so 1 
 
 Biron. I post from love ; good lover, let me g(i 
 
 Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 
 Jaq. God bless the king ! 
 
 King. What present hast thou there 1 
 
 Cost. Some certain treason. 
 Kirig. What makes treason here? 
 
 Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 
 King. If it mar nothing neither, 
 
 The treason, and you, go in peace away together. 
 Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read. 
 Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he said. 
 King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the lettf 
 Where hadst thou it ? 
 Jaq. Of Costard. 
 King. Where hadst thou it ? 
 Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. 
 King. How now ! what is in you 1 why dost 
 
 thou tear it ? 
 Biron. A toy, my Uege, a toy ; your grace needs 
 
 not fear it. 
 Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore 
 
 let's hear it. 
 Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name 
 
 [Pichs up the pieces 
 Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [To Cos- 
 tard.] you were horn to do me shame. — 
 Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess 
 King. Whatl 
 
 Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool t<-. 
 make up the mess : 
 He, he, and you, my liege, and I, 
 Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
 O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. 
 Dum. Now the number is even. 
 Biron. Trae, true ; we are four :— 
 
 Will these turtles be gone 1 
 
 King. Hence, sirs ; away. 
 
 Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the trai- 
 tors stay. [Exeunt Cost, atid Jaq. 
 Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us em- 
 brace ! 
 As true we are, as flesh and blood can be : 
 The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his fare ; 
 
 Young blood will not obey an old decree : 
 We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; 
 Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. 
 King. What, did these rent lines show some love 
 
 of thine 1 
 Biron. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the 
 heavenly Rosaline, 
 That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 
 
 At the first opening of the gorgeous east. 
 Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind. 
 Kisses the base ground with obedient breasl ' 
 » In trimming myselt 
 
1G8 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Acr n 
 
 What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 
 
 Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
 That is not blinded by her majesty ? 
 
 King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee 
 
 My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ; [now ? 
 
 She, an attending star, scarce seen a hght. 
 
 IVtron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron : 
 
 O, but for my love, day would turn to night! 
 
 Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty 
 
 Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ; 
 \\'hcre several worthies make one dignity ; 
 
 Where nothing wants,that want itself doth seek. 
 Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues — 
 
 Fye, painted rhetoric ! O, she needs it not ; 
 Tj things of sale a seller's praise belongs; 
 
 She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. 
 A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, 
 
 Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : 
 Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, 
 
 And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 
 O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine ! 
 King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 
 Biron. Is ebony like her ? wood divine ! 
 A wife of such wood were felicity. 
 '), who can give an oath 1 where is a book 1 
 
 That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack, 
 If that she learn not of her eye to look : 
 
 No face is fair, that is not full so black. 
 King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell, 
 The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night ; 
 And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. 
 Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits 
 of light. 
 0, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, 
 
 It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, 
 Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 
 
 And therefore is she born to make black fair. 
 Her favor turns the fashion of the days ; 
 
 For native blood is counted painting now ; 
 And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, 
 Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
 Dum. To look like her, are chimn^-sweepers 
 
 black. 
 
 Long. And, since her time, are colliers counted 
 
 "bright. [crack. 
 
 King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion 
 
 Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is 
 
 light. . 
 
 Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in raui, 
 For fear their colors should be wash'd away. 
 King. 'Twere good, yours did ; for, sir, to tell 
 you plain, 
 I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. [here. 
 Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day 
 King. No devil will fright thee then so much 
 
 as she. 
 Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. 
 Long. Look, here's thy love : my foot and her 
 face see. [Showing his shoe. 
 
 Biron. 0, if the streets were paved with thine eyes. 
 Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! 
 Dum. O vile ! then as she goes, what upward lies 
 The street should see as she walk'd over head. 
 King. But what of this? Are we not all in love 1 
 Biron. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn. 
 King. Then leave this chat: and, good Biron, 
 now prove 
 Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 
 
 Dum. Ay, marry, there,-- some flattery for this 
 evil. 
 
 Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; 
 Some tricks, some quillets," how to cheat the devi) 
 Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
 Biron, O, 'tis more than need !— 
 
 Have at you then, affection's men at arms : 
 Consider, what you first did swear unto ; — 
 To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman ; — 
 Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
 Say, can you fast ] your stomachs are too young 
 And abstinence engenders maladies. 
 And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 
 In that each of you hath forsworn his book : 
 Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look \ 
 For when would you, my lord, or you, or you. 
 Have found the ground of study's excellence. 
 Without the beauty of a woman's face 1 
 From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 
 They are the ground, the books, the academes. 
 From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire 
 Why, universal plodding prisons up 
 The nunble spirits in the arteries ; 
 As motion, and long-during action, tires 
 The sinewy vigor of the traveller. 
 Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 
 You have in that forsworn the use of eyes ; 
 And study too, the causer of your vow; 
 For where is any author in the world, 
 Teaches such beauty as a woman's eyeT 
 Learning is but an adjunct to ourself. 
 And where we are, our learning likewise is. 
 Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, 
 Do we not Ukewise see our learning there ? 
 O, we have made a vow to study, lords ; 
 And in that vow we have forsworn our books ; 
 For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, 
 In leaden contemplation, have found out 
 Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes 
 Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with 1 
 Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ; 
 And therefore finding barren practisers. 
 Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil r 
 But love, first learned in a lady's eyes. 
 Lives not alone immur6d in the brain ; 
 But, with the motion of all elements. 
 Courses as swift as thought in every power , 
 And gives to every power a double power. 
 Above their functions and their oflSces. 
 It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 
 A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle bhnd ; 
 A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound. 
 When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd ; 
 Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 
 Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 
 Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: 
 For valor, is not love a Hercules, 
 Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? 
 Subtle as Sphinx ; as sweet, and musical. 
 As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; 
 And, when Love speaks, the voice of all the god* 
 Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
 Never durst poet touch a pen to write. 
 Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs ; 
 O, then his lines would ravish savage ears. 
 And plant in tyrants mild humility. 
 From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 
 They sparkle still the right Promethean fire 
 They are the books, the arts, the academes, 
 That show, contain, and nourish all the world ; 
 Else none at all in aught proves excellent : 
 * Law-cbicaae. 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 169 
 
 Then fools you were these women to forswear ; 
 Or, keeping what is sworn, j'ou will prove fools. 
 For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love ; 
 Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men : 
 Or for men's sake, the authors of these women ; 
 Or women's sake, by whom we men arc men ; 
 Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves, 
 Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths : 
 It is religion to be thus forsworn : 
 For charity itself fulfils the law; 
 And who can sever love from charity? 
 
 Kin<j;. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to the 
 "field ! 
 
 Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, 
 lords ; 
 Pell-mell, down with them ! but be first advis'd, 
 In conflict that you get the sun of them. 
 
 Lnvg. Now to plam-dealing ; lay these gloz(\s by 
 Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? 
 
 King. And win them too : therefore let us devisa 
 Some entertainment for them in their tents, [thither; 
 
 Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them 
 Then, homeward, every man attach the hand 
 Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon 
 We will with some strange pastime solace them. 
 Such as the shortness of the time can shape ; 
 For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, 
 Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowei-s. 
 
 King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted, 
 That will be time, and may by us be fitted, [corn ' 
 
 Biron. Allans ! Allans ! — Sow'd cockle reap'd no 
 
 And justice always whirls in equal meayure : 
 Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn ; 
 
 If sOjOur copperbuys no better treasu re. [i?a:et<M^. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 / 
 
 SCENE \.—A street. 
 Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 
 
 Hoi. Satis quod sufficit. 
 
 Nath. I praise God for you, sir, your reasons' at 
 ainner have been sharp and sententious ; pleasant 
 without scurrility ,witty without aflection,*audacious 
 without impudency, learned without opinion, and 
 strange without heresy. I did converse this (jiton- 
 dcim day with a companion of the king's, who is inti- 
 tuled, nominated, or called Don Adriano de Armado. 
 
 Hoi. Novi hominem tcuiquam te: His humor is 
 lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his 
 eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general 
 oehavior vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical.' He is 
 too picked,' too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it 
 were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. 
 
 Nath, A most singular and choice epithet. 
 
 [Takes out his table-book. 
 
 Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity 
 finer than the staple of his argument, I abhor such 
 fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-de- 
 vise' companions ; such rackers of orthography, as 
 to speak, dout, fine, when he should say, doubt ; 
 det, when he should pronounce, debt ; d, e, b, t ; 
 not, d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; 
 neighbor, vacatur, ncbour, neigh, abbreviated, ne : 
 This is abhominable, (wliich he would call abomin- 
 able,) it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intelligis, 
 doniine? to make frantic, lunatic. 
 
 Nath. Laus den, bone intelligo. 
 
 Hoi. Bone? — bone, for bene: I'riscian a little 
 scratch'd ; 'twill serve. 
 
 Enter Armado, Moth, a7id Costard. 
 
 Nath. Videsne quis venit? 
 
 Hoi. Video, et gaudeo. 
 
 Arm. Chirra ! [To Moth. 
 
 Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah 1 
 
 Arm. Men of peace, well encountcr'd. 
 
 Hill. Most military sir, salutation. 
 
 Moth. They have been at a pjeM feast of lan- 
 guages, and stolen the scraps. [7b Costard aside. 
 
 Cost. O, they have lived long in tlie alms-basket 
 of words ! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee 
 for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as 
 innorijicabilitudinitafibiis: thou art easier swal- 
 bwed thin a flap-dragon.' 
 
 Moth. Peace ; the peal begins. 
 
 'Discourse!!. •Affectation. » Boastful. 
 
 ■ Over-dre«p£(J. « Finical exactne.ss. 
 
 »A Emsill inllammaUo substance, swallowed in a glasB 
 K wine. 
 
 Arm. Monsieur, [To Hol.] are you not lettcr'd ! 
 
 Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn-book : 
 — What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his 
 head ? 
 
 Hol. Jia., puerilia, with a horn added. 
 
 Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a liorn : — You 
 hear his learning. 
 
 Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant? 
 
 Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat 
 them ; or the fifth, if I. 
 
 Hol. I will repeat them, a, e, i. — [o, u 
 
 Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes it ; 
 
 Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterra- 
 neum, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit : snip, 
 snap, quick and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect 
 true wit. 
 
 Moth. OfTer'd by a child to an old man ; which 
 is wit-old. 
 
 Hol. What is the figure 1 what is the figure ? 
 
 Moth. Horns. 
 
 Hid. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip 
 
 tliy gig- 
 
 Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and 1 
 will whip about your infamy circHm circh; A gig 
 of a cuckold's horn ! 
 
 Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou 
 shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is 
 the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou half- 
 penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. 
 O, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou wert 
 but my bastard ! what a joyful father would'st thou 
 make me ! Go to ; thou hast it ad dunghill, at llie 
 finger's ends, as they say. 
 
 Hal. O, I smell false Latin' dunghill f)r hi« 
 guem. 
 
 Arm. Arts-man, prxambu la; we will be singled 
 from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at 
 the charge-house' on the top of the mountain ? 
 
 Hal. Or, mans, the hill. 
 
 Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain 
 
 Hol. I do, sans question. 
 
 Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure 
 and affection, to congratulate the princess at her 
 pavilion, in the posteriors of this day; which the 
 rude multitude call the afternoon. 
 
 Hol. 'I'he posterior of the day, most generous 
 sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the 
 afternoon : the word is well cull'd, chose ; swee' 
 and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. 
 
 Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman ; and mi 
 * Free-schooL 
 
X70 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST 
 
 Act V 
 
 frtmiliar, I do assure /ou, very good friend :— For 
 what is inward between us, let it pass :— I do be- 
 seech thee, remember thy courtesy;—! beseech 
 thee, apparel thy head ;— and among other im- 
 portnnite and most serious designs,— and of great 
 import indeed, too;— but let that pass :— lor I 
 must tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world) 
 sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder; and v^ith 
 his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement, I 
 with my mustachio : but sweet heart, let that pass. 
 By the world, I recount no fable ; some certam 
 special honors it pleaseth his greatness to impart 
 to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath 
 Been the world : but let that pass.— The very all of 
 all is,— but sweet heart, I do implore secrecy,— 
 that the king would have me present the prmcess, 
 Bweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or 
 Bhow, or pageant, or antic, or fire-work. Now, un- 
 derstanding that the curate and your sweet self, 
 are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking 
 out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you 
 withal, to the end to crave your assistance. 
 
 Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine 
 worthies.— Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some en- 
 tertainment of time, some show in the posterior of 
 this day, ♦o be rendered by our assistance, — the 
 king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate, 
 and learned gentleman,- before the princess ; I ray, 
 none so fit as to present the nine worthies. 
 
 Nalh. Where will you find men worthy enough 
 to present them ? 
 
 Hoi. .Toshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant 
 gentleman, Judas MaccabsEUs ; this swain, because 
 of his great limb or johit, shall pass Pompey the 
 great ; the page, Hercul"is. 
 
 Arm. Pardon, sir, eiTcr: he is not quantity enough 
 for that worthy's thumb: he is not so big as the 
 
 end of his club. „ , , „ 
 
 Ho' Shall I have audience 1 he shall present 
 Hercules in minority: his enter -^nA exit shall be 
 strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for 
 that purpose. , 
 
 Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the 
 audience hiss, you may cry, Well done Hercules! 
 now thou crmhest the snake! that is the way to 
 make an oflence gracious; though few have the 
 
 grace to do it. , • i 
 
 Arm. For the rest of the worthies 
 
 Hoi. I will play three myself. 
 
 Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman ! 
 
 Arm. Shall I tell you a thing 1 
 
 Hoi. We attend. . , , . 
 
 Arm. We will have, if this fadge* not, an antic. 
 [ beseech you, follow. 
 
 Hoi. Fia," goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no 
 word all this while. 
 
 Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. 
 
 Hoi. Allans! we will employ thee. 
 
 Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or 1 will 
 play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them 
 
 dance the hay. 
 
 Hoi Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.— Before the Princess's Pavilion. 
 Enter the Princkss, Katharine, Rosai-ine, ant/ 
 Mahia. 
 Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be ri( h ere we depart, 
 . f fairings come thus plentifully in : 
 
 « Beard. .Suit. » Courage. 
 
 A lady wall'd about with diamond* ' — 
 Look you, what I have from the loving king. 
 lios. Madam, came nothing else along withthat^ 
 Prin. Nothing but thisl yes, as much love ia 
 rhyme. 
 As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, 
 Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all; 
 That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 
 
 Ros- That was the way to make his god-head 
 wax;'' 
 For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 
 Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 
 Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him ; he kiird 
 
 your sister. 
 Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy , 
 And so she died: had she been light, hke you. 
 Of such a merry, nimble, stimng spirit. 
 She might have been a gi-andam ere she died: 
 And so may you: for a light heart lives long. 
 Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse,' of this 
 
 light wordi 
 Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 
 Ros. We need more light to find your meaning 
 
 out. ^ 
 
 Kath. You'll mar the light, by takmg it in snuff; 
 Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. ^ 
 Ros. Look what you do, you do it still i the 
 
 dark. 
 Kath. So do not you; for youare aliglitwench. 
 Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore light 
 Kath. You weigh me not— O, that's you care 
 
 not for me. 
 Ros. Great reason ; for. Past cure is still past care. 
 Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well play d. 
 But, Rosaline, you have a favor too: 
 Who sent it! and what is itl 
 
 jlgg^ I would, you knew '. 
 
 An if my face were but as fair as yours. 
 
 My favor were as great ; be witness this. 
 
 Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron : 
 
 The numbers true; and, were the numb'rmg too, 
 
 I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
 
 I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. 
 
 O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! 
 
 Prin. Any thing like 1 
 
 Ros. Much, in the letters: nothing, m the praise, 
 
 Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion. 
 
 Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 
 
 Ros. 'W^are pencils! Howl let me not die you' 
 debtor, 
 My red dominical, my golden letter : 
 O, that your face were not so full of O s . 
 
 Kath. A pox of that jest ! and beshrew all 
 
 shrows ! . • T, • 1 
 
 Prm. But what was sent to you fiom tan- Dumain! 
 
 Kath. Madam, this glove. , • , 
 
 p,.;„. Did he not send you twain! 
 
 Kath. Yes, madam ; and moreover. 
 Some thousand verses of a faithful lover: 
 A huge translation of hypocrisy. 
 Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. 
 
 Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Lo» 
 gaville; 
 The letter is too long by half a mile. 
 
 Prin. I think no less: Dost thou not wish m hear* 
 The chain were longer, and the letter short 1 
 Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might neve 
 part. 
 1 Grow. • Formerly a term ol endearment 
 
 » In anger. 
 
StiCNl! II. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 171 
 
 Frm. We ate wise girls to mock our lovers so. 
 
 Ros. Tliey are worse fools to ])urchase mocking so. 
 That same Biron rii torture ere I go. 
 0, that I knew he were but in by the week ! 
 How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek; 
 And wait the season, and observe the times, 
 And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes; 
 And shape his service whoUy to my behests; 
 And make him proud to make me proud that jests! 
 So portent-like would I o'crsway his state, 
 That he should be my fool, and I his fate, [catch'd. 
 
 Frin. None are so surely caught, when they are 
 As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd. 
 Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school ; 
 And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 
 
 Kos. The blood of youth burns not with such 
 \s gravity's revolt to wantonness. [excess, 
 
 Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, 
 As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ; 
 Since all the power thereof it doth apply. 
 To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. 
 Enter Boyet. 
 
 Pnn. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 
 
 Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter ! Where's 
 her grace ? 
 
 Prin. Thy news, Boyet 1 
 
 Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! — 
 
 Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are 
 Against your peace : Love doth approach disguis'd. 
 Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd: 
 Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ; 
 Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 
 
 Prin. Saint Denis to saint Cupid! What are they. 
 That charge their breath against us 1 say, scout, say. 
 
 Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, 
 I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour: 
 When, lo ! to interrupt my purpos'd rest. 
 Toward that shade I might behold addrest 
 The king and his companions: warily 
 I stole into a neighbor thicket by, 
 And overheard what you shall overhear ; 
 That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. 
 Their herald is a pretty knavish page, 
 That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage : 
 Action, and accent, did they teach him there ; 
 Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear: 
 And ever and anon they made a doubt. 
 Presence majestical would put him out; 
 For, quoth the king, an an^el shalt thou see; 
 Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously. 
 The boy reply'd. An angel is 7iot evil; 
 I slwuld have feared her, had she been a devil. 
 With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the 
 
 shoulder ; 
 Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. 
 One rubb'd his elbow, thus ; and fleer'd, and swore, 
 A better speech was never spoke before : 
 Another with his finger and his thumb, 
 Cry'd, Via/ we will do ^t, come what ivill come: 
 The third he capcr'd, and cried. All goes ivell: 
 The fourtii turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. 
 With that they all did tumble on the ground. 
 With such a zealous laughter, so profound. 
 That in this spleen ridiculous appears, 
 To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. 
 
 Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us 1 
 
 Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd 
 thus, — 
 Mke Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess, 
 
 e'lT purpose is, to parlc, to court, and dance: 
 
 And every one his love-feat will advance 
 Unto his several mistress; which they'll know 
 By favors several, which they did bestow. 
 
 Frin. And will they so 1 the gallants shall li* 
 task'd : — 
 For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd; 
 And not a man of them shall ha\e the grace. 
 Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. — 
 Hold, Rosaline, this favor thou shalt wear ; 
 And then the king will court thee for his dear, 
 Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine. 
 So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. — 
 And change your favors too; so shall your Iovc§ 
 Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. 
 
 Ros. Come on then; wear the favors most in sight. 
 
 Kafh. But, in this changing, what isyourintenti 
 
 Frin. 'I'he effect of my intent is to cross theirs 
 They do it but in mocking merriment ; 
 And mock for mock is only my intent. 
 Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
 To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal, 
 Upon the next occasion that we meet, 
 With visages display'd, to talk, and greet. 
 
 Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to'tl 
 
 Prin. No: to the death, we will not move a foot. 
 Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace ; 
 But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. 
 
 Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's 
 heart. 
 And quite divorce his memory from his part. 
 
 Frin. Therefore I do it ; and I make no doubt 
 The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
 There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown; 
 To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own : 
 So shall we stay, mocking intended game; 
 And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 
 [Trumpets sound within. 
 
 Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the 
 maskers come. [The Ladies mask. 
 
 Enter the Kixg, Biron, Longavillk, and Du 
 siAix, in Russian habits, and masked; Moth, 
 Musicians, and Attendants. 
 
 Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth.' 
 
 Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taHcta. 
 
 Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, 
 
 [The Ladies turn their backs to him 
 That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal views.' 
 
 Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. 
 
 Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal 
 views! Out — 
 
 Boyet. True ; out, indeed. 
 
 Moth. Out of your favors, heavenly spirits^ 
 vouchsafe. 
 Not to behold— 
 
 Biron. Once to behold, rogue. 
 
 Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamtd eyes, 
 with your sun-beamed eyes — 
 
 Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet; 
 You were best call it, daughter-l>eamed eyes. 
 
 Math. They do not mark me, and that brings me 
 out. 
 
 Birtm. Is this your perfectnessi begone, you rogue 
 
 Ros. What would these strangers 1 know theii 
 minds, Bovet: 
 If they do speak our language, 'tis our will 
 That some plain man recount their purposes: 
 Know what they would. 
 
 Boyet. What would you with the princess? 
 
 Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation 
 
172 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Ros. What would they, say they 1 
 Boyd. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 
 Ros. Why , that they have; and bid them so be gone. 
 nuyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. 
 King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles 
 To tread a measure with her on this grass. 
 
 Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many a 
 To tread a measure with you on this grass, [mile, 
 
 Eos. It is not so : ask them how many inches 
 [s in one mile : if they have measur'd many, 
 The measure then of one is easily told. 
 
 Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles, 
 And many miles ; the princess bids you tell, 
 How many inches do fill up one mile. 
 
 Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. 
 Boyet. She hears herself. 
 j{(js. How many weary steps, 
 
 Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, 
 Are number'd in the travel of one mile ? 
 
 Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you ; 
 Our duty is so rich, so infinite. 
 That wc may do it still without accompt. 
 Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, 
 That we, like savages, may worship it. 
 
 Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 
 K.'ng. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! 
 Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine 
 (Those clouds remov'd) upon our wat'ry eyne. 
 
 Ros. O vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; 
 Thou now request's! but moonshine in the water. 
 King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe 
 one change ; 
 Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange. 
 Ros. Play, music, then : nay, you must do it 
 soon. [Music plays. 
 
 Not yet ; — no dance : — thus change I like the moon. 
 King. Will you not dance 1 How came you thus 
 estrang'd "? [chang'd. 
 
 Ros. You took the moon at full ; but now she's 
 King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the nian. 
 The music plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it. 
 Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 
 Ki?!"-. But your legs should do it. [chance, 
 Ros. Since you are strangers and come here by 
 We'll not be nice : take hands ; — 'We will not dance. 
 King. Why take we hands then ? 
 Ros. Only to part friends : — 
 
 Oourt'sy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends. 
 King. More measure of this measure; be not nice. 
 Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. 
 King. Prize you yourselves : What buys your 
 Ros. Your absence only. [company ? 
 
 King. That can never be. 
 
 Ros. Then cannot we be bought : and so adieu ; 
 Twice to your visor, and half once to you ! 
 
 Kino-. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. 
 
 Ros. In private then 
 
 Kins. 
 
 I am best pleas'd with that. 
 [They converse apart. 
 Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word 
 
 with thee. 
 Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. 
 Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an if you grow so 
 nice,) 
 Metheglin, wort, and malmsey : — Well run, dice. 
 There's half a dozen sweets. 
 
 Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu ! 
 
 Since you can cog,' I'll play no more with you. 
 Biron. One word in secret. 
 1 Falsify dice, lie. 
 
 Prin. Let it not be sweet. 
 
 Biron. Thou griev'&t my gall. 
 Prin. Gall? bitter. 
 
 Biron. Therefore meet 
 
 [They converse apart 
 Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to cliange a 
 Mar. Name it. [word 1 
 
 Dum. Fair lady, — 
 
 Mar. Say you so ? Fail ord, — 
 
 Take that for your fair lady. 
 
 Dum. Please it you, 
 
 As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. 
 
 [They converse apait. 
 Kath. What, was your visor make without a 
 
 tongue ? 
 Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. 
 Kath. O, for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I long. 
 Long. You have a double tongue within your 
 And would afford my speechless visor half, [mask, 
 Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman : — Is not veal 
 Long. A calf, fair lady 1 [a calf? 
 
 Kath. No, a fair lord calf 
 
 Long. Let's part the word. 
 Kath. No, I'll not be your half. 
 
 Take all, and wean it ; it may prove an ox. [mocks ! 
 Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp 
 Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so. 
 Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. 
 Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. 
 Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher heai-s you 
 cry. [^hey converse apart. 
 
 Boyet. The tongues of mocking damsels are as 
 As is the razor's edge invisible, [keen 
 
 Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; 
 Above the sense of sense : so sensible 
 Seemcth their conference; their conceits have wings. 
 Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter 
 things. [break off. 
 
 Ros. Not one word more, my maids ; break oft, 
 Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! 
 King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple 
 "wits. [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, 
 
 Music, and Attendants. 
 Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites, — 
 Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at 1 
 Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths 
 pufTd out. [fat. 
 
 Ros. Well-liking wits they have : gross, gross ; fat, 
 Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout ! 
 Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night? 
 
 Or ever, but in visors, show their faces 1 
 This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 
 Ros. ! they were all in lamentable cases ! 
 The king was weeping ripe for a good word. 
 Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 
 Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword ; 
 '^o point, "^ quoth I ; my servant straight was mute 
 Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart ; 
 And trow you, what he call'd me 7 
 
 Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 
 
 Kath. Yes, in good faith. 
 
 Prin. Go, sickness as thou art ! 
 
 Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute- 
 caps.' 
 But will you hear ? the king is my love sworn. 
 Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me 
 Kath. And Longaville was for my service born 
 Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree 
 
 «A quibble on the French adverb of negation. 
 » Better wits may be found among citizens- 
 
Scene II 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 173 
 
 Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear : 
 [mmediately they will again be here 
 In their own shapes ; for it can never be, 
 They willl digest this harsh indignity. 
 
 Vrin. Will they return 1 
 
 Boi/et. They will, they will, God knows ; 
 
 And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : 
 Therefore, change favors ;* and when they repair, 
 Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. [stood. 
 
 Prin. How blow 1 how blow 1 speak to be under- 
 
 Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud : 
 Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, 
 Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 
 
 Frill. Avaunt perplexity ! What shall we do, 
 If they return in their own shapes to woo 1 
 
 Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be tidvis'd, 
 liet's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd : 
 Let us us complain to them what fools were here, 
 Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ; 
 And wonder, what they were ; and to what end 
 Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd. 
 And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
 Should be presented at our tent to us. 
 
 Boyet. Ladies,withdraw; the gallants are at hand. 
 
 Prhi. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. 
 [^Exeunt Princess, Ros., Kath., and Maria. 
 
 Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, 
 in their proper habits. 
 
 King, Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the 
 princess 1 
 
 Boyet. Gone to her tent : Please it your majesty. 
 Command me any service to her thither 1 [word. 
 
 King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one 
 
 Boyet. I will ; and so will she, I know, my lord. 
 
 [^Exit. 
 
 Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas ; 
 .And utters it again when God doth please : 
 He is wit's pedlar ; and retails his wares 
 At wakes and wassels,* meetings, markets, fairs ; 
 And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, 
 Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
 This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve ; 
 Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve : 
 He can carve too, and hsp : Why, this is he, 
 That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ; 
 This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice. 
 That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
 In honorable terms ; nay, he can sing 
 A mean" most meanly ; and, in ushering. 
 Mend >:ini who can : the ladies call him, sweet ; 
 The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet ; 
 This is the flower that smiles on every one. 
 To sho^ his teeth as white as whales' bone i' 
 And c-/nsciences, that will not die in debt. 
 Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. 
 
 King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my 
 I'hat put Armado's page out of his part ! [heart. 
 
 Enter the Princess, ushered by Boyet; Rosaline, 
 Maria, Katharine, and Attendants. 
 
 Biron. See where it comes! — 'Behavior, what 
 wert thou, 
 rill this man show'd thee? and what art thou now? 
 King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day ! 
 Frin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. 
 King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. 
 Frin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. 
 King. We came to visit you ; and purpose now 
 To lead you to our court : vouchsafe it then. 
 'Features, countenances. 'Rustic merry-meetings. 
 • The 'enor in music ' The tooth of the horso-whale. 
 
 Prin. This field sh ill hold me ; and so hold :your 
 vow : 
 Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men. 
 King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ; 
 
 The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 
 Prin. You nick-name virtue : vice you should 
 have spoke; 
 For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
 Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure 
 
 As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
 A world of torments though I should endure, 
 
 I would not yield to be your house's guest 
 So much I hate a breaking-cause to be 
 Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 
 King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, 
 
 Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 
 Prin. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear ; 
 We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game, 
 A mess of Russians left us but of late. 
 King. How, madam 1 Russians 1 
 Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord; 
 
 Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. 
 
 Ros. Madam, speak true : — It is not so, my lord • 
 My lady, (to the manner of the days,') 
 In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. 
 We four, indeed, confronted here with four 
 In Russian habit : here they stay'd an hour, 
 And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord, 
 They did not bless us with one happy word. 
 I dare not call them fools ; but this I think, 
 When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink 
 Biron. This jest is dry to me — Fair, gentle, 
 sweet. 
 Your wit makes wise things foolish ; when we greet 
 With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye, 
 By light we lose light : Your capacity 
 Is of that nature, that to your huge store 
 Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor, 
 Ros. This proves you wise and rich ; for in my 
 
 eye,— 
 Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 
 Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, 
 It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 
 Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. 
 Ros. All the fool mine] 
 
 Biron. I cannot give you less. 
 
 Ros. W^hich of the visors was it that you wore? 
 Biron. Where? when? what visor? why de- 
 mand you this "J 
 Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous 
 case. 
 That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. 
 King. We are descried: they'll mock us now 
 
 downright. 
 Dum, Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. 
 Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your high- 
 ness sad ? 
 Ros. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon ! Why 
 look you pale ! 
 Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 
 
 Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues foT 
 perjury- 
 Can any face of brass hold longer out? 
 Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 
 
 Bruise me with scorn, confound me with ■ 
 flout ; 
 Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance- 
 Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit. 
 
 » After the fasliion of the times. 
 
174 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act V 
 
 A nd I will wish fhee never more to dance, 
 Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
 
 ! never will I trust to speeches penn'd, 
 
 Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue ; 
 Nor never come in visor to my friend; 
 
 Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song: 
 Tafleta phrases, silken terms precise, 
 
 Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
 Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies 
 
 Have blown me full of maggot ostentation : 
 [ do forswear them : and I here protest, 
 
 By this wliite glove, (how white the hand, 
 God knows !) 
 Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 
 
 In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes: 
 And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la ! — 
 My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 
 Ros. Sa7is SANS, I pray you. 
 Binm. Yet I have a trick 
 
 Of the old rage : — bear with me, I am sick; 
 I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see ; — 
 Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three; 
 They are infected, in their hearts it lies; 
 They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes : 
 These lords are visited ; you are not free, 
 For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. 
 Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us. 
 Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us. 
 Ros. It is not so : For how can this be true. 
 That you stand forfeit, being those that sue 1 
 Biron. Peace ; for I will not have to do with you. 
 Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 
 Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end. 
 King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude 
 transgression 
 Some fair excuse. 
 
 Prin. The fairest is confession. 
 
 Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd ? 
 King. Madam, I was. 
 
 Prin. And were you well advis'd? 
 
 King. I was, fair madam. 
 Prin. When you then were here, 
 
 What did you whisper in your lady's ear 1 
 
 King. That more than all the world I did respect 
 
 her. 
 Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will 
 
 reject her. 
 King, Upon mine honor, no. 
 Prin. Peace, peace, forbear ; 
 
 Your oath once broke, you force ' not to forswear. 
 King. Despise me when I break this oath of mine. 
 Prin. I will ; and therefore keep it : — Rosaline, 
 What did the Russian whisper in your ear 1 
 
 Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear 
 As precious eye-sight ; and did value me 
 Above this world : adding thereto, moreover 
 That he would wed me or else die my lover. 
 
 Prin. God give thee joy of him ! the noble lord 
 Most honorably doth uphold his word. 
 
 King. What mean you, madam ] by my life, my 
 troth, 
 
 1 never swore this lady such an oath. 
 
 Ros. By heaven, you did ; and to confirm it plain 
 You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 
 
 King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give ; 
 I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. 
 
 Prin. Pardon me. sir, this jewel did she wear; 
 And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear: — 
 What, will you have me, or your pearl again 1 
 » Make no diffii^ulty. 
 
 Biron. Neither of cither; I remit both twain. — 
 I see the trick ont ; — Here was a consent,' 
 (Knowing aforehand of our merriment,) 
 To dash it like a Christmas comedy : 
 Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, 
 Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some 
 
 Dick,— 
 That smiles his cheek in years ; and knows the trick 
 To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, - 
 Told our intents before: which once disclos'd. 
 The ladies did change favors ; and then we, 
 Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
 Now, to our perjury to add more teiTor, 
 We are again forsworn ; in will, and error. 
 Much upon this it is: — And might not you, 
 
 [To BoTET 
 
 Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue 1 
 Do not you know my lady's foot by the squiie. 
 
 And laugh upon the apple of her eye? 
 And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, 
 
 Holding a trencher, jesting merrily ] 
 You put our page out : Go, you are allow'd ; 
 Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. 
 You leer upon me, do you 1 there's an eye. 
 Wounds like a leaden sword. 
 
 Boyet. Full merrily 
 
 Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 
 Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight ! Peace ; I have 
 done. 
 
 Enter Costard. 
 Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know 
 Whether the three worthies shall come in, o- no. 
 Biron. What, are there but three 1 
 Cost. No, sir ; but it is vera fine. 
 
 For every one pursents three. 
 
 Biron. And three times thrice is nine. 
 
 Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir ; I hope, 
 it is not so ; 
 You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir ; we 
 
 know what we know : 
 I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir — 
 
 Biron. Is not nine. 
 
 Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whercuntil 
 it doth amount. [nine 
 
 Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes foj 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, it were a pity you should gel 
 your living by reckoning, sir. 
 Biron. How much is it ? 
 
 Cost. Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the ac- 
 tors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount : for 
 my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one 
 man, — e'en one poor man ; Pompion the great, sir. 
 Biron. Art thou one of the worthies ? 
 Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of 
 Pompion the great : for mine own part, I know not 
 the degree of the worthy ; but I am to stand for him. 
 Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 
 Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will take 
 some care. \Exit Costard. 
 
 King. Biron, they will shame us, let them not 
 
 approach. 
 Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord ; and 'tis 
 some policy 
 To have one show worse than the king's and hii 
 company. 
 King. I say they shall not come. [now ; 
 
 Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule yo« 
 That sport best pleases, that doth least know how 
 1 Conspiracy. a Buffoon. • Square, rule. 
 
 ^i 
 
8CENE II. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
 
 Die in the zeal of them which it presents, 
 
 Their form confounded makes most form in 
 
 mirth ; 
 Wher. great things laboring perish in their birth. 
 Biron. A right description of our sport, my 
 
 lord. 
 
 Enter Armado. 
 
 Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of 
 thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of 
 words. 
 
 [Armado converses with the King, and de- 
 livers him a paper. 
 Ptin. Doth this man serve God ? 
 Biron. Why ask you 1 
 
 Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's mak- 
 ing. 
 
 Arm. That's all one, my fiiir, sweet, honey 
 monarch : for, I protest, the schoolmaster is ex- 
 ceeding fantastical ; too, too vain ; too, too vain : 
 But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna delta 
 guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most 
 royal couplement ! \^Exit Armado. 
 
 King, Here is like to be a good presence of wor- 
 thies : He presents Hector of Troy ; the swain, 
 Pompey the great ; the parish curate, Alexander ; 
 Armado's page, Hercules ; the pedant, Judas Ma- 
 chabaeus : 
 And if these four worthies in their first show 
 
 thrive, 
 These four will change habits, and present the 
 other five. 
 Biron. There is five in the first show. 
 King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so. 
 Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge- 
 priest, the fool, and the boy : — 
 Abate a throw at novum ;' and the whole world 
 
 again. 
 Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his 
 vein. 
 Ki7ig. The shiji is under sail, and here she 
 comes amain. 
 [Seats brought for the King, Princess, SfC. 
 
 Pageant of the Nine Worthies. 
 Enter Costard arm^d, for Pompey. 
 
 Cobt. I Pompey am, 
 
 Boyet. You lie, you are not he. 
 
 Cost. / Pompey am, 
 
 Boyet. With libberd's head on knee. 
 
 Biron. Well said, old mocker ; I must needs be 
 
 friends with thee. 
 Dos;. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam^d the 
 
 big,— 
 Dum. The great. 
 Cost. It is great, sir ; — Pompey sumam'd the 
 
 great ; 
 riiat oft in field, with targe and shield, did make 
 
 my foe to sweat : 
 i.nd, traveling along this coast, I here am come 
 
 by chance ; 
 And lau my arms before the kgs of this sweet 
 
 lass of France. 
 if your ladyship would say, Thanhs, Pompey, I 
 
 had done. 
 Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey, 
 
 • A game with dic«. 
 
 Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; brt, I hope, 1 
 was perfect ; I made a little fault in great. 
 
 Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves 
 the best worthy. 
 
 Enter Nathaniel arm' d, for Alexander. 
 
 Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was thi 
 world's commander, 
 By east, west, north, and south, I spread my con' 
 
 quering might : 
 My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alt 
 sander. 
 Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not ; for il 
 
 stands too right. 
 Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, mast ten- 
 
 der-smelling knight. 
 Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, 
 
 good Alexander. 
 Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the 
 
 world's commander ,- — 
 Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, All- 
 sander. 
 
 Biron. Pompey the great, 
 
 Cost. Your servant, and Costdrd. 
 
 Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away 
 Alisander. 
 
 Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown 
 Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scraped out 
 of the painted cloth for this : your lion, that holda 
 his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to 
 A-jax, he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, 
 and afeard to speak ! run away for shame, Alisan- 
 der. [Nath. retires.'] There, an't shall please you ; 
 a foolish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and 
 soon dash'd ! He is a man'ellous good neighbor, 
 in sooth ; and a very good bowler : but, for Ali- 
 sander, alas, you see, how 'tis ; — a little o'erparted : 
 — But there are worthies a coming will speak their 
 mind in some other sort. 
 
 Prin. Stand aside, go id Pompey. 
 
 Enter Holofernes arm'd, ind Moth arm'd,Jor 
 Hercults. 
 
 Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp. 
 Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed 
 canus ; 
 And lohen he was a babe, a child, a shrimp. 
 
 Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus; 
 Quoniam, he seemeth in minority ; 
 Ergo, I come with this apology. — 
 Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. 
 
 [Exit Moth 
 Hoi. Judas 1 am, — 
 Dum. A Judas ! 
 Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir. — 
 Judas I am, ycleped Machabseus. 
 
 Dum. Judas Machabseus dipt, is plain JudiJi. 
 Biron. A kissing traitor: — How art thou prov'd 
 
 Judas? 
 Hoi. Judas I am, — 
 Dum. The more shame for you, Judas. 
 Hoi. What mean you, sir 1 
 Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 
 Hoi. Begin, sir : you are my elder. 
 Biron. Well foUow'd: Judas was hang'd on ac 
 
 elder. 
 Hoi. I will not be put out ol countenance. 
 Biron. Because thou hast no face. 
 Hoi. What is this 1 
 Boyet. A cittern head 
 
176 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Dum. The head of a bodkin. 
 
 Biron. A death's face in a ring. 
 
 Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce 
 seen. 
 
 Boyet. The pummel of Casar's faulchion. 
 
 Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. 
 
 Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch. 
 
 Dum. Ay, in a brooch of lead. 
 
 Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth- 
 drawer : 
 \7ii now, forward ; for we have put thee in coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Hoi. You have put ine out of countenance. 
 
 Birun. False ; we have given thee faces. 
 
 Hot- But you have out-faced them all. 
 
 Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so 
 
 Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. 
 \nd so, adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou 
 stay 1 
 
 Dum. For the latter end of his name. 
 
 Biron. For the ass to the Jude ; give it him : — 
 Jud-as, away. 
 
 Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not 
 humble. 
 
 Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas : it grows 
 dark, he may stumble. 
 
 Prin. Alas, poor Machabaeus, how hath he been 
 baited. 
 
 [Exit HOLOFERNES. 
 
 Enter Armado arnCd, for Hector. 
 
 Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes 
 Hector in arms. 
 
 Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I 
 will now be merrry. 
 
 King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of 
 this. 
 
 Boyet. But is this Hector 1 
 
 Dum. I think. Hector was not so clean-timber'd. 
 
 Long. His leg is too big for Hector. 
 
 Dum. More calf, certain. 
 
 Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. 
 
 Biron. This cannot be Hector. 
 
 Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes 
 faces. 
 
 Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the al- 
 mighty, 
 Gave Hector a gift, — 
 
 Dum. A gilt nutmeg. 
 
 Biron. A lemon. 
 
 Long. Stuck with cloves. 
 
 Dum. No, cloven. 
 
 Arm. Peace ! 
 rhe armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, 
 
 Cave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion,- 
 i mam so breached, that certain he wouldfight,yea 
 
 From morn iiCl night, out of his pavilion. 
 I am that flower, — 
 
 Dum. That mint. 
 
 Long. That columbine. 
 
 Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 
 
 Long. I must rather give it the rein ; for it runs 
 against Hector. 
 
 Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. 
 
 Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten ; 
 sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried : 
 when he breath'd, he was a man. — But I will for- 
 ward with my device: Sweet royalty, [^To the 
 Princess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing. 
 
 f Biron whispers (Jostard. 
 
 Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we ais much de- 
 lighted. 
 
 Arm. I do adore thy liweet grace's slipper. 
 
 Boyet. Loves her by her foot. 
 
 Dum. He may not by the yard. 
 
 Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal - 
 
 Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is 
 gone ; she is two months on her way. 
 
 Arm. What meanest thou 1 
 
 Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan 
 the poor wench is cast away : she's quick ; th« 
 child brags in her belly already ; 'tis yours. 
 
 Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poltn 
 tates ? thou shalt die. 
 
 Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for .'aque 
 netta that is quick by him ; and hanged, for Pom 
 pey that is dead by him. 
 
 Dum. Most rare Pompey ! 
 
 Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! 
 
 Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great 
 Pompey ! Pompey the huge ! 
 
 Dum. Hector trembles. 
 
 Biron. Pompey is mov'd:--More Ates,° more 
 Ates ; stir them on ! stir them on ! 
 
 Dum. Hector will challenge him. 
 
 Biro7i. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's 
 belly than will sup a flea. 
 
 Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 
 
 Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern 
 man ; I'll slash ; I'll do it by the sword : — I pray 
 you, let me borrow my arms again. 
 
 Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. 
 
 Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 
 
 Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole 
 lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for 
 the combat 1 What mean you ? you vsdll lose your 
 reputation. 
 
 Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me ; I 
 will not combat in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath 
 made the challenge. 
 
 Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 
 
 Biron. What reason have you for't ? 
 
 Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt ; 
 I go woolward' for penance. 
 
 Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome 
 for want of linen : since when, I'll be sworn, ha 
 wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's ; and 
 that 'a wears next his heart, for a favor. 
 
 Enter Mercadb. 
 
 Mer. God save you, madam ! 
 
 Prin. Welcome, Mercade ; 
 But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. 
 
 Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I bring 
 Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father — 
 
 Prin. Dead, for my life. 
 
 Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. 
 
 Biron. Worthies, away ; the scene begins to 
 cloud. 
 
 Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath . 
 I have seen the day of wrong through the little 
 hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a 
 soldier. l_Exeu7it Worthies 
 
 King. How fares your majesty 1 
 
 Pnn. Boyet, prepare ; I will away to-n'ght. 
 
 6 Ate was the god of discord. 
 'Clothed in wool wither t linen. 
 
lM^W»-7.cri^M 
 
 Scene IT. 
 
 JiOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 17. 
 
 King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. 
 
 Prin. Prepare, I say. — I thank you, gracious 
 lords, 
 
 For all your fair endeavors; and entreat. 
 Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
 In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide. 
 The liberal" opposition of our sjiirits: 
 If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
 In the converse of breath, your gentleness 
 Was guilty of it.— Farewell, worthy lord' 
 A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue : 
 Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks 
 For my great suit so easily obtain'd. 
 
 Ki)ig. The extreme parts of time extremely form 
 AH causes to the purpose of his speed ; 
 And often, at his very loose, decides 
 That which long process could not arbitrate; 
 And though the mourning brow of progeny 
 Forbid the smiling courtesy of love. 
 The holy suit which fain it would convince; 
 i'et, since love's argument was lirst on foot. 
 Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
 From what it purpos'd ; since, to wail friends lost, 
 Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, 
 As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 
 
 Prin. I understand you not ; my griefs are double. 
 
 Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the earof 
 grief;— 
 \nd by these badges understand the king. 
 For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
 Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies, 
 Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humoiis 
 Even to the opposed end of our intents: 
 And what in us hath scem'd ridiculous, — 
 As love is full of unbefitting strains ; 
 All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ; 
 Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye. 
 Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, 
 ^ nrying in subjects as the eye doth roll 
 To every varied object in his glance : 
 Which part3'-coated presence of loose love 
 Put 01 by us, if, in your heavenly eyes. 
 Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities. 
 Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults. 
 Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies, 
 Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
 Is like^vise yours: we to ouiselves prove false. 
 By being once false for ever to be true 
 To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you : 
 And even that falsehood, in itself a sin. 
 Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. 
 
 Prin. We have receiv'd j' our letters, fuU of love ; 
 Your favors, the embassadors of love ; 
 Ar.tl, in our maiden council, rated them 
 A* courtship, oleasant jest, and courtesy, 
 As lombast, a.id as lining to the time : 
 But mare devout than this, in our respects. 
 Have we not been ; and thcrefo-.e met your loves 
 In their own fssliion, hke a :ner/iment. 
 
 Duin. Our letters, midam, show'd much more 
 than jest. 
 
 Long. So did our looks. 
 
 R()8. We did not quote'' them so. 
 
 King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, 
 Cirant us your loves. 
 
 Prin. A lime, methinks, too short 
 
 To make a world-without-end bargain in : 
 Vo, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much. 
 
 i V, 
 
 « Free to excess. 
 
 llegard. 
 
 Full of dear guiltiness ; and therefore this, — 
 If for my love (as there is no such cause ) 
 You will do aught, this shall you do for me 
 Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed 
 To some forlorn and naked hermitage, 
 Remote from all the pleasures of the wo Id; 
 There stay, until the twelve celestial signs 
 Have brought about their annual reckoning, 
 If this austere insociablc life 
 Change not your offer made in heat of blood, 
 If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin wceda, 
 Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, 
 But that it bear this trial, and last love; 
 Then, at the expiration of the year, 
 Conic challenge, challenge me by these deserts. 
 And, b}' this virgin palm, now kissing thine, 
 I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut 
 My woeful self up in a mourning house; 
 Raining the tears of lamentation, 
 For the remembrance of my father's death. 
 If this thou do deny, let our hands part; 
 Neither intitled in the other's heart. 
 
 King. If this, or more than this, I would deny 
 To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, 
 The sudden haiid of death close up mine eye ! 
 Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 
 Biron. And what to me, my love.l and what fca 
 
 me] 
 Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank 
 You are attaint with faults and perjury ; 
 Therefore, if you my favor mean to get, 
 A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, 
 But seek the weary beds of people sick. 
 
 Duni. But what to me, my lovel but what to rael 
 Kath. A wife ! — A beard, fair health, and ho 
 ncsty ; 
 With three-fold love I wish you all these three. 
 Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? 
 Kath. Not so, my lord; — a twelvemonth and a day 
 I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say. 
 Come when the king doth to my lady come, 
 Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. 
 Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till them. 
 Kaih. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again 
 Long. What says Maria? 
 
 Mar. At the twelvemonth's ead, 
 
 I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. 
 Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long, 
 jilar. Theliker you; few taller are so young. 
 Biron. Studies my lady ■* mistress, look on me. 
 Behold tlie window of my heart, mine eye, 
 What humble suit attends thy answer there; 
 Impose some service on me for thy love. 
 
 Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, 
 Before I saw you : and the world's large tongii* 
 Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; 
 Full of comparisons and wounding flouts; 
 Which you on all estates will execute. 
 That lie within ihe mercy of your wit: 
 To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain 
 And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, 
 (Without the wliich I am not to be won,) 
 You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day 
 Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 
 With groaning wretches ; and your task .shall be, 
 With all the fierce endeavor of your wit 
 To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 
 
 Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of 
 death ] 
 
 • Clothing. 
 
178 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 A3T V 
 
 It cnnnot be; it is impossible: 
 Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 
 
 Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, 
 Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, 
 Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: 
 A. jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
 Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
 Of him that makes it : then if sickly years, 
 Deaf 'd w^ith the clamors of their own dear groans, 
 Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, 
 And I will have you, and that fault withal ; 
 But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, 
 And I shall find you empty of that fault. 
 Right joyful of your reformation. 
 
 Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will 
 befal, 
 I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 
 
 Prin. Ay, sweet my lord : and so I take my leave. 
 
 [To the Kino 
 
 King. No, madam : we will bring you on your 
 way. 
 
 Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ; 
 Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy 
 Might well have made our sport a comedy. 
 
 King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a 
 day, 
 And then 'twill end. 
 
 Biron. ' That's too long for a play. 
 
 Enter Armado. 
 
 Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, — 
 
 Prin. Was not that Hector 1 
 
 Bum. The worthy knight of Troy. 
 
 Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger and take leave : 
 I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold 
 the plough for her sweet love three years. But, 
 most esteemed gi-eatness, will you hear the dialogue 
 that the two learned men have compiled, in praise 
 of the owl and the cuckoo 1 it should have followed 
 in the end of our show. 
 
 King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. 
 
 Arm. Holla! approach. 
 
 ^nter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Cos- 
 tard, and others. 
 
 This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; 
 the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the 
 fe'.r'ioi. Ver, begin. 
 
 SONG. 
 I. 
 
 Spring. Wften daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 And lady smocks all silver-tvhite, 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight, 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree. 
 Modes married men, for thus sings he, 
 
 Cuckoo,- 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear! 
 
 n. 
 
 When shepherds pipe on oaten straws. 
 And men-y larks are ploughmeiUs clocks. 
 
 When turtles tread, and rorucs and daws, 
 And maidei^s bleach their summer smocks. 
 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he 
 Cuckoo,- 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear 
 
 Unpleasing to a married ear! 
 
 III. 
 
 Winti!r. Whenicicles hang by the tvall. 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his mil, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
 When blood is nipp'd, and ways befoul, 
 Then nightly si?igs the staring owl, 
 
 To-who; 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
 While greasy iodiwdoth keel'^the pot, 
 IV. 
 
 When all aloud the wind doth blow. 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson^ s saw, 
 And birds sit brooding in the siww. 
 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
 Wlien roasted crabs' hiss in the bowl, 
 Theti 7iightly si7Jgs the staring owl, 
 
 To- who, - 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after th« 
 songs of Apollo. You that way; we, this way. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
KWSm.-rj: :-: 
 
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 UuB E OF Venice. 
 
 Phincb, of Mon^cco, > ^^^.^^^^ ^^ p^^^;^_ 
 
 riiiNCK OF AnnAGOx, ) 
 
 Antomo, the Mercliant o/" Venice. 
 
 Bassanio, his Friend. 
 
 Salamo, ~i 
 
 Sai.aiiino, > Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 
 
 Gkatiano, ) 
 
 Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 
 
 SiirLocK, a Jew. 
 
 Tubal, a Jew, his Friend. 
 
 Launcelot GoBBo,a Clown, Servant /oShylock. 
 
 Old GoBBo, Father to Launcelot 
 Saleiuo, a Messenger from Venice. 
 Leonardo, Servant to Bassanio. 
 Balthazar, ) ^ . . t. .■ 
 
 Stephano, \ Servants to Voxii^. 
 
 Portia, a rich Heiress. 
 Nerissa, her Waiting-Maid. 
 Jessica, Daughter to Shylock. 
 
 Magnijicoes of Venice, Officers of t'.c Court oj 
 Justice, Gaoler, Servants, and other Attcndanit. 
 
 SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat 0/ Portia, on the Continent 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Antonio, Salakino, and Salanio. 
 
 Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad ; 
 It wearies me; you say it wearies you; 
 But how I caught it, found it, or came by it. 
 What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
 r am to learn ; 
 
 \nd such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 
 That I have much ado to know myself. 
 
 Salur. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; 
 There, where your argosies' with portly sail, — 
 Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood. 
 Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
 Do ovorpecr the petty tratHckers, 
 That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, 
 ^s they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 Sahtn. Believe mc, sir, had I such venture forth. 
 The better part of my affections would 
 Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
 Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind; 
 Pecihig in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads; 
 .\nd every object, that might nuike me fear 
 Vlisfoitune to my ventures, out of doubt. 
 Would make, me sad. 
 
 Salur. My wind, cooling my broth. 
 
 Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
 What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
 stiould not see the sandy hour-glass run, 
 
 « Ships of large burdt>n. 
 
 But I should thing of shallows and of flats, 
 And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. 
 Vailing'^ her high-top lower than her ribs, 
 To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, 
 And see the holy edifice of stone, 
 And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks 1 
 Which touching but my gentle vessel's side 
 Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; 
 Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks; 
 And, in a word, but even now worth this, 
 And now worth nothing ! Shall I have the thought 
 To thinlc on this ; and shall I lack the thought, 
 That such a thing, beclianc'd,wou!d make me sad? 
 But, tell not me ; I know, Antonio 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandize. 
 
 Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune fjrit, 
 My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
 Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
 Upon the fortune of this present year : 
 Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad 
 
 Salan. Wliy then you are in love. 
 
 Ant. Fye, fyc ! 
 
 Salan. Not in love neither 1 Then let's say, yov 
 are sad, 
 Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy 
 For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you arc merry. 
 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus^ 
 Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time : 
 Some that will evermore peep through their cyea, 
 And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; 
 
 •Lowering. 
 179 
 
180 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act I 
 
 And other of such vinegar aspect, 
 
 That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
 
 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 
 
 Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble 
 Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; [kinsman. 
 We leave you now with better company. 
 
 Salar. I would have staid till I had made you 
 \f worthier friends had not prevented me. [merry, 
 
 4nf. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it, your own business calls on you, 
 'Ind you embrace the occasion to depart. 
 
 Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 
 
 Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? 
 Say, when ? 
 You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? 
 
 Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
 [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 
 
 Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found An- 
 We two will leave you : but, at dinner-time, [tonio, 
 I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 
 
 Bass. I will not fail you. 
 
 Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio ; 
 You have too much respect upon the world : 
 They lose it, that do buy it with much care. 
 Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 
 
 Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano : 
 A stage where every man must play a part, 
 And mine a sad one. 
 
 Gra. Let me play the Fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
 \nd let my liver rather heat with wine. 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
 Sleep when he wakes 1 and creep into the jaundice 
 By being peevish 1 I tell thee what, Antonio, — 
 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; 
 There are a sort of men, whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; 
 And do a wilful stillness' entertain, 
 With pui-pose to be dress'd in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
 As who should say, / am sir Oracle, 
 And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark ! 
 O, my Antonio, I do know of these. 
 That therefore only are reputed wise. 
 For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure. 
 If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, 
 Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, 
 I'll tell thee more of this another time: [fools. 
 But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 
 For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — 
 Come, good Lorenzo : — Fare ye well, a while ; 
 I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 
 
 hor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time: 
 I must be one of these same dumb wise men. 
 For Gratiano never lets me speak. 
 
 Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more. 
 Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 
 
 Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. 
 
 Gra. Thanks, i'faith ; for silence is only com- 
 mendable 
 In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 
 \Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. 
 
 Ant. Is that any thing now ? 
 
 Boiih. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
 more than any man in all Venice : His reasons are 
 as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; 
 » Obstinate silence. 
 
 you shall seek all day ere you find them : and, wheB 
 you have them, they arc not worth the search. 
 
 xint. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this sami 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
 That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 
 
 Ba.'^s. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate. 
 By something showing a more swelling port 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
 Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
 From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
 Is, to come fairly olffrom the great debts, 
 Wiierein my time, something too prodigal. 
 Hath left me gaged : To you, Antonio, 
 I owe the most, in money, and in love ; 
 And from your love I have a warranty 
 To unburthcn all my plots, and purposes, 
 How to get clear of all the debts I owe= 
 
 Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know if 
 And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
 Within the eye of honor, be assured. 
 My purse, my person, my extremest means. 
 Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 
 
 Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft 
 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
 The self-same way, with more advised watch. 
 To find the other Ibrth ; and by advent'ring both, 
 I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, 
 Because what follows is pure innocence. 
 I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth. 
 That which I owe is lost : but if you please 
 To shoot another arrow that self way 
 Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
 As I will watch the aim, or to find both, 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 
 
 Ant. You know me well; and herein spend bu! 
 time. 
 To wind about my love with circumstance; 
 And, out of doubt, you do me now more v/rong. 
 In making question of my uttermost. 
 Than if you had made waste of all I have: 
 Then do but say to me what I should do. 
 That in your knowledge may by me be done. 
 And I am prcst' unto it: therefore speak. 
 
 Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, 
 And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, 
 Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes* fi-om her eyes 
 I did receive fair speechless messages : 
 Her name is Portia : nothing undervalued 
 To Gate's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
 Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth; 
 For the four winds blow in from every coast 
 Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks 
 Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; 
 Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand 
 And many .lasons come in quest of her. 
 
 my Antonio, had I but the means 
 To hold a rival place with one of them, 
 
 1 have a mind presages me such thrift. 
 That I should questionless be fortunate. 
 
 Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are atsei^ 
 Nor have I money, nor commodity 
 To raise a present sum : therefore go forth, 
 Try what my credit can in Venice do ; 
 That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost. 
 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
 Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
 Where money is ; and I no question make. 
 To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [ExeunL 
 * Beady. • Formerly 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 181 
 
 SCENE II. — Belmont, yl iioomm Portia's i/otwe. 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is 
 a- weary of this ^eat world. 
 
 Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mi- 
 scries were in the same abundance as your good 
 fortunes are : And yet, for aught I see, they are as 
 eick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 
 with nothing : It is no mean happiness, therefore, 
 to be seated in the mean ; superfluity comes sooner 
 by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 
 
 For. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 
 
 Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 
 
 For. If to do were as easy as to know what were 
 good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor 
 men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine 
 that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach 
 twenty what were good to be done, than be one of 
 the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain 
 may devise laws for the blood ; but a hot temper 
 leaps over a cold decree : such a hare is madness 
 the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel 
 the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion 
 to choose me a husband : — O me, the word choose ! 
 I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse 
 whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter 
 curb'd by the will of a dead father : — Is it not hard, 
 Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none 1 
 
 Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy 
 men, at their death, have good inspirations ; there- 
 fore, the lottery that he hath devised in these three 
 chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses 
 his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never 
 be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall 
 rightly love. But what warmth is there in your 
 aiTection towards any of these princely suitors that 
 are already come 1 
 
 For. I pray thee over-name them ; and as thou 
 namest them, I will describe them ; and, according 
 to my description, level at my affection. 
 
 Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 
 For. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing 
 but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great ap- 
 propriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe 
 him himself: I am much afraid, my lady, his 
 mother, played false with a smith. 
 
 Ner. Then, is there the county^ Palatine. 
 
 For. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should 
 say. An if you will not have me, choose,- he hears 
 merry tales, and smiles not: I fear he will prove 
 the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being 
 80 full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had 
 rather be married to a death's head with a bone in 
 his mouth, than to either of these. God defend 
 me from these two ! 
 
 Ner. How say you by the French lord, monsieur 
 Fie Bon ? 
 
 For. God made him, and therefore let him pass 
 for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a 
 mocker : But, he ! why, he hath a horse better than 
 the Neapolitan's ; a better bad habit of frowning 
 than the count Palatine: he is every man in no 
 man : if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; 
 he will fence with his own shadow : if I should 
 marry liim, I should marry twenty husbands : If 
 he would despise me, I would forgive him ; for if he 
 love me to madness, I shall never reciuitc him. 
 
 Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge. the 
 young baron of England ? 
 
 •Count 
 13 
 
 For. You know, I say nothing to him ; for li6 
 understands not me, nor I him : he hath neither 
 Latin, French, nor Italian ; and you will come into 
 the court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth 
 in the English. He is a proper man's picture; But, 
 alas ! who can converse with a dumb show 1 How 
 Oildly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet 
 iri Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in 
 ( Jtrmany, and his behavior every where. 
 
 Ner. What thmk you of the Scottish lord, his 
 neighbor 1 
 
 I'or. That he hath a neighborly charity in him; 
 Ibr he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englttih- 
 man, and swore he would pay him again, when he 
 was able: I think, the Frenchman became his surety, 
 and sealed under for another. 
 
 Ner. How like you the young German, the duko 
 of Saxony's nephew] 
 
 For. Very vilely in the morning when he is 
 sober; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is 
 drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than a 
 man; and when he is worst, he is little better than 
 a beast: an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, T 
 shall make shift to go without him. 
 
 Ner. If he should offer to choose, and chocse 
 the right casket, you should refuse to perform your 
 father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. 
 
 For. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, 
 set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary 
 casket; for, if the devil be within, and that temp- 
 tation without, I know he will choose it. I will do 
 any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge. 
 
 Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of 
 these lords, they have acquainted me with their 
 determinations: which is indeed, to return to their 
 home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless 
 you may be won by some other sort than your fa- 
 ther's imposition, depending on the caskets. 
 
 For. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die 
 as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the 
 manner of my father's will : I am glad this parcel 
 of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one 
 among them but I dote on his very absence, and I 
 pray God grant them a fair departure. 
 
 Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
 time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that 
 came hither in company of the Marquis of Mont- 
 ferrat ^ 
 
 For. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so 
 was he called. 
 
 Ner. True, madam ; he of all the men that eve. 
 my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best dcserv 
 ing a fair lady. 
 
 For. I remember him well; and Iremembei him 
 worthy of thy praise. — How now! what news? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
 to take their leave: and there is a fore-runner come 
 from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; who brings 
 word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 
 
 For. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so 
 good heart, as I can bid the other four farewell, I 
 should be glad of his approach: if he have the con- 
 dition" of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I 
 had rather he should shrive me than wive me. 
 Come, Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles wa 
 shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at 
 the door. [^Exeunt 
 
 1 Temper, qualities. 
 
182 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 SCENE III.— Venice. A Public Place. 
 Enter Bassanio and Shylock. 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well. 
 
 Buss. Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shy. For three months, — well. 
 
 Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall 
 be bound. 
 
 Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. 
 
 Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? 
 Shall I know your answer? 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, 
 ftnd Antonio bound. 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the 
 oontrary ? 
 
 Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; — my meaning, in say- 
 ing he is a good man, is to have you understand me, 
 that he is sufficient: yet his means are in supposition: 
 he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the 
 Indies : I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he 
 
 hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, 
 
 and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad : 
 But ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be 
 land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land- 
 thieves ; I mean, pirates ; and then, there is the 
 peril of waters, winds, and rocks: The man is, not- 
 withstanding, sufficient; — three thousand ducats; 
 — I think I may take his bond. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. 1 will be assured, I may ; and, that I may 
 be assured, I will bethink me : May I speak with 
 Antonio ? 
 
 Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shy. Yej, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation 
 which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil 
 into : I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with 
 you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not 
 eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. 
 What news on the Rialto? — Who is he comes here? 
 JS lifer Antokio. 
 
 Bass. This is signior Antonio. 
 
 Shy. [.iside.] How like a fawning publican he 
 I hate him, for he is a Christian : [looks ! 
 
 But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
 Ho lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 , He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
 Even there where merchants most do congregate. 
 On me, my bargains, and mj' well won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest: Cursed be my tribe. 
 If I forgive him ! 
 
 Bass. Shylock, do you hear? 
 
 Shy. I am debating of my present store j 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 Of full three thousand ducats : What of that? 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe. 
 Will furnish me : But soft; How many months 
 D.) you desire? — Rest you fair, good signior ; 
 
 [Tj Antonio. 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 
 
 Aiif. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow 
 By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
 Yet to supply the ripe wants* of my friend, 
 I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd,' 
 How much you would ? 
 
 Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Ant. And for three months. 
 
 Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me so. 
 
 SV^ell then, your bond; and, let 'Jie see, But 
 
 hear you ; 
 
 • Wants which admit no longer delay. » Informed. 
 
 Methought, you said, you neither lend nor j>orrow, 
 Upon advantage. 
 
 Ant. I do never use it. 
 
 Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's Bhee];\ 
 This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
 (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf) 
 The third possessor ; ay, he was the third. 
 
 Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? 
 
 Shy. No, not take interest; not, as j'ou would say, 
 Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
 When Laban and himself were compromis'd, 
 That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and pie- 
 Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being rank, 
 In the end of autumn turned to the r.ams : 
 And when the work of generation was 
 Between these woolly breeders in the act. 
 The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands. 
 And in the doing of the deed of kind,' 
 He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes; 
 AVho, then conceiving, did in eaning time 
 Fall party-color'd lambs, and those were Jacob's, 
 This was the way to thrive, and he was blest; 
 And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 
 
 Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for • 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass. 
 But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven 
 Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
 Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams ? 
 
 Shy. I cannot tell : I make it breed as fast :— 
 But note me, signior. 
 
 Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 
 
 The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
 An evil soul, producing holy witness, 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart; 
 0, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! [sum. 
 
 .S'^^. Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round 
 Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 
 
 Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you? 
 
 Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and o*l, 
 In the Rialto you have rated me 
 About my monies, and my usances ;2 
 Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; 
 For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
 You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog. 
 And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 
 And all for use of that which is mine own. 
 Well then, it now appears, you need my help. 
 Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
 Shylock, ice woidd have monies; You say so; 
 You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
 And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur 
 Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
 What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
 Nath a doc) money ? is it possible, 
 A cur can lend three thousand ducats f or 
 Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key. 
 With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness^ 
 
 Say this, 
 
 Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday la»t; 
 You spuni'd n.e such a day; another time 
 You call'dme — dog; and for these courteeitt 
 I'll lend you thus much monies? 
 
 Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 As to thy friends; (for wheji did friendship taK» 
 A breed for barren metal of his friend ?) 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
 Who if he break, thou may'st with better face 
 Exact the penalty. 
 
 Shy. Why, look you, how you storm i 
 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
 Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with; 
 Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
 
 ' Nature. 
 
 » Inter<»«' 
 
Aci II Scene 1. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 183 
 
 Of usancj for my monies, and you'll not hear me. 
 This is kind I offer. 
 
 A)it. Tliis were kindness. 
 
 Sin/. This kindness will I show : 
 
 (Jo with me to a notary, seal me there 
 Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
 If you repay me not on such a day, 
 In sucli a place, such sura, or sums, as are 
 Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
 Be nominated for an equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 In what part of j'our body pleaseth me. 
 
 Ant. Content, in faith ; I'll seal to such a bond. 
 And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
 Bnsn. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, 
 I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 Ant. Why, fear not, man : I will not forfeit it; 
 Within these two months, that's a month before 
 This bond expires, I do expect return 
 Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 
 
 S/i^. father Abraham, what these Christians are; 
 Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
 
 The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this; 
 
 If he should break his day, what should I gain 
 
 By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 
 
 A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man. 
 
 Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
 
 As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say 
 
 To buy his favor, I extend this friendship : 
 
 If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
 
 And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. 
 
 Ant. Y''es, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 
 
 Shi/. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
 Give him direction for this merry bond, 
 And I will go and purse the ducats straight ; 
 See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
 Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
 I will be with you. [ Exit 
 
 Ant. Hie thee, geatle Jew. 
 
 This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kin 1. 
 
 Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. 
 
 Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dismay. 
 My ships come home a month before the day. 
 
 [^Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 feCENE I. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco 
 
 and his Train; Portia, Nerissa, and other of 
 
 her Attendants. 
 
 3[i)r. Mislike me not for my complexion, 
 The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
 To whom I am a neighbor, and near bred. 
 Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
 Whore Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles. 
 And let us make incision^ for your love. 
 To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. 
 I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine , 
 
 Hath fear'd^ the valiant; by my love, I swear. 
 The best regarded virgins of our clime 
 Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue. 
 Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 
 
 P-)r. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
 B3' nice direction of a maiden's eyes; 
 Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
 Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : 
 But, if my father had not scanted me. 
 And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
 His wife, who wins me by that means I told you, 
 Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair, 
 As any comer I have look'd on yet, 
 For my affection. 
 
 Mor. Even for that I thank you ; 
 
 Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets. 
 To try my fortune. By this scimitar, — 
 That slew the Sophj', and a Persian prince. 
 That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, — 
 I would out-stare the sternest e3'es that look. 
 Out brave the heart most daring on the earth. 
 Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she bear, 
 Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 
 To win thee, lady : But, alas the while ! 
 If Hercules, and Lichas, play at dice 
 Which is the better man, the greater throw 
 May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
 So is Aleides beaten by his page; 
 And so may I, l)lind fortune leading me, 
 Miss that which one unworthier may attain. 
 And die with grieving. 
 
 I''"'- You must take your chance; 
 
 And cither not attempt to choose at all. 
 Or swear, before you choose, — if you choose wrong, 
 N^cver to speak to lady afterward 
 In way of marriage : therefore be advis'd. 
 
 •Allusion to the Eiistcrn custom for lovers to testify 
 .•ti'ir p.assioa by ctttiug themselves in their mistresses' 
 «ii.'J)t. < Terrified. 
 
 Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance. 
 
 For. First, forward to the temple ; after dinner 
 Your hazard shall be made. 
 
 Mor. Good fortune then ! [ Cornets. 
 
 To make me blest or cursed'st among men. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Venice. A Street 
 
 Enter Launcelot Gobbo. 
 
 Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to 
 run from this Jew, my master : The fiend is at 
 mine elbow; and tempts me, saying to me, Gohho, 
 Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or 
 good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, 
 run away: My conscience says, — vo ; take heed, 
 honest Launcelot ; take heed, honest Gobbo/ or, as 
 aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn 
 running with thy heels: Well, the most courageous 
 fiend bids me pack ; via ! says the fiend ; away ! s:\y9 
 the fiend, yor ?7/e heavens; rouxe uj) a brave mind, 
 says the fiend, and run. Well, my conscience, hang- 
 ing about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to 
 me, — my honest friend Launcelot, being an honest 
 man's son, — or rather an honest woman's son ; — for, 
 indeed, my father did something smack, something 
 grow to, he had a kind of taste : — well, my conscience 
 says, Launcelot, budge not; budge, says the fiend; 
 budge not, gays my conscience : Conscience, saj' 1, 
 you counsel well; fiend, say I, you counsel well : to 
 be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the 
 Jew my master, who (God bless the mark !) is a kind 
 of devil ; and, to ran away from the Jew, I should 
 be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, 
 is the devil himself: Certainly, the Jew is the very 
 devil incarnation ; and, in my conscience, my con- 
 science is but a kind of hard conscience, to olTer to 
 counsel me to stay with the Jew : The fiend gives 
 the more friendly counsel : I will run, fiend ; my 
 heels are at your commandment, I will run. 
 
 Enter old Gobbo, with a Basket. 
 
 Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you; wh U 
 is the way to master Jew's ? 
 
 Laun. [Aside.] heavens, this is my true-be- 
 gotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, 
 high-gravel blind, knows me not: — I will try ton- 
 clusions^ with him. 
 
 Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which 
 is the way to master Jew's ? 
 
 Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next 
 
 > Kxperimento. 
 
184 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act li 
 
 turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your 
 left : marry, at the very next turning, turn of no 
 hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. 
 
 Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to 
 hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that 
 dwells with him, dwell with him, or no? 
 
 Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot ? — 
 Mark me now ; [^Aside.'] now will I raise the waters : 
 --Talk you of young master Launcelot 7 
 
 Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son ; his 
 father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor 
 man, and, God be thanked, well to live. 
 
 Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we 
 talk of young master Launcelot, 
 
 Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 
 
 Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I be- 
 seech you ; Talk you of young master Launcelot 1 
 
 Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 
 
 Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot ; talk not of 
 master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman 
 (according to fates and destinies, and such odd 
 sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of 
 learning,) is indeed deceased ; or, as you would 
 say, in plain terms, gone to heaven. 
 
 Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very 
 staff of my age, my very prop. 
 
 Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, 
 a staff, or a prop ? — Do you know me, father ? 
 
 Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young 
 gentleman ; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy 
 (God rest his soul !) alive or dead ? 
 
 Laun. Do you not know me, father? 
 
 Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. 
 
 Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you 
 might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father, 
 that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell 
 you newsof your son: Give me your blessing : truth 
 will come to light ; murder cannot be hid long, a 
 man's son may ; but, in the end, truth will out. 
 
 Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure you are 
 not Launcelot, my boy. 
 
 Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about 
 it, but give me your blessing ; I am Launcelot, your 
 boy that was, your son that is, your child that 
 shall be. 
 
 Gob, I cannot think you are my son. 
 
 Laun. I know not what I shall think of that : 
 but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man ; and, I am 
 sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother. 
 
 Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I'll be sworn, 
 if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and 
 blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be ! what a beard 
 hast thou got ! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, 
 than Dobbin, my thill-horse,' has on his tail. 
 
 Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail 
 grows backward ; I am sure he had more hair on his 
 tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw him. 
 
 Gob. Lord, how art thou chang'd ! How dost 
 thou and thy master agree ? I have brought him a 
 jtresent ; How 'gree you now ] 
 
 Laun. Well, well : but for mine own part, as I 
 have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest 
 till I have run some ground : my master's a very 
 Jew : Give him a present ! give him a halter : I am 
 famish'd in his service ; you may tell every finger 
 I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are 
 come ; give me your present to one master Bassa- 
 nio, who indeed gives rare new liveries ; if I serve 
 not hiin, I will run as far as God has any ground. — 
 « Shaft-horse. 
 
 rare fortune ! here comes the mun ;— to him fathet 
 for I am a Jew, if I sei-ve the Jew any longer. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and other 
 Followers. 
 
 Bass. You may do so ; — 'but let it be so hasted, 
 that supper be ready at the farthest by five of th« 
 clock: See these letters delivered ; put the liveiiesi 
 to making ; and desire Gratiano to come anon to 
 my lodging. [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Laun. To him, father. 
 
 Gob. God bless your worship ! 
 
 Bass. Gramercy : Wouldst thou aught with mfr' 
 
 Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, 
 
 Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's 
 man ; that would, sir, as my father shall specify, 
 
 Gob. He hath a gi'eat infection, sir, as one would 
 say, oo serve 
 
 Laun. Indeed the short and the long is, I sei-ve th« 
 Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall specify, — 
 
 Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship'" 
 reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins : 
 
 Laun. 'To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew 
 having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, 
 being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto you, — 
 
 Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would 
 bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is, 
 
 Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to 
 myself, as your worship shall know by this honest 
 old man ; and, though I say it, though an old man, 
 yet, poor man, my father. 
 
 Bass. One speak for both : — What would you? 
 
 Laun. Serve you, sir. 
 
 Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir. 
 
 Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy 
 Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, [suit: 
 And hath prcferr'd thee, if it be preferment 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
 Laun. The old proverb is very well parted be- 
 tween my master Shylock and you, sir ; you have 
 the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. 
 
 Bass. Thou spcak'st it well : Go, father, with thy 
 Take leave of thy old master, and enquire [son : — 
 My lodging out : — Give him a livery 
 
 [To his Followers. 
 More guarded' than his fellows : See it done. 
 
 Laun. Father, in : — I cannot get a service, no ; 
 — I have ne'er a tongue in my head. — Well ; [look- 
 irig on his palm.'] if any man in Italy have a fair- 
 er table,^ which doth offer to swear upon a book. 
 
 1 shall have good fortune ; Go to, here's a simple 
 line of life ! here's a small trifle of wives : Alas, 
 fifteen wives is nothing ; eleven widows, and nine 
 maids, is a simple coming-in for one man: and 
 then, to 'scape drowning thrice ; and to be in peril 
 of my life with the edge of a feather-bed ;— here 
 are simple 'scapes ! Well, if fortune be a woman, 
 she's a good wench for this gear. — Father, come; 
 I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an 
 eye. [Exeunt Launcelot and old Gobbo 
 
 Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this 
 These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd 
 Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
 My best-esteem'd acquaintance ; hie thee, go. 
 
 Leon. My best endeavors shall be done herein 
 
 Enter Gratiano. 
 Gra. Where is your master ? 
 ■> Ornamented. s The palm of the hand extended. 
 
BcE'Nfi in. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 180 
 
 Leo7i. Yondt-r, sir, he walks. [^Exit Leonardo. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, — 
 
 Bass. Gratiano ! 
 
 Gra. I have a suit to you. 
 
 Bass. You have obtain'd it. 
 
 G)-a. You must not deny me ; I must go with 
 you to Behnont. [tiano ; 
 
 Bass. Why, then you must : — But hear thee, Gra- 
 Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; — 
 Parts, that become thee happily enough. 
 And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; 
 But where thou art not knovvn,why, there they show 
 Something too liberal :' — pray thee, take pain 
 To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
 Thy skipping spirit ; lest, through thy wild be- 
 I be misconstrued in the place I go to, [havior. 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 G?-a. Signior Bassanio, hear me: 
 
 If I do not put on a sober habit, 
 Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
 Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
 Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
 Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen ; 
 Use all the observance of civility. 
 Like one well studied in a sad ostent,' 
 To please his gi'andam, never trust me more. 
 Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing.^ 
 
 Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night ; you shall not 
 By what we do to-night. [gage me, 
 
 Bass. No, that were pity ; 
 
 I would entreat you rather to put on 
 Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
 That purpose merriment: But fare you well, 
 [ have some business. 
 
 Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ; 
 But we will visit you at supper-time. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IIL— ^ Room in Shylock's House. 
 Enter Jessica and Launcelot. 
 
 Jes. I am sorry, thou wilt leave my father so ; 
 Our house is hell ; but thou, a merry devil. 
 Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness : 
 But fare thee well ; there is a ducat for thee. 
 And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
 Lorenzo, wlio is thy new master's guest: 
 Give him this letter ; do it secretly. 
 And so farewell ; I would not have my father 
 See me talk with thee. 
 
 Laiin. Adieu ! — tears exhibit my tongue. — 
 Most beautiful pagan, — most sweet Jew ! If a 
 Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I 
 am much deceiv'd : But, adieu ! these foolish drops 
 do somewhat drown my manly spirit; adieu ! [Exit, 
 
 Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. — 
 Alack, what heinous sin it is in me 
 To be ashamed to be my father's child ! 
 But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
 [ am not to his manners : O Lorenzo, 
 If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife ; 
 Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [^Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Street. 
 Enter GRATiANO,IiORESzo, Salauino, andSAhA.mo. 
 
 Lor. Na}-, we will slink away in supper-time ; 
 Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
 Ml in an hour. 
 
 Gra. We have not made good preparation. 
 
 &ilar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. 
 
 • Licentious. « Show of staid ar.d serious demeanor. 
 
 • Carriage, deportment. i 
 
 Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be qunintl'^ ovdcr'd 
 And better, in my mind, not undertook. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have two 
 To furnish us : — [houra 
 
 Enter Launcelot, wit/i a letter. 
 
 Friend Launcelot, what's the news ? 
 
 Laun. An it shall please you to break up this 
 it shall seem to signify. 
 
 Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair band; 
 And whiter than the paper it writ on, 
 Is the fair hand that writ. 
 
 Gra. Love-news, in faith, 
 
 Laun. By your leave, sir. 
 
 Lor. Whither goest thou ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master t.he Jew 
 to sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 
 
 Lor. Hold here, take this : — tell gentle Jessica, 
 I will not fail her ; — speak it privately ; go. — 
 Gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot 
 
 Will you prepare you for this masque to-night \ 
 I am provided of a torch-bearer, 
 
 Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight, 
 
 Salan. And so will I. 
 
 Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano 
 
 At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 
 
 Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 
 
 [Exeunt Salar. and Salan. 
 
 Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica 1 
 
 Lor. I must needs tell thee all : She hath directed 
 How I shall take her from her father's house ; 
 What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with ; 
 What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
 If e'er the Jew, her father, come to heaven. 
 It wdll be for his gentle daughter's sake : 
 And never dare misfortune cro-ss her foot. 
 Unless she do it under this excuse, — 
 That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
 Come, go with me ; peruse this, as thou goest : 
 Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE Y.— Before Shylock's House. 
 Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 
 Shy. "V\^ell, thou shalt see, thy eyes shalt be thy 
 
 juilge. 
 The dilference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
 What, Jessica! — thou shalt not gormandize. 
 As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! — 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
 Why, Jessica, I say ! 
 
 Laun. Why, Jessica ! 
 
 •S'^^. Who bids thee call 1 I do not bid thee call 
 
 Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, ■ 
 could do nothing without bidding. 
 Enter Jessica. 
 
 Jes. Call you ? What is your will ? 
 
 Shy. I am bid* forth to supper, J«ssica ; 
 There are my keys : — But wherefore should I go 1 
 I am not bid for love : they flatter me : 
 But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 
 The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl. 
 Look to my house : — I am right loath to go ; 
 There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, 
 For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 
 
 Laun. I beseech you, sir, go ; my young master 
 doth expect your reproach. 
 
 Shy. So do I his. 
 
 Laun. And they have conspired together.- ' 
 
 » Invito*. 
 
A8b' 
 
 MEECHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act U 
 
 V 
 
 will not S!iy, you shall see a masque ; but if you do, 
 then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a 
 bleeding on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i'the 
 morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday 
 was four year in the afternoon. 
 
 Shy. What! are there masques ] Hear you me, 
 Jessica : 
 Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, 
 And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife. 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then. 
 Nor thrust your head into the public street. 
 To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces : 
 But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements ; 
 JjCt not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
 My sober house. — By Jacob's staff, I swear 
 I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
 But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah; 
 Say, I will come. 
 
 Laun. I will go before, sir. — 
 
 Mistress, look out at window, for all this ; 
 There will come a Christian by. 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Laitn. 
 
 Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, 
 ha ? 
 
 Jes. His words were, Farewell mistress ; nothing 
 else. 
 
 Shy. The patch is kind enough; but a huge feeder. 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 More than the wild-cat ; drones hive not with me ; 
 Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
 To one that I would have him help to waste 
 His bonow'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in ; 
 Perhaps. I will return immediately ; 
 Do, as I bid you. 
 
 Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fost find ; 
 A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 
 
 Jes. Farewell : and if my fortune be not crost, 
 I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE \l.—The same. 
 Enter Gratiano and Salahino, mashed. 
 
 Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo 
 Desir'd us to make stand. 
 
 Salar. His hour is almost past. 
 
 Gj-a. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
 For lovers ever run before the clock. 
 
 Salar O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
 To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont, 
 To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 
 
 Gra. That ever holds : Who riseth from a feast. 
 With that keen appetite that he sits down ? 
 Where is the horse that doth untread again 
 His tedious measures with the unbated fire 
 That he did pace them first 1 All things that are, 
 Aie with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
 Huw like a younker, or a prodigal. 
 The scaried bark puts from her native bay ' 
 Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind ! 
 How like the prodigal doth she return ; 
 With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails. 
 Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 Salar. Here comes Lorenzo ; — more of this here- 
 after, [abode ; 
 Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long 
 Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait ; 
 When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
 I'll watch as long for you then. — Approach ; 
 Here dwells my father Jew : — Ho ! who's within ? 
 
 Enter Jessica, above, in Bot/s clothes. 
 
 Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certaintj 
 Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ; 
 For who love I so much ? And now who knows> 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 
 
 Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that 
 thou art. 
 
 Jes. Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains 
 I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 
 For I am much asham'd of my exchange : 
 But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
 The pretty follies that themselves commit: 
 For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
 To see me thus transformed to a boy. 
 
 Lor. Descend, for )'ou must be my torch-bearei 
 
 Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames' 
 They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
 Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; 
 And I should be obscur'd. 
 
 Lor. So are you, sweet, 
 
 Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
 But come at once; 
 
 For the close night doth play the run-away, 
 And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. 
 
 Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
 With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 
 
 [Exit, from above. 
 
 Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew. 
 
 Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily : 
 For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
 And true she is, as she hath proved herself; 
 And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true. 
 Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 
 
 Enter Jessica, below. 
 What, art thou come 1 — On, gentlemen, away ; 
 Our masquing mates by this time for us stay- 
 
 [Exit, with Jessica and Salarino. 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Who's there 1 
 
 Gra. Signior Antonio ? 
 
 Ant. Fye, fye, Gratiano ! where are all the resti 
 'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you: — 
 No masque to-night ; the wind is come about, 
 Bassanio presently will go aboard: 
 I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 
 
 Gra. I am glad on't; I desire no more delight. 
 Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Vn.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's 
 House. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter Poiitia, with ths 
 Prince of Morocco, and both their Trains. 
 
 For. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover 
 The several caskets to this noble prince :- 
 Now make your choice. 
 
 Mor. The first, of gold, which this inscription 
 bears ; — 
 Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
 The second, silver, which this promise carries ; — 
 Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. 
 This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ;— 
 Who chooseth me, must give andhazardullhe haik 
 How shall I know if I do choose the right 1 
 
 For. The one of them contains my picture, prin-e 
 If you choose that, then T am yours withal. 
 
DCENE VII 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 187 
 
 Mor. Sor^e god direct my judgment! Let me see, 
 [ will survey the inscriptions back again : 
 What says this leaden casket 1 
 Who chooseth me, must give andhazardallhe hath. 
 Must give — For what ] for lead 1 hazard for lead 1 
 This casket threatens ; Men, that hazard all. 
 Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
 A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross • 
 I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead 
 What says the silver, with her virgin hue ? 
 Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. 
 As much as he deserves 1 — Pause there, Morocco. 
 And weigh thy value with an even hand : 
 [f thou be'st rated by thy estimation, 
 Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough 
 May not extend so far as to the lady; 
 And yet to be afeard of my deserving. 
 Were but a weak disabling of myself. 
 As much as I deserve ! — 'Why, that's the lady : 
 I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, 
 In graces, and in qualities of breeding; 
 But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
 What if I stray'd no further, but chose herel — 
 Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold : 
 Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire. 
 Why, that's the lady ; all the world desires her : 
 From the four corners of the earth they come, 
 To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
 The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 
 Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now. 
 For princes to come view fair Portia: 
 The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 
 Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
 To stop the foreign spirits; but they come. 
 As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
 One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
 Is't like, that lead contains herl 'T were damnation, 
 To think so base a thought; it were too gross 
 To rib^ her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
 Or shall I think, in silver she's iramur'd. 
 Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold! 
 O sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem 
 Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 
 A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
 Stamped in gold ; but that's insculp'd' upon ; 
 But here an angel in a golden bed 
 Lies all within. — Deliver me the key ; 
 Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 
 
 Por. There, take it, prince, and if my form lie 
 there. 
 Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. 
 
 Mor. O hell T what have we herel 
 
 A carrion death, within whose empty eye 
 Tlvcre is a written scroll? I'll read the writing. 
 
 All that glisters is not gold, 
 Often have you heard that told: 
 Many a man his life hath sold, 
 But my outside to behold: 
 Gilded tombs do worms infold, 
 Had you been as wise as bold. 
 Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
 Your answer had not been inscrolVd: 
 Fare you well,- your suit is cold. 
 
 Cold, indeed ; and laI)or lost : 
 
 Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost. — 
 Poitia, adieu ! I have too griev'd a heart 
 To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. [Exit. 
 
 • Kncloso 
 
 » EngraTcn , 
 
 Por. A gentle riddance: Di aw the curtains 
 
 go; 
 
 Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VIII.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Salaiiino and Walajiio. 
 
 Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
 With him is Gratiano gone al mg- 
 And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 
 
 Salun. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd (h« 
 duke ; 
 Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 
 
 Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail , 
 But there the duke was given to understand, 
 That in a gondola were seen together 
 Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 
 Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke, 
 They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 
 
 Salan. 1 never heard a passion so confus'd. 
 So strange, outrageous, and so variable. 
 As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
 My daughter/ O my ducats/ — O my daughter! 
 Fled with a Christian? — O my Christian ducats f 
 Justice / the law / my ducats, and my daughter ! 
 A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, 
 Of double ducats, stornfrom me by my daughter ! 
 And jewels ; two stones, two rich and precious 
 
 stones, 
 StoVn by my daughter / — Justice / find the girl ! 
 She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats ! 
 
 Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, 
 Crying, — his stones, his daughter, and his ducata. 
 
 Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day 
 Or he shall pay for this. 
 
 Salar. Marry, well remember'd • 
 
 I reason'd' with a Frenchman yesterday; 
 Who told me, — in the narrow seas, that part 
 The French and English, there miscarried 
 A vessel of our country, richly fraught : 
 I thought upon Antonio, when he trld me ; 
 And wish'd in silence, that it were not his. [hear ^ 
 
 Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you 
 Vet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 
 
 Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the eartk 
 I saw Bassanio and Antonio part: 
 Bassanio told him, he would make some speed 
 Of his return ; he answer'd — Do not so. 
 Slubber^ not Inisiness for my sake, Bassanio, 
 But stay the very riping of the time,- 
 And fur the Jew's bond, which he hath of Vie, 
 Let it not enter in your mind of love: 
 Be merry; and employ your chiefcst thoughts 
 To courtship, and such fair ostents^ of love 
 As shall conveniently become you there: 
 And even there, his eye being big with tears, 
 Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
 And with affection wondrous sensible 
 He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted. 
 
 Salan. I think he only loves the world for hire 
 I pray thee, let us go, and find him out. 
 And quicken his embraced heaviness'' 
 With some delight or other. 
 
 Salar. Do we so. [ Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IX.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's House, 
 
 Enter Nr.nissA, loj'M cr Servant. 
 
 Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtail 
 straight ; 
 
 ' Conversect. » To slubber is to do a thing carelessly. 
 • Shows, tokens. ' The heaviness he is ford ol 
 
IS8 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act in 
 
 The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, 
 And comes to his election presently. 
 
 Flourish of Comets. Enter the Prince of Arra- 
 gon, Portia, and their Trains. 
 
 For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince. 
 If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, 
 Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd; 
 But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, 
 You must be gone from hence immediately. 
 
 Ar. I am enjoin'd tiy oath to observe three things: 
 First, never to unfold to any one 
 Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail 
 Of the right casket, never in my life 
 To woo a maid in way of marriage ; lastly, 
 If I do fail in fortune of my choice. 
 Immediately to leave you and be gone. 
 
 For. To these injunctions every one doth swear, 
 That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 
 
 Ar. And so have I address'd" me : Fortune now 
 To my heart's hope ! — Gold, silver, and base lead. 
 Who choosefh me, must give and hazard all he hath: 
 You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. 
 What says the golden chest ] ha ! let me see : — 
 Who chooseth me, shall gain what mayiy men desire. 
 What many men desire. — That many may be meant 
 By the fool multitude, that choose by show, 
 Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach: 
 Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet, 
 Builds in the weather on the outward wall. 
 Even in the force and road of casualt3^ 
 I will not choose what many men desire. 
 Because I will not jump' with common spirits. 
 And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
 Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure house ; 
 Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : 
 Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves; 
 And well said too; For who shall go about 
 To cozen fortune, and be honorable 
 Without the stamp of merit ] Let none presume 
 To wear an undeserved dignity. 
 0, that estates, degrees, and offices. 
 Were not dcriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honor 
 Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
 How many then should cover that stand bare! 
 How many be commanded that command ! 
 How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 
 From the true seed of honor ! and how much honor, 
 Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times. 
 To be new varnish'd ! Well, but to my choice : 
 Who choosefh me shall get as much as he deserves: 
 
 will assume desert; — Give me a key for this. 
 \nd instantly unlock my fortunes here. 
 
 For. Too long a pause for that which you find 
 there. 
 
 Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idio^ 
 Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. 
 How much unlike art thou to Portia ! 
 How much unlike my hopes, and my deservingg. 
 Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves. 
 Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? 
 Is that my prize ? arc my deserts no better ? 
 
 For. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices. 
 And of oj)posed natures. 
 
 Ar. What is here? 
 
 Thejire seven times tried this: 
 Seven times tried that judgment is, 
 That did never choose amiss: 
 Some there be that shadows kiss: 
 Such have but a shadow^s bliss: 
 There befools alive, I wis,^ 
 Silver' do^er,- and so was this. 
 Take what wife you will to bed, 
 I will ever be your head: 
 So begone, sir, you are sped. 
 
 Still more fool I shall appear, 
 
 By the time I linger here: 
 
 With one fool's head I came to woo. 
 
 But I go away with two. 
 
 Sweet, adieu ! I'll keep my oath, 
 
 Patiently to bear my wroth. 
 
 [Exeunt Arragon, and Tram. 
 For. Thus hath the candle singed the moth. 
 O these deliberate fools ! when they do choose 
 They have the wisdom by their wit to lose 
 
 Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy ; — 
 Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
 For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Where is my lady ? 
 
 For. Here ; what would my lord? 
 
 Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
 A young Venetian, one that comes before 
 To signify the approaching of his lord : 
 From whom he bringcth sensible i igrets ;' 
 To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath, 
 Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen 
 So likely an embassador of love : 
 A day in April never came so sweet. 
 To show how costly summer was at hand, 
 As this fore-spurrer comes before his l-ird. 
 
 For. No more, I pray thee ; I an. half afeard, 
 Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee. 
 Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.— 
 Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see 
 Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 
 Ner. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be ! [Exeuni 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Salanio and Salarino. 
 
 Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto ? 
 
 Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that 
 Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the 
 narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think they call the 
 place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the 
 carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, 
 tf my gossip report be an honest woman of her word. 
 » Trepared » Agree. 
 
 Salan. I would she were as lying a gos. ip in that 
 as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbora 
 believe she wept for the death of a third husband . 
 But it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or 
 crossing the plain high-way of talk, — that the good 
 
 Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a 
 
 title good enough to keep his name company ! — 
 
 Salar. Come, the full stop. 
 
 Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou ? — Wiiy the ei»</ 
 is, he hath lost a ship. 
 
 1 Know. » Salutations. 
 
BCENE I. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 189 
 
 Salar. I would it might prove the end of his 
 losses ! 
 
 Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil 
 cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness 
 of a Jew. — 
 
 Enter Shylock. 
 
 How now, Shylock ? what news among the mer- 
 chants 7 
 
 Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as 
 you, of my daughter's flight. 
 
 Salar. That's certain ; I, for my part, knew the 
 tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 
 
 Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the 
 liird was fledg'd ; and then it is the complexion of 
 • hem all to leave the dam. 
 
 Shy. She is damn'd for it. [judge. 
 
 Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her 
 
 Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 
 
 Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at 
 these years 1 
 
 Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 
 
 Saiar. There is more difference between thy flesh 
 and hers, than between jet and ivory; more between 
 your bloods, than there is between red wine and 
 Khenish: — ■But tell us, do you hear whether An- 
 tonio have had any loss at sea or no ? 
 
 Shy. There I have another bad match : a bank- 
 rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on 
 the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used to come so smug 
 upon the mart ; — let him look to his bond : he was 
 wont to call me usurer; — let him look to his bond: 
 he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ; 
 — let him look to his bond. 
 
 Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt 
 not take his flesh ; What's that good for 1 
 
 Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing 
 else, it will feed my fevenge. He hath disgraced 
 me, and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at 
 my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, 
 thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
 mine enemies ; and what's his reason 1 I am a Jew : 
 Hath not a Jew eycsl hath not a Jew hands, organs, 
 dimensions, senses, afllections, passions? fed with the 
 Bame food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to 
 the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
 warmed and cooled by the same winter and sum- 
 mer, as a Christian is 1 If you prick us, do we not 
 bleed ] if you tickle us, do we not laugh 1 if you 
 poison us, do we not die ] and if you wrong us, 
 shall we not revenge 1 If we are like you in the 
 rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong 
 a Christian, what is his humility 1 revenge ; If a 
 Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance 
 be by Christian example 1 why, revenge. The vil- 
 lany you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go 
 hard, but I will better the instruction. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his 
 house, and desires to speak with you both. 
 
 Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 
 Enter Tubal. 
 
 Salan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a third 
 cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn 
 Jew. [^Exeunt Salan., Salah., and Servant. 
 
 Shy. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? 
 hast thou found my daughter ? 
 
 Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but 
 (umot find hci 
 
 Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond 
 gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Fitinkfort! 
 The curse never fell upon our nation till now ; I 
 never felt it till now : — two thousand ducats in 
 that ; and other precious, precious jewels. — I would, 
 my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels 
 in her ear ! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and 
 the ducats in her coffin ! No news of them 1 — Why, 
 so : — and I know not what's spent in the search : 
 Why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so 
 much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis- 
 faction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring, but 
 what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my 
 breathing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. 
 
 Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio, 
 as I heard in Genoa, — 
 
 Shy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? 
 
 Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
 Tripolis. 
 
 Shy. I thank God, I thank God :— Is it true 1 
 is it true ? 
 
 Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that es- 
 caped the wreck. 
 
 Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news, 
 good news : ha ! ha ! — Where 1 in Genoa ? 
 
 Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
 one night, fourscore ducats. 
 
 Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me : 1 shall 
 
 never see my gold again : Fourscore ducats at a 
 sitting ! fourscore ducats. 
 
 Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors 
 in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot 
 choose but break. 
 
 Shy. I am very glad of it : I'll plague him ; I'll 
 torture him ; I am glad of it. 
 
 Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he 
 had of your daughter for a monkey. 
 
 Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : 
 it was my torquoise ;' I had it of Leah, when I was 
 a bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilder- 
 ness of monkeys. 
 
 Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 
 Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, 
 Tubal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight 
 before : I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; 
 for were he out of Venice, I can make what mer- 
 chandize I will : Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at 
 our synagogue; go, good Tubal; at our syna- 
 gogue. Tubal. lExeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's House 
 Enter Bassanio, Poutia, Gratiano, Nerissa, 
 and Attendants. The caskets are set out. 
 For, I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two, 
 Before you hazard ; for in choosing wrong, 
 I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : 
 There's something tells me, (but it is not love,) 
 I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
 Hate counsels not in such a quality : 
 But lest you should not understand me well, 
 (And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,) 
 I would detain you here some month or two, 
 Before you venture for me. I could teach you, 
 How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; 
 So will I never be : So may you miss me; 
 But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin 
 Th;it I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 
 They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me ; 
 One half of me is yours; the other half youiB.- 
 > A precious stone. 
 
(90 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours, 
 And so all yours : O ! these naughty times 
 Put bars between the owners and their rights ; 
 \nd so, though yours, not yours. — Prove it so, 
 Let fortune go to hell for it, — not I. 
 f speak too long : but 'tis to peize ' the time ; 
 To eke it, and to draw it out in length, 
 To stay you from election. 
 
 Bass. Let me choose ; 
 
 For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 Po): Upon the rack, Bassaniol then confess 
 What treason there is mingled with your love. 
 
 Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust. 
 Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love : 
 There may as well be amity and life 
 'Twecn snow and fire, as treason and my love. 
 
 For. Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack, 
 Where men enforced do speak any thing. 
 
 Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 
 
 For. Well then, confess and live. 
 
 Bass. Confess and love, 
 
 Had been the very sum of my confession : 
 
 happy torment, when my torturer 
 Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
 But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 
 
 For. Away then : I am lock'd in one of them ; 
 If you do love me, you will find me out — 
 Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof — 
 Let music sound while he doth make his choice. 
 Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 
 Fading in music : that the comparison 
 May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream. 
 And wat'ry death-bed for him : He may win ; 
 And what is music then ? then music is 
 Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
 To a new-crowned monarch : such it is. 
 As are those dulcet sounds in break of day, 
 That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear. 
 And summon him to marriage. Now he goes 
 With no less presence,' but with much more love, 
 Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
 The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
 To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice. 
 The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives. 
 With bleared visages, come forth to view 
 The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
 Live thou, I live : — With much much more dismay 
 
 1 view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fi-ay. 
 
 Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets 
 to himself. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. Tell me, where is fancy' bred. 
 Or in the heart or in the head? 
 How begot, how nourished? 
 
 Reply. 2. It is engendered in the eyes. 
 
 With gazing fed; and fancy dies 
 In the cradle where ii lies: 
 
 Let us all ring fancy's hiell; 
 I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
 All, Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 Bass. — So may the outward shows be least 
 themselves ; 
 The world is still decciv'd with ornament. 
 In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
 But, being season 'd with a gracious voice, 
 
 ' Delaj. 
 
 • Dignity of mien. 
 
 ' Lore. 
 
 Obscures the show of evil? In religion. 
 
 What damned error, but some sober br »w 
 
 Will bless it, and approve it with a text. 
 
 Hiding the grossncss with fair ornament 1 
 
 There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
 
 Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
 
 How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
 
 As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
 
 The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars; 
 
 Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk'. 
 
 And these assume but valor's excrement. 
 
 To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 
 
 And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight ; 
 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature. 
 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it: 
 
 So are those crisped" snaky golden locks, 
 
 Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 
 
 Upon supposed fairness, often known 
 
 To be the dowry of a second head ; 
 
 The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre. 
 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled' shore 
 
 To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
 
 Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word. 
 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
 
 To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
 
 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : 
 
 Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
 
 'Twcen man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead, 
 
 Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught, 
 
 Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, 
 
 And here choose I : Joy be the consequence ! 
 
 For. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
 As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despaii. 
 And shudd'ring fear and green-ey'd jealousy. 
 
 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstacy. 
 
 In measure rein thy joy, scant this excess; 
 
 1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less. 
 For fear I surfeit! 
 
 Bass. What find I here? 
 
 [Ope7iing the leaden casket. 
 Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god 
 Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? 
 Or whether, riding on the balls of mine. 
 Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips. 
 Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
 Should sunder such sweet friends : Here m her haim 
 The painter plays the spider; and hath woven 
 A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, — 
 How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
 Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, 
 And leave itself unfurnish'd: Yet look, how far 
 The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
 In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
 Doth limp behind the substance, — Here's the scroll, 
 The continent and summary of my fortune. 
 
 You that choose not by the view. 
 Chance as fair and choose as true.' 
 Since this fortune falls io you. 
 Be content and seek no new. 
 If you be ivell pleased with this. 
 And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
 Turn you where your lady is, 
 And claim her with a loving kiss. 
 
 A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave ; 
 
 [Kissing ha 
 I come by note, to give and to receive. 
 
 » Curled. 
 
 » Treacherous. 
 
SCKNE II. 
 
 MERCHANT UF VENICE. 
 
 IJI 
 
 Like one of two contending in a prize, 
 Th.it thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 
 Healing applause and universal shout, 
 Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt 
 Whether those peals of praise be his or no : 
 So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so ; 
 \s doubtful whether what I see be true. 
 Until confinn'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
 
 Fur. You sec me, lord Bassanio, where I stand. 
 Such as I am : though for myself alone, 
 I would not be ambitious in my wish, 
 To wish myself much better; yet, for you, 
 I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
 A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
 More rich : 
 
 That only to stand high on your account, 
 I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends. 
 Exceed account: but the full sum of inc 
 Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross. 
 Is an unlesson'd girl, unsehool'd, unpractised: 
 Hapj)y in this she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn; and happier than this, 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
 Commits itself to yours to be directed. 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
 Myself and what is mine, to you, and yours. 
 Is now converted : but now I was the lord 
 Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
 Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now. 
 This house, these servants, and this same myself, 
 Are yours, my lord; I give them with this ring; 
 Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 
 Let it presage the ruin of your love. 
 And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 
 
 Bass. Madam, you have bereft nie of all words, 
 Only my blood speaks to you in my veins: 
 And there is such confusion in my powers, 
 As, after some oration fairly spoke 
 By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
 Among the buzzing pleased multitude; 
 Where every something, being blent ' together, 
 Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
 Express'd and not express'd: But when this ring 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence; 
 O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. 
 
 i\rr. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
 That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper. 
 To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and lady ! 
 
 Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
 I wish you all the joy that you can wish; 
 For I am sure, you can wish none from me ; 
 And, when your honors mean to solemnize 
 The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you. 
 Even at that time I may be married too. 
 
 Biuss. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 
 
 Gra. I thank your lordship ; you have got me one. 
 My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: 
 You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
 You lo' ^ T lov'd ; for intermission 
 No more j '-'s to me, my lord, than you. 
 y our fortune s,. "'<ion the caskets there ; 
 And so did mine toi., s the mutter falls: 
 For wooing here, until I sweat again ; 
 And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
 With oaths of love; at last,— if promise last, — 
 I got a promise of this fair one here. 
 To have her love, provided that your fortune 
 Achiev'd her mistress. 
 
 ^or. Is this true, Nerissa ? 
 
 1 BlendcU. 
 
 Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 
 
 Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith 1 
 
 Gra. Yes, 'faith, my lord. [man-iaga 
 
 Bass. Our feast shall be much honor'd in yout 
 
 Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy for a 
 thousand ducats. 
 
 Ner. What, and stake down 1 — [stake down.— 
 
 Gra. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and 
 But who comes here 1 Lorenzo, and his infidel. 
 What, my old Venetian friend, Salerio ? 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio. 
 
 Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither ; 
 If that the youth of my new interest here 
 Have power to bid you welcome : — By your leavei 
 I bid my very friends and countrymen, 
 Sweet Portia, welcome. 
 
 For. So do I, my lord ; 
 
 They are entirely welcome. 
 
 Lor. I thank your honor : — For my pavt, my lord; 
 My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
 But meeting with Salerio by the way. 
 He did entreat me, past all saying nay, 
 To come with him along. 
 
 Sale. I did, my lord. 
 
 And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
 Commends him to you. [^Gives Bassanio a letter 
 
 Bass. Ere I ope this letter 
 
 I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 
 
 Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 Will show you his estate. 
 
 Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome. 
 Your hand, Salerio : What's the news from Venice? 
 How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio ? 
 I know, he will be glad of our success ; 
 We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 
 
 Sale. Would you had won the fleece that he 
 hath lost ! [same paper, 
 
 For. There are some shrewd contents in yon 
 That steal the color from Bassanio's cheek: 
 Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
 Could turn so much the constitution 
 Of any constant man. What, worse and worse?— 
 With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself. 
 And I must freely have the half of any thing 
 That this same paper brings you. 
 
 ^ass. O sweet Portia 
 
 Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words. 
 That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady. 
 When I did first impart my love to you, 
 I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
 Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ; 
 And then I told you true: and, yet dear lady. 
 Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
 How much I was a braggart: When I told you 
 My state was nothing, I should then have told yoi 
 That I was worse than nothing ; for indeed, 
 I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
 Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy. 
 To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; 
 The paper as the body of my friend. 
 And every word in it a gaping wound. 
 Issuing life-blood. — But is it true. Salerio? 
 Have all his ventures fail'd ? What, not one hit^ 
 From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
 From liisiion, Barbary, and India] 
 And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
 Of merchant-marring rocks? 
 
 Sale- Not one, my lord. 
 
 Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
 
 _ 
 
193 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 AcTin 
 
 The present money to discharge the Jew, 
 He would not take it: never did I know 
 A creature, that did bear the shape of man, 
 JBo keen and greedy to confound a man : 
 He phcs the duke at morning, and at night ; 
 And doth impeach the freedom of the state. 
 If they deny him justice: twenty merchants, 
 The duke himself, and the magnificoes^ 
 Ji greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; 
 But none can drive him from the envious plea 
 Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 
 
 Jfia When. I was with him, I have heard him 
 swear, 
 Vc Tabal, and to Chus, his countrymen. 
 That he would rather have Antonio's flesh, 
 Than twenty times the value of the sum 
 That he did owe him : and I knovsr, my lord. 
 If law, authority, and power deny not, 
 It will go hard with poor Antonio, 
 
 Por. Is it your dear friend, ihat is thus in trouble 1 
 
 Buss. The dearest friend to mo, the kindest man, 
 The best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
 In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
 The ancient Roman honor more appears, 
 Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
 
 Por. What sum owes he the Jew ? 
 
 Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Por. What, no more ] 
 
 Pay him six thousand and deface the bond; 
 Double six thousand, and then treble that. 
 Before a friend of this description 
 Shall lose a hair through my Bassanio's fault. 
 First, go with me to church, and call me wife : 
 And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
 For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
 With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
 To pay the petty debt twenty times over; 
 When it is paid, bring your true friend along: 
 My maid Nerissa and myself, mean time. 
 Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ; 
 For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
 Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer;' 
 Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. — 
 But let me hear the letter of your friend. 
 
 Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio,my ships have all 
 miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is 
 very loio, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since, 
 in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all 
 debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but 
 see you at my death: notwithstanding, use your 
 pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to 
 tome, let not my letter. 
 
 Por. love, despatch all business, and be gone. 
 Uass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
 I will make haste: but till I come again, 
 ;Vo bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay. 
 
 No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter jShylock, Sat-anio, Antonio, andGaoler. 
 Shy. Gaoler, look to him ; — Tell not me of 
 mercy ; — 
 This is the fool that lent out money gratis ; 
 BaDler, look to him. 
 
 int. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 
 
 Shy. I'll have my bond ; speak not against my 
 bond; 
 1 have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond : 
 • The chief men. » Face. 
 
 Thou call'dst me dog, before thou hadst a cause: 
 But since I am a dog, beware my fangs: 
 The duke shall grant me jv stice. — I do wonder, 
 Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond* 
 To come abroad with him at his request. 
 
 Ant. I piay thee, hear me speak. 
 
 Shy. I'll have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak 
 I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
 I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool, 
 To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
 To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 
 I'll have no speaking ; I'll have my bond. 
 
 [Exit SHftrti. 
 
 Salan. It is the most impenetrable cvir. 
 That ever kept with men. 
 
 Ant. Let him alone ; 
 
 I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
 He seeks my lii'e; his reason well I know; 
 I oft dclivcr'd from his forfeitures 
 Many that have at times made moan to me, 
 Therefore he hates me. 
 
 Salan. I am sure the duke 
 
 Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 
 
 Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law ; 
 For the commodity that strangers have 
 With us in Venice, if it be denied. 
 Will much impeach the justice of the state • 
 Since that the trade and profit of the city 
 Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go • 
 These griefs and losses have so 'bated me 
 That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
 
 To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 
 
 Well, gaoler, on: — Pray God, Bassaniocome 
 To see me pay his debt, and then I care not I 
 
 SCENE IV.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's House 
 
 Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and 
 
 Balthazar. 
 
 Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your pre- 
 sence. 
 You have a noble and a true conceit 
 Of god-like amity ; which appears most strongly 
 In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
 But if you knew to whom you show this honor, 
 How true a gentleman you send rehef. 
 How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
 I know, you would be prouder of the woik, 
 Than customary bounty can enforce you 
 
 Por. I never did repent for doing good. 
 Nor shall not now: for in companions 
 That do converse and waste the time together, 
 Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
 There must be needs a like proportion 
 Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit ; 
 Which makes me think, that this Antonio 
 Being the bosom lover of my lord. 
 Must needs be like my lord : If it be so, 
 How little is the cost I have bestow'd. 
 In purchasing the semblance of my soul 
 From out the state of hellish cruelty ! 
 This comes too near the praising of myseit, 
 Therefore, no more of it : hear other things.— 
 Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
 The husbandry and manage of my house. 
 Until my lord's return ; for mine own part, 
 I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow, 
 To live in prayer and contemplation. 
 Only attended by Nerissa here. 
 Until her husband and my lord's return : 
 * Foolish. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 im 
 
 There is a monastery two miles off, 
 
 And theie we will abide. I do desire you, 
 
 Not to deny this imposition ; 
 
 The which my love, and some necessity, 
 
 Now lays upon you. 
 
 Lor. Madam, with all my heart ; 
 
 I shall obey you in all fair commands. 
 
 For. My people do already know my mind. 
 And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
 In place of lord Bassanio and myself. 
 So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 
 
 Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on 
 you. 
 
 fes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 
 Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well 
 pleas'd 
 I'o wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — 
 [Exeunt Jkssica and Lorenzo. 
 Vow, Balthazar, 
 
 As I have ever found thee honest, true. 
 So let me find thee still : Take this same letter, 
 And use thou all the endeavor of a man. 
 In speed to Padua ; see tliou render this 
 Into my cousin's hand, doctor Bellario ; 
 And, look, what notes and garments he doth give 
 
 thee. 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed 
 Unto the tranect, to the common ferry 
 Which trades to Venice: — waste no time in words, 
 But get thee gone ; I shall be there before thee. 
 
 Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Por. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand, 
 That you yet know not of: we'll see our hus- 
 bands. 
 Before they think of us. 
 
 Xer. Shall they see us 1 
 
 I'or. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit. 
 That they shall think we are accomplished 
 \\'ith what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager, 
 When wc are both accoutred like young men, 
 I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two. 
 And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; 
 Anil speak, between the change of man and boy. 
 With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps 
 Into a manly stride; and speak of frays. 
 Like a fine bragging youth : and tell quaint lies. 
 How honorable ladies sought my love. 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died ; 
 I could not do withal ; — then I'll repent 
 And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them : 
 And twenty of these puny hes I'll tell. 
 That men shall swear I have discontinued school 
 Above a twelvemonth • — I have within my mind 
 A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 
 Which I will practise. 
 
 Ner. Why, shall we turn to men ? 
 
 Por. Fie ! what a question's that. 
 If thou wert near a lewd interpreter ? 
 But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device. 
 When I am in my coach, wliich stays for us 
 At the park gate ; and therefore haste away. 
 For we must measure twenty miles to-day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Garde7i. 
 
 Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 
 
 Latin. Yes, truly : — for, look you, the sins of 
 he father are '/) be laid upon the chiJdren : there- 
 
 fore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain 
 with you, and so now I speak ray agitation of th« 
 matter : Therefore, be of good cheer ; for, truly, 1 
 think, you are damn'd. There is but one hope in 
 it that can do you any good ; and that is but a kind 
 of bastard hope neither. 
 
 Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee ■* 
 
 Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that youi 
 father got you not, that you are not the lew'a 
 daughter. 
 
 Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed ; 
 so the sins of my mother should be visited upon 
 me. 
 
 Laun. Truly then I fear you are damn'd both 
 by father and mother: thus when I shun Siylli, 
 your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother; 
 well, you are gone both ways. 
 
 Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath 
 made me a Christian. 
 
 Laun. Truly, the more to blame he ; we were 
 Christians enough before ; e'en as many as could 
 well live, one by another : This making of Chris- 
 tians will raise the price of hogs ; if we grow all to 
 be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher 
 on the coals for money. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you 
 say ; here he comes. 
 
 Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launce- 
 lot, if you thus get my wife into corners. 
 
 Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo ; 
 Launcelot and I are out : he tells me flatly, there 
 is no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew's 
 daughter : and he says, you are no good member 
 of the commonwealth ; for, in converting Jews to 
 Christians, you raise the price of pork. 
 
 Lor. I shall answer that better to the common- 
 wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's 
 belly : the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. 
 
 Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more 
 than reason : but if she be less than an honest 
 woman, she is, indeed, more than I took her for. 
 
 Lor. How every fool can play upon the word ! 
 I think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into 
 silence ; and discourse grow commendable in none 
 only but parrots. — Go in, sirrah ; bid them prepare 
 for dinner. 
 
 Laun. That is done, sir ; they have all stomachs 
 
 Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! 
 then bid them prepare dinner. 
 
 Lau7i. That is done too, sir; only, cov.;r is the 
 word. 
 
 Lor. Will you cover then, sir ^ 
 
 Latin. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 
 
 Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wih 
 thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an in- 
 stant 1 I pray thee, understand a plain man in his 
 plain meaning : go to thy fellows ; bid them covet 
 the tabic, serve in the meat, and we will come ir 
 to dinner. 
 
 Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in 
 for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming 
 in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humors and con- 
 ceits shall govern. [Exit Launcelot 
 
 Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited 
 The fool hath planted in his memory 
 An army of good words : And I do know 
 A many fools, that stand in better place, 
 Garnish'd like liim, that for a tricksy word 
 
194 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act IV. ScENK 1 
 
 Defy the matter. How checr'st thou, Jessica 1 
 And now, good sweet, say thy opinion. 
 How dost thou like Ihe lord Bassanio's wife 1 
 
 Jes. Past all expressing : it is very meet, 
 The lord Bassanio live an upright life ; 
 For, having such a blessing in his lady. 
 He finds the joys of heaven here on earth : 
 And, if on earth he do not mean it, it 
 ts reason he should never come to heaven. 
 Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match, 
 And on the wager lay two earthly women, 
 \nd Portia one, there must be something else 
 
 Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world 
 Hath not her fellow. — 
 
 Lor. Even such a husband 
 
 Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. 
 
 Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 
 
 Lor. I will anon ; first, let us go to dinner 
 
 Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have i 
 stomach. 
 
 Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk , 
 Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
 I shall digest it. 
 
 Jes. Well, I'll set you forth [ Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. 
 
 Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bas- 
 sanio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio and 
 others. 
 
 Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 
 
 Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 
 
 Duke. I am sorry for thee ; thou art come to 
 answer 
 A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
 Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
 From any dram of mercy. 
 
 Ant. I have heard, 
 
 Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
 His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
 And that no lawful means can carry me 
 Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
 My patience to his fury ; and am arm'd 
 To suflTer, vidth a quietness of spirit, 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 
 
 Salan. He's ready at the door : he comes, my 
 lord. 
 
 Enter Shylock. 
 
 Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our 
 face. — 
 Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too. 
 That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
 To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought, 
 Thou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse,"^ more strange 
 Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : 
 And where' thou now exact'st the penalty, 
 (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,) 
 Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
 But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
 Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 
 Glancing an eye of pity on his losses. 
 That have of late so huddled on his back ; 
 Enough to press a royal merchant down, 
 And pluck commiseration of his state 
 From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint. 
 From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 
 To offices of tender courtesy. 
 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 
 
 Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I pur- 
 And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn, [pose ; 
 To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
 [f you deny it, let the danger light 
 Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
 You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 
 A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
 Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that : 
 
 • Pity. 
 
 ' Whereas. 
 
 But, say, it is my humor : Is it answer'd ? 
 
 What if my house be troubled with a rat. 
 
 And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
 
 To have it baned 1 What, are you answer'd yet ' 
 
 Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; 
 
 Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat ; — 
 
 And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose, 
 
 Cannot contain their urine : For aflection,' 
 
 Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood 
 
 Of what it likes, or loaths : Now, for your answei ■ 
 
 As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 
 
 Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
 
 Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; 
 
 Why he, a swollen bag-pipe ; but of force 
 
 Must yield to such inevitable shame, 
 
 As to offend, himself being offended ; 
 
 So can I give no reason, nor I will not. 
 
 More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, 
 
 I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
 
 A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd 1 
 
 Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man. 
 To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
 
 Shy. I am not bound to please thee with mv 
 answer. 
 
 Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 
 
 Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? 
 
 Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 
 
 Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting 
 thee twice ? 
 
 Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew; 
 You may as well go stand upon the beach, 
 And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
 You may as well use questions with the wolf, 
 Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of header. ; 
 You may as well do any thing most hard, 
 As seek to soften that (than which what's haider ?) 
 His Jewish heart : — Therefore, I do beseech you, 
 Make no more oflTers, use no further means, 
 But, with all brief and plain conveniency, 
 Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 
 
 Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here arc six, 
 
 Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
 M'^ere in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
 I would not draw them, I would have my bond. 
 
 Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring 
 none ? 
 
 Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no 
 wrong ? 
 You have among you many a purchas'd slave, 
 » Prejudice. 
 
Scene I 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 195 
 
 Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and vnules, 
 You utc in ahjcct and in slavish parts, 
 Because you bought thcni :— Siiall I say to you, 
 Let them be free, marry Ihem to your heirs'! 
 Why sweat they under burdens'! Let tlieir beds 
 Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
 Be season'd with such viands. You will answer. 
 The slaves are ours : — So do I answer^ou : 
 The pound of flesh, which I demand of him. 
 Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it: 
 If you deny me, fye upon jour law ! 
 There is no force in the decrees ol' Venice: 
 Island for judgment: answer; shall I have it"! 
 
 Dii/fe. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court. 
 Unless Bellario, a learned doctor. 
 Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
 Come here to-day. 
 
 Sa/ar. My lord, here stays without 
 
 A messenger with letters ftom the doctor, 
 New come from Padua. 
 
 Diike. Bring us the letters | Call the messenger. 
 
 Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man ? cou- 
 rage yet ! 
 The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all. 
 Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 
 
 Anf. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
 Meetcst for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
 Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me: 
 You cannot better be cmploy'd, Bassanio, 
 Than to live still, and write mnie epitaph. 
 
 Enter Nehissa, dressed like a Lawyer's Clerk. 
 
 Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario'' 
 
 Ner. From both, my lord: Bellario greets your 
 grace. [Presetits a letter. 
 
 Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? 
 
 Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt 
 there. 
 
 Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
 Thou mak'st thy knife keen: but no metal can, 
 No, not the hangman's ax, bear half the keenness 
 Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee 1 
 
 Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 
 
 Gra. O, be thou damned, inexorable dog! 
 And for thy lift' let justice be accus'd. 
 Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith. 
 To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
 That souls of animals infuse themselves 
 Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit 
 Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter. 
 Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
 And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
 Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires 
 Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 
 
 Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from ofl'my bond, 
 T'lou but ort'end'st thy lungs to speak so loiid : 
 Ri'pair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
 T(» cureless ruin. — I stand here for law. 
 
 Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
 A young and learned doctor to our court : — 
 Where is he'? 
 
 Ner. He attcndeth here hard by, 
 
 I'o know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 
 
 Duke. With all my heart: — Some three or four 
 of you, 
 lio, give him courteous conduct to this ]ilace. — 
 VIean time, the court shall hear Billaiio's letter. j 
 
 [Clerk;-ffl£/*.] Your grace sltull rtnderstund, that, 
 tf the rrceipl of ynur letter, I am very sick: but in : 
 '.he instuni thulyuur tntssenger came, in loving visit- \ 
 
 ation was with me a young doctor of Rome; his 
 name is Balthasar: I acquainted him with the 
 cause in controversy between the Jew and Antonio 
 the merchant: we turned o'er many bonks together: 
 he is furni slid with my opinion,- which, better'' d 
 with his own learning, {the greatness whereof 1 
 camiot enough commend,') comes with him, at my 
 invport unity, to Jill up your grace' s request in my 
 stead. I beseech you, let his lack if years be no 
 impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation; 
 for I never kneiv so young a body with so old a 
 head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, 
 whose trial shall better publish his commendatic.n, 
 Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he 
 writes : 
 And here I take it, is the doctor come. — 
 
 Enter Portia, dressed like a Doctor of Laws. 
 
 Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario ? 
 
 Pur. I did, my lord. 
 
 Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 
 
 Are you acquainted with the diflfercnce 
 That holds this present question in the court 1 
 
 Pur. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
 Wliicli is the merchant here, and which the Jew ■? 
 
 Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 
 
 Pur. Is your name Shylock 1 
 
 Shy. Shylock is my name. 
 
 Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow < 
 Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
 Cannot impugn'' you, as you do proceed. 
 You stand within his danger,* do you not ? 
 
 [To Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Ay, so he says. 
 
 Pur. Do you confess the bond? 
 
 Ant. I do. 
 
 Pur. Then must the Jew be merciful. 
 
 Shy. On what compulsion must 1 1 tell me that. 
 
 Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd; 
 It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven, 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice blcss'd ; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown: 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
 But meicy is above his sceptred sway. 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew 
 Though justice be thy plea, consider this. — 
 That, in the course of justice, none of us 
 Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
 And tliat same prayer doth teach us all to rendci 
 The deeds of mercy. I have spoke this much, 
 To mitigate the justice of thy plea; 
 Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
 Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there 
 
 Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 Pur. Is he not able to discharge the money'? 
 
 Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court 
 Yea, twice the sum ; ii that will not suffice, 
 I will be bound to pay .l . . n times o'er, 
 On ibrt'eit of my hands , •>■ head, ray heart. 
 If this will not sutlice, it must appear 
 
 Oppose. 
 
 ■ Reach or oontrol. 
 
196 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act rv 
 
 That malice beara down truth. And I beseech you, 
 Wrest once the law to your authority: 
 To do a great right, do a little wrong: 
 And curb this cruel devil of his will. 
 
 Po7: It must not be : there is no power in Venice 
 Can alter a decree established : 
 'Twill be recorded for a precedent; 
 And many an error, by the same example, 
 Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 
 
 Shy. A Daniel come tojudgment! yea a Daniel! — 
 O wise J oung judge, how do I honor thee ! 
 
 Po>: 1 pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
 
 Shy, Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 
 
 Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money ofler'd 
 thee. 
 
 Shy. A n oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
 Shall I lay perjury upon my soul 1 
 No, not fcr Venice. 
 
 Por, Why, this bond is forfeit: 
 
 And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
 A pound of flesh, to be by him cut olf 
 Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
 Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 
 
 Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. - 
 It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; 
 You know the law, your exposition 
 Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
 Whereof you are a v/ell-deserving pillar, 
 Proceed tojudgment: by my soul I swear. 
 There is no power in the tongue of man 
 To alter me: I stay here on my bond. 
 
 Ant, Most heartily I do beseech the court 
 To give the judgment. 
 
 Por, Why then, thus it is : 
 
 You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 
 
 Shy, O noble judge ! O excellent j-oung man ! 
 
 Por. For the intent and i)urpose of the law 
 Hath full relation to the penalty. 
 Which here appearcth due upon the bond. 
 
 Shy. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright judge! 
 How much more elder art thou than thy looks! 
 
 Por. Therefore, lay bare your bo.soni. 
 
 Shy, Ay, his breast: 
 
 So says the bond; — Doth it not, noble judge 1 — 
 Nearest his heart : those are the very words. 
 
 Por. h is so. Are there balance here, to v/eigh 
 The flesh. 
 
 Shy I have them ready. 
 
 Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on yoiu 
 charge. 
 To stc( his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
 
 Shfi/. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 
 
 I'^r. It is not so express'd: But what of that ? 
 "T were good you do so much for charity. 
 
 Shy, I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 
 
 Por, Come, merchant, have you any thing to say] 
 
 Ant. But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd. — 
 G'ive me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well ! 
 Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
 For herein fortune shows herself more kind 
 Than is her custom : it is still her use. 
 To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, 
 To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, 
 An age of poverty; from which lingering penance 
 Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 
 Commend me to j'our 'j ji.oiable wife : 
 Tell her the process ^' 'intonio's end, 
 Say, how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
 And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge, 
 Whether Bassauio had not once a love. 
 
 Repent not you that you shall lose your friend. 
 And he repents not that he pays your debtj 
 For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
 I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 
 Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife, 
 ■ Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
 
 But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 
 ! Are not with mc esteem'd above thy life : 
 I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
 Here to this devil, to deliver you. 
 
 Por. Your wife would give you little thanks fan 
 that. 
 If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 
 
 Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I lovt : 
 I would she were in heaven, so she could 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
 
 Ner. 'Tis well you ofler it behind her back ; 
 The wish would make else an unquiet house. 
 Shy. These be the Christian husbands : I have a 
 daughter ; 
 'Would, any of the stock of Barrabas 
 Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 
 Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh ia 
 thine ; 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
 Shy. Most rightful judge ! 
 Por. And you must cut this flesh from off hia 
 breast ; 
 The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
 
 Shy. Most learned judge! — A sentence; tome, 
 
 prepare. 
 Por, Tarry a little ; — there is something else. 
 This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 
 The words expressly are a pound of flesh : 
 Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; 
 But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
 One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
 Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
 Unto the state of Venice. 
 
 Gra. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew;-— O learned 
 
 judge ! 
 Shy. Is that the law] 
 
 Por. Thyself shall see the act : 
 
 For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd. 
 Thou shalt have justice more than thou desir'st. 
 Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — a learned 
 
 judge! 
 Shy. I take this offer then ; — pay the bond thrice. 
 And let the Christian go. 
 
 Bass. Here is the money. 
 
 Por. Soft; 
 The Jew .shall have all justice ; — soft ! — no haste; — 
 He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
 
 Gra. O Jew! anupright judge, a learned judge 
 Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh 
 Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, 
 But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more, 
 Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
 As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance. 
 Or the division of the twentieth part 
 Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn 
 But in the estimation of a hair, — 
 Thou diest, end all thy goods are confiscate. 
 
 Gra. A second Daniel ! a Daniel, Jcvt ! 
 Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 
 
 Por. Why doth the Jew pause T take thy for 
 
 feiture. 
 Shy, Give me my principal, and let me go- 
 
SCENE II. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 197 
 
 Bass. I ha\'« it ready for thee ; here it is. 
 For. He hath refus'd it in the open court ; 
 He shall have merely justice and his bond. 
 
 Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel — 
 t thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
 
 Sh>/. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 
 
 Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture. 
 To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 
 
 Shi/. Why then the devil give him good of it ! 
 I'll stay no longer question. 
 
 For. Tarry, Jew ; 
 
 The law hath yet another hold on you. 
 It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
 If it be proved against an alien. 
 That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
 He seek the life of any citizen, 
 The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
 Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
 Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
 And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
 Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
 In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st : 
 For it appears by manifest proceeding, 
 That indirectly, and directly too. 
 Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
 Of the defendant : and thou hast incurr'd 
 The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
 Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 
 
 Gra. Beg, that thou mayst have leave to hang thy- 
 And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, [self: 
 Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
 Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 
 
 Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our 
 I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : [spirit, 
 For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's : 
 The other half comes to the general state, 
 Which humbleness may drive into a fine. 
 
 For, Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. 
 
 Sht/. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that : 
 You take my house, when you do take the prop 
 That doth sustain my house : you take my life. 
 When you do take the means whereby I live. 
 
 For. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 
 
 Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else, for God's sake. 
 
 Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court, 
 To quit the fine for one half of his goods ; 
 I am content, so he will let me have 
 The other half in use, — to render it, 
 Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
 That lately stole his daughter : 
 Two things provided more, — That, for this favor, 
 He presently become a Christian ; 
 The other, that he do record a gift. 
 Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd. 
 Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. 
 
 Duke. He shall do this ; or else I do recant 
 The pardon, that I late pronounced here, [sayl 
 
 For. Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou 
 
 Shy. I am content. 
 
 Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 
 
 Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence : 
 I am not well ; send the deed after me. 
 And I will sign it. 
 
 Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 
 
 G7-a. In christening thou shalt have two god- 
 fathers ; 
 Had I been judge thou shouldst have had ten more. 
 To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 
 
 \^Exit Shylock. 
 
 Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 
 14 
 
 For. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon ; 
 I must away this night toward Padua, 
 And it is meet I presently set forth. 
 
 Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not 
 Antonio, gratify this gentleman ; 
 For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 
 
 ^Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and Train. 
 
 Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
 Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
 Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 
 Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
 We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 
 
 Ant, And stand indebted, over and above, 
 In love and service to you evermore. 
 
 For. He is well paid, that is well satisfied ; 
 And I, delivering you, am satisfied. 
 And therein do account myself well paid : 
 My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
 I pray you, know me, when we meet again ; 
 I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 
 
 Bass. Dear sir, offeree I must attempt you further ; 
 Take some remembrance of us as a tribute. 
 Not as a fee ; grant me two things, I pray you. 
 Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 
 
 For. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
 Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake ; 
 And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you :— 
 Do not draw back your hand ; I'll take no more ; 
 And you in love shall not deny me this. 
 
 Bass. This ring, good sir, — alas, it is a trifle ; 
 I will not shame myself to give you this. 
 
 For, I will have nothing else but only this ; 
 And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. 
 
 Bass. There's more depends on this, than on the 
 value. 
 The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
 And find it out by proclamation ; 
 Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 
 
 Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers ; 
 You taught me first to beg ; and now, methinks, 
 You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 
 
 Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife: 
 And, when she put it on, she made me vow 
 That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. 
 
 Por, That 'scuse serves many men to save theii 
 gifts ; 
 An if your wife be not a mad woman, 
 And know how well I have deserved this ring, 
 She would not hold out enemy for ever. 
 For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you ! 
 [Exeunt Portia and Nbrissa. 
 
 Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring ; 
 Let his deservings, and my love withal. 
 Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 
 
 Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him. 
 Give him the ring ; and bring him, if thou canst. 
 Unto Antonio's house : — away, make haste. 
 
 [Exit Gratian<\ 
 Come, you and I will thither presently ; 
 And in the morning early will we both 
 Fly toward Belmont : Come, Antonio. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street, 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 Por, Inquire the Jew's house out, give him thii 
 deed. 
 And let him sign it : we'll away to-night, 
 And be a day before our husbands home : 
 This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo 
 
198 
 
 MEKCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act V. Scene 1 
 
 'Enter Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken : 
 My lord Bassanio, upon more advice,* 
 Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat 
 Vour company at dinner. 
 
 For. That cannot be : 
 
 This ring I do accept most thankfully, 
 And so, I pray you, tell him : Furthermore, 
 I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house. 
 
 G^a. That will I do. 
 
 Ner. Sir, I would speak with you : — 
 
 I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [7b Portia 
 Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 
 
 For. Thou may'st, I warrant : We shall have old 
 swearing, 
 That they did give the rings away to men ; 
 But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. 
 Away, make haste ; thou know'st where I will tuTry, 
 
 Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this 
 house 1 \Rteunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 fiCENE I. — Belmont. Avenue to Portia's House. 
 Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 
 
 Lor. The moon shines bright : — In such a night 
 as this. 
 When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
 And they did make no noise ; in such a night, 
 Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls. 
 And sigli'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
 Where Cressid lay that night. 
 
 Jes. In such a night. 
 
 Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew ; 
 And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, 
 And ran dismay'd away. 
 
 Lor. In such a night, 
 
 Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
 Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love 
 To come again to Carthage. 
 
 Jes. In such a night, 
 
 Medea gathered the enchanted herbs 
 That did renew old JEson. 
 
 Lor. In such a night. 
 
 Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew ; 
 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, 
 As far as Belmont. 
 
 Jes. And in srch a night, 
 
 Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well ; 
 Stealing her soul with many vows of faith. 
 And ne'er a true one. 
 
 Lor. And in such a night, 
 
 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew. 
 Blander her love, and he forgave it her. 
 
 Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come : 
 But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
 
 Enter Stephano. 
 
 Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night 1 
 
 Steph. A friend. 
 
 Lor. A friend ? what friend ? your name, I pray 
 you, friend 1 
 
 Sieph. Steph d,no is my name ; and I bring word. 
 My mistress will before the break of day 
 Be here at Belmont : she doth stray about 
 By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
 For happy wedlock hours. 
 
 Lor. Who comes with her 1 
 
 Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. 
 I pray you, is my master yet retum'd ? 
 
 Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. — 
 But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
 And ceremoniously let us prepare 
 Bome wckome for the mistress of the house. 
 
 »E«flectioii. 
 
 Enter Launcelot. 
 
 Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola ! 
 
 Lor. Who calls 1 
 
 Laun. Sola ! did you see master Lorenzo, and 
 mistress Lorenzo ! sola, sola ! 
 
 Lor. Leave hollaing, man ; here. 
 
 Lau7i. Sola ! where 1 where ? 
 
 Lor. Here. 
 
 Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my 
 master with his horn fall of good news ; my master 
 will be here ere morning. [Exit. 
 
 Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect thei) 
 coming. 
 And yet no matter : — Why should we go in ' 
 My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you. 
 Within the house, your mistress is at hand ; 
 And bring your music forth into the air. — 
 
 \Exit Stephano 
 How sweet the moon-Ilght sleeps upon this bank' 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the nigl t, 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sit, Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; 
 There's not the smallest orb, which thou beholdest. 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins : 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.— 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 
 Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ; 
 With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear. 
 And draw her home with music. 
 
 Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music 
 
 [Music, 
 
 Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive • 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
 Or race of youthful, and unhandled colts, 
 Fetching mad bounds, bellowing,and neighing loud, 
 Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
 Or any air of music touch their ears, 
 You shall perceive them make a mutual stand. 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze. 
 By the sweet power of music : Therefore, the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; 
 Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage. 
 But music for the time doth change his nature. 
 The man that hath no music in himself. 
 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils : 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
 
Scene I. 
 
 MEKCIIANT OF VENICE. 
 
 195 
 
 And his affections dark as Erebus; 
 
 Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 
 
 Enter Pohtia mid Nerissa, at a distance. 
 
 For. That hght we see, is burning in my hall. 
 How far that httle candle throws his beams ! 
 So siiines a good deed in a naughty world. 
 
 Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the 
 candle. 
 
 Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: 
 A substitute shines brightly as a king. 
 Until a king be by ; and then his state 
 Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
 Into the main of waters. Music! hark! 
 
 Ncr. It is your music, madam, of the house. 
 
 Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; 
 Mcthinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day. 
 
 Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it. madam. 
 
 Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, 
 When neither is attended; and, I think, 
 The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
 When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
 No better a musician than the wren. 
 How many things by season season'd are 
 To their riglit praise and true perfection ! — 
 Peace, hoa I the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
 And would not be awak'd ! [^Music ceases. 
 
 Lor. That is the voice, 
 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 
 
 Por. He knows me as the blind man knows the 
 cuckoo. 
 By the bad voice. 
 
 Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 
 
 Por. We have been praying for our husbands' 
 welfare, 
 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words; 
 Are they return'd? 
 
 Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 
 
 But there is come a messenger before. 
 To signify their coming. 
 
 Por. Go in, Nerissa, 
 
 Give order to my servants, that they take 
 No note at all of our being absent hence ; 
 Nor you, Lorenzo ;— Jessica, nor you. 
 
 [A tucket^ sounds. 
 
 Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet: 
 We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not. 
 
 Por. This night, mcthinks, is but the day-light sick, 
 It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day. 
 Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiaxo, and tfieii 
 Followers. 
 
 Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
 »1 you would walk in absence of the sun. 
 
 Por. Let me give hght, but let me not be light; 
 for a light wife doth make a heavy husband. 
 And never be Bassanio so for me ; [lord. 
 
 But God sort all ! — You are welcome liomc, my 
 
 Bass. I thank you, madam : give welcome to my 
 This is the man, this is Antonio, [friend. — 
 
 To whom I am so infinitely bound. 
 
 Por. You should in all sense be much bound to 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. [him, 
 
 Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
 Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
 
 [t must appear in other waj's than words. 
 
 Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.* 
 
 » A flourish on a trumpet. 
 « Verbal, complimentary tonn. 
 
 [Gratiano and N erissa seem to talk upari. 
 Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong: 
 In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk. 
 Would he were gelt that had it, for my part. 
 Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 
 Por. A quarrel, ho, already ? what's the matter ' 
 Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry "iiig 
 That she did give me; whose posy was 
 For all the world, like cutler's poetry 
 Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not. 
 
 Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value \ 
 You swore to me, when I did give it you. 
 That you would wear it till your hour of death , 
 And that it should lie with you in your grave: 
 Though not for me, yet for j'our vehement oaths, 
 You should have been respective,' and have kept it. 
 Give it a judge's clerk ! — but well I know. 
 The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had iti 
 Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 
 Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man 
 Gra. Nov\', by this hand, I gave it to a youth, — 
 A kind of boy ; a little scrubbed boy. 
 No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; 
 A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee ; 
 I could not for my heart deny it him. 
 
 Por. You. were to blame, I must be plain with you, 
 To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
 A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, 
 And riveted so with faith upon your flesh. 
 I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
 Never to part with it ; and here he stands ; 
 I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it. 
 Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
 That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
 You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief; 
 An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. 
 
 Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, 
 And swear, 1 lost the ring defending it. \^Aside, 
 
 Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
 Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, 
 Deserv'd it too ; and then the boy his clerk, 
 That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine : 
 And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
 But the two rings. 
 
 Por. What ring gave you, ray loid 
 
 Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 
 
 Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
 I would deny it.; but you see my finger 
 Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. 
 
 Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
 By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
 Until I see the ring. 
 
 Ner. Nor I in yours, 
 
 Till I again see mine. 
 
 Bass. Sweet Portia, 
 
 If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
 If you did know for whom I gave the ring. 
 And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
 And how unwillingly I left the ring. 
 When nought would be accepted but the ring, 
 You would abate the strength of your displeasuro 
 Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring. 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the ring. 
 Or your own honor to contain the ring, 
 You would not then have parted with the ring. 
 What man is there so much unreasonable, 
 If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
 With any terras of zeal, wanted the modesty 
 
 » Regardful. 
 
200 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 To urge the thing held as a ceremony 1 
 
 Nerissa teaches me what to believe ; 
 
 I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. 
 
 Bass. No, by mine honor, madam, by my soul, 
 No woman had, but a civil doctor. 
 Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, 
 And begg'd the ring : the which I did deny him, 
 And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away ; 
 Even he that had held up the very life 
 Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet ladyl 
 I was enforced to send it after him ; 
 I was beset with shame and courtesy ; 
 My honor would not let ingratitude 
 So much besmear it : Pardon me, good lady , 
 For, by these blessed candles of the night, 
 Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd 
 The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 
 
 For. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: 
 Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, 
 And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
 I will become as liberal as you : 
 I'll not deny him any thing I have. 
 No, not my body, nor my husband's bed : 
 Know him I shall, I am well sure of it : 
 Lie not a night from home ; watch me, like Argus : 
 If you do not, if I be left alone, 
 Now, by mine honor, which is yet my own, 
 I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow. 
 
 Ner. And I his clerk ; therefore be well advis'd, 
 How you do leave me to mine own protection. 
 
 Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him then. 
 For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 
 
 Atit. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 
 
 For. Sir, grieve not you : You are welcome, not- 
 withstanding. 
 
 Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ; 
 And in the hearing of these many friends, 
 I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
 Wherein I see myself, 
 
 For. Mark you but that ! 
 
 In both mine eyes he doubly sees himself: 
 In each eye, one : — swear by your double self. 
 And there's an oath of credit. 
 
 Bass. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
 I never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth ;* 
 Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
 
 [To Portia. 
 Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again, 
 My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
 Will never more break faith advisedly. 
 
 For. Then you shall be his surety : Give him this ; 
 knd bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 Ajit. Here, lord Bassanio ; swear to keep this ring. 
 
 lia^s. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor ! 
 • Advauta^Ke. 
 
 For. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio ; 
 For by this ring the doctor lay with me. 
 
 Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 
 For that same scrubb'd boy, the doctor's clerk, 
 In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. 
 
 Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highrray* 
 In summer, where the ways are fair enough : 
 What ! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserved it 1 
 
 For. Speak not so grossly. — You are all amaz'd : 
 Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ; 
 It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
 There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor ; 
 Nerissa there, her clerk : Lorenzo here 
 Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you, 
 And but even now return'd ; I have not yet 
 Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are welcome ; 
 And I have better news in store for you, 
 Than you expect : unseal this letter soon ; 
 There you shall find, three of your argosies 
 Are richly come to harbor suddenly : 
 You shall not know by what strange accident 
 I chanced en this letter. 
 
 Ant. I am dumb. 
 
 Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you 
 not? 
 
 Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me 
 cuckold ? 
 
 Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to 
 do it. 
 Unless he live until he be a man. 
 
 Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow , 
 When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 
 
 Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and 
 living; 
 For here I read for certain, that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
 For. How now, Lorenzo '! 
 
 My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 
 
 Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. — 
 There do I g^ve to you, and Jessica, 
 From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, 
 After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 
 
 Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
 Of starved people. 
 
 For. It is almost morning. 
 
 And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
 Of these events at full : Let us go in ; 
 And charge us there upon inter'gatories, 
 And we will answer all things faithfully. 
 
 Gra, Let it be so : The first inter'gatory. 
 That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is. 
 Whether till the next night she had rather stay , 
 Or go to bed now, being two hours to day : 
 But were the day come, I should wish it dark. 
 That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
 Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing 
 So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [^ExettfU 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 U(TKE, living in exile. 
 
 Frederick, brother to the Duke, and Usurper of 
 
 his dominions. 
 Amiens, ) Lords, attending upon the Dukeinhis 
 jAauEs, 5 banishment. 
 
 liE Beau, a Courtier, attending upon Frederick. 
 Charles, his Wrestler. 
 Oliver, i 
 
 jAatJEs, > Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. 
 Orlando, ) 
 
 T, ' ' > Servants to Oliver. 
 Uenivis, ) 
 
 Touchstone, a Clown. 
 
 The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House,- afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and 
 
 partly in the Forest of Arden. 
 
 Vicar 
 
 Sir Oliteh Mah-text, 
 c ' > Shepherds. 
 
 SYLVIUS, y ^ 
 
 yVii^i^iAM, a country Fellow, in hie with Amiiej 
 A Person representing Hymen. 
 
 Rosalind, Daughter to the banished Duke. 
 Celia, Daughter to Frederick. 
 Phebe, a Shepherdess. 
 Acdhet, a country Girl. 
 
 Lords belonging to the two Dukes, • Pages, Forest 
 ers, and other Attendants. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 RJCENE I. — An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 
 
 Enter Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Orl. As I remember^ Adam, it was upon this fash- 
 ion bcqueath'd me : By will, but a poor thousand 
 crowns; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, 
 on his blessing, to breed me well : and there begins 
 my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at 
 school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: 
 for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to 
 speal' more properly, stays me here at home un- 
 kept : For call you that keeping for a gentleman of 
 my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox 1 
 His horses are bred better ; for, besides that they 
 are fair with their feeding, they are taught their 
 manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : but 
 I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; 
 for the which his animals on his dunghills are as 
 much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that 
 he so plentifully gives me, the something that 
 nature gave me, his countenance seems to take 
 from me : he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me 
 Ihc place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, 
 mines my gentility with my education. This is it, 
 Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my father, 
 which I think is within me, begins to mutiny 
 against this servitude : I will no ongcr endure it, 
 \D lUffh yel I know no wise remcd • how t-^ avoid it. 
 
 Enter Oliteh. 
 
 Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother 
 
 Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shall hear how 
 he will shake me up. 
 
 OH. Now, sir, what make you here 1' 
 
 Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing 
 
 Oli. What mar you then, sir? 
 
 Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that 
 which God made, a poor unworthy brother of j'ours, 
 with idleness. 
 
 Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ 'd, and be naught 
 awhile. 
 
 Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 
 them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that 
 I should come to such penury T 
 
 Oli. Know you where you are, sir? 
 
 Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 
 
 Oli. Know you before whom, sir? 
 
 Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. 
 I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the 
 gentle condition of blood, you should so know me: 
 The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in 
 that you arc the first-born ; but the same tradition 
 takes not away my blood, were there twenty 
 brothers betwixt us : I have as much of my fathei 
 in me, as you ; albeit, I confess, your coming l<efoit 
 me is nearer to his reverence. 
 
 ' What do you here ? 
 
 201 
 
202 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Acr 1 
 
 OIL What, boy! 
 
 Oil. Come, come, elder brother, you are too 
 young in this. 
 
 Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ] 
 
 Oil. I am no villain •? I am the youngest son 
 of sir Rowland de Bois ; he was my father, and he 
 is thrice a villain, that says such a father begot 
 villains: Wert thou not my brother, I would not 
 take this hand from thy throat, till this other had 
 lulled out thy tongue for saying so ; thou hast railed 
 in thyself. 
 
 Adam. Sweet masters, be patient ; for your fa- 
 ther's remembrance, be at accord. 
 
 Oli. Let me go, I say. 
 
 Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. 
 My father charged you in his will to give me good 
 education: you have trained me like a peasant, 
 obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like 
 qualities : the spirit of my father grows strong in 
 me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore 
 allow me such exercises as may become a gentle- 
 man, or give me the poor allottery my father left 
 me by testament ; with that I will go buy my for- 
 tunes. 
 
 OH. And what wilt thou do 1 beg, when that is 
 spent 1 Well, sir, get you in : I will not long be 
 troubled with you : you shall have some part of 
 your will: I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes 
 me for my good. 
 
 OIL Get you with him, you old dog. 
 
 Adam. Is old dog my reward 1 most true, I have 
 
 lost my teeth in your service. — God be with my 
 
 old master ! he would not have spoke such a word. 
 
 [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 
 
 OIL Is it even so 1 begin you to grow upon me ] 
 1 will physic your rankness, and yet give no thou- 
 sand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis! 
 
 Enter Dennis. 
 
 Den. Calls your worship 1 
 
 OIL Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here, 
 to speak with me 1 
 
 Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and 
 importunes access to you. 
 
 OIL Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]— 'Twill be a 
 good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 
 
 Enter Charles. 
 
 Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 
 
 OIL Good monsieur Charles ! — what's the new 
 I. ews at the new court 1 
 
 Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the 
 old news : that is, the old duke is banished by his 
 younger brother the new duke ; and three or four 
 loving lords have put themselves into voluntary 
 exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich 
 the new duke ; therefore he gives them good leave 
 to wander. 
 
 Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daugh- 
 ter, be banished with her father 1 
 
 Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, 
 30 loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred 
 together, — that she would have followed her exile, 
 or have died to stay behind her. She is at the 
 court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his 
 own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. 
 
 OIL Where will the old duke live 1 
 
 • Villain is used in a double sense ; by Oliver for a worth- 
 less fellow, and by Orlando for a man of base extraction. 
 
 Cha. They say he is already in the forest of 
 Arden, and a many meny men with him; and 
 there they live like the old Robin Hood of Eng' 
 land : they say, many young gentlemen flock to 
 him every day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they 
 did in the golden world. 
 
 OH. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the 
 new duke? 
 
 Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint 
 you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to un< 
 derstand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath 
 a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try 
 a fall : To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit ; 
 and he that escapes me without some broken limb, 
 shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young, 
 and tender ; and, for your love, I would be loath to 
 foil him, as I must, for my own honor, if he come 
 in : therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither 
 to acquaint you vrithal ; that cither you might stay 
 him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace 
 well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of 
 his own search, and altogether against my will. 
 
 Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, 
 which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I 
 had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, 
 and have by underhand means labored to dissuade 
 him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, 
 Charles, — it is the stubbornest young fellow of 
 France ; full of ambition, an envious emulator of 
 every man's good parts, a secret and villanous 
 contriver against me his natural brother; therefore 
 use thy discretion ; I had as lief thou didst break 
 his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look 
 to't ; for if thou do'st him any slight disgrace, or if 
 he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will 
 practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some 
 treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath 
 ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other ; for, 
 I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there 
 is not one so young and so villanous this day living. 
 I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anato- 
 mize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, 
 and thou must look pale and wonder. 
 
 Cha. I am heartily glad, I came hither to you ; 
 If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: 
 If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for 
 prize more : And so, heaven keep your worship ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 OIL Farewell, good Charles. — Now will I stir 
 this gamester :' I hope I shall see an end of him : 
 for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing 
 more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, 
 and yet learned; full of noble device: of all sorts' 
 enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the 
 heart of the world, and especially of my own peo- 
 ple, who best know him, that I am altogether mis- 
 prised : but it shall not be so long ; this wrestler 
 shall clear all : nothing remains, but that I kindle 
 the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Lawn before the Duke's Palact 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz,be merry 
 Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am 
 
 mistress of: and would you yet I were merrier? 
 
 Unless you would teach me to forget a banished 
 
 father, you must not learn me how to remember 
 
 any extraordinary pleasure. 
 
 » Frolicksome /fellow. ■• Of all ranks. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 20S 
 
 Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the 
 Till weight that I love thee : if my uncle, thy ba- 
 nished fathor, had banished thy uncle, the duke my 
 father, so thou hadst been still whh me, I could 
 have taught my love to take thy father for mine ; 
 BO wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were 
 so righteously tcmper'd as mine is to thee. 
 
 Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my 
 estate, to rejoice in yours. 
 
 Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, 
 nor none is like to have ; and, truly, when he dies, 
 thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away 
 from thy father perforce, I will render thee again 
 in affection ; by mine honor, I will ; and when I 
 break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my 
 sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. 
 
 Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise 
 sports: let me see; What think you of falling in love? 
 
 Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal : 
 but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in 
 sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou 
 mayst in honor come off again. 
 
 Ros. What shall bo our sport then 1 
 
 Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, 
 fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may hence- 
 forth be bestowed equally. 
 
 Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits 
 are mightily misplaced : and the bountiful blind 
 woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. 
 
 Cel. 'Tis ti'ue: for those, that she makes fair, she 
 scarce makes honest; and those, that she makes 
 honest, she makes very ill-favor'dly. 
 
 Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office 
 to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not 
 Ji the lineaments of nature. 
 
 Enter ToucnsTOJiE. 
 
 Cel. No 1 When nature hath made a fair creature, 
 may she not by fortune fall into the fire 1 — Though 
 nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not 
 fortune sent in this fool to cutoff the argument] 
 
 Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature ; 
 when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off 
 of nature's wit. 
 
 Cel. Peradvcnture, this is not fortune's work 
 neither, but nature's: who perceiving our natural 
 wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent 
 this natural for our whetstone: for always the dul- 
 ness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits. — How 
 :iow, wit 1 whither wander you ? 
 
 Touch. I\Iistress, you must come away to your 
 father. 
 
 Cel. Were you made the messenger 1 
 
 T( tit h. No, by mine honor ; but I was bid to 
 (tme fi r you. 
 
 Ra. Where learned you that oath, fool ? 
 
 Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his 
 honor they were good pancakes, and swore by his 
 honor the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to 
 it. the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was 
 ffooil ; and yet was not the knight forsworn. 
 
 Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
 your knowledge? 
 
 Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. 
 
 Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your 
 ctiins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. 
 
 Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 
 
 Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were : 
 but if you swea.- by that that is not, you are not 
 forsworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his 
 
 honor, for he never had any ; or if he had, he had 
 sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes 
 or that mustard. 
 
 Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st ] 
 
 Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. 
 
 Cel. My father's love is enough to honor him. 
 Enough ! speak no more of him ; you'll be whipp'd 
 for taxation,' one of these days. 
 
 Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak 
 wisely, what wise men do foolishly. 
 
 Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true : for since the 
 little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little 
 foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show. 
 Here comes monsieur Le Beau. 
 
 Enter Le Beau. 
 
 Ros. With his mouth full of news. 
 
 Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed 
 their young. 
 
 Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. 
 
 Cel. All the better; we shalt be the more mar- 
 ketable. iJonjowr, monsieur Le Beau: What's the 
 news 1 
 
 Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good 
 sport. 
 
 Cel. Sport 1 Of what color] 
 
 Le Beau. What color, madam] How shall I 
 answer you ] 
 
 Ros. As wit and fortune will. 
 
 Touch. Or as the destinies decree. 
 
 Cel. W^ell said; that was laid on with a trowel 
 
 Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, 
 
 Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. 
 
 Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies ; I would have 
 told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the 
 sight of. 
 
 Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 
 
 Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it 
 please your ladyships, you may see the end ; for 
 the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, 
 they are coming to perform it. 
 
 Cel. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and 
 buried. 
 
 Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three 
 
 sons, 
 
 Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. 
 
 Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent 
 growth and presence ; 
 
 Ros. With bills on their necks, — Be it known 
 unto all men by these presents, 
 
 Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with 
 Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a mo- 
 ment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that 
 there is httle hope of life in him : so he served the se- 
 cond, and so the third : Yonder they lie ; the poor old 
 man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, 
 that all the beholders take his part with weeping. 
 
 Ros. Alas ! 
 
 Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the 
 ladies have lost ? 
 
 Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 
 
 Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day ! if 
 is the first time that I ever heard, breaking of ribs 
 was sport for ladies. 
 
 Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 
 
 Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken 
 music in his sides 1 is there yet another dotes upon 
 rib-breaking ? — Shall we see this wrestling, cousin ? 
 
 Le Beau. You must, if you stay here : for here ii 
 t Satire. 
 
204 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are 
 readji to jerform it. 
 
 Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us 
 now stay and see it. 
 
 f^lourish. Enter Duke Fhederick, Lords, On- 
 LANDo, Chahles, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Come on; since the youth will not be 
 entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 
 
 Ros. Is yonder the man ] 
 
 Le Beau. Even he, madam. 
 
 Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin 1 are 
 you crept hither to see the wrestling 1 
 
 Ros. Ay, my liege! so please you give us leave. 
 
 Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can 
 tell yoU; there is such odds in the men : In pity of 
 the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, 
 but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, ladies ; 
 see if you can move him. 
 
 Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau. 
 
 Duke F. Do so: I'll not be by. [T)vke goes apart. 
 
 Ije Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses 
 call for you. 
 
 Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. 
 
 Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles 
 the wrestler 1 
 
 Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general chal- 
 lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with him 
 the strength of my youth. 
 
 Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold 
 for your years : You have seen cruel proof of this 
 man's strength ; if you saw yourself with your eyes, 
 or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of 
 your adventure would counsel you to a more equal 
 enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to 
 embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. 
 
 Ros. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall not 
 therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to 
 the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. 
 
 Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your 
 hard thoughts ; wherein I confess me much guilty, 
 to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But 
 let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to 
 my trial : wherein if I be foiled, there is but one 
 shamed that was never gracious ; if killed, but one 
 dead that is willing to be so : I shall do my friends 
 no wrong, for I have none to lament me ; the world 
 no injury, for in it I have nothing ; only in the 
 world I till up a place, which may be better sup- 
 I lied when I have made it empty. 
 
 Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it 
 were with you. 
 
 Cil. And mine, to eke out hers. 
 
 Ros. Fare you well. Pray heavec , I be deceived 
 ui you ! 
 
 Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. 
 
 Cha . Come, where is this young gallant, that is 
 so desirous to lie with his mother earth 1 
 
 Orl. Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a more 
 modest working. 
 
 Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 
 
 Cha. No, I warrant your grace ; you shall not 
 •ntreat him to a second, that have so mightily per- 
 BUaded him from a first. 
 
 Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should 
 not have mocked me before: but come your 
 Tays. 
 
 Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 
 
 Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong 
 fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando ivret>tle. 
 
 Ros. O excellent young man ! 
 
 Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can 
 tell who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout 
 
 Duke F. No more, no more. 
 
 Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace ; I am not yel 
 well breathed. 
 
 Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 
 
 Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 
 
 Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is loriie our 
 What is thy name, young man ? 
 
 Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the yciiigest son oi &ii 
 Rowland de Bois. 
 
 Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some 
 The world esteem'd thy father honorable, [man else 
 But I did find him still mine enemy : 
 Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed. 
 Hadst thou descended from another house. 
 But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ; 
 I would thou hadst told me of another father. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke Fred., Train, and Le Beau. 
 
 Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? 
 
 Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, 
 His youngest son ; — and would not change that 
 To be adopted heir to Frederick. [calling, 
 
 Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, 
 And all the world was of my father's mind : 
 Had I before known this young man his son, 
 I should have given him tears unto entreaties, 
 Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 
 
 Cel. Gentle cousin. 
 
 Let us go thank him, and encourage him : 
 My father's rough and envious disposition 
 Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well dcserv'd 
 If you do keep your promises in love, 
 But justly, as you have exceeded promise, 
 Your mistress shall be happy. 
 
 Ros. Gentleman, 
 
 [Giving him a chain from her neck. 
 Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune; 
 That could give more, but that her hand lacks 
 
 means. — 
 Shall we go, coz ? 
 
 Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman. 
 
 Orl. Can I not say, I thank you 1 My better parta 
 Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up, 
 Is but a quintain,'^ a mere lifeless block. 
 
 Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my 
 fortunes : 
 I'll ask him what he would : — Did you call, sir] — 
 Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown 
 More than your enemies. 
 
 Cel. Will you go, coz? 
 
 Ros. Have with you : — Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt RosAnxn and Cei.ia. 
 
 Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon 
 my tongue ? 
 I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. 
 
 Re-enter Le Beau. 
 
 O poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown ; 
 
 Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. 
 
 Le Beau. Good sir, I do in fiiendship counsel you 
 To leave this place : Albeit you have deserv'd 
 High commendation, true applause, and love ; 
 Yet such is now the duke's condition,' 
 That he misconstrues all that you have Aone, 
 
 The object to dart at ii» martial exercisea. 
 ' Temper, disposition. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 205 
 
 The duke is humorous ; what he is, indeed, 
 More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. 
 
 Or I. I thank you, sir: and pray you, tell me 
 this; 
 Which of the two was daughter of the duke, 
 That here was at the wrestling? 
 
 Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
 manners ; 
 But yet indeed, the shorter is his daughter: 
 The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, 
 And here detain'd by her usurping uncle. 
 To keep his daughter company ; whose loves 
 Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
 But I can tell you, that of late this duke 
 Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece; 
 Grounded upon no other argument, 
 But that the people praise her for her virtues. 
 And pity her for iicr good father's sake : 
 And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
 Will suddenly break forth. — Sir, fare you well ; 
 Hercat'ter, in a better world than this, 
 I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 
 
 Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well ! 
 
 [^Exit Le Beau. 
 Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; 
 From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother: — 
 But, heavenly Rosalind ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Celia and Rosalind. 
 
 (Jel. Why, cousin ; why, Ronalind ; — Cupid have 
 mercy ! — Not a word ] 
 
 Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 
 
 Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast 
 away upon curs, throw some of them at me ; come, 
 lame me with reasons. 
 
 Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when 
 the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other 
 mad without any. 
 
 Cel. But is all this for your father? 
 
 Ros. No, some of it for my father's child : O, 
 liow full of briars is this working-day world ! 
 
 Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee 
 in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden 
 paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 
 
 Ros. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs 
 are in ray heart. 
 
 Cel. Hem them away. 
 
 Ros. I would try ; if I could cry hem, and have 
 him. 
 
 Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 
 
 Ros. 0, they take the part of a better wrestler 
 Uian myself. 
 
 Cat. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try in 
 ti^ne, in despite of a fall. — But, turning these jests 
 out Ci' sf rvice, let us talk in good earnest : Is it pos- 
 sible on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong 
 a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son ? 
 
 Ros. The duke my father lov'd his fether dearly. 
 
 Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love 
 his son dearly 1 By this kind of chase, I should hate 
 him, for my father hated his father dearly ; yet I 
 Ijite not Orlando. 
 
 Ros. No; hate him not, for my sake. 
 
 Cel. Why should I not! dotli he not deserve 
 well ] 
 
 Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you love 
 iiim because I do : — Look, here comes the duke. 
 
 Ctl. With his eves full of anger. 
 
 Enter Duke Frederick, vnth Lords. 
 
 Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest 
 haste. 
 And get you from our court. 
 
 Ros. Me, uncle? 
 
 Duke F. You, cousin ; 
 
 Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
 So near our public court as twenty miles, 
 Thou diest for it. 
 
 Ros. I do beseech your grace. 
 
 Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with rae: 
 If with myself I hold intelligence, 
 Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; 
 If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
 (As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle, 
 Never, so much as in a thought unborn, 
 Did I offend your highness. 
 
 Duke F. Thus do all trdtors ; 
 
 If their purgation did consist in words. 
 They are as innocent as grace itself; — 
 Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. 
 
 Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor . 
 Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. 
 
 Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there'* 
 enough. 
 
 Ros. So was I, when your highness took his 
 dukedom ; 
 So was I when your highness banish'd him : 
 Treason is not inherited, my lord ; 
 Or, if we did derive it from our friends. 
 What's that to me ? my father was no traiti/r : 
 Then, good my liege, mistake me iiot so much. 
 To think my poverty is treacherous. 
 
 Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 
 
 Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake. 
 Else had she with her father ranged along. 
 
 Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, 
 It was your pleasure and your own remor.sn 
 I was too young that time to value her. 
 But now I know her : if she be a traitor. 
 Why so am I ; we still have slept together, 
 Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together ; 
 And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
 Sti'l we went coupled, and inseparable. 
 
 Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her 
 smoothness. 
 Her very silence, and her patience. 
 Speak to the people, and they pity hei. 
 Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name % 
 And thou wilt show more bright and seem mora 
 
 virtuous, 
 When she is gone : then open not thy lips ; 
 Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
 Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd 
 
 Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my 
 liege ; 
 I cannot live out of her company. 
 
 Duke F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide 
 yourself; 
 If you out-stay the time, upon mine honor, 
 And in the greatness of my word, you die. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke Fuederick and Lords. 
 
 Cel. O my poor Rosalind ! whither wilt thou go ? 
 Wilt thou cluiiigc fathers? I will give thee mine. 
 I charge ihi'o, lu' not thou more griev'd than I am 
 
 Rds. I havi! more cause. 
 
 Cel. 'J'hou hast ndt, cousin ' 
 
 Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, tlw duke 
 Hath banish'd me, his daughter? 
 I Compassion. 
 
206 
 
 AS YOU LIKE ri'. 
 
 Ajr II. 
 
 Ros That he hath not. 
 
 Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love 
 Which tcachcth thee that thou and I are one : 
 Shall wc be sunder'd 1 shall we part, sweet girl 1 
 IVo ; let my father seek another heir. 
 Therefore devise with me, how we may fly, 
 Whither to go, and what to bear with us : 
 And do not seek to take your change upon you. 
 To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ; 
 For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale. 
 Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. 
 
 Ros. Why, whither shall we go ] 
 
 Cel. To seek my uncle. 
 
 Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, 
 Maids as we are, to travel forth so far 1 
 Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 
 
 Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire. 
 And with a kind of umber ' smirch my face ; 
 The like do you ; so shall we pass along, 
 And never stir assailants. 
 
 Ros. Were it not better, 
 
 Because that I am more than common tall. 
 That I did suit me all points like a man 1 
 
 A gallant curtle-ax' upon my thigh, 
 A boar spear in my hand; and (in my heart, 
 Lie there v^'hat hidden woman's fear thfre will) 
 We'll have a swashing' and a martial outside; 
 As many other mannish cowards have, 
 That do outface it with their semblances. 
 
 Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man' 
 
 Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's owr. 
 page, 
 And therefore look j'ou call me, Ganymede. 
 But what will you be call'd? 
 
 Cel. Something that hath a reference to my h\atf . 
 No longer Celia, but Aliena. 
 
 Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay 'd hi steal 
 The clownish fool out of your father's court f 
 Would he not be a comfort to our travel 1 
 
 Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me 
 Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away. 
 And get our jewels and our wealth together ; 
 Devise the fittest time, and safest way 
 To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
 After my flight : Now go we in content 
 To liberty and not to banishment. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENii I.— The Forest of Arden. 
 
 anter Duke Senior, Amiens, and otherhords, in 
 the dress of Foresters. 
 
 Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, 
 Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
 Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods 
 More free from peril than the envious court? 
 Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
 The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, 
 And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; 
 Which when it bites and blows upon my body. 
 Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — 
 This is no flattery: these arc counsellors 
 That feelingly persuade me what I am. 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous. 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 
 And this our life, exempt from public haunt. 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 
 
 Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace. 
 That can translate the stubbornness rf fortune 
 Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 
 
 Duke S, Come, shall we go and kill us venison 1 
 And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — 
 Being native burghers of this desert city, — 
 Should in their own confines, with forked heads ' 
 Have their round haunches gsred. 
 
 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, 
 
 The melancholy Jnques grieves at that ; 
 And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
 Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
 To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself. 
 Did steal behind him, as he lay along 
 Under an oak, whose antique root peips out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: 
 To the which place a poor sequester'd stag. 
 That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, 
 
 • A dusky, yellow-colored earth. 
 
 « Barbed arrows. 
 
 Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord, 
 The wretched animal beav'd forth such groans, 
 That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
 Almost to bursting; and the big round tears 
 Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
 In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool, 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 Stood on the extrcmest verge of the swift brook, 
 Augmenting it with tears. 
 
 Duke S. But what said Jaques 1 
 
 Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 
 
 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. 
 First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; 
 Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a t^jstmnent 
 As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
 
 To that which had too much: Then, being alone, 
 
 Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; 
 
 ' Tis right, quoth he ; thus inhery doth part 
 
 The jiux of company.- Anon, a careless herd. 
 
 Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, 
 
 And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jaq'-es, 
 
 Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 
 
 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you looh 
 
 Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? 
 
 Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
 
 The body of the country, city, court, 
 
 Yea, and of this our life: swearing, that we 
 
 Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse 
 
 To fright the animals, and to kill them up, 
 
 In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. 
 
 Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem 
 plation 1 
 
 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com 
 
 menting 
 Upon the sobbing deer. 
 
 Duke S. Show me the plato ; 
 
 I love to C0J1C* him in these sullen fits, 
 For then he's full of matter. 
 
 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Eziunt 
 
 » Cutlass. 
 
 » Swaggering. 
 
 * Encountet. 
 
^CENE IV. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 207 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in Ike Palace. 
 Enter Dukk Fukdeuick. Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw theml 
 [t cariiiot be: some villains of my court 
 Are of consent and sufferance in this. 
 
 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 
 The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, 
 Saw her a-bcd; and, in the morning early. 
 They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 
 
 2 Lord. My lord, the roynish' clown, at whom so oft 
 Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
 Hespcria, the princess' gentlewoman. 
 Confesses, that she secretly o'crheard 
 Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
 The i^arts and graces of the wrestler 
 That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles 
 And she believes, wherever they are gone, 
 Tha'. youth is surely in their company. 
 
 Duke /■'. Send to his brother ; fetch that gallant 
 hither; 
 If he be absent, bring his brother to me, 
 I'll make him find him: do this suddenly; 
 And let not search and inquisition quail" 
 To bring again these foolish runaways. \Exeunl. 
 
 SCENE \\\.— Before Oliver's House. 
 
 Enter Oulaxiio and Adam, meeting. 
 
 Or/. Who's there 1 
 
 Adam, What! my young masterl — 0, my gentle 
 master, 
 (J, my sweet master, O you memory^ 
 Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here 1 
 Why are you virtuous 1 Why do people love you 1 
 And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? 
 Why should you be so fond' to overcome 
 The bony prizer of the humorous duke 1 
 Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
 Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
 Their graces serve them but as enemies'? 
 No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master, 
 Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
 O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
 Envenoms him that bears it? 
 
 Orl. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 Adam. O unhappy youth. 
 
 Come not within these doors; within this roof 
 The enemy of all your graces lives : 
 Your brother — (no, no brother; yet the son — 
 Yet not the son ; — I will not call him son — 
 01 him I was about to call his father,) — 
 Il.ith heard your praises; and this night he means 
 To biu'a the lodging where you use to lie, 
 Ar 1 you within it: if he fail of that. 
 He will have other means to cut you off: 
 I o- jrhcard him, and his practices. 
 This is no pla'^e this house is but a butchery; 
 Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. [me go? 
 
 Or/. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have 
 
 Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 
 
 Or/. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my 
 Or,withabase and boisterous sword, enforce [food! 
 \ thievish living on the common road 1 
 This I must do, or know not what to do : 
 Yet this I will not do, do how I can; 
 ( rather will subject me to the malice 
 Of a diverted blood,* and bloody brother. 
 
 » Scurvy. « Sink into dejection. ' Memorial. 
 
 ' Inconsiderate. • Blood turned from its natural course. 
 
 Adam. But do noi »o : I have five hunclrej crown* 
 The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, 
 Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, 
 When service should in my old limbs lie lame, 
 And unregarded age in comers thrown : 
 Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, 
 Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. 
 Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
 All this I give you : Let me be your servant ; 
 Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty : 
 For in my 5'outh I never did apply 
 Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
 Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
 The means of weakness and debility < 
 Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
 Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ; 
 I'll do the service of a younger man 
 In all your business and necessities. 
 
 Or/. O good old man ; how well in thee appears 
 The constant service of the antique world. 
 When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
 Thou art not for the fashion of these times. 
 Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; 
 And having that, do choke their service up 
 Even with the having : it is not so with thee. 
 But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
 That cannot so much as a blossom yield, 
 In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry: 
 But come thy ways, we'll go along together; 
 And ere \vc have thy youthful wages spent, 
 We'll light upon some settled low content. 
 
 Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee 
 To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — 
 From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
 Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
 At seventeen years many their fortunes seek* 
 But at fourscore, it is too late a week: 
 Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, 
 Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. 
 
 lExetmt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— T//e Forest of Arden. 
 
 Enter Rosalind in Boy^s c/ot/ies, Celia dressed 
 /ike a S/iep/ierdess, and Touchstone. 
 
 Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits ! 
 
 Touc/i. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were 
 not weary. 
 
 Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my 
 man's apparel, and to cry liJce a woman : but I must 
 comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought 
 to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, 
 courage, good Aliena. 
 
 Ce/. I pray you, bear with me ; I can go no further. 
 
 Touc/i. For my part, I had rather bear with you 
 than bear you : yet I should bear no cross,' if I di J 
 bear you : for, I think, you have no money in your 
 purse. 
 
 Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 
 
 Touc/i. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool 
 I ; when I was at home, I was in a better place ; 
 but travellers must be content. 
 
 Ros. Ay. be so, good Touchstone : — Look you, 
 who comes here ; a young man and an old, in 
 solemn talk. 
 
 Enter Conix a7id Silvius. 
 
 Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you stiU 
 Si/. Corin, that thou knewst how I do love her 
 
 « A piece of money stamped with a cro38. 
 
i08 
 
 AS 
 
 YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Cjr, I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. 
 
 >Si/. No, Corin, lieing old thou canst not guess ; 
 Though in tliy youth thou wast as true a lover 
 As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow : 
 But if thy love were ever like to mine, 
 (As sure I think did never man love so,) 
 How many actions most ridiculous 
 Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? 
 
 Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 
 
 Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily : 
 If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
 That ever love did make thee run into, 
 Thoi hast not lov'd : 
 Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
 Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
 Thou hasi not lov'd : 
 Or if thou hast not broke from company, 
 Abruptly, as my passion now makes me. 
 Thou hast not lov'd : O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! 
 
 \Exit SiLVius. 
 jRos. Alas, poor shepherd ! searchingof thy wound, 
 I have by hard adventure found my own. 
 
 Touch. And I mine : I remember, when I was 
 in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid 
 him take that for coming anight* to Jane Smile : 
 and I remember the kissing of her batlet,' and the 
 cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd : 
 and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead 
 of her ; from whom I took two cods, and giving her 
 them again, said with weeping tears. Wear these 
 for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into 
 strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is 
 all nature in love mortal in folly. 
 
 Ros. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art 'ware of. 
 
 Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own 
 wit, till I break my shins against it. 
 
 Ros. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
 
 Is much upon my fashion. [with me. 
 
 Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale 
 
 Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, 
 If he for gold will give us any food ; 
 I faint almost to death. 
 
 Touch. Holla ; you clown ! 
 
 Ros. Peace, fool, he's not thy kinsman. 
 
 Cor. Who calls ? 
 
 Touch. Your betters, sir. 
 
 Cor. Else are they very wretched. 
 
 Ros. Peace, I say : — 
 
 Good even to you, friend. 
 
 Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 
 
 Ros. I pry'thee, shepherd, if that love, or gold. 
 Can in this desert place buy entertainment. 
 Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed : 
 Here'g a young maid with travel much oppress'd. 
 And faints for succor. 
 
 Cor. Fair sir, I pity her, 
 
 A nd wish for her sake, more than for mine own. 
 My fortunes were more able to relieve her : 
 But I am shepherd to another man. 
 And do not shear the fleeces that I graze ; 
 My master is of churlish disposition, 
 And little recks* to find the way to heaven 
 By doing deeds of hospitahty : 
 Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed. 
 Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, 
 By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
 That you will feed on : but what is, come see, 
 And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 
 
 'In the night. 
 'Saxes. 
 
 *The instrument with which 
 washers heat clothes. 
 
 Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and 
 pasture ? [erewhile^ 
 
 Cor. That young swain that you saw here hvi 
 That little cares for buying any thing. 
 
 Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty. 
 Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
 And thou shall have to pay for it of us. [place, 
 
 Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like thij 
 And willingly could waste my time in it. 
 
 Cor, Assuredly, the thing is to be sold ; 
 Go with me ; if you like upon report. 
 The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
 I will your very faithful feeder be. 
 And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [ Exeuiii 
 
 SCENE Y.— The same. 
 Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others 
 
 SONG. 
 Ami. Under the greenwood tree, 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 And tune his merry note, 
 Unto the siceet bird's throat, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy, 
 But winter and rough toeather. 
 Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. [Jaques. 
 Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur 
 Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can 
 suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks 
 eggs : More, I pr'ythee, more. 
 
 Ami. My voice is ragged ;* I know, I cannot 
 please you. 
 
 Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do de- 
 sire you to sing : Come, more ; another stanza : 
 Call you them stanzas 1 
 
 Ami, What you will, monsieur Jaques. 
 Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe 
 me nothing : Will you sing 1 
 
 Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. 
 Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll 
 thank you ; but that they call compliment, is like the 
 encounter of two dog-apes ; and when a man thanks 
 me heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, 
 and he renders me the beggarly thanks. — Come, 
 sing ; and you that will not, hold your tongues. 
 
 Ami. Well, I'll end the song. — Sirs, cover the 
 while ; the duke will drink under this tree : — he 
 hath been all this day. to look you. 
 
 Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. 
 He is too disputable' for my company : I think of 
 as many matters as he ; but I give heaven thanks, 
 and make no boast of them. Come, v/arble, come. 
 
 SONG. 
 Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. 
 And lores to live i' the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eats, 
 And pleas' d tcith what he gets, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy. 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that 1 made 
 yesterday in despite of my invention. 
 Ami. And I'll sing it. 
 Jaq. Thus it goes : — 
 
 1/ it do come to pass, 
 That any man turn ass, 
 Leaving his wealth and ease, 
 A stubborn will to please, 
 
 » Kagged and rugged had formerly the same meaning 
 « Disputatious. 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 209 
 
 Ducddme, ducdame, ducdame; 
 
 Here shall he see 
 
 Gross fools as ne, 
 An if he will come to me. 
 
 Ami. What's that ducddme? 
 
 Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a 
 ■circle. I'll go sleep if I can ; if I cannot, I'll rail 
 against all the first-born of Egypt. 
 
 Ami. And I'll go seek the duke ; his banquet is 
 prepared. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE Yl.— The same. 
 
 Enter Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I 
 die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my 
 grave. Farewell, kind master. 
 
 Orl. Why, how now, Adam 1 no greater neart in 
 .hee ? Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself 
 a little : If this uncouth forest yield any thing 
 savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for 
 food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy 
 powers. For my sake, be comfortable ; hold death 
 awhile at the arm's end : I will here be with thee 
 presently ; and if I bring thee not something to eat, 
 I'll give thee leave to die : but if thou diest before 
 I come, thou art a mocker of my labor. Well 
 eaid! thou look'st cheerly: and I'll be with thee 
 quickly. — Yet thou liest in the bleak air : come, I 
 will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not 
 die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in 
 this desert. Cheerly, good Adam ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Mil.— The same. 
 
 A Table set out. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, 
 Lords, a7id others. 
 
 Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; 
 For I can no where find him like a man.. 
 
 1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; 
 Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
 
 Duke S. If he, compact of jars,'^ grow musical. 
 We shall have shortly discord in the spheres : — 
 Go, seek him ; tell him, I would speak with him. 
 
 Enter JAauKs. 
 
 1 Lord. He saves my labor by his own approach. 
 
 Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a Ufc 
 is this. 
 That your poor friends must woo your company 1 
 What! you look merrily. 
 
 Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i'the forest, 
 
 X motley fool ; — a miserable world ! — 
 
 As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
 
 Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun. 
 
 And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms, 
 
 [n good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 
 
 Good morrow, fool, quoth I: No, sir, quoth he. 
 
 Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune: 
 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke; 
 
 And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 
 Bays, very wiselj% It is ten o'' clock: 
 
 Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags: 
 
 'Tis but an hour ago, since it was riine,- 
 
 And after an lumr more, 'twill be eleven; 
 
 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 
 
 And then from hour to hour, we rot and rot, 
 
 Atid tliereby hangs a tale. When I did hear 
 
 • M&de up of discor'ls. 
 
 The motley fool thus moral on the time, 
 
 My lungs began to crow like chanticleer. 
 
 That fools should be so deep contemplative •- 
 
 And I did laugh sans intermission. 
 
 An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! 
 
 A worthy fool ! Motley's the onl}' wear.'' 
 
 Duke S. What fool is this 1 
 
 Jaq. O worthy foci ! — One that hath been % 
 courtier ; 
 And says, if ladies be but young, and fair. 
 They have the gift to know it: and in his braiOj— 
 Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
 After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd 
 With observation, the which he vents 
 In mangled forms ; — O, that I were a fool ! 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 
 Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 
 
 Jaq. It is my only suit; 
 
 Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
 Of all opinion that grows rank in them, 
 That I am wise. I must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 To blow on whom I please; for so fools have: 
 And they that are most galled with my folly, 
 They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so^ 
 The why is plain as way to parish church • 
 He, that a fool doth very wisely hit. 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart. 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not. 
 The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
 Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. 
 Invest me in my motley; give me leave 
 To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
 Cleanse the foul body of the infected world. 
 If they will patiently receive my medicine. [do, 
 
 Duke S. Fye on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst 
 
 Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good 1 
 
 Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin ■ 
 For thou thyself hast been a libertine. 
 As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
 And all the embossed sores, and headed evils 
 That thou with license of free foot hast caught, 
 Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world 
 
 Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride. 
 That can therein tax any private party] 
 Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea. 
 Till that the very very means do ebb ? 
 What woman in the city do I name, 
 When that I say. The city-woman bears 
 The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
 Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, 
 When such a one as she, such is her neighbor ? 
 Or what is he of basest function. 
 That says, his bravery' is not on my cost, 
 (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
 His folly to the mettle of my speech 1 
 There then ; How, what then ? Let me see whereia 
 My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right. 
 Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free. 
 Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
 Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ? 
 Enter Orlando, with his sword dratvn. 
 
 Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 
 
 Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 
 
 Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be scrv'd. 
 
 Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 
 
 Duke S. Art thou thus boldcn'd, man, by thj 
 Or else a rude dcspiscr of good manners, [distress 
 That in civility thou seem'st so empty 1 
 
 «The fool was aDcleotly dressed In a partj-colored co»t. 7 FUcrv 
 
210 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny 
 point 
 Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
 Of smooth civihty : yet am I inland bred, 
 And know some nurture : But forbear, I say ; 
 He dies, that touches any of this fruit, 
 Till and my n {fairs are answered. 
 
 Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
 I must die. 
 
 Duke S, What would you have? Your gen- 
 tleness shall force 
 More than your force move us to gentleness. 
 
 Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 
 
 Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
 table. 
 
 Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you, 
 I thought that all things had been savage here; 
 And therefore put I on the countenance 
 Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are. 
 That in this desert inaccessible. 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs. 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; 
 If ever you have look'd on better days; 
 If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church ; 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
 If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear, 
 And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied; 
 Let gentleness my strong entbrcement be : 
 In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 
 
 Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days. 
 And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church; 
 And sat at good men's feasts; and wiped our eyes 
 Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
 And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
 And take upon command what help we have, 
 That to your wanting may be minister'd. 
 
 Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while. 
 Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 
 And give it food. There is an old poor man. 
 Who after me hath many a weary step 
 Limp'd in pure love; till he be first sufficed, — 
 Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, — 
 I will not touch a bit. 
 
 Duke S. Go find him out. 
 
 And we will nothing waste till your return. 
 
 Orl. I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good 
 comfort ! [Exit. 
 
 Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy: 
 This wide and universal theatre 
 Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
 Wherein we play in. 
 
 Jaq. All the world's a stage, 
 
 And all the men and women merely players: 
 They have their exits, and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts. 
 His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms : 
 And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 
 And shinipg morning face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
 Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then, a soldier; 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
 leal )us in h mor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice 
 In fair round belly, with good capon hn'd, 
 With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. 
 Full of wise saws and modern' instances. 
 And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ; 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
 His youthful hose well sav'd. a world too wide 
 For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
 And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing 
 
 Re-enter Orlando, with Adam. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome: set down your vencrabU 
 burden, 
 And let him feed. 
 
 Orl. I thank you most for him. 
 
 Adam. So had you need ; 
 I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, fall to : I will not trouble you 
 As yet, to question you about your fortunes: — 
 Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing 
 
 Amiens sitigs. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind. 
 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As man^s ingratitude; 
 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 
 Because thou art not seen. 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh, ho.' sing, heigh, ho.' unto the green holly 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. 
 
 Then, heigh, ho, the holly! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 II. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot: 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 As friend remember'' d^ not. 
 Heigh, ho.' sing, heigh, ho.' 4"C. 
 
 Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's 
 son, — 
 As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were ; 
 And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
 Most trtily limn'd, and living in your face, — 
 Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke. 
 That lov'd your father: The residue jf your fortune^ 
 Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man. 
 Thou art right welcome as thy master is: 
 Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand. 
 And let me all your fortunes understand. \^Exeuni 
 
 3 Trite, oommon. 
 
 s Kemembirii g. 
 
A.CT III. Scene I. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT 
 
 21] 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room hi the Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke FnEDKnicK, Olitkr, Lords, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Not see him since 1 Sir, sir, that cannot 
 be: 
 Cut were I not the better part made mercy, 
 I should not seek an absent argument 
 Of my revenge, thou present : But look to it ; 
 Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is : 
 Seek him with candle ; bring him dead or living. 
 Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more 
 To seek a living in our territory. 
 Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, 
 Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands ; 
 Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth. 
 Of what we think against thee. 
 
 Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this! 
 I never lov'd my brother in my life. 
 
 Duke F. More villain thou. — Well, push him 
 out of doors ; 
 And let my officers of such a nature 
 Make an extent' upon his house and lands: 
 Do this expediently,'* and turn him going. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.—Tke Forest. 
 
 Enter Obiaitdo, with a paper. 
 
 Or I. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 
 
 And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey 
 With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above. 
 
 Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 
 Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books. 
 
 And in their barks my thoughts I'll character ; 
 That every eye, which in this forest looks, 
 
 Shall see thy virtue witncss'd every where. 
 Run, run, Orlando; carve, on every tree. 
 The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive ' she. [Exit. 
 Enter Corin and Tocchstone. 
 
 Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, 
 master Touchstone? 
 
 Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is 
 a good life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd's 
 life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I 
 like it very well ; but in respect that it is private, 
 it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the 
 fields, it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is not 
 in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look 
 ycu, it fits my humor well; but as there is no more 
 plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. 
 Ilast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? 
 
 Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one 
 siciens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that 
 wants money, means, and content, is without three 
 good friends : — That the property of rain is to wet, 
 and fire to burn : That good pasture makes fat 
 Bhcep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack 
 of the sun: That he, that hath learned no wit by 
 nu!ur»T nor art, may coinphiiii of good breeding, or 
 romes of a very dull kindred. 
 
 Tvuch. Such a one is a latural philosopher. 
 Wast ever in court, shepherd ] 
 
 Cor. No, truly. 
 
 8««iire. 'Expeditiously. 'Inexpressible. 
 
 Touch. Then thou art damn'd. 
 
 Cor. Nay, I hope, — 
 
 Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd ; like an '11 
 roasted egg, all on one side. 
 
 Cor. For not being at court ? Your reison. 
 
 Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou 
 never saw'st good manners ; if thou never saw'st 
 good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; 
 and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation : Thou 
 art in a parlous state, shepherd. 
 
 Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone : those, that are 
 good manners, at the court, are as ridiculous in th» 
 country, as the behavior of the country is most 
 mockable at the court. You told me, you salute 
 not at the court, but you kiss your hands ; that 
 courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were 
 shepherds. 
 
 Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. 
 
 Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes ; and 
 their fells, you know, are pe.Asy. 
 
 Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands 
 sweat ? and is not the grease of a mutton as whole- 
 some as the sweat of a man ? Shallow, shallow 
 A better instance, I say ; come. 
 
 Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 
 
 Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. 
 — Shallow, again : A more sounder instance, 
 come. 
 
 Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with 
 the surgery of our sheep ; And would you have 
 us kiss tar 1 The courtier's hands are perfumed 
 with civet. 
 
 Touch. Most shallow man ! Thou worms-meat, 
 in respect of a good piece of flesh : Indeed ! — Learn 
 of the wise, and perpend : Civet is of a baser birth 
 than tar ; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend 
 the instance, shepherd. 
 
 Cirr. You have too courtly a wit for me ; I'll 
 rest. 
 
 Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd 1 God help thee, 
 shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! thou 
 art raw.' 
 
 Cor. Sir, I am a true laborer; I earn that 
 I eat, get that I wear ; owe no man hate, envy 
 no man's happiness ; glad of other men's good, 
 content with my harm : and the greatest of 
 my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs 
 suck. 
 
 Touch. That is another simple sin in you ; to 
 bring the ewes and the rams togetnei, and to ofTer 
 to get your living by the copulation of cattle : to 
 be bawd to a bell-wether ; and to betray a she-lamb 
 of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldy 
 ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st 
 not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no 
 shepherds ; I cannot see else how thou shouldsl 
 'scape. 
 
 Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, mf 
 new mistress's brother. 
 
 Enter Rosalind, 
 
 reading a paper 
 
 Ros. 
 
 From the east to western Ind, 
 No Jewells like Rosalind; 
 
 * Unexperienced. 
 
212 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
 Through all the world bears Rosalind ; 
 All the pictures, fairest lin'd,'' 
 Are but black to Rosalind. 
 Let no face be kept in mind, 
 But thefair^ of Rosalind. 
 
 Touih. I'll rhyme you so, eight years toge- 
 ther; dinners and suppers, and sleeping hours 
 excepted : it is the right butter-woman's rank to 
 market. 
 
 Ros. Out, fool ! 
 
 ^ouch. For a taste : 
 
 If a heart do lack a hind. 
 
 Let him seek out Rosalind. 
 
 If the cat will after kind, 
 
 So, be sure, will Rosalind. 
 
 Winter-garments must be lin'd, 
 
 So must slender Rosaliiid. 
 
 They that reap must sheaf and hind; 
 
 Then to cart with Rosalind. 
 
 Sweetest nut hath sourest rind. 
 
 Such a nut is Rosalind. 
 
 He that sweetest rose will find. 
 
 Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. 
 
 This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you 
 infect yourself with them 1 
 
 Ros. Peace, you dull fool ; I found them on a 
 tree. 
 
 Touzh. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 
 
 Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall 
 graff it with a medlar : then it will be the earliest 
 fruit in the country : for you'll be rotten e're you 
 be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the 
 medlar. 
 
 Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely or 
 no, let the forest judge. 
 
 Enter Celia, reading a paper. 
 
 Ros. Peace ! 
 Her« comes my sister, reading ; stand aside. 
 Cel. Why should this desert silent be ? 
 
 For it is unpeopled ? No,- 
 Tongues Fll hang on every tree, 
 
 Tfiat shall civiP sayings show. 
 Some, how brief the life (fman! 
 
 Runs his erring pilgrimage; 
 Tliat the stretching of a span 
 
 Buckles in his sum of age. 
 Some, of violated vows 
 
 ' Twixt the souls of friend and friend: 
 But upon the fairest boughs 
 
 Or at every sentence' end, 
 Will I Rosalinda write ; 
 
 Teaching all that read, to knmv 
 Tlic quintessence of every sprite 
 
 Heaven would in little show. 
 TJierefore heaven nature charged 
 
 That one body should befiWd 
 With all graces wide enlarged : 
 
 Nature presently distilFd 
 Helen's cheek, but not her heart; 
 
 Cleopatra's majesty ; 
 .italanta's better pai-t ; 
 
 Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
 Thus Rosalind of many parts 
 
 By heavenly synod was devis'd; 
 
 • Delineated. « Complexion, beauty. 
 
 ' Qrave, solemn. 
 
 Of many faces, eyes, and hearts. 
 To have the touches' dearest priz'd. 
 Heaven would that she these gifts sh luld have. 
 And I to live and die her slave. 
 
 Ros. most gentle Jupiter ! — what ;odiouj 
 homily of lore have you wearied youi parish 
 ioners withal, and never cry'd. Have patience, 
 good people! 
 
 Cel. How now ! back friends ; — Shepherd, go 
 off a little : — Go with him, sirrah. 
 
 Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honor- 
 able retreat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet 
 with scrip and scrippagc. 
 
 \Exeunt Cortn and Touchstone. 
 
 Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ] 
 
 Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for 
 some of them had in them more feet than the verses 
 would bear. 
 
 Cel. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the 
 verses. 
 
 Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not 
 bear themselves without the verse, and therefore 
 stood lamely in the verse. 
 
 Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering 
 how thy name should be hang'd and carved upon 
 these trc-s] 
 
 Ros. 1 was seven of the nine days out of the 
 wonder, before you came; for look here what 1 
 found on a palm-tree : I was never so be-rhymed 
 since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, 
 which I can hardly remember. 
 
 Cel. Trow you, who hath done this T 
 
 Ros. Is it a man ? 
 
 Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
 neck : Change you color 1 
 
 Ros. I pr'ythce, who 1 
 
 Cel. O lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends 
 to meet: but mountains may be removed with 
 earthquakes, and so encounter. 
 
 Ros. Nay, but who is it 1 
 
 Cel. Is it possible ? 
 
 Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary 
 vehemence, tell me who it is. 
 
 Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonder- 
 ful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after 
 that out of all whooping ! 
 
 Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, 
 though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a 
 doublet and hose in my disposition 1 One inch 
 of delay more is a South-sea-ofT discovci-y. I 
 pr'ythee, tell me, who is it ? quickly, and speak 
 apace : I would thou couldst stammer, that thou 
 mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, 
 as wine comes out of narrow-mouth'd Iwttle; 
 either too much at once, or none at all. I pr'ythee 
 take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink 
 thy tidings. 
 
 Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. 
 
 Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner 
 of man ? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth 
 a beard ? 
 
 Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 
 
 Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will 
 be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard; 
 if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. 
 
 Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the 
 wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an in- 
 stant. 
 
 • FeAturoa. 
 
CJCBNU li. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 213 
 
 Bos. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak 
 laJ I>rcw, and true maid.' 
 
 Cel. V faith, coz, 'tis he. 
 
 Ros, Orlando"! 
 
 Cel. Orlando. 
 
 Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my 
 doublet and hose ? — Whatdid he, when thou saw'st 
 him] What said he? How look'd he? Wheiein 
 went he ? ' What makes he here ? Did he ask tor 
 me ? Where remains he ? How parted ho with thee ! 
 and when shalt thou see him again ? Answer me in 
 one word. 
 
 Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's ' mouth 
 first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this 
 ag I's size : To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, 
 is Tiore than to answer in a catechism. 
 
 Kos. But doth he know that I am in this forest, 
 and in man's apparel ? Looks he as freshly as he 
 did the day he wrestled ? 
 
 Cel. It is as easy to count atomies," as to resolve 
 the propositions of a lover: — but take a taste of 
 my finding him, and relish it with a good observance, 
 I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. 
 
 Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it 
 drops forth such fruit. 
 
 Cel. Give me audience, good madam. 
 
 Ros. Proceed. 
 
 Cel. There lay he, stretch 'd along like a wounded 
 knight. 
 
 Ros. Though it be pit}' to sec such a sight, it 
 well becomes the ground. 
 
 Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it 
 curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like 
 a hunter. 
 
 Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. 
 
 Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : 
 »hou bring'st me out of tune. 
 
 Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I 
 think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 
 
 Enter Orlando atid JAauES. 
 
 Cel. You bring me out: — Soft! comes he not 
 here 1 
 
 Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. 
 
 [Celia mid Rosalind retire. 
 
 Jag. I thank you for your company ; but, good 
 faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. 
 
 Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion sake, I 
 thank you too for your society. 
 
 Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as 
 we can. 
 
 Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 
 
 Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 
 'ove-songs in their barks. 
 
 Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with 
 reading them ill-favoredly. 
 
 Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name '' 
 
 Orl. Yes, just. 
 
 Jaq. I do not like her name. 
 
 Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when 
 she was christen'd. 
 
 Ju(j. What stature is she of? 
 
 Orl. Just as high as my heart. 
 
 Jiif/. You are full of pretty answers: Have you 
 not been acquainted with goldsmith's wives, and 
 conn'd them out of rings? 
 
 Orl. IV ot so; but I answer you right painted 
 
 » Speak seriously aini hoiu'stly. 
 ' The giant of Rabelais. 
 
 16 
 
 » Ilnw was he dressed f 
 » Atoms. 
 
 cloth ,° from whence vou have studied your ques- 
 tions. 
 
 Jar/. You have a nimble wit ; I think it was made 
 of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me ? 
 and we two will rail against our mistress the world, 
 and all our misery. 
 
 Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but 
 myself; against whom I know most faults. 
 
 Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. 
 
 Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best 
 virtue. I am weary of you. 
 
 Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when 
 I found you. 
 
 Orl. He is drown'd in the brook; look luf £, 
 and you shall see him. 
 
 Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure 
 
 0)-l. Which I take to be either a fool, or i 
 cipher. " 
 
 Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you ; farewell, good 
 signior love. 
 
 Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good 
 monsieur melancholy. 
 
 \_Exit jAdUES. — Celia a7ic? Rosalind 
 come forward. 
 
 Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey 
 and under that habit play the knave with hini.- 
 Do you hear, forester? 
 
 Orl. Very well ; what would you ? 
 
 Ros. I pray you, what is't o'clock? 
 
 Orl. You should ask me what time o'day ; there's 
 no clock ill the forest. 
 
 Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; 
 else sighing every minute, and gi-oaning every hour, 
 would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. 
 
 Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had 
 not that been as proper? 
 
 Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers 
 paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time 
 ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time 
 gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. 
 
 Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal? 
 
 Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, 
 between the contract of her marriage, and the day 
 it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, 
 time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of 
 seven years. 
 
 Orl. Who ambles time withal? 
 
 Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich 
 man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps 
 easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives 
 merrily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking 
 the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other 
 knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These 
 time ambles withal. 
 
 Orl. Who doth he gallop withal "• 
 
 Ros. With a thief to the gallows; for though he 
 go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too 
 soon there. 
 
 Orl. Who stays it still withal ? 
 
 Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep 
 between term and term, and then they perceive not 
 how time moves. 
 
 Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth ? 
 
 Ros. With this shej>herdess, my sister; here in 
 the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat 
 
 Orl. Are you a native of this j)lace ? 
 
 Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell whero 
 she is kindled. 
 
 'An alhision to the moral sentences issuing from th« 
 mouths of figures on old tapestry hangings. 
 
214 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act in 
 
 Orl. Vour accent is something finer than j-ou 
 cuulii purchase in so removed a dwelling. 
 
 Ros. I have been told so ofnumy: but, indeed, 
 an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, 
 who was in his youth an inland man ; one that 
 knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I 
 have heard him read many lectures against it; and 
 I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd 
 with so many giddy oliences as he hath generally 
 tax'd their whole sex withal. 
 
 Orl. Canyouremember any of the principal evils, 
 that hp laid to the charge of women 1 
 
 li.os. There were none principal ; they were all 
 Uke one another, as half-pence are: every one fault 
 iitf*;i;iing monstrous, till his fellow fault came to 
 Liatch it. 
 
 Orl. I pr'ytheo recount some of them. 
 
 B.OS. No; I will not cast away my physic, but 
 (»n those that are sick. There is a man haunts the 
 forest, that abuses our young plants with carving 
 Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upou haw- 
 thorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deify- 
 ing the name of Rosalind: if Icould meetthat limey- 
 monger, I would give him some good counsel, for 
 he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. 
 
 Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, 
 tell me your remedy. 
 
 Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: 
 he taught me how to know a man in love ; in which 
 cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisonci . 
 
 Orl. What were his marks] 
 
 Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: a !)!ue 
 eye, and sunken; which you have not: an un- 
 questionable siiirit;' which you have not: a beard 
 neglected; wliich you have not: — but I pardon you 
 for that; for, simply, your having' in beard is a 
 younger brother's re venue: — Then your hose should 
 be ungarter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve 
 unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about 
 you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you 
 are no such man ; you are rather point-device" in 
 your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seem- 
 ing the lover of any other. 
 
 Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee be- 
 lieve I love. 
 
 Ros. Me believe it] you may as soon make her 
 that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is 
 apter to do, than to confess she does : that is one of 
 the points in the which women still give the lie to 
 their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he 
 that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosa- 
 lind is so admired ] 
 
 Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand 
 of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortuuate he. 
 
 Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
 Bpeak ] 
 
 Orl Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
 jjvich. 
 
 Ros Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, 
 ^^eserves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad- 
 men do : and the reascm why they are not so punish- 
 ed and cured, is, that tlie lunacy is so orduiary,ihat 
 the whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing 
 it by counsel. 
 
 Orl. Did you ever cure any so ] 
 
 Ros. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was to 
 unagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him 
 every day to woo me : At which time would I, being 
 
 * A spirit averse to conversation. » Estate. 
 
 •0?er exact. 
 
 but a moonish' youth, grieve, Ve efTeminate, change- 
 able, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, 
 shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; fii 
 every passion something, and for no passion truly 
 any tiling, as boys and women are for the most part 
 cattle of this color; would now like him, noiv 
 loath him; then entertain him, then forswear hiin; 
 now weep for him, then laugh at him, that I drave 
 my suitor from his mad humor of love, to a living 
 humor of madness; which was, to forswear the full 
 stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely 
 monastic : And thus I cured him ; and this waj 
 will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as 
 a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not te cr.e 
 spot of love in't. 
 
 Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 
 
 Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call 
 me Rosalind, and come Mvery day to my cote, and 
 woo me. 
 
 Orl. Now by the faith of my love, I will ; tell 
 me where it is. 
 
 Ros, Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; 
 and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the 
 forest you live: Will yciu go] 
 
 Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 
 
 Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind: — Come, 
 sister, will you go ] \Extunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— TZ/e Same. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey ; Jaques at a 
 
 distance, ohserving them. 
 
 Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will fetch 
 up your goats, Audrey : And how, Audrey ? am I 
 the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you ? 
 
 Axid. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what 
 features ] 
 
 Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, a* 
 the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among 
 the Goths. 
 
 Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited ! ' worse than 
 Jove in a thatch'd house ! \^Aside. 
 
 Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- 
 stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for- 
 ward child, understandmg, it strikes a man more 
 dead than a great reckoning in a little room :— 
 Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. 
 
 Aud. Idonotknow what poetical is: Isit honest 
 in deed, and word] Is it a true thing] 
 
 Touch. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the 
 most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and 
 what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, 
 they do feign. 
 
 And. Do you wish then, that the gods had made 
 me poetical ] 
 
 Touch. I do, truly: for thou swearest to me, 
 thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might 
 have some hope thou didst feign. 
 
 Aud. Would you not have me honest] 
 
 Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-fiivor'd : 
 for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a 
 sauce to sugar. 
 
 Jaq. A material fool ! ' \^Aside. 
 
 Aud. Well I am not fair; and therefore I pray 
 the gods make me honest! 
 
 Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a 
 foul shit, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 
 
 Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the godi 
 I am foul.' 
 
 ' Variable. 
 
 > A fool with matter in bim 
 
 « TlWodged 
 '• Hcniely. 
 
80ENE V. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 215 
 
 ToitcTi. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! 
 Bluttishnes.s inf y come hereafter. But be as it may 
 be, I will marry thee : and to that end, I have been 
 with sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next vil- 
 lage ; who hath promised to meet me in this place 
 of the forest, and to couple us. 
 
 Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside. 
 
 And. Well, the gods give us joy ! 
 
 Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear- 
 ful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have 
 no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn- 
 beasts. But what though? Courage ! As horns are 
 odious, they are necessary. It is said, — Many a man 
 knows no end of his goods : right ; many a man has 
 good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that 
 is the dowry of hi? wife ; 'tis none of his own getting. 
 
 Iloriis ? Even so: Poor men alone; No, no; 
 
 the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal.^ 
 Fs the single man therefore blessed ? No : As a 
 wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is 
 the forehead of a married man more honorable than 
 the bare brow of a bachelor : and by how much de- 
 fence^ is better than no skill, by so much is a horn 
 more precious than to want. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. 
 
 tlere comes sir Oliver: — Sir Oliver Mar-text, you 
 are well met: Will you despatch us here under this 
 tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ? 
 
 Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman ? 
 
 Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 
 
 Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar- 
 riage is not lawful. 
 
 Jnq. [^Discovering himself. 1 Proceed, proceed; 
 ni give her. 
 
 Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't : 
 How do 3'ou, sir? You are very well met: God'ild 
 yod'' for 3'our last company : I am very glad to see 
 you: — Even a toy in hand here, sir: — Nay; pray 
 be oover'd. 
 
 Jorj. Will you be married, motley? 
 
 Touch. As the ox hath his bow,^ sir, the horse 
 his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his 
 desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be 
 nibbling. 
 
 J<iq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
 be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to 
 church, and have a good priest that can tell j'ou 
 what marriage is : this fellow will but join you to- 
 gether as they join wainscot; then one of you will 
 prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, 
 warp, warp. 
 
 Touch. 1 am not in the mind but I were better 
 to be married of him than of another : for he is not 
 like to marry me well; and not being well married, 
 it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave 
 my wife. [Aside. 
 
 ■Jiiq Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 
 
 Touch. Come, sweet Audrey; 
 *>' '. must be married, or we must live in bawdry, 
 i'arewell, good master Oliver! 
 
 Not^ — sweet Oliver, 
 
 brave Oliver, 
 Leave me not behi' thee; 
 
 But— Wind away, 
 
 Begone, I say, 
 I will not to wedding wi' thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Jaq., Touch., and Audrey. 
 
 Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical knave 
 »f them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Be/ore a Cottage. 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 Rot. Never talk to mo, I will weep. 
 
 • Lean deer nre called rascal deer. » The art of fencing. 
 •Gwi reward yfu. lYoke. 
 
 Cel. Do, I pr'ythee ; but yet have the graee U 
 consider, that tears do not become a man. 
 
 J{o8. But have I not cause to weep ? 
 
 Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; there- 
 fore weep. 
 
 JRos. His very hair is of the disscflibiing color. 
 
 Cel. Something browner than Judas's : marry, 
 his kisses are Judas's own children. 
 
 JRos. I'faith his hair is of a good color. 
 
 Cel. An excellent color: your chestnut was erer 
 the only color. 
 
 lioa. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as tha 
 touch of holy bread. 
 
 Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana; 
 a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more leli- 
 giously ; the very ice of chastity is in them. 
 
 lios. But why did he swear he would come this 
 morning, and comes not? 
 
 Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him. 
 
 Hos. Do you think so ? 
 
 Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-puise, nor a 
 horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think 
 him as concave as a covcr'd goblet, or a worin- 
 eaten nut. 
 
 Jios. Not true in love ? 
 
 Cel. Yes, when he is in ; but, I think, he is not in. 
 
 JRos. You have heard him swear downright he was. 
 
 Cel. Was is not is : besides the oath of a lovei 
 is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are 
 both the confirmers of false reckonings : He attends 
 here in the forest on the duke your father. 
 
 Jios. I met the duke yesterday, and had much 
 question^ with him : He asked me of what parent- 
 age I was: I told him, of as good as he; so he 
 laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fa- 
 thers, when there is such a man as Orlando ? 
 
 Cel. 0, that's a brave man ! he writes brave 
 verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and 
 breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the 
 heart of his lover; as a puny tilter that spurs hia 
 horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble 
 goose; but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly 
 guides : — Who comes here ? 
 
 Enter CoRlN. 
 
 Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired 
 After the shepherd that complain'd of love; 
 Who you saw sitting by mo on the turf. 
 Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
 That was his mistress. 
 
 Cel. Well, and what of him ? 
 
 Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
 Between the pale complexion of true love 
 And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, 
 Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you. 
 If you will mark it. 
 
 lios. 0, come, let us remove • 
 
 The sight of lovers feedeth those in love : — 
 Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say 
 I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [ExeniU. 
 
 SCENE Y.— Another Part of the Forest, 
 
 Enter SiLVlus and Phebe. 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not, Pheba 
 Say, that you love me not ; but say not so 
 In bitterness : The cotnmon executioner. 
 Whoso heart the accustom'd sight of death makei 
 
 hard. 
 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck. 
 But first begs pardon : Will you sterner be 
 Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ? 
 
 Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corix, at a dislantt. 
 
 Phc. I would not be thy executioner; 
 I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
 
 • Conversation. 
 
216 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Thou telFst me, there is murder in mine eye: 
 
 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable. 
 
 That eyes, — that are the frail'st and softest things, 
 
 Who shut their coward gates on atomics, — 
 
 Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers ! 
 
 Now I do frown on thee with all my heart: 
 
 And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; 
 
 Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; 
 
 Or, if thou canst not, 0, for shame, for shame. 
 
 Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. 
 
 Now show the wound mine eye hath made in ihec : 
 
 Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
 
 8ome scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, 
 
 The cicatrice and capable impressure 
 
 Thy palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes 
 
 Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not . 
 
 Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
 
 That can do hurt. 
 
 Sll. O dear Phebe, 
 
 If ever, (as that ever may be near,) 
 You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy'^ 
 Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
 That love's keen arrows make. 
 
 Phe. But, till that time. 
 
 Come not thou near me; and, when that time comes, 
 Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; 
 As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. 
 
 Ros. And why, I pray you ] [Advancmg.'] Who 
 might be your mother. 
 That you insult, exult, and all at once. 
 Over the wretched ? What though you have more 
 
 beauty, 
 (As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
 Than without candle may go dark to bed,) 
 Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 
 Why, what means this 1 Why do you look on me 1 
 I see no more in you, than in the ordinary 
 Of nature's sale-work: — Od's my little liie! 
 I think she means to tangle my eyes too: — 
 No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it; 
 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair. 
 Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream. 
 That can entame my spirits to your worship. — 
 You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, 
 Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain ] 
 "Xou are a thousand times a propcrer man. 
 Than she a woman : 'Tis such fools as you. 
 That make the world full of ill-fovored children : 
 'Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her ; 
 And out of you she sees herself more proper. 
 Than any of her lineaments can show her. — 
 But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees. 
 And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love : 
 For I must tell you friendly in your ear, — 
 Sell when you can; you are not for all markets: 
 Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer ; 
 Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
 So take her to thee, shepherd; — fare you well. 
 
 I'he. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year to 
 gether ; 
 I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. 
 
 Kos. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and 
 she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be so, as 
 *ast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll 
 Bauce her with bitter words — Why look you so 
 upon me? 
 
 Phc. For no ill-will I bear you. 
 
 Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me 
 Fnr I am falser than vows made in wine: 
 
 Besides, I like you not : If you will snow my housa 
 
 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by : — 
 
 Will you go, sister? — Shepherd, ply her hard : — 
 
 Come, sister : — 'Shepherdess, look on him better, 
 
 And be not proud : though all the world could see, 
 
 None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
 
 Come to our flock, [^icewnt Rosalind, Celia, and CoRnt. 
 
 Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might; 
 Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight. 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, — 
 
 Phe. Ha ! what say'st thou, Silviu* 5 
 
 <SV/. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 
 
 Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Sil^iua. 
 
 Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ; 
 If you do sorrow at my grief in love. 
 By giving love, your sorrow and my grief 
 Were both extermin'd. 
 
 Phe. Thou hast my love : Is not that neighborly? 
 
 Sil. I would have you. 
 
 Phe. Why, that were covetousncssL 
 
 Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee ; 
 And yet it is not, that I bear thee love : 
 But, since that thou canst talk of love so well, 
 Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 
 I will endure ; and I'll employ thee too: 
 But do not look for further recompense, 
 Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 
 
 Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love, 
 And I in such a poverty of grace. 
 That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
 To glean the broken ears after the man 
 That the main harvest reaps : lose now and then 
 A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon, [erewhilel 
 
 Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me 
 
 »SV/. Not very well, but I have met him oft ; 
 And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, 
 Th;it the old carlot' once was master of. 
 
 Phc. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ; 
 'Tis but a peevish" boy : — ^yet he talks well ; — 
 But what care I for words ? yet words do well. 
 When he that speaks them pleases those that hear 
 It is a pretty youth : — not very pretty : — [him : 
 But, sure, he's proud ; and yet his pride becomea 
 He'll make a proper man : the best thing in him 
 Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
 Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. 
 He is not tall ; yet for his years he's tall : 
 His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : 
 There was a pretty redness in his lip ; 
 A little riper and more lusty red fence 
 
 Than that mixed in his cheek; 'twas just the differ- 
 Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. 
 There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 
 In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
 To fall in love with him : but for my part, 
 I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet 
 I have more cause to hate him than to love him : 
 For what had he to do to chide at me ? 
 He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black 
 And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : 
 I marvel, why I answer'd not again : 
 But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. 
 I'll write to him a very taunting letter, 
 And thou shalt bear it : Wilt thou, Silvius ? 
 
 Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 
 
 Phe. I'll write it straight; 
 
 The matter's in my head, and in my heart : 
 I will be bitter with him, and passing short : 
 Go writh me, Silvius, [^Exeunt 
 
 9 feasant. »Sil]y 
 
A.CT rv. Scene I. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 2J7 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE l.—TIie Same. 
 
 Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaqdes. 
 
 Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better 
 acquainted with thee. 
 
 Fjos. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
 
 Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing. 
 
 Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are 
 abominable fellows ; and betray themselves to every 
 modern censure, worse than drunkards. 
 
 Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 
 
 Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 
 
 Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 
 which is emulation ; nor the musician 's,which is fan- 
 tastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor the 
 soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's,which 
 is politic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ;' nor the 
 lover's, which is all these : but it is a melancholy 
 of mine own, compounded of many simples, ex- 
 tracted from many objects : and, indeed, the sundry 
 contemplation of my travels, in which my often ru- 
 mination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness. 
 
 Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great rea- 
 son to be sad : I fear, you have sold your own lands, 
 to see other men's ; then, to have seen much, and to 
 h&ve nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. 
 
 Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 
 
 Enter Orlando. 
 
 Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I 
 had rather have a fool to make me merry, than 
 experience to make me sad ; and to travel for it too. 
 
 Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 
 
 Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in 
 blank verse. \^Exit. 
 
 Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you 
 lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable* all the benefits 
 of your own country ; be out of love with your na- 
 tivity, and almost chide God for making you that 
 countenance you are : or I will scarce think you 
 have swam in a gondola. — Why, how now, Orlan- 
 do ! where have you been all this while 1 You a 
 lover? — An you serve me such another trick, 
 never come in my sight more. 
 
 Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour 
 of my promise. 
 
 Ros. Break an hour's promise in love 1 He that 
 will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and 
 break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute 
 in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that 
 Cupid hath clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I war- 
 rant him heart-whole. 
 
 Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more 
 in my sight ; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. 
 
 Orl. Of a snail ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, 
 he carries his house on his head ; a better jointure, 
 I think, than you can make a woman : Besides, he 
 brings his destiny with him. 
 
 Orl. What's that? 
 
 Ros. Why, horns ; which such as you are fain to 
 be beholden to your wives for : but he comes armed 
 in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. 
 
 Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind 
 te virtuous. 
 
 Ros. And I aiT y>ur Rosalind. 
 ■ l^riflhig. 'Undervalue. 
 
 Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hat| 
 a Rosalind of a better leer' than you. 
 
 Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am iii 
 a holiday humor, and like enougi. to consent :— 
 What would you say to me now, in I were youi 
 very very Rosalind ? 
 
 Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 
 
 Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when 
 you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might 
 take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when 
 they are out, they will spit ; and for lovers, lacking 
 (God warn us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is jO kiss. 
 
 Orl. How, if the kiss be denied 7 
 
 Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there 
 begins new matter. 
 
 Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved 
 mistress 1 
 
 Ros. Marrj', that should you, if I were your 
 mistress ; or I should think my honesty ranker 
 than my wit. 
 
 Orl. What, of my suit! 
 
 Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of 
 your suit. Am not I your Rosahnd ? 
 
 Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I 
 would be talking of her. 
 
 Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have 
 you. 
 
 Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. 
 
 Ros. No, 'faith, die by attorney. The poor world 
 is almost six thousand years old, and in all this 
 time there was not any man died in his own person, 
 videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his braina 
 dashed out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what 
 he could to die before ; and he is one of the pat- 
 terns of love. Leander, he would have lived many 
 a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had 
 not been for a hot midsummer night : for, good 
 youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hel- 
 lespont, and being taken with the cramp, was 
 drowned ; and the foolish chroniclers of that age 
 found it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all 
 lies ; men have died from time to time, and worms 
 have eaten them, but not for love. 
 
 Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this 
 mind ; for, 1 protest, her frown might kill me. 
 
 Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But come 
 now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on 
 disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it. 
 
 Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. Yes, 'faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, 
 and all. 
 
 Orl. And wilt thou have me ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 
 
 Orl. What say'st thou 1 
 
 Ros. Are you not good ? 
 
 Orl. I hope so. 
 
 Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a 
 good thing ? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest, 
 and marry us. — Give me your hand Orlando • — 
 What do you say, sister ? 
 
 Orl. Pray thee, marry us. 
 
 Cel. I cannot say the words. 
 
 Ros. You must begin, — Will you, Orlanao, — 
 
 Cel. Go to : — Will you, Orlando, have to wi/o 
 this Rosalind ? 
 
 Orl. I will. 
 
 » Complexion 
 
218 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Ros. Ay, but when 1 
 
 Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. 
 
 Ros. Then you must say, — liali-e thee, Rosalind, 
 for wife. 
 
 Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 
 
 Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; 
 but, — I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband : 
 There a girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly, 
 a woman's thought runs before her actions. 
 
 Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. 
 
 Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her, 
 after you have married her. 
 
 Orl. For ever and a day. 
 
 Ros. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Orlan- 
 do ; men are April when they woo, December when 
 they wed : maids are May when they are maids, but 
 the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more 
 jealous of thee than a barbary cock-pigeon over his 
 hen ; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; 
 more new-fangled than an ape ; more giddy in my 
 dt^sircs than a monkey ; I will weep for nothing, 
 lilce Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when 
 you are disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a 
 hycn, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. 
 
 Orl. But will my Rosalind do sol 
 
 Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 
 
 Orl. O, but she is wise. 
 
 Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this : 
 the wiser, the waywarder : Make the doors' upon 
 a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement ; 
 shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole ; stop that, 
 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. 
 
 Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he 
 might say, — Wit, whither wilt? 
 
 Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till 
 you met your wife's wit going to your neighbor's 
 bed. 
 
 Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? 
 
 Ros. Mai-ry, to say, — she came to seek you there. 
 You shall never take her without her answer, un- 
 less you take her without her tongue. O, that 
 woman that cannot make her fault her husband's 
 occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for 
 she will breed it like a fool. 
 
 Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave 
 thee. 
 
 Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 
 
 Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner ; by two 
 o'clock I will be with thee again. 
 
 Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; — I knew 
 what you would prove ; my friends told me as much, 
 and I thought no less : — that flattering tongue of 
 yours won me : — 'tis but one cast away, and so, — 
 come, death. — Two o'clock is your hour? 
 
 Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so 
 God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not 
 dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, 
 or come one minute behind your hour, I will think 
 you the most pathetical break-promise, and the 
 most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her 
 you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the 
 gross band of the unfaithful : therefore, beware my 
 censure, and keep your promise. 
 
 Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert 
 indeed my Rosalind : So adieu. 
 
 Ras. Well, time is the old justice that examines 
 ill such offenders, and let time try : Adieu. 
 
 [Exit Orlando. 
 »Bm the doors. 
 
 Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in youi 
 love-prate : we mus t have your doublet and hose 
 plucked over your head, and show the world what 
 the bird hath done to her own nest. 
 
 Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, tha 
 thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in 
 love ! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath 
 an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. 
 
 Cel. Or rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you 
 pour affection in, it runs out. 
 
 Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that 
 was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born 
 of madness ; that blind rascally boy, tkat abuses 
 every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him 
 be judge how deep I am in love : — I'll tell thee, 
 Ahena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : 
 ril go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. 
 
 Cel. And Til sleep. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter Jaques and Lords, in the habit of I' or esters. 
 
 Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. 
 
 Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman 
 conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's 
 horns upon his head, for a branch of victory : — 
 Have you no song, forester, for this purpose ? 
 
 2 Lord. Yes, sir. 
 
 Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, 
 so it make noise enough. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. What shall he have that MlVd the deer? 
 
 2. His leather skin and horns to wear. 
 
 1. Then sing him home: 
 Take thou no scorn, to wear the Aorn,-") The rest 
 It was a crest ere thou wast born,- (burden!* 
 
 1. Thy father^s father wore it; 
 
 2. And thy father bore it: 
 
 All. Tlie horn, the horn, the lusty ham, 
 
 Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE m.—The Forest. 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 Ros. How say you nowl Is it not past two 
 o'clock T and here much Orlando ! 
 
 Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled 
 brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gon» 
 forth — to sleep : Look, who comes here. 
 Enter Siltius. 
 
 Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth ;— 
 My gentle Phebe bid me give you this ; 
 
 [Giving f? utter 
 I know not the contents ; but, a^ I guess, 
 By the stern brow, and waspish action 
 Which she did use as she was writing of it. 
 It bears an angry tenor : pardon me, 
 I am but as a guiltless messenger. 
 
 Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, 
 And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : 
 She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ; 
 She calls me proud ; and, that she could not love mi 
 Were man as rare as phoenix ; Od's my will ! 
 Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : 
 Why writes she so to me? — Well, shepherd, well, 
 This is a letter of your own device. 
 
 Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ; 
 Phebe did write it. 
 
 Ros. Come, come, yoa are a fool, 
 
BCENE III. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 21ft 
 
 And turn'd into the cxtieniity of love. 
 
 I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, 
 
 A freestone-color'd hand ; I verily did think 
 
 That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands, 
 
 She has a huswife's hand: but that's no matter: 
 
 I say, she never did invent this letter : 
 
 This is a man's invention, and his hand. 
 
 Sil. Sure,' it is hers. 
 
 lios. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, 
 A style for challengers; why she defies nic, 
 Like Turk to Christian : woman's gentle brain 
 Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention. 
 Such Ethiop words, blacker in their efiect 
 Than in their countenance : — Will you hear the 
 letter 1 
 
 Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; 
 Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 
 
 Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how the tyrant 
 writes. 
 
 Art thou god to shepherd twii'd, [Reads. 
 That amaideii's heart hath burii'd? — 
 
 Can a woman rail thus"? 
 Sil. Call you tliis railing 1 
 
 Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
 
 Warr'st thou luith a woman's heart? 
 
 Did you ever hear such railing? — 
 
 Whiles the eye of man did ivoo me, 
 That could do no vengeance to me. — 
 M calling me a beast. — 
 
 If the scorn of your bright eyne 
 Have power to raise such love in mine. 
 Alack, in me what strange effect 
 Would they ivork in mild aspect? 
 Whiles you chid me, I did love,- 
 How then might your prayers move? 
 He, that brings this love to thee. 
 Little knows this love in me.- 
 And by him seal up thy mind; 
 Whether that thy youth and kind ^ 
 Will the faithful offer take 
 Of me, and all that I can make,- 
 Or else by him my love deny. 
 And then I'll study kow to die. 
 
 ISil. Call you this chiding " 
 
 Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! 
 
 Ros. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no pity. 
 — Wilt thou love such a woman? — ^ What, to make 
 thee an instrument, and play fal.«e strains upon 
 thee ! not to be endured ! — Well, go your way to 
 her, (for I sec, love hath made thee a fame snake,) 
 and say this to her : — That if she love me, I charge 
 her to love thee : if she will not, I will never have 
 her, unless thou entreat for her. — If you be a true 
 lovcr,hence, andnot a word; for here comes more 
 company. [Exil Sii.vius. 
 
 Enter Oliver. 
 
 OU. Good-morrow, fair ones ; Pray you, if you 
 know 
 Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands 
 \ sheep-cote, fenced about with olive-trees? 
 Cel. West of tliis place, down in the neighboi 
 bottom. 
 The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream. 
 Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: 
 « Nature. • Describe. « Scuffle. 
 
 But at this hour the house doth keep itself, 
 There's none withm. 
 
 OU. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
 Then I should know you by description : 
 Such garments, and such years: The boy is fair 
 Of female favor, and bestows himself 
 Like a ripe sister: but the woman low. 
 And browner than her brother. Are not you 
 The owner of the house I did enquire for ? 
 
 Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to saj', we are. 
 
 OH. Orlando doth commend him to you bjth; 
 And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, 
 He sends this bloody napkin; Are you he% 
 
 Ros. I am: What must we understand by this^ 
 
 OH. Some of my shame ; if you will know of m« 
 What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
 This handkerchief was stain'd. 
 
 Cel. I pray you tell it 
 
 OH. When last the young Orlando parted from 
 you. 
 He left a promise to return again 
 Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest. 
 Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
 Lo, what befell ! he threw his eye aside, 
 And, mark, what object did present itself! 
 Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age 
 And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
 A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
 Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck 
 A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, 
 Who with hor head, nimble in threats, approach'd 
 The opening of his mouth; but suddenly 
 Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. 
 And with indented glides did slip away 
 Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
 A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. 
 Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch 
 When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis 
 The royal disposition of that beast, 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. 
 This seen, Orlando did approach the man. 
 And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 
 
 Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same 
 brother ; 
 And he did render' him the most unnatural 
 That liv'd 'mongst men. 
 
 OH. And well he might so do, 
 
 For well I know he was unnatural. 
 
 Ros. But, to Orlando; — Did he leave him there^ 
 Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? 
 
 OH. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so 
 But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
 And nature, stronger than his just occasion 
 Made him give battle to the lioness. 
 Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling' 
 From miserable slumber I awak'd. 
 
 Cel. Are you his brother? 
 
 Ros. Was it you he rescu'd ! 
 
 Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill 
 him? 
 
 OH. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I; I do not shame 
 To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
 So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
 
 Ros. But for the bloody napkin? — 
 
 OH. By, and hy 
 
 When from the first to last, betwixt us two, 
 Tears our recountincnts had most kindly bath'd, 
 
 As, how I came into that desert place; 
 
 In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 
 
 Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment 
 
•^.20 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act V. Scene I 
 
 CJommittiiig me unto my brother's love ; 
 
 Who led me instantly unto his cave, 
 
 There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
 
 The lioness had torn some flesh away, 
 
 Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted. 
 
 And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
 
 Brief, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; 
 
 And, after some small space, being strong at heart. 
 
 He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 
 
 To tell this story, that you might excuse 
 
 His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 
 
 Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 
 
 That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 
 
 Ctl. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Gany- 
 mede ? [Rosalind faints. 
 
 OK. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 
 
 Cd. There is more in it : — Cousin — Ganymede! 
 
 OIL Look, he recovers. 
 
 Ros. I would, I were at home. 
 
 Cd. We'll lead you thither :— 
 r pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 
 
 OH. Be of good cheer, youth : — You a man ] — 
 You lack a man's heart. 
 
 Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would 
 think this was well counterfeited : I pray you, tell 
 your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh 
 ho!— 
 
 OIL This was not counterfeit ; there is too great 
 testimony in your complexion, that it was a pas- 
 sion of earnest. 
 
 Ros. Counterfeit, I assure yoti. 
 
 OIL Well then, take a good heart, and coun" 
 tcrfeit to be a man. 
 
 Ros. So I do : but, i'faith I should have been a 
 woman by right. 
 
 CeL Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you, 
 draw homewards : — Good sir, go with us. 
 
 OIL That will I, for I must bear answer back 
 How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you, 
 commend my counterfeiting to him: — Will you 
 go 1 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, 
 gentle Audrey. 
 
 Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all 
 the old gentleman's saying. 
 
 Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a 
 most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth 
 nere in the forest lays claim to you. 
 
 Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no interest 
 in me in the v/orld : here comes the man you mean. 
 Enter William. 
 
 Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown : 
 By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to 
 answer for ; we shall be flouting ; we cannot hold. 
 
 WilL Good even, Audrey. 
 
 Aud. God ye good even, William. 
 
 WilL And good even to you, sir. 
 
 Touch. Good even, gentle friend : Cover thy 
 head, cover thy head ; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. 
 How old are you, friend 7 
 
 WilL Five and twenty, sir. 
 
 Touch. A ripe age : Is thy name William ? 
 
 WilL William, sir. 
 
 Touch. A fair name ; Wast born i'the forest here? 
 
 WilL Ay, sir, I thank God. 
 
 Touch. Thank •Jod.- — a good answer : Art rich ? 
 
 WilL 'Faith, sir, so so. 
 
 Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent 
 gODd: — and yet it is not; it is but so, so. Art 
 thou wise 1 
 
 WilL Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 
 
 Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now re- 
 member a saying : The fool doth think he is wise, 
 but the luise man knows himself to be a fool. The 
 heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a 
 grape, would open his lips when he put it into his 
 mouth ; meaning thereby, that grapes were made 
 to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid ! 
 
 WilL I do, sir. 
 
 Touch. Give me your hand '■ Art thou learned 1 
 WilL No, sir. 
 
 Touch. Then learn this of me ; To have, is to 
 have : For it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, being 
 poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one 
 doth empty the other: For all your writers do con- 
 sent that ipse is he ; now you are not ipse, for I 
 am he. 
 
 WilL Which he, sir? 
 
 Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman : 
 Therefore, you clown, abandon, — which is, in the 
 vulgar, leave, — the society, — which in the boorish 
 is, company, — of this female, — which in the com- 
 mon is, woman, — which together is, abandon the 
 society of this female ; or, clown, thou perishest ; 
 or, to thy better understanding, diest ; to wit, I kill 
 thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, 
 thy liberty into bondage : I will deal in poison with 
 thee, or in bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with 
 thee in faction ; I will o'er-run thee with policy ; I 
 will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways ; therefore 
 tremble, and depart. 
 
 Aud. Do, good William. 
 
 WilL Rest you merry, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Corin. 
 
 Cor. Our master and mistress seek you ; come, 
 away, away. 
 
 Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ; — I attend, 
 I attend. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter Orlando and Oliver. 
 
 Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintancfl 
 you should like her 1 that, but seeing, you should 
 love her? and, loving, woo? and, wooing, she 
 should grant ? and will you pers^ver to enjoy her ? 
 
 Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, 
 the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my 
 sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting ; but 
 say with me, I love Aliena ; say with her, that she 
 loves me ; consent with both, that we may enjoy 
 each other : it shall be to your good ; for my father'n 
 house, and all the revenue that was old sir Row 
 
Scene III. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 221 
 
 land's, will I estate upon you, and here live and die 
 a shepherd. 
 
 Enter Rosalind. 
 
 Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding 
 be to-morrow ; thither will I invite the duke, and 
 all his contented followers : Go you, and prepare 
 Aliena ; for, look you, here comes my Eosahnd. 
 
 Ros. God save you, brother. 
 
 on. And you, fair sister. 
 
 Rns. 0, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to 
 see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. 
 
 Orl. It is my arm. 
 
 Ros. I thought, thy heart had been wounded 
 with the claws of a lion. 
 
 Ch-l. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 
 
 Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited 
 tc swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief? 
 
 Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 
 
 Ros. O, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true : 
 there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight 
 of two rams, and Csesar's thrasonical brag of — I 
 came, saw, and overcame : For your brother and 
 my sister no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner 
 looked, but they loved ; no sooner loved, but they 
 sighed ; no sooner sighed, but they asked one an- 
 other the reason ; no sooner knew the reason, but 
 they sought the remedy : and in these degrees have 
 they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they 
 will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent be- 
 fore marriage : they are in the very wrath of love, 
 and they will together ; clubs cannot part them. 
 
 Orl. They shall be married to-morrow; and I 
 will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how 
 bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through 
 another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I 
 to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by 
 how much I shall think my brother happy, in 
 having what he wishes for. 
 
 Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your 
 turn for Rosalind ] 
 
 Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 
 
 Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle 
 talking. Know of me then, (for now I speak to 
 some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman of 
 good conceit: I speak not this, that you should bear 
 a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I 
 know you are ; neither do I labc.r for a greater es- 
 teem than may in some little measure draw a belief 
 from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. 
 Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange 
 things : I have, since I was tluee years old, con- 
 versed with a magician, most profound in this art, 
 and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so 
 near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when 
 your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her : 
 I know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; 
 and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not in- 
 convenient to you, to set her before your eyes to- 
 morrow, human as she is, and without any danger. 
 
 Orl Speakest thou in sober meanings'? 
 Ros. By my hfe, I do ; which I tender dearly, 
 though I say I am a magician : Therefore, put you 
 in your best array, bid your friends ; for if you will 
 be manicd to-m">rrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, 
 if you will. 
 
 Enter SiLvirs and Piiebk. 
 Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. 
 
 rite. Youth, you have done me much ungentlc- 
 I'o show the letter that I writ ti you. [ness, 
 
 Ros. I care not, if I have : it « my study, 
 
 To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: 
 You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd; 
 Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 
 
 P/ie. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis t« 
 love. 
 
 *S'(7. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And I for no woman. 
 
 •S';7. It is to be all made of faith and service ;- 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Fke. And I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And I for no woman. 
 
 Si/. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
 All made of passion, and all made of wishes; 
 All adoration, duty, and observance, 
 All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, 
 All purity, all trial, all observance ; — 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And so am I for no woman. 
 
 Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to lovo 
 youl ITo Rosalind. 
 
 Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
 youl [7b Phebe. 
 
 Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you 7 
 
 Ros. Who do you speak to, why blame you me 
 to love you? 
 
 Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. 
 
 Ros. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the 
 howling of Irish wolves against the moon. — I will 
 help you, [7b Silvius.] if I can: — I would love 
 you, [To Phebe.] if I could. — To-morrow meet 
 me all together. — I will marry you, [To Phebe.] it 
 ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow : 
 — I will satisfy you, \_To Orlando.] if ever I 
 satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow : 
 — I will content you,[To Silvius.] if what pleases 
 you contents you, and you shall be married to- 
 morrow. — As you [To Orlando.] love Rosalind, 
 meet; — as you [To Silvius.] love Phebe, meet; 
 and as I love no woman, I'll meet. — So, fare you 
 well; I have left you commands. 
 
 Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. 
 
 Phe. Nor I. 
 
 Orl. Nor I. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 SCENE III.— T^e same. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; 
 to-morrow will we be married. 
 
 A ltd. I do desire it with all my heart : and hope 
 it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of 
 the world.'' Here comes two of the banished duke's 
 pages. 
 
 Eyiter two Pages. 
 
 1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 
 Touch,. By my troth, well met: Come, sit, sit. 
 
 and a song. 
 
 2 Page. We are for you : sit i' the middle. 
 
 1 Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without 
 hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse • 
 which arc the only prologues to a bad voice ? 
 
 2 Page. I'faith, i'faith ; and both in a tune, likt 
 two gipsies on a horse. 
 
 1 A married woman. 
 
£22 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act V, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 Jt was a lover and his lass, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 That o'er the green corn-field did pass, 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty rank time, 
 yVhen birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; 
 Suoeet lovers love the spruig. 
 II. 
 Between the acres of the rye. 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 These pretty country folks would lie. 
 
 In spring time, dc. 
 
 III. 
 Tfiis carol they began that hour, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 Hmo that a life was but a flower 
 
 In spring time, die. 
 
 IV. 
 And therefore take the present time, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; 
 For love is crowned with the prime 
 
 In spring time, dc. 
 
 Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there 
 wras no greater matter in the ditty, yet the note was 
 very untuncable. 
 
 1 Page. You are deceived, sir ; we kept time, we 
 lost not our time. 
 
 Touch. By my troth, yes ; I count it but time 
 lost to hear such a foolish song. God be with you ; 
 and God mend your voices ! — Come, Audrey. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, 
 Oliver, and Celia. 
 Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
 Can do all this that he hath promised ? 
 
 Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do 
 not; 
 As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. 
 
 Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 
 Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compdct is 
 urg'd : — 
 You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the Duke. 
 You will bestow her on Orlando here 1 
 
 Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give 
 
 with her. 
 
 Ros, And, you say, you will have her when I 
 
 bring herl [^To Orlando. 
 
 Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 
 
 Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing 1 
 
 [7b Phebe. 
 Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. 
 Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me, 
 You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ? 
 Phe. So is the bargain. 
 
 Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will] 
 
 [To Silvius. 
 Sil. Though to have her and death were both 
 
 one thing. 
 Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. 
 Keep you your word, duke, to give your daugh- 
 ter; — 
 You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : — 
 Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me ; 
 Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : — 
 Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her, 
 If she refuse me : — and from hence I go, 
 To make these doubts all even. 
 
 l_Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. 
 Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy 
 Some lively touches of my daughter's favor. 
 
 Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, 
 Methought he was a brother to your daughter ; 
 But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born ; 
 And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
 Of many desperate studies by his uncle. 
 Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
 Obscured in the circle of this forest. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and 
 these couples are coming to the ark ! Here comes a 
 pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are 
 called fools ! 
 
 Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 
 
 Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome : This is the 
 motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met 
 in the forest : he hath been a courtier, he swears. 
 
 Touch. If any man doubts that, let him put me to 
 my purgation. I have trod a measure ;' I have flat- 
 tered a lady ; I have been politic with my friend, 
 smooth with mine enemy ; I have undone three 
 tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have 
 fought one. 
 
 Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 
 
 Touch. 'Faith, we met and found the quarrel 
 was upon the seventh cause. 
 
 Jaq. How seventh cause 1 — Good my lord, lite 
 this fellow. 
 
 Duke S. I like him very well. 
 
 Touch. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the 
 lilie. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the 
 country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear ; ac- 
 cording as marriage binds, and blood breaks : — A 
 poor virgin, sir, an ill-favored thing, sir, but mine 
 own ; a poor humor of mine, sir, to take that that 
 no man else will : Rich honesty dwells like a miser, 
 sir, in a poorhouse ; as your pearl, in your foul 
 oyster. 
 
 Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sen- 
 tentious. 
 
 Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such 
 dulcet diseases. 
 
 Jaq. But, for the seventh cause ; how did you 
 find the quarrel on the seventh cause 1 
 
 Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; — Bear 
 your body more seeming, Audrey : — as thuS; sir, 
 I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ; 
 he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, 
 he was in the mind it was : This is called the Retort 
 courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well 
 cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please 
 himself: This is called the Quip modest. If again, 
 it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment : This 
 is call'd the Reply churlish. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he would answer, I spake not true : This 
 is call'd the Reproof valiant. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he would say, I lie : This is called the 
 Countercheck quarrelsome: and so to the Lie dr- 
 cumstantial, and the Lie direct. 
 
 Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not 
 well cut? 
 
 Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie cit' 
 cumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie di' 
 rect; and so we measured swords and parted. 
 
 Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the de- 
 grees of the he ? 
 
 Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; 
 as you have books for good manners : I will nam« 
 you the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous ; 
 
 • A stately solemn danc*. 
 
SCKNK IV 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 223 
 
 the second, the Quip inotlest; tho third the Reply 
 churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof vaHant ; the filth, 
 the Countercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie 
 with circumstance ; the seventh tlie Lie direct. 
 All these you may avoid but the lie direct; and 
 you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when 
 seven justices could not take uj) a (iiiarrcl : but when 
 the parties were mcttheinselves,one of ihcni thought 
 but of an If, as If you said so, iheit 1 raid so ; and 
 they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is 
 the only peace maker; much virtue in If 
 
 Jaq. Is not this a rare (ellow. my lord? he's as 
 good at any thing, and yet a Iboi. 
 
 Duhe S. He uses his folly liiu- a stalking-horse, 
 and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. 
 
 Enter HrMEN, leading Rosai.im) in iroman's 
 clothes,- and Cki ja. 
 
 Still Music. 
 
 Hym. Tlie?]. is there mirth in heaven, 
 When earthly things made even 
 
 Atone together. 
 Good duke, recrive thy daughter. 
 Hymen from heaven brought her. 
 
 Yea, brought her hither^ 
 That thou might st join her hand with his 
 Vlhose heart ivithin her bosom is. 
 
 Ro! Tc you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [7b Duke S. 
 To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [To OllLANi)0. 
 
 Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my 
 
 daughter. 
 Orl. If there be truth in sight, vou are my Rosa- 
 lind. 
 Phe. If sight and shape be true, 
 'Vhy then, — my love, adieu ! 
 Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he : — 
 
 [To Duke S. 
 I'll have no husband, if you be not he : — 
 
 [To Orlando. 
 N'or ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 
 
 [To PnrBK. I 
 Wum. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
 'Tis I must make conclusion 
 
 Of these most strange events: 
 Here's eight that must take hands, 
 To join in Hymen's bands, 
 
 If truth holds true contents.' 
 You and you no cross shall pari. 
 
 [To OiiLAMio and Rosalind. 
 You and you are heart in heart: 
 
 [To OLivi'.u and Celia. 
 You [To PiiiCUK.] to hislov.' :r.;:st accord, 
 Or have a woman to your lord : — 
 Y )U and you are sure together, 
 
 [To TouciisToNK and ArimKT. 
 As the winter to foul wcalhcr. 
 Whiles a vvedlock-hyinn we sing. 
 Feed yourselves with questioning; | 
 
 That reason wonder may diminish, 
 How thus we met, and these things finish. 
 
 ?Ox\G. 
 
 Wedding is great Juno^s crown,- 
 
 blessed bond of board and bed.' j 
 
 'Tis Hymen peoples every town,- I 
 
 High wedlock then be honored: \ 
 
 • DnlesB truth fail of veracitr. 
 
 Honor, high honor and renown, 
 To Hymen, god of every town.' 
 Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me^ 
 Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 
 
 Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine ', 
 Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 
 1 [To SiLviua 
 
 Enter JAauKs nE Bois. 
 
 J I'/, de B. Let me have audience for a word, oi 
 two; 
 I am the se.-ond son of old sir Rowland, 
 That bring these tidings to this fair assembly: — 
 Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
 Men of great worth re.-sorted to this forest, 
 Address'd a mighty power! which were on foot, 
 In his own <-onduct, purposely to take 
 His brother here, and put him to the sword: 
 And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; 
 Where, meeting with an old religious man, 
 After some questions with him, was converted 
 Both from his enterprise, and from the world: 
 His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother. 
 And all their lands restor'd to them again 
 That wore with him exil'd : This to be true, 
 I do engage my hfe. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, young man; 
 
 'iTlou o!K>r'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding; 
 To one, his lands withheld: and to the other, 
 A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
 First, in this forest, let us do those ends 
 That here were well begun, and well begot: 
 And after, every of this happy number, 
 That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with U^ 
 Shall share the good of our returned fortune. 
 According to the measure of their states. 
 Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity. 
 And fall into our rustic revelry : — 
 Play, music ; — and you brides and bridegrooms all, 
 With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 
 Jaq. Sir, by your patience; if I heard you rightly, 
 The duke hath put on a religious life. 
 And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 
 Jaq. de B. He hath. 
 
 Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites 
 There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.— 
 You to your former honor I bequeath ; 
 
 [To Duke S. 
 Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it:— ■ 
 You [To OuLANDo.] to a love, that your true faith 
 
 doth merit: — 
 You [To Oli VKH.] to your land, and love, and great 
 
 allies : — 
 You [To SiLvius.] to a long and well dsserved 
 
 bed ; — ■ 
 And you [To Touchstone.] to wanghng, for thy 
 
 loving voyage 
 Is but for two months victual'd: — So to your plea- 
 sures ; 
 I am lor other than for dancing measures. 
 Duke S. Stay, Jaqnes, stay. 
 Jaq. To see no pastime, I: — what you would 
 have 
 I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. 
 Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these 
 rites, 
 And we do trust they'll end, in true del'^hts. 
 
 [A dance 
 
2»4 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the 
 epilogue : but it is no more unhandsome, than to 
 see the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good 
 wine needs no bush, 'tis true, that a good play needs 
 no epilogue : Yet to good wine they do use good 
 busiics; and good plays prove the better by the 
 help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, 
 that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate 
 with you in the behalf of a good play 1 I am not 
 furnished' like a beggar, therefore to beg will not 
 become me: my way is, to conjure you; and I'll 
 ' Dressed. 
 
 begin with the women. I charge you, O women, 
 for the love you b(!ar to men, to like as much of 
 this play as pleases them : and so I charge you, O 
 men, for the love you bear to women, (as I perceive 
 by your simpering, none of you hate them,) that 
 between you and the women, the play may please. 
 If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you ag 
 had beards that pleased me, and complexions that 
 liked me :'' and breaths that I defied not ; and, I 
 am sure, as many as have good beards, or good 
 faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, wher 
 I make curt'sy, bid me farewell. [Erpfs' 
 
 • That I UkecL 
 
N, 
 
 1: 
 
 - \ 
 
 hayxer }'jiix' 
 
 V-.: 
 
 
 r 
 
 "-1 
 
 
 4.' '\ 
 
 \ 
 
 Kl g [L l£ W j^s . 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 
 
 1- 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Countess of Rousillojt, Mother to Bertram. 
 'H.v.T.y.s k,a Gentlewomanprotededhythe Counteas 
 An old Widoiv of Florence. 
 
 Kino of France. 
 Duke of Flohf.ncf,. 
 Bertiiam, Co!/«^ 0/ Rousillon. 
 Lafeu, an old Lord. 
 Pahollf.s, a Follower of Bertram. 
 Several young French Lords, that serve with Ber- 
 tram m the Florentine War. 
 Steward, 
 Clown, 
 A Page. 
 
 SCENE,— partly in France, and partly in Tuscanv, 
 
 Servants to the Countess o/" Rousillon. 
 
 Diana, Daughter to the Widow. 
 
 ViOLENTA, 
 
 Mariana, 
 
 Neighbors and Friends to the Widow 
 
 Lords, attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers 
 Jrc., French and Florentine. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's ' 
 Palace. j 
 
 Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, 
 Helena, and Lafeu, in mourning. 
 
 Countess. In delivering my son from me, I bury 
 a second husband. ' 
 
 Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my | 
 tather's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's , 
 command, to whom I am now in ward,' evermore 
 in subjection. 
 
 Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, ma- 
 dam ; — you, sir, a father : He that so generally is 
 at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue 
 to you ; whose worthiness would stir it up where ; 
 it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such 
 aL:undac«e. 
 
 Count. What hope is there of his majesty's 
 amendment? 
 
 Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; 
 Under whose practices he hath persecuted time with 
 hope; and finds no other advantage in the process 
 but only the losing of hope by time. 
 
 Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, 
 (O, that had/ how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill 
 was almost as great as hisTioncsfy ; had it stretched 
 so far, would have made nature immortal, and 
 death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, 
 lor the king's sake, he were living! I think, it 
 would be the death of the king's disease. 
 
 Laf. How called you the man you speak of, 
 ir. idam : 
 
 Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and 
 it was his great right to be so : Gerard de Narbon. 
 
 Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam ; the king 
 very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and moum- 
 ingly ; he was skilful enough to have lived still, if 
 knowledge could be set up against mortality. 
 
 Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- 
 guishes of 1 
 
 Laf. A fistula, my lord. 
 
 > Under his particular care, as my guardian. 
 
 Ber. 1 heard not of it before. 
 Laf. I would, it were not notorious. — Was thii 
 gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ? 
 
 Count. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed 
 to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her 
 good, that her education promises : her dispositions 
 she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for where 
 an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there 
 commendations go with pity, they are virtues and 
 traitors too ; in her they are the better for their 
 simpleness ; she derives her honesty, and acLieves 
 her goodness. 
 
 Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her 
 tears. 
 
 Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season 
 her praise in. The remembrance of her father never 
 approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sor- 
 rows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more 
 of this, Helena, go to, no more ; lest it be rather 
 thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. 
 
 Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. 
 
 Laf Moderate lamentation is the right of th« 
 dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. 
 
 Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the 
 excess makes it soon mortal. 
 
 Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. 
 
 Laf. How understand we that 1 
 
 Count. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed thy 
 father 
 In manners, as in shape ! thy blood, and virtue, 
 Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodness 
 Share with thy birth-right ! Love all, trust a few, 
 Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
 Rather in power, than use ; and keep thy friend 
 Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence. 
 But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, 
 That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, 
 Fall on thy head ! — Farewell. — My lord, 
 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord. 
 Advise him. 
 
 Laf. He cannot want the best 
 
 That shall attend his love. „„, 
 
 226 
 
226 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Count. Heaven bless him! — Farewell, Bertram. 
 
 [Exit Countess. 
 
 Ber. The best wishes that can be forged in your 
 thoughts, [To Helena.] be servants to you ! Be 
 comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make 
 much of her. 
 
 Laf. Farewel 1, pretty lady: You must hold the cre- 
 dit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. 
 
 Hel. O, were that all ! — I think not on my father; 
 And these great tears grace his remembrance more 
 Tlian those I -shed for him. What was he like ? 
 I have forgot him : my imagination 
 Carries no favor in it, but Bertram's. 
 I am undone ; there is no living, none, 
 If Bertram be away. It were all one, 
 That I should love a bright particular star, 
 A nd think to wed it, he is so above me : 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: 
 The hind that would be mated by the lion. 
 Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, 
 To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
 In our heart's table ; heart, too capable 
 Of every line and trick" of his sweet favor :' 
 But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
 Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 One that goes with him : I love him for his sake ; 
 And yet I know him a notorious liar, 
 Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; 
 Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him. 
 That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 
 Look bleak in the cold wind : withal, full oft we see 
 Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 
 
 Pur. Save you, fair queen. 
 
 Hel. And you, monarch. 
 
 Par. No. 
 
 Hel. And no. 
 
 Par. Are you meditating on virginity 1 
 
 Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you ; 
 let me ask you a question : Man is enemy to vir- 
 ginity ; how may we barricade it against him 1 
 
 Par. Keep him out. 
 
 Hel. But he assails ; and our virginity, though 
 valiant in the defence, yet is weak : unfold to us 
 some warlike resistance. 
 
 Par. There is none ; man, sitting down before 
 you, will undermine you, and blow you up. 
 
 Hel. Bless oiir poor virginity from underminers, 
 and blowers up ! — Is there no military policy, how 
 virgins might blow up men ? 
 
 Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will 
 (uicklier be blown up : marry, in blowing him 
 down again, with the breach yourselves made, you 
 1 )se your city. It is not politic in the common- 
 wealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of 
 virginity is rational increase ; and there was never 
 virgin got, till virginity was first lost. That, you 
 were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, 
 by being once lost, may be ten times found : by 
 being ever kept, it is ever lost : 'tis too cold a com- 
 panion ; away with it. 
 
 Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore 
 I die a virgin. 
 
 Par. There's little can be said in't ; 'tis against 
 the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- 
 ginity, is to accuse your mothers : which is most 
 • Peculiar! ty of feature. 3 Countenance. 
 
 infallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is 
 a virgin : virginity murders itself; and should be 
 buried in highv/ays, out of all sanctified limit, as 
 a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity 
 breeds mites, much like a cheese ; consumes itself 
 to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own 
 stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, 
 made of self-love, which is the most inhibited* sin 
 in the canon. Keep it not ; you cannot choose but 
 lose by't ; Out with't : within ten years it will make 
 itself ten, which is a goodly increase ; and the prin- 
 cipal itself not much the worse : Away with't. 
 
 Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her 
 own liking 1 
 
 Par. Let me see : Marry, ill, to like him that 
 ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss 
 with lying ; the longer kept, the less worth : off 
 with't, while 'tis vendible : answer the time of re- 
 quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears hei 
 cap out of fashion ; richly suited, but unsuitable : 
 just like the brooch and toothpick, which wear not 
 now : Your date' is better in your pie and your 
 porridge, than in your cheek : And your virginity, 
 your old virginity, is like one of our French wither- 
 ed pears ; it looks ill, it eats dryly ; marry, 'tis a 
 withered pear ; it was formerly better ; marry, yet, 
 'tis a withered pear : Will you any thing with it ? 
 
 Hel. Not my virginity yet. 
 
 There shall your master have a thousand loves. 
 A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, 
 A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, 
 A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
 A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ; 
 His humble ambition, proud humility. 
 His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, 
 His faith, his sweet disaster ; with a world 
 Of pretty, fond, adoptions Christendoms, 
 
 That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he 
 
 I know not what he shall ; — God send him well ! — 
 The court's a learning place ; — and he is one 
 
 Par. What one, i'faith ? 
 
 Hel. That I wish well.— 'Tis pity 
 
 Par. What's pity ? 
 
 Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't/ 
 Which might be felt : that we, the poorer horn, 
 Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes. 
 Might with effects of them follow our friends, 
 And show what we alone must think ; which nevei 
 Return us thanks. 
 
 Enter a Page. 
 
 Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Par. Little Helen, farewell : If I can remembei 
 thee, I will think of thee at court. 
 
 Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were bonr under a 
 charitable star. 
 
 Par. Under Mars, I. 
 
 Hel. I especially think, under Mars. 
 
 Par. Why under Mars ? 
 
 Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you 
 must needs be born under Mars. 
 
 Par. When he was predominant. 
 
 Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rathcj 
 
 Par. Why think you so 1 
 
 Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. 
 
 Par. That's for advantage. 
 
 Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the 
 
 safety : But the composition, that your valor and 
 
 * Forbidden. 
 
 ' A q-abble on date, which means age, and candied fruit 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 227 
 
 fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I 
 like the wear well. 
 
 Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer 
 the? acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the 
 which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, 
 so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and 
 understand what advice shall thrust upon thee ; else 
 thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine igno- 
 rance makes thoc away : farewell. When thou hast 
 'eisiue, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, re- 
 member thy friends : get thee a good husband, and 
 Urfe him as he uses thee : so farewell. \^Exit. 
 
 Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,/ 
 Wliich we ascribe to heaven \j the fated sky 
 Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull 
 Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
 What power is it, which mounts my love so high, 
 That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? 
 The mightiest space in fortune nature brings 
 To join like likes, and kiss like native things, — "■ 
 Impossible be strange attempts, to those 
 That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose, 
 What hath been cannot be : Who ever strove 
 To show her merit, that did miss her love 1 
 The king's disease — my project may deceive me, 
 But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter the King of France 
 with letters ; Lords and others attending. 
 
 King. The Florentines and Senoys'' are by the 
 ears ; 
 Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
 A. braving war. 
 
 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 
 
 King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it 
 A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
 With caution, that the Florentine will move us 
 For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
 Prejudicates the business, and would seem 
 To have us make denial. 
 
 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, 
 Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 
 
 For amplest credence. 
 
 King. He hath arm'd our answer, 
 
 And Florence is denied before he comes : 
 Vet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see 
 The Tuscan serv'ice, freely have they leave 
 To stand on either part. 
 
 2 Lord. It may well serve 
 A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 
 
 f jT t:rcathing and exploit. 
 Kins- What's he comes here 1 
 
 Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 
 
 I Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, 
 Voung Bertram. 
 
 King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ; 
 Frank nature, rather curious than in haste. 
 Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts 
 May'st thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. 
 
 Ber. My thanks and duty are j'our majesty's. 
 
 King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, 
 As when thy father, and myself, in friendship 
 First try'd our soldiership ! He did look far 
 Into the service of the time, and was 
 
 • Things fdrned by nature for each other. 
 'Till! oitizem ol the small republic of which Sierma is 
 ilii' c:\pitul. 
 
 Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long-, 
 
 But on us both did haggish age steal on, 
 
 And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
 
 To talk of your good flither : In his youth 
 
 He had the wit, which I can well observe 
 
 To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest. 
 
 Till their own scorn return to them unnjted. 
 
 Ere they can hide their levity in honor. 
 
 So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
 
 Were in his pride or sharpness ; if they were, 
 
 His equal had awak'd them ; and his honor. 
 
 Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 
 
 Exception bid him speak, and, at this time, 
 
 His tongue obey'd his hand : Who were below hia> 
 
 He used as creatures of another place ; 
 
 And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranka, 
 
 Making them proud of his humility. 
 
 In their poor praise he humbled : Such a man 
 
 Might be a copy to these younger times ; 
 
 Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now 
 
 But goers backward. 
 
 Ber. His good remembrance, sir. 
 
 Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb ; 
 So in approof ° lives not his epitaph, 
 As in your royal speech. 
 
 King. 'Would, I were with him ! He would 
 always say, 
 (Methinks, I hear him now ; his plausive words 
 He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them. 
 To grow there, and to bear,) — Let me not live,- 
 Thus his good melancholy oft began. 
 On the catastrophe and heel of pastime. 
 When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he. 
 After my flame lacks oil, to he the snuff 
 Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 
 All but new tilings disdain,- ivhosejudgmeiits are 
 Mere fathers of their garments,- ivhose constancies 
 
 Expire before their fashions.- This he wish'd : 
 
 I, after him, do after him wish too, 
 Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring homo. 
 I quickly were dissolved from my hive. 
 To give some laborers room. 
 
 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir ; 
 
 They, that least '^nd it you, shall lack you first. 
 
 King. I fill a place, I know't. — How long is't, 
 count. 
 Since the physician at your father's died 1 
 He was much fam'd. 
 
 Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 
 
 King. If he were living, I would try him yet; — 
 Lend me an arm ; — the rest have worn me out 
 With several applications ; nature and sickness 
 Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; 
 My son's no dearer. 
 
 Ber. Thank your majesty. 
 
 [_Ex'Mtit. Flourish 
 
 SCENE III.— Rousillon. A Room in the Coun 
 tess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. 
 
 Count. I will now hear: what say you of thl« 
 gentlewoman ? 
 
 Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your 
 content," I wish might be found in the calendar of 
 my past endeavors ; for then we wound our mo« 
 desty, and make foul the clearness of our deserv 
 ings, when of ourselves we publish them. 
 
 Count. What does this knave here? Getyougon^ 
 
 • Approbation. » To act ud to yojir desire* 
 
228 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 »irrah : The coinplaints, I have heard of you, I do 
 not all believe : 'tis my slowness, that I do not : 
 for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and 
 have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. 
 
 Clo, 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a 
 poor fellow. 
 
 Count. Well, sir. 
 
 Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor ; 
 though many of the rich are damned : But, if I may 
 have your ladyship's good will to go to the world,' 
 [sbcl the woman and I will do as we may. 
 
 Coimt. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ? 
 
 Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. 
 
 Count. In what case ? 
 
 Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is 
 no heritage : and, I think, I shall never have the 
 blessing of God, till I have issue of my body ; for, 
 they say, beams'^ are blessings. 
 
 Count. Tell me the reason why thou wilt marry. 
 
 Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am 
 driven on by the flesh ; and he must needs go, that 
 the devil drives. 
 
 Count. Is this all your worship's reason ? 
 
 Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, 
 tuch as they are. 
 
 Count. May the world know them ? 
 
 Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature ; 
 as you and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed, I 
 do marry, that I may repent. 
 
 Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked- 
 ness. 
 
 Clo. I am out of friends, madam ; and I hope to 
 nave friends for my wife's sake. 
 
 Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 
 Clo. You are shallow, madam ; e'en great friends ; 
 for the knaves, come to do that for me, which I am 
 a-weary of. He, that ears' my land, spares my 
 team, and gives me leave to inn the crop : If I be 
 his cuckold, he's my drudge : He, that comforts 
 my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood ; 
 he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my 
 flesh and blood ; he, that loves my flesh and blood, 
 is my friend: ergo," he that kisses my wife, is my 
 friend. If men could be contented to be what they 
 are, there were no fear in marriage ; for young 
 Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, 
 howsoe'er their hearts are several in religion, their 
 heads are both one, they may joU horns together, 
 like any deer i' the herd. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and 
 calumnious knave 1 
 
 Clo. A prophet I, madam ; ajid I speak the truth 
 the next way:' 
 
 For I the ballad will repeat, 
 
 Which men full true shall find; 
 Your marriage comes by destiny, 
 Your cuckoo sings by kind. 
 Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you 
 Kore anon. 
 
 Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid 
 Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak. 
 
 Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would 
 opcak with her ; Helen I mean. 
 
 Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 
 
 [Singing, 
 Why the Grecians sacked Troy? 
 Fond done,* done fond. 
 
 Was this King Priam^sjoy ! 
 
 « To be married. a Children. a Ploughs. 
 
 • Therefore. The nearest way. • Foolishly done. 
 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 
 And gave this sentence then,- 
 Among nine bad if one be good, 
 Among nine bad if one be good, 
 
 Thert s yet one good in ten. 
 
 Count. What, one good in ten ? you corrupt *fi« 
 song, sirrah. 
 
 Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which ia a 
 purify ing o' the song: ' Would fortune serve the world 
 so all the year ! we'd find no fault with the ty the-wo- 
 man, if I were the parson : One in ten, quoth a'! an 
 we might have a good woman born but every blazing 
 star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery 
 well ; a man may draw his heart out ere he pluck one. 
 
 Count. You 11 be gone, sir knave, and do as I 
 command youl 
 
 Clo. That man should be at woman's command, 
 and yet no hurt done ! — Though honesty be no 
 puritan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will wear the 
 surplice of humility over the black gown of a big 
 heart. — 1 am going, forsooth: the business is for 
 Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Count. Well, now. 
 
 Slew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- 
 woman entirely. 
 
 Count. Indeed, I do ; her father bequeathed her 
 to me ; and she herself, without other advantage, 
 may lawfully make title tc as much love as she 
 finds : there is more owing ber, than is paid ; and 
 more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. 
 
 Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her 
 than, I think, she wished me : alone she was, and 
 did communicate to herself, her own words to her 
 own ears ; she thought, I dare vow for her, they 
 touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, 
 she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no 
 goddess, that had put such diflference betwixt their 
 two estates ; Love, no god, that would not extend 
 his might, only where qualities were level: Diana, 
 no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight 
 to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, 
 or ransome afterwards: This she delivered in the 
 most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin 
 exclaim in ; which I held my duty, speedily to 
 acquaint you withal ; sithence,' in the loss that may 
 happen, it concerns you something to know it. 
 
 Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep 
 it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of 
 this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, 
 that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray 
 you, leave me; stall this in your bosom, and I 
 thank you for your honest care : I will speak witti 
 you further anon. [Exit Steward. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Comit. E ven so it was with me, when I was young: 
 If we are nature's, these arc ours : this thorn 
 Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; 
 
 Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; 
 It is the show and seal of nature's truth. 
 Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth : 
 By our remembrances of days foregone, 
 Such were our faults : — or then we thought them 
 
 none. 
 Her eye is sick on't ; I observe her now. 
 Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ? 
 Count. You know, Helen, 
 
 I am a mother to you. 
 
 ' Since. 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 229 
 
 Hel. Mine honorable mistress. 
 
 Coimt. Nay, a mother ; 
 
 Why not a mother 1 When I said, a mother. 
 Mcthought you saw a serpent ! What's in mother, 
 That you start at it ? I say, I am your motlier ; 
 And put you in the catalogue of those 
 That were enwombed mine : 'Tis often seen. 
 Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds 
 A native slip to us from foreign seeds : 
 You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan. 
 Yet I express to you a mother's care : 
 God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood, 
 To say I am thy mother 1 What's the matter. 
 That this distemper'd messenger of wet. 
 The many-color'd Iris, rounds thine eye ? 
 Why ? that you arc my daughter ] 
 
 Hel. That I am not. 
 
 Count. I say, I am your mother. 
 
 Hel. Pardon, madam ; 
 
 The count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 
 I am from humble, he from honor'd name ; 
 No note upon my parents, his all noble : 
 My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
 His servant live, and will his vassal die : 
 He must not be my brother. 
 
 Count. Nor I your mother 1 [were 
 
 Hel. You are my mother, madam ; 'Would you 
 (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) 
 Indeed, my mother ! — or were you both our mothers, 
 I care no more for,' than I do for heaven. 
 So I were not his sister: Can't no other. 
 But I, your daughter, he must be my brother ? 
 
 Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter- 
 in-law ; 
 God shield, you mean it not ! daughter, and mother 
 So strive' upen your pulse : What, pale again ? 
 My fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I see 
 The mystery of your loneliness, and find 
 Your salt tears' head.' Now to all sense, 'tis gross, 
 You love my son ; invention is asham'd. 
 Against the proclamation of thy passion. 
 To say thou dost not : therefore teii me true ; 
 But tell me then, 'tis so ; — for, look, thy cheeks 
 Confess it, one to the other; and thine eyes 
 See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors. 
 That in their kind thf;y speak it ; only sin 
 And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue. 
 That truth should be s-uspected : Speak, is't so 1 
 If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; 
 If it be not, forswear't : howe'er, I charge thee. 
 As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 
 To tell me truly. 
 
 Hel. Good madam, pardon me ! 
 
 Count. Do you love my son ? 
 
 Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! 
 
 Count. Love you my son 7 
 
 Hel. Do not you love him, madam 1 
 
 Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, 
 Whereof the world takes note : come, come, disclose 
 The state of your affection ; for your passions 
 Have to the full appeach'd. 
 
 Hel. Then I confess, 
 
 Here on my knee, befoie high heaven and you, 
 That before you, and next unto high heaven, 
 I love your son : — 
 
 My friends were poor, but honest : so's my love. 
 Be not offended ; for it hurts not him. 
 That he is lov'd of me- I follow him not 
 
 *i. e. I care as much for: I wish it eriunlly. 
 "Tontend. 'The 80urcp, the cause of vour "rwf 
 
 16 
 
 iBy any token of presumptuous suit ; 
 
 Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him , 
 
 YfitJif^c'" know how that desert should be. 
 
 I know I love in vain, strive against hope ; 
 
 Yet, in this captious and inteniblc sieve, 
 
 I still pour in the waters of my love, 
 
 And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, 
 
 Religious in mine error, I adore 
 
 The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, 
 
 But knows of him no more. My dearest madaa 
 
 Let not your hate encounter with my love, 
 
 For loving where you do: but, if yourself, 
 
 Whose aged honor cites a virtuous youth. 
 
 Did ever, in so true a flame of liking. 
 
 Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dial 
 
 Was both herself and love;;'0 then, give pity 
 
 To her, whose state is such that cannot choose 
 
 But lend and give, where she is sure to lose; i 
 
 That seeks not to find that her search implies, ' 
 
 But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. 
 
 Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly 
 To go to Paris ] 
 
 Hel. Madam, I had. 
 
 Count. Wherefore 1 tell true 
 
 Hel. I will tell true ; by grace itself, I swear. 
 You know, my father left me some prescriptions 
 Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading. 
 And manifest experience, had collected 
 For general sovereignty ; and that he will'd me 
 In hcedfullest reservation to bestow them, 
 As notes, whose faculties inclusive were 
 More than they were in note : ' amongst the rest, 
 There is a remedy, approv'd, set down. 
 To cure the desperate languishes, whereof 
 The king is render'd lost. 
 
 Count. This was your motiT« 
 
 For Paris, v^'as if? speak. 
 
 Hel. My lord, your son, made me to think of 
 this; 
 Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, 
 Had, from the conversation of my thoughts. 
 Haply, been absent then. 
 
 Count. But think you, Helen, 
 
 If you should tender your supposed aid, 
 He would receive it ? He and his physicians 
 Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him , 
 They, that they cannot help : How shall they creilil 
 A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
 Embowell'd of their doctrine,' have left off 
 The danger to itself? 
 
 Hel. There's something hints, 
 
 More than my father's skill, which was the greatCBl 
 Of his profession, that his good receipt 
 Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified 
 By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, W';ulil youi 
 
 honor 
 But give me leave to try success, I'd venture 
 The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure. 
 By such a day and hour. 
 
 Count. Dost thou believe 'f 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. 
 
 Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leavb, 
 and love. 
 Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings 
 To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home, 
 And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: 
 Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this. 
 What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Appearance. •Exhausted of their skill. 
 
230 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act D 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords taking 
 leave for the Florentine war; Bertram, Pa- 
 ROLLES, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike prin- 
 ciples 
 
 Do not throw from you : — and you, my lord, fare- 
 well : — 
 
 Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain all. 
 
 The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis recciv'd. 
 
 And is enough for both. 
 
 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir. 
 After well-enter'd soldiers, to return 
 
 And find your grace in health. 
 
 King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart 
 Will not confess he owes the malady 
 That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; 
 Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
 Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy 
 (Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall 
 Of the last monarchy') sec, that you come 
 Not to woo honor, but to wed it ; when 
 The bravest questant' slirinks, find what you seek, 
 That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell. 
 
 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your 
 
 mai'esty ! 
 King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of thrm ; 
 They say, our French lack language to deny. 
 If they demand : beware of being captives. 
 Before you serve.* 
 
 Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 
 
 King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. 
 
 \The King retires to a couch. 
 
 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay be- 
 
 hind us ! 
 Par. 'Tis not his fault ; the spark 
 
 2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars. 
 Par. Most admirable : I have seen those wars. 
 Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil* 
 
 with 
 
 Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early. 
 Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away 
 
 bravely. 
 Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock. 
 Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry. 
 Till honor be bought up, and no sword worn. 
 But one to dance with ! By heaven, I'll steal away. 
 
 1 Lord. There's honor in the theft. 
 
 Par. Commit it. count. 
 
 2 Lord. I am your accessary ; and so farewell. 
 Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured 
 
 ttody. 
 
 T Lord. Farewell, captain. 
 
 2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles ! 
 
 Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 
 Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals : — 
 You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii. one 
 captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, 
 here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very sword 
 
 't. e. The Roman empire. »Soeker, enqiiiror. 
 
 Be not captives liefore you are soldiers. 
 In a bustle. 
 
 entrenched it: sty to nim, I live; and observe nis 
 reports for me. 
 
 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. 
 
 Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! [^Exeunt 
 Lords.] What will you do 7 
 
 Ber. Stay: the king [^Seeing him rist 
 
 Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble 
 lords; you have restrained yourself within the list 
 of too cold an adieu ; be more expressive tc them ; 
 for they wear themselves in the cap of the time : ' 
 there, do muster true gait,' eat, speak, and move, 
 under the influence of the most received star ; and 
 though the devil lead the measure,' such are to be 
 followed : after them, and take a more dilated fare- 
 well. 
 
 Ber. And I will do so. 
 
 Pur. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most 
 sinewy sword-men. 
 
 [Exeunt Bertram and Parolles. 
 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 
 Laf. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.'] for me and 
 for my tidings. 
 
 King. I'll fee thee to stand up. 
 
 Laf. "Then here's a man 
 
 Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, yon 
 Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy ; and 
 That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. 
 
 King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, 
 And ask'd thee mercy for't. 
 
 Laf. Goodfaith, across :' 
 
 But, my good lord, 'tis thus ; Will you be cur'd 
 Of your infirmity? 
 
 King. No. 
 
 Laf. O, will you eat 
 
 No gi-apes, my royal fox 1 yes, but you will. 
 My noble grapes, an if my royal fox 
 Could reach them: I have seen a medicine," 
 That's able to breathe life into a stone ; 
 Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary. 
 With sprightly fire and motion ; whose simple touch 
 Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay. 
 To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand. 
 And write to her a love-line. 
 
 Ki)ig. What her is this 1 
 
 Laf. Why, doctor she : My lord, there's one ai- 
 riv'd. 
 If you will see her, — now, by my faith and honor, 
 If seriously I may convey my thoughts 
 In this my light deliverance, I have spoke 
 With one, that, in her sex, her years, professira:. 
 Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more 
 Than I dare blame my weakness : Will you see her, 
 (For that is her demand,) and know her business ? 
 That done, laugh well at me. 
 
 King. Now, good Lafeu, 
 
 Bring in the admiration; that we with thee 
 May spend our wonder too, or take off thine. 
 By wondering how thou took'st it. 
 
 a They are the foremost in the fiishion. 
 s Have the true military step. * The dance. 
 
 t Unskilfully ; a phrase taken from the exercise at • 
 quintain. 
 • A female physician. ^ A kind of danca 
 
Scene 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 '2'6i 
 
 Laf. Nay I'll fit you, 
 
 A.nd not be all day ncitlipr. \^ExU IjAff.u. 
 
 King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. 
 
 Re-enter Lafeu with Hklena. 
 Liof. Nay, come your ways. 
 
 Kirn, 
 
 This haste hath wings indeed. 
 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways; 
 This is his majesty, say your mind to him: 
 A traitor you do look like: but such traitors 
 His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle," 
 That dare leave two together ; fere you well. [Exit. 
 
 King. Now, fair one, does your business fol- 
 low usl 
 
 Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was 
 My father; in what he did profess, well found.' 
 
 King. I knew him. 
 
 Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards 
 him ; 
 Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death 
 Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one. 
 Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, 
 And of his old experience the only darling, 
 He bade me store up, as a triple eye,' 
 Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so: 
 And hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
 With that malignant cause wherein the honor 
 Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
 I come to tender it, and my appliance. 
 With all bound humbleness. 
 
 King. We thank you, maiden; 
 
 But may not be so credulous of cure, — 
 When our most learned doctors leave us; and 
 The congregated college have concluded 
 That laboring art can never ransom nature 
 From her inaidable estate. — I say we must not 
 So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, 
 To prostitute our past-cure malady 
 To empirics; or to dissever so 
 Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
 A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. 
 
 Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains: 
 I will no more enforce mine office on you; 
 Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 
 A modest one, to bear me back again. 
 
 King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateflil: 
 Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I 
 
 give, 
 As one near death to those that wish him live: 
 But what at full I know, thou know'st no part; 
 I knowing all my peril, thou no art. 
 
 Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try. 
 Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy: 
 He tiiat of greatest works is finisher. 
 Oft does them by the weakest minister: 
 So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown. 
 When judges have been babes. Great floods have 
 
 flown 
 From simple sources; and great seas have dried. 
 When miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
 I Ofl; expectation fails, and most oft there 1 
 f- Where most it promises'; and oft it hits, 
 Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits. 
 
 King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind 
 maid ; 
 I'hy pains not used, must by thyself be paid: 
 Prortcrs, not took, reap thanks for their reward. 
 
 Hel Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : 
 
 • I am '.ike Pandarus » Well informed. 
 
 ' A third eye. 
 
 It is not so with him that all things knows. 
 
 As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows: 
 
 But, most it is presumption in us, when 
 
 The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
 
 Dear sir, to my endeavors give consent; 
 
 Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
 
 I am not an impostor, that proclaim 
 
 Myself against the level of mine aim; 
 
 But know, I think, and think I know most sure, 
 
 My art is not past power, nor you past cure. 
 
 King. Art thou so confident"! Within wlial 
 space 
 Hop'st thou my curel 
 
 Hel. The greatest grace lending gmce, 
 
 Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
 Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring; 
 Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
 Moist Hesperus hath quenched his sleepy lamp; 
 Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
 Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass; 
 What is infirm from the sound part shall fly. 
 Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. 
 
 Ki7ig. Upon thy certainty and confidence, 
 What dar'st thou venture 1 
 
 Hel. Tax of impudence, — 
 
 A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, — 
 Traduced by odious ballads ; my maiden's name 
 Sear'd otherwise ; no worse of worst extended, 
 With vilest torture let my life be ended. 
 
 King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth 
 speak ; 
 His powerful sound, within an organ weak : 
 And what impossibility would slay 
 In common sense, sense saves another way. 
 Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate 
 Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate; 
 Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all 
 That happiness and prime can happy call : 
 Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate 
 Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. 
 Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try ; 
 That ministers thine own death, if I die. 
 
 Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property 
 Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ; 
 And well dcserv'd: Not helping, death's my fee, 
 But if I help, what do you promise me? 
 
 King. Make thy demand. 
 
 Hel. But will you make it even! 
 
 King. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. 
 
 Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly 
 hand, 
 What husband in thy power I will command : 
 Exempted be from me the aiTOgance 
 To choose from forth the royal blood of France; 
 My low and humble name to propagate 
 With any branch or image of thy state: 
 But such a one, thy vassal, whom I knon- 
 Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 
 
 King. Here is my hand ; the premises obscrv'd, 
 Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd; 
 So make tlie choice of thine own time; for I, 
 Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 
 More should I question thee, and more I must; 
 Though, more to know, could not be more to trust, 
 From whence thou cam'st, how 'tended on, — But 
 
 re.«t 
 Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted biest. — 
 Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed 
 As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed 
 
 [Flourish. ExtunJ 
 
23:2 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act II 
 
 SCENE II. — Rousillon. A Room in the Coun- j 
 tess' Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess and Clown. 
 
 Cowit. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to 
 •Jae height of your breeding. 
 
 Clo. I will show myself highly fed and low- 
 y taught: I know my business is but to the 
 court. 
 
 Count. To the court ! why, what place make 
 you sp'-'iial, when you put off that with such con- 
 tempt? But to the court ! 
 
 C/r. Truly, madam, if nature have lent a man 
 ODy manners, he may easily put it off at court; he 
 tbit cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, 
 and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor 
 cap ; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, 
 were not for the court : but, for me, I have an an- 
 swer will serve all men. 
 
 Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that 
 fits all questions. 
 
 Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all but- 
 tocks ; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the 
 brawn-buttock, or any buttock. 
 
 Count. Will your answer serve fit to all ques- 
 tions? 
 
 Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an 
 attorney, as your French crown for your taffata 
 punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, as a pan- 
 cake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as 
 the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a 
 scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's 
 lip to the friar's mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his 
 skin. 
 
 Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fit- 
 ness for all (juestions ] 
 
 Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your 
 constable, it will fit any question. 
 
 Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
 size, that must fit all demands. 
 
 Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the 
 learned should speak truth of it ; here it is, and 
 all that belongs to't : Ask me, if I am a courtier ; 
 it shall do you no harm to learn. 
 
 Count. To be young again, if we could : I 
 will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser 
 by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a 
 courtier 1 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — There's a simple putting 
 off; — more, more, a hundred of them. 
 
 Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that 
 'oves you. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thick, thick, spare not me. 
 
 Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this 
 h rnely m3at. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Nay, put me to't, I warrant 
 J'X. . 
 
 Oounl. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Spare not me. 
 
 Count. Do you cry, Lord, sir, at your whip- 
 ping, and spare not me? Indeed, your Lord, sir, 
 is very sequent to your whipping; you would an- 
 swer very well to a whipping, if you were but 
 bound to't. 
 
 Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my — 
 O Lord, sir: I see, things may serve long, but not 
 serve ever. 
 
 Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, 
 to entertain it so merrily w"'th a fool. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — 'Why, therc't serves weD 
 again. 
 
 Count. An end,sir,to your business: GiveHelen 
 this. 
 And urge her to a present answer back : 
 Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son } 
 This is not much. 
 
 Clo. Not much commendation to them. 
 
 Count. Not much employment for you : You 
 understand me ? 
 
 Clo. Most fruitfully; I am there before my 
 legs. 
 
 Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE III.— Paris. A Room in the King's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Paeolles. 
 
 Laf. They say, miracles are past ; and we have 
 our philosophical persons to make modern^ and 
 familiar things supernatural and causeless. Hence 
 is it, that we make trifles of terrors ; ensconcing 
 ourselves into seeming knowledge when we should 
 submit ourselves to an unknown fear. 
 
 Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, 
 that hath shot out in our latter times. 
 
 Ber. And so 'tis. 
 
 Laf. To be relinquished of the artists, 
 
 Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracet- 
 sus. 
 
 Laf. Of all the learned and authentic felc 
 lows, — 
 
 Pur. Right, so I say. 
 
 Laf. That gave him out incurable, — 
 
 Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. 
 
 Laf. Not to be helped, — 
 
 Par. Right : as 'twere a man assured of an- 
 
 Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. 
 
 Par. Just, you say well; so would I have said, 
 
 Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the 
 world. 
 
 Par. It is, indeed : if you will have it in show- 
 ing, you shall read it in What do you call 
 
 there ? — 
 
 Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an 
 earthly actor. 
 
 Par. That's it I would have said ; ti.e very 
 same. 
 
 Laf. Why, your dolphin' is not lustier : 'fore 
 me, I speak in respect 
 
 Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is 
 the brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a most 
 facinorous' spirit, that will not acknowledge it to 
 be the 
 
 Laf. Very hand of heaven. 
 
 Par. Ay, so I say. 
 
 Laf. In a most weak 
 
 Par. And debile minister, great power, great 
 transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a 
 further use to be made, than alone the recoverv of 
 the king, as to be • 
 
 Laf. Generally thankful. 
 
 Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. 
 
 Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Her* 
 comes the king. 
 
 •Ordinary. 
 
 « Wicked. 
 
 * The Dauphin. 
 
feCENE in. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 i33 
 
 Laf. Lustick,' as the Dutchman says : I'll like 
 a niuid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head : 
 Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. 
 
 Par. Mart (hi Vinaigre ! Is not this Helen \ 
 
 Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 
 
 King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. — 
 
 [JEr«i an Attendant. 
 Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
 And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd 
 
 sense 
 Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
 The confirmation of my promis'd gift, 
 Which but attends thy naming. 
 
 Enter several Lords. 
 
 Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful 
 
 parcel 
 Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, 
 O'er whom both sovereign power and father's 
 
 voice 
 I have to use : thy frank election make ; 
 Thou hast power to choose, and they none to for- 
 sake. 
 Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mis- 
 tress 
 Fall, when love please ! — marry, to each, but one ! 
 
 Laf. I'd give bay Curtal,' and his furniture. 
 My mouth no more were broken than these boys', 
 A-nd writ as little beard. 
 
 King. Peruse them well : 
 
 Not one of those but had a noble father. 
 
 Hel. Gentlemen, 
 Heaven hath through me restor'd the king to 
 health. 
 All. We understand it, and thank heaven for 
 
 you. 
 Hel. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest. 
 
 That, I protest, I simply am a maid : 
 
 Please it your majesty, I have done already : 
 The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 
 We blush, that thou shouldst choose ; but be re- 
 
 fus\l, 
 Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; 
 WeUl ne'er come there again. 
 
 King. Make choice ; and, see. 
 
 Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. 
 
 Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly : 
 And to imperial Love, that god most high. 
 Do my sighs stream. — Sir, will you hear my 
 suit? 
 
 1 Lord. And grant it. 
 
 Hel. Thanks, sir ', all the rest is mute. 
 
 Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw 
 amcs-ace'' for my life. 
 
 Hel. The honor, sir, that flames in your fair 
 eyes, 
 Before I speak, too threateningly replies : 
 Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
 Her that so wishes, and her humble love ! 
 
 2 Lord. No better, if you please. 
 
 Hel. My wish receive. 
 
 Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave. 
 
 Laf. Do all they deny her ? An they were sons 
 tt mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I would send 
 llnun to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. 
 
 Hel. Be not afraid [To a Lord.] that I your hand 
 should take ; 
 
 * Lu?tigh is the Dutch word for lusty, cb ^erful. 
 
 • A doclj-sj horse, i The lowest chance f the dice. 
 
 I'll never do you wrong for youi . wn saKe : 
 Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed. 
 Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 
 
 Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll nont 
 have her: sure, they are bastards to the English • 
 the French ne'er got them. 
 
 Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too 
 good. 
 To make yourself a son out of my blood. 
 4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 
 Laf. There's one grape yet, — I am sure, thy 
 father drank wine. — But if thou be'st not an 
 ass, I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee 
 already. 
 
 Hel. I dare not say, I take you ; [To Bertram.] 
 but I givt 
 Me, and my service, ever whilst I live. 
 Into your guiding power. — This is the man 
 
 King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, 
 
 she's thy wife. 
 Ber. My wife^ my liege 1 I shall beseech your 
 highnes;. 
 In such a business give me leave to use 
 The help of mine own eyes. 
 
 King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 
 
 What she has done for me ? 
 
 Ber. Yes, my good lord ; 
 
 But never hope to know why I should marry 
 her. 
 King. Thou know'st she has raised me from my 
 
 sickly bed. 
 Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring mo 
 down 
 Must answer for your raising 1 I know her 
 
 well ; 
 She had her breeding at my father's charge : 
 A poor physician's daughter my wife ! — Disdain 
 Rather corrupt me ever ! 
 
 Kiiig. 'Tis only title' thou disdain'st in her, the 
 which 
 I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods. 
 Of color, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand otT 
 In differences so mighty : If she be 
 All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, 
 A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st 
 Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
 From lowest place when virtuous things pi> 
 
 ceed. 
 The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
 Where great additions'" swell, and virtue none. 
 It Ls a dropsied honor : good alone 
 Is good, without a name ; vileness is so: 
 The property by what it is should go. 
 Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; 
 In these to nature she's immediate heir; 
 And these breed honor : that is honor's scorn, 
 Which challenges itself as honor's born. 
 And is not like the sire : Honors best thrive. 
 When rather from our acts we them derive 
 Than our fore-goers : the mere word's a slave, 
 Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave, 
 A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, 
 Where dust, and damned oblivion, is the tomb 
 Of honor'd bones indeed. What should \m 
 
 said? 
 If thou canst like tliis creature as a mai^l 
 
 »t. e. The want of titie. 
 •Title*. 
 
834 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Alt n 
 
 I Ciin create the rest: virtue, and she, 
 Is her own dower; honor and wealth from me. 
 Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. 
 King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst 
 
 strive to choost. 
 Hel. That you are well restored, my loid, I'm 
 glad; 
 Let the rest go. 
 
 King. My honor's at the stake ; which to defeat, 
 I must produce my power: Here, take her hand. 
 Proud, scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; 
 That dost in vile misprision shackle up 
 J\Iy love and her desert; that canst not dream, 
 We, poising us in her defective scale, 
 Shall weigh thee to the beam : that wilt not know, 
 It is in us to plant thine honor, where 
 We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt : 
 Obey our will, which travails in thy good : 
 Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
 Do thine own fortunes that obedient right 
 Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims ; 
 Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, 
 Into the staggers, and the careless lapse 
 Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and hate. 
 Loosing upon thee in the name of justice. 
 Without all terms of pity: Speak; thine answer. 
 
 Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit 
 My fancy to your eyes : When I consider, 
 What great creation, and what dole of honor. 
 Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late 
 Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now 
 The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled. 
 Is, as 'twere, born so. 
 
 King. Take her by the hand. 
 
 And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise 
 A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate, 
 A balance more replete. 
 
 Ber. I take her hand. 
 
 King. Good fortune, and the favor of the king, 
 fcSmile upon this contract ; v^hosc ceremony 
 Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, 
 And be performed to-night: the solemn feast 
 Shall more attend upon the coming space. 
 Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her. 
 Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. 
 
 [ExeuTit King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Laf. Do you hear, monsieur ? a word with you. 
 
 Par. Your pleasure, sir? 
 
 Laf. Your lord and rn.ister did well to make his 
 recantation. 
 
 Pat: Recantation? — my lord? — my master? 
 
 Laf. Ay ; Is it not a language, I speak ? 
 
 Par. A most harsh one ; and not to be understood 
 without bloody succeeding. My master? 
 
 Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon? 
 
 Par. To any count ; to all counts; to what is man. 
 
 Laf. To what is count's man; count's master is 
 oi another style. 
 
 Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, you 
 are too old. 
 
 Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to 
 which title age cannot bring thee. 
 
 Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. 
 
 Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries,' to be 
 tt pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make tolerable vent 
 of thy travel: it might pass: yet the scarfs, and the 
 bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me 
 
 I. r. While 1 sat twice with thee at dinner. 
 
 from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden 
 I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, 
 care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking 
 up; and that thou art scarce worth. 
 
 Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity 
 
 upon thee, 
 
 Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest 
 thou hasten thy trial ; which if— Lord have mere." 
 on thee for a hen ! So my good windc.w c*" latticCj 
 fare thee well : thy casement I need not cf en, for 
 I look through thee. Give me thy hand. 
 
 Par. My lord, you give me most egregious .n 
 dignity. 
 
 Laf. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worfhv 
 of it. 
 
 Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. 
 Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it ; and I 
 will not bate thee a scruple. 
 Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 
 Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to 
 pull at a smack o'the contrary. If ever thou be'st 
 bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it 
 is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold 
 my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge; 
 that I may say, in the default,'' he is a man I know. 
 Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
 vexation. 
 
 Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and 
 my poor doing eternal : for doing I am past ; as I 
 will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- 
 grace off me ; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! — 
 Well, I must be patient ; there is no fettering of 
 authority. I'll beat him by my life, if I can meet 
 him with any convenience, and he were double 
 and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his 
 age, than I would have of — I'll beat him, an if I 
 could but meet him again. 
 
 Re-enter Lafeu. 
 Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, 
 there's news for you ; you have a new mistress. 
 
 Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship 
 to make some reservation of your wrongs : He ia 
 mv good lord : whom I serve above is my master. 
 'Laf Who? God? 
 Par. Ay, sir. 
 
 Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost 
 thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? dost make 
 hose of thy sleeves ? do other servants so ? Thou 
 wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. 
 By mine honor, if I were but two hours younger, I'd 
 beat thee ; methinks, thou art a general offence, and 
 every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast 
 created for men to breathe* themselves upon thee. 
 Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my 
 lord. 
 
 Laf. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for 
 picking a kernel out of a pomegranate : you are a 
 vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more 
 saucy with lords, and honorable personages, than 
 the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you com- 
 mission. You are not worth another word, elsa 
 I 1 call you knave. I leave you. J[Exit, 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. — Good, 
 very good ; let it be concealed a while. 
 
 Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever ! 
 Par. What is the matter, sweet-heart ? 
 a At a need. » Exercise. 
 
SCRNE V. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 23!1 
 
 , Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have 
 sworn, 
 I will not bed her. 
 
 T^ar. What? what, sweet-heart? 
 Bcr. O, my Parollcs, they have married me : — 
 I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 
 
 Par. France is a dog-hole, and yet no more merits 
 Tiie tread of a man's ibot: to the wars! 
 
 Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the im- 
 I know not yet. [port is, 
 
 Par. Ay, that would be known : To the wars, 
 my boy, to the wars ! 
 He wears his honor in a box unseen. 
 That hugs his kicksy-wicksy,* here at home ; 
 Spending his manly marrow ir. her arms, 
 \^ hieh should sustain the bond and high curvet 
 Of Mars's fiery steed : To other regions ! 
 France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; 
 Therefore, to the war ! 
 
 Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house. 
 Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, 
 And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king 
 That which I durst not speak : His present gift 
 Shall furnish me to those Italian fields. 
 Where noble fellows strike: War is no strife 
 To the dark house,' and the detested wife. 
 
 Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure 1 
 Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. 
 I'll send her straight away: To-morrow 
 I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 
 
 Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise in it. 
 — 'Tishard; 
 A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd: 
 Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : 
 The king has done you wrong; but, hush! 'tis so. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Another Boom in the same. 
 Enter Helena and Clown. 
 
 Mel. My mother greets me kindly : Is she well 1 
 
 CIo. she is not well ; but yet she has her health : 
 she's very merry; but yet she is not well : but thanks 
 be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'the 
 world ; but yet she is not well ! 
 
 Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that 
 she's not very well 1 
 
 Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two 
 things. 
 
 Hel. What two things? 
 
 Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God 
 Bend her quicklj' ! the other, that she's in earth, 
 from whence God send her quickly ! 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 
 
 Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have 
 ciine own good fortunes. 
 
 Par. You had my prayers to lead them on : and 
 to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave ! 
 How does my old lady ? 
 
 Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her 
 money, I would she did as you say. 
 
 Par. Why, I say nothing. 
 
 Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many a 
 man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : To 
 Bay nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and 
 to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title ; 
 tvhich is within a very little of nothing. 
 
 Far. Away, thou'rt a knave. 
 
 Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave, 
 
 * A cant term for a wife. 
 
 » The house made gloomy by diacontont. 
 
 thou art a knave : that is, before me thou art a 
 knave : thLs had been truth, sir. 
 
 Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee 
 
 Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir ? or wer« 
 you taught to find me 1 The search, sir, was pro- 
 fitable ; and much fool may you find in you, even 
 to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter. 
 
 Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed. — 
 Madam, my lord will go away to-night ; 
 A very serious business calls on him. 
 The great prerogative and rite of love, [ledge , 
 Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- 
 But puts it oil' by a compell'd restraint; 
 Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with 
 
 sweets. 
 Which they distil now in the curbed time, 
 To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, 
 And pleasure drown the brim. 
 
 Hel. What's his will elsel 
 
 Par. That you will take your instant leave o'the 
 king. 
 And make this haste as your own good proceeding, 
 Strengthcn'd with what apology you think 
 May make it probable need.° 
 
 Hel. What more commands hel 
 
 Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently 
 Attend his further pleasure. 
 
 Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. 
 
 Par. I shall report it so. 
 
 Hel. I pray you. — Come, sirrah 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 
 
 Laf. But [ hope, your lordship thinks not him a 
 soldier. 
 
 Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof 
 
 Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. 
 
 Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 
 
 Laf. Then my dial goes not true ; I took this 
 lark for a bunting.'' 
 
 Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great 
 in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. 
 
 Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, 
 and transgressed against his valor; and my state 
 that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in 
 my heart to repent. Here he comes ; I pray you, 
 make us fi-iends, I will pursue the amity. 
 
 Enter Paroiles. 
 
 Par. These things shall be done, sir. 
 
 [7b Bertram. 
 
 Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? 
 
 Par. Sir! 
 
 Laf. O, I know him well : Ay, sir ; he, sir ia a 
 good workman, a very good tailor. 
 
 Ber. Is she gone to the king! \_Aside to Parollks 
 
 Par. She is. 
 
 Ber. Will she away to-night? 
 
 Par. As you'll have her. 
 
 Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure. 
 Given order for our horses ; and to-night. 
 
 When I should take possession of the bride 
 
 And, ere I do begin,' 
 
 Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter 
 end of a dinner ; but one that lies three thirds, and 
 uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothingi 
 
 • A specious appearance of necessity. 
 ' The bunting nearly resembles the sky-lark, but haj 
 little or no song, which gives estimation to the sky-lark. 
 
236 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act III 
 
 (vith, should be once heard, and thrice beaten. — 
 God save you, captain ! 
 
 Ber. Is tliere any unldndness between my lord 
 and you, monsieur? 
 
 I'ar. I know not how I have deserved to run 
 mto my lord's displeasure. 
 
 Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots 
 and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the 
 custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than 
 suffer question for your residence. 
 
 Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. 
 
 Luf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at 
 his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and believe 
 this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; 
 the soul of this man is his clothes : trust him not in 
 matter of heavy consequence : I have kept of them 
 tame, and know their natures. — Farewell, mon- 
 sieur ! I have spoken better of you, than you have 
 or will deserve at my hand ; but we must do good 
 against evU. \_Exit. 
 
 Par. An idle lord, I swear. 
 
 Ber. I think so. 
 
 Par. Why, do you not know him 1 
 
 Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech 
 Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, 
 Spoke with the king, and have procured his leave 
 For present parting; only, he desires 
 Some private speech with you. 
 
 Ber. I shall obey his will. 
 
 You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
 Which holds not color with the time, nor does 
 The ministration and required ollice 
 On my particular : prepar'd I was not 
 For such a business ; therefore am I found 
 So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you, 
 
 That presently you take your way for home ; 
 And rather muse,' than ask, why I entreat you: 
 For my rejects are brtter than they seem ; 
 And my appointments .lave in them a need, 
 Greater than shows itself, at the first view, 
 To you that know them not. This to my mothei 
 
 [^Giving a letter 
 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so 
 I leave you to your wisdom. 
 
 Htl. Sir, I can nothing say 
 
 But that I am your most obedient servant. 
 
 Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 
 
 Hel. And ever shal. 
 
 With true observance seek to eke out that. 
 Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
 To equal my great fortune. 
 
 Ber. Let that go : 
 
 My haste is very great : Farewell ; hie home. 
 
 Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 
 
 Ber. Well, what would you say ! 
 
 Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ;* 
 Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ; 
 But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
 What law does vouch mine own. 
 
 Ber. What would you have ? 
 
 Hel. Something; and scarce so much: — nothing, 
 indeed. — 
 I would not tell you what I would : my lord — 'faith, 
 
 yes ;— 
 Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. 
 
 Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. 
 
 Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord, 
 
 Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur?— 
 Farewell. [Exit Helena. 
 
 Go thou toward home ; where I will never come, 
 Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum : — 
 Away, and for our flight. 
 
 Par. Brao/ely, coragio ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 BCENE I.— Florence. A Room in the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter theJivviv. of Florence, attended; 
 two French Lords, and others. 
 
 Duke. So that, from point to point, now have 
 you heard 
 The fundamental reasons of this war; 
 Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, 
 And more thirsts after. 
 
 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 
 Upon your grace's part; black and fearful 
 
 On the opposer. 
 
 Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin 
 France 
 Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom 
 Against our borrowing prayers. 
 
 2 Lord. Good my lord. 
 The reasons of our state I cannot yield, 
 
 But like a common and an outward man. 
 That the great figure of a council frames 
 By self-unable motion : therefore dare not 
 Say what I thuik of it; since I have found 
 Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail 
 As often as I guess'd. 
 
 Duke. Be it his pleasure. 
 
 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature. 
 That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, 
 Uoiie here for physic. 
 
 Duke. Welcome shall they bo 
 
 And all the honors, that can fly from us. 
 Shall on them settle. You know your places well 
 When better fall, for your avails they fall : 
 To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — Rousillon. A Pootn in the Coun 
 tess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess and Clown. 
 
 Count. It hath happened all as I would have had 
 it, save, that he comes not along with her. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a 
 very melancholy man. 
 
 Count. By what observance, I pray you ? 
 
 Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, ami sing ; 
 mend the ruff,' and sing; ask questions, and sing; 
 pick his teeth, and sing; I know a man that had 
 this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a 
 song. 
 
 Count. Let me .see what he writes, and when 
 he m°.ans to come. [Opening a letter. 
 
 Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at 
 court: our old hng and our Isbels o'the country are 
 nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'the 
 court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and 
 
 • Wonder. 
 
 » The folding at the top of the boot. 
 
 » Pt-eaess. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 23; 
 
 I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with 
 no stomach. 
 
 Count. What have we here 1 
 
 Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 
 
 Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in- 
 law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I 
 have wedded her,not bedded her,- and swornto make 
 the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run away,- 
 know it, before the report come. If there be breadth 
 enough in the worldy I will hold a long distonice. 
 My duty to you. 
 
 Your unfortunate son, 
 
 Bertram. 
 
 This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, 
 To fly the favors of so good a king ; 
 To pluck his indignation on thy head. 
 By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous 
 For the contempt of empire. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, 
 between two soldiers and my young lady. 
 
 Count. What is the matter ? 
 
 Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, 
 some comfort ; your son will not be kill'd so soon 
 »s I thought he would. 
 
 Count. Why should he be killed ? 
 
 Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear 
 he does : the danger is in standing to't ; that's the 
 loss of men, though it be the getting of children. 
 Here they come, will tell you more : for my part, I 
 only hear, your son was run away. [Exit Clown. 
 Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Save you, good madam. 
 
 Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
 
 2 Gent. Do not say so. 
 
 Count. Think upon patience. — 'Pray you, gen- 
 tlemen, — 
 I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief. 
 That the first face of neitker, on the start, 
 Can woman me unto 't : — Where is my son, I pray 
 you? 
 2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of 
 Florence : 
 We met him thitherward ; from thence we came. 
 And after some despatch in hand at court, 
 Thither we bend again. 
 
 Hel. Look on this letter, madam ; here's my 
 passport. 
 
 [Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my 
 finger, which never shall come off, arid show me a 
 child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then 
 call me husband: but in such a then Iwrite a never. 
 
 This is a dreadful sentence. 
 
 Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen 1 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, madam; 
 And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. 
 
 Count. I pr'ythec, lady, have a better cheer; 
 If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, 
 Thou robb'st me of a moiety : He was my son ; 
 But I do wash his name out of my blood, 
 ^nd thou art all my child. — Towards Florence 
 is hel 
 
 2 Gent. Ay, madam. 
 
 Count. And to be a soldier 1 
 
 2 Gent. Such is his noble punjose : and, believe't, 
 
 The duke will lay upon him all 'he honor, 
 
 That good convenience claims. 
 
 Count. Return you thither ^ 
 
 1 Ge7it. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of 
 speed. 
 
 Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothins; 
 in France. 
 'Tis bitter. 
 
 Count. Find you that there ; 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply 
 which 
 His heart was not consenting to. 
 
 Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! 
 There's nothing here that is too good for him. 
 But only she; and she deserves a lord, 
 That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, 
 And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him 1 
 
 1 Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman 
 Which I have some time known. 
 
 Count. ParoUes, was't not 1 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. 
 
 Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked 
 ness. 
 My son corrupts a well-deiived nature 
 With his inducement. 
 
 1 Gent. Indted, good lady, 
 The fellow has a deal of that, too much, 
 Which holds him much to have. 
 
 Count. You are welcome, gentlemen, 
 I will entreat you, when you see my son. 
 To tell him, that his sword can never win 
 The honor that he loses : more I'll entreat you 
 Written to bear along. 
 
 2 Gent. We serve you, madam. 
 In that and all your worthiest affairs. 
 
 Count. Not so, but as we change " our courtesies. 
 Will you draw near ] 
 
 [Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen 
 Hel. Till Ihave no wife, I have nothing in France- 
 Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 
 Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, 
 Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I 
 That chase thee from thy country, and expose 
 Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
 Of the none-sparing war ? and is it I 
 That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou 
 Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
 Of smoky muskets'? O you leaden messengers. 
 That ride upon the violent speed of tire. 
 Fly with false aim ; move the still-piercing air. 
 That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord ! 
 Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; 
 Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
 I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it ; 
 And though I kill him not, I am the cause 
 His death was so effected : better 'twere 
 I met the ravin' lion when he roar'd 
 With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere 
 That all the miseries, which nature owes. 
 Were mine at once : No, come ihou home, Rousillon 
 Whence honor but of danger wins a scar, 
 As oft it loses all; I will be gone: 
 My being here it is that holds Ihce hence; 
 Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although 
 The air of paradise did fan the house, 
 And angels ofhced all: I will be gone; 
 That pitiful rumor may report my flight, 
 To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! 
 For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. 
 
 [Evit 
 * Cschange. * B&Te&oo* 
 
238 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act III 
 
 SCENE III.— Florence. Before the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Duke of Flohexce, Ber- 
 THAsr, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we, 
 Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence, 
 Upon thy promismg fortune. 
 
 Ber. Sir, it is 
 
 A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet 
 We'll strive to bear it for your wortiiy sake, 
 To the extreme edge of hazard. 
 
 Duke. Then go thou forth; 
 
 And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm. 
 As thy auspicious mistress ! 
 
 Ber. This very day. 
 
 Great Mars, I put myself into thy file : 
 Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove 
 A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rousillon. A Room in the 
 Countess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess and Steward. 
 
 Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of her? 
 Might you not know, she would do as she has done. 
 By sending mc a letter 7 Read it again. 
 
 Stew. lam Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone; 
 
 Ambitious love hath so in me offended, 
 That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon. 
 
 With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
 Write, write, that from the bloody course ofivar. 
 
 My dearest master, your dear son, may hie,- 
 Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far, 
 
 His name with zealous fervor sanctify: 
 His taken labors bid him me forgive,- 
 
 I, his despitefulJuno* sent him forth 
 From courtly friends, with camping foes to live. 
 
 Where death and danger dog the heels of worth: 
 He is too good and fair for death and me; 
 Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. 
 
 Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest 
 
 words ! 
 
 Rinaldo, you did never lack advice ' so much. 
 As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her, 
 I could have well diverted her intents, 
 Which thus she hath prevented. 
 
 Stew. Pardon me, madam : 
 
 If I had given you this at over night. 
 She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she writes. 
 Pursuit would be in vain. 
 
 Count. ^ What angel shall 
 
 Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive. 
 Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear. 
 And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
 Of greatest justice, — Write, write, Rinaldo, 
 To this unworthy husband of his wife ; 
 Let every word weigh heavy of her worth. 
 That he does weigh too light; my greatest grief, 
 Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. 
 Despatch the most convenient messenger : 
 When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, 
 He will return; and hope I may, that she. 
 Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, 
 jj-^d hither by pure love : which of them both 
 I3 dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
 To make distinction: — Pro\dde this messenger: — 
 
 * Alluding to the story of Hercules. 
 
 • Discretion or thought. 
 
 My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak , 
 Grief Vi^ould have tears, and sorrow bids me speat 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE Y. — Without the Walls 0/ Florence. 
 A Tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow oy Flo« 
 rence, Diaxa, Violenta, Mariana, and other 
 Citizens. 
 
 Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the 
 city, we shall lose all the sight. 
 
 Dia. They say, the French count has done mos( 
 honorable service. 
 
 Wid. It is reported that he has taken their great* 
 est commander ; and that with his own hand he 
 slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labor; 
 they are gone a contrary way : hark ! you may 
 know by their trumpets. 
 
 Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- 
 selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed 
 of this French earl; the honor of a maid is her 
 name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. 
 
 Wid. I have told my neighbor, how you Hiave 
 been solicited by a gentleman, his companion. 
 
 Alar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one Pa- 
 rolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions" 
 for the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana ; their 
 promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these 
 engines of lust, are not the things they go under;' 
 many a maid hath been seduced by them ; and the 
 misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the 
 wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade 
 succession, but that they arc limed with the twigs 
 that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise 
 you further ; but, I hope, your own grace will keep 
 you where you are, though there were no further 
 danger known, but the modesty wliich is so lost. 
 
 Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 
 
 EnterH^h^NAji?! the dress of a Pilgnm. 
 
 Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. 
 
 I know she will lie at my house: thither they send 
 
 one another: I'll question her. — 
 
 God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound ? 
 
 Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand. 
 Where do the palmers' lodge, I do beseech you? 
 
 Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. 
 
 Hel. Is this the way ? 
 
 Wid. Ay, marry, is it. — Hark you! 
 
 [A march afar off. 
 They come this way : — If you will tarry, holy pil- 
 grim. 
 But till the troops come by, 
 I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd . 
 The rather, for, I think, I know your hostes."* 
 As ample as myself. 
 
 Hel. Is it yourself? 
 
 Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 
 
 Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisuie 
 
 Wid. You came, I think, fi-om France ? 
 
 Hel. I did so. 
 
 M^id. Here you shall see a countryman of yours, 
 That has done worthy service. 
 
 Hel. His name, I pray you 1 
 
 Dia. The count Rousillon : Know you such a one? 
 
 Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; 
 His face I know not. 
 
 Dia, Whatsoe'er he is. 
 
 He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
 
 • Temptations. ' Not what their names express 
 
 » Pilgrims ; so called from a stafif or bough of paJno thej 
 were wont to carry. 
 
&CENE VI. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 239 
 
 As 'tis reported, for' the king had married him 
 Against his liking : Think you it is so 1 
 
 Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; I know his lady. 
 
 Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count, 
 Reports but coarsely of her. 
 
 //e/. What's his name 1 
 
 Dia. Monsieur Parolles. 
 
 Hel. O, I believe with him. 
 
 In argument of praise, or to the worth 
 Of the great count himself, she is too mean 
 To have her name repeated ; all her deserving 
 Is a reserved honesty, and that 
 I have not heard examin'd. 
 
 Dia. Alas poor lady ! 
 
 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife 
 Of a detesting lord. 
 
 Wid. A right good creature : wheresoe'er she is, 
 Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do 
 
 her 
 A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. 
 
 Htl. How do you mean ? 
 
 May be, the amorous count solicits her 
 In the unlawful purpose. 
 
 Wid. He does, indeed ; 
 
 And brokes' with all that can in such a suit 
 Con-upt the tender honor of a maid : 
 But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard 
 In honestest defence. 
 Enter, with Drum and Colors, a Party of the 
 
 Florentine Army, Bkjitiiam, and Paholles. 
 
 Mar. The gods forbid else ! 
 Wid. So, now they come : — 
 
 That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; 
 That, Escalus. 
 
 Hel. Which is the Frenchman ? 
 
 Dia. He ; 
 
 That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ; 
 I would, he lov'd his wife ; if he were honester. 
 He were much goodlier: — Is't not a handsome 
 gentleman ? • 
 
 Hel. I like him well. 
 
 Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest : Yond's that 
 same knave. 
 That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, 
 I'd poison that vile rascal. 
 
 Hel. Which is he 1 
 
 Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs : Why is he 
 melancholy 1 
 
 Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle. 
 Par. Lose our drum ! well. 
 Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something : Look, 
 he has spied us. 
 
 Wid. Marry, hang you ! 
 
 Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! 
 
 '[Exeunt Bkutram, Pauolles, Officers, 
 and Soldiers. 
 Wid. The troop is oast : Come, pilgrim, I will 
 bring you 
 Wliere you shall host: of e.njoin'd penitents 
 There's four or five, to great Saint Jaqucs bound, 
 Already at my house. 
 
 Hel. I humbly thank you : 
 
 Please it this matron, and this gentle maid, 
 To eat with us to-niirht, the charge, and thanking, 
 Shall be for mc ; and, to requite you further, 
 I will bestow some precepts on this virgin, 
 Worthy thi note. 
 
 Both. We'll take your offer kindly. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 » Because. • Deals. 
 
 SCENE \1.—Camp before Florence. 
 
 Enter BEiiTnAM, and the two French Lords. 
 
 1 Lord, Nay, good my lord, put him to't ; let 
 him have his way. 
 
 2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding,' 
 hold me no more in your respect. 
 
 1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 
 
 Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him ? 
 
 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct 
 knowledge, without any malice but to speak of him 
 as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an in- 
 finite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, 
 the owner of no one good quality worthy your lord- 
 ship's entertainment. 
 
 2 Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, reposing 
 too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might 
 at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, 
 fail you. 
 
 Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action 
 to try him. 
 
 2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off hia 
 drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake 
 to do. 
 
 1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sud- 
 denly surprise him ; such I will have, whom, I am 
 sure, he knows not from the enemy : we will bind 
 and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no 
 other but that he is carried into the leaguer^ of the 
 adversaries, when we bring him to our tents: Be 
 but your lordship present at his examination ; if he 
 do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest 
 compulsion of base fear, oifer to betray you, and 
 deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, 
 and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon 
 oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. 
 
 2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch 
 his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't: when 
 your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, 
 and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will 
 be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter 
 tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here 
 he comes. 
 
 Enter Paholles. 
 
 1 Lord. 0, for the love of laughter, hinder not 
 the humor of his design; let him fetch off his 
 drum in any hand. 
 
 Ber. How now, monsieur] this drum sticks 
 sorely in your disposition. 
 
 2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. 
 Pur. But a drum! Is't but a drum ] A drum so 
 
 lost ! — There was an excellent command ! to charge 
 in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend 
 our own soldiers. 
 
 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com- 
 mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war that 
 CiEsar himself could not have prevented, if he had 
 been there to command. 
 
 Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
 cess: some dishonor wc had in the loss of that 
 drum : but it is not to be recovered. 
 
 Par. It might have been recovered. 
 
 Ber. It miglit, but it is not now. 
 
 Par. It is to be recovered ; but that the merit ol 
 
 service is s'.-ldom attributed to the true and exact 
 
 performer, I would have that drum or another, oi 
 
 hicjacet.* 
 
 a A paltry fellow, a coward. 
 
 s The lines, entrenchments. * t. e. An epitaph. 
 
e40 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 A. Till 
 
 Ber. "W hy, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, 
 if you tliink your mystery in stratagem can bring 
 this instrument of honor again into its native 
 quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and go 
 on ; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit ; 
 if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak 
 of it, and extend to you what further becomes his 
 greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your wor- 
 thiness. 
 
 Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. 
 
 Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 
 
 Par. I'll about it this evening : and I will pre- 
 sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself 
 in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepa- 
 ration, and, by midnight, look to hear further from 
 me. 
 
 Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you 
 are gone about it ? 
 
 Par. I know not what the success will be, my 
 lord ; but the attempt I vow. 
 
 Ber, I know thou art valiant; and, to the pos- 
 Bibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Par. I love not many words. [Exit. 
 
 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is 
 not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confi- 
 dently seems to undertake this business, which he 
 knows is not to be done ; damns himself to do, and 
 dares better be damned than to do't. 
 
 2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we 
 do : certain it is, that he will steal himself into a 
 man's favor, and, for a week, escape a great deal of 
 discoveries ; but when you find him out, you have 
 him ever after. 
 
 Ber. Why, do you think he will make no deed at all 
 of thisjthat so seriously he does address himself unto? 
 
 1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with an 
 invention, and clap upon you two or three probable 
 lies : but we have almost embossed him ;' you shall 
 see his fall to-night ; for, indeed, he is not for your 
 lordship's respect. 
 
 2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox, 
 ere we case him.^ He was first smoked by the old 
 lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, tell 
 me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you 
 shall see this very night. 
 
 1 Lord. I must go look my twigs ; he shall be 
 caught. 
 
 Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 
 
 1 Lord. As't please your lordship : I'll leave you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show 
 you 
 The lass I spoke of. 
 
 2 Lord. But, you say, she's honest. 
 Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once. 
 
 And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her. 
 By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind, 
 Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 
 And this is all I have done : She's a fair creature ; 
 Will you go see her? 
 2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 » To emboGS a deer is to enclose him in a woc4. 
 • 3efore ve strijp him naked. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Florence. A Room in .-"•e 
 Widow's House. 
 
 Enter Helena and Widow. 
 
 Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
 I know not how I shall assure you further, 
 But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. 
 
 Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was wcB 
 born. 
 Nothing acquainted with these businesses; 
 And would not put my reputation now 
 In any staining act. 
 
 Hel. Nor would I wish you. 
 
 First, give me trust, the count he is my husband; 
 And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, 
 Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot, 
 By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 
 Err in bestowing it. 
 
 Wid. I should believe 3'ou; 
 
 For you have show'd me that, which well ap 
 
 proves 
 You are great in fortune. 
 
 He/. Take this purse of gold 
 
 And let me buy your friendly help thus far, 
 Which I will over-pay, and pay again, 
 When I have found it. The count he woos youi 
 
 daughter. 
 Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 
 Resolves to carr}^ her ; let her, in fine, consent. 
 As we'll direct her how 'tis best to Iieai it, 
 Now, his important'' blood will nought deny 
 That she'll demand : A ring the county** wears, 
 That downward hath succeeded in his house, 
 From son to son, some four or five descents 
 Since the first father wore it : this ring he hold*? 
 In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire. 
 To buy his will, it would not seem too dear. 
 Howe'er repented after. 
 
 Wid. Now I see 
 
 The bottom of your purpose. 
 
 Hel. You see it lawful then : It is no more 
 But that your daughter, ere she seems as won 
 Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; 
 In fine, delivers me to fill the time. 
 Herself most chastely absent : after this. 
 To man-y her, I'll add three thousand crowns 
 To what is past already. 
 
 Wid. I have yielded: 
 
 Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, 
 That time and place, with this deceit so lawful. 
 May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
 With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd 
 To her unworfhiness : It nothing steads us, 
 To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists. 
 As if his life lay on't. 
 
 Hel. Why then to-night 
 
 Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed. 
 Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed. 
 And lawful meaning in a lawful act; 
 Where both not sin, and yet a sinf al fact : 
 But let's about it. [Exeunt 
 
 ' Importunate. 
 
 •Coimt. 
 
Act IV. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 a4i 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 SCENE T.— Without the Florentine Camp. 
 
 Enter first Lord, wit k Jive or six Soldiers in ambush. 
 
 1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this 
 hedge' corner: When you sally upon him, speak 
 what terrible language you will ; though you under- 
 stand it not yourselves, no matter: for we must not 
 seem to understand him ; unless some one among 
 us, whom we must produce for an interpreter. 
 
 1 Sold. Good caj)lain, let me be the interpreter. 
 
 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him 1 knows 
 he not thy voice 1 
 
 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 
 
 1 Lo?-d. Butwhatlinsy-woolayhastthou to speak 
 lo us again ! 
 
 1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me. 
 
 1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers 
 i'the adversary's entertainment.' Now he hath a 
 smack of all neighboring languages ; therefore we 
 must every one be a man of his own faiicy, not to 
 know what we speak one to another ; so we seem to 
 know, is to know straight our purpose: chough's' 
 language, gabble enough, and good enough. As 
 for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. 
 But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two 
 aours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the 
 lies he forges. 
 
 Enter Pauolles. 
 
 i ar. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill 
 be time enough to go home. What shall I say I 
 have done 1 It must be a very plausive invention 
 that carries it : They begin to smoke me ; and dis- 
 graces have of late knocked too often at my door. I 
 find, my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart 
 hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, 
 not daring the reports of my tongue. 
 
 1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine 
 own tongue was guilty of. \^Aside. 
 
 Par. What the devil should move me to under- 
 take the recovery of this drum ; being not ignorant 
 of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such 
 purpose? T must give myself some hurts, and say, 
 I got thern in exploit: Yet slight ones will not 
 carry it: They will say, Came you off with so little 1 
 and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore] what's 
 tlie instanced Tongue, I must put you into a 
 butter-woman's mouth, and buy another of Baja- 
 zet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 
 
 1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he 
 is, and be that he is! [^Aside. 
 
 Par, I would the cutting of my garments would 
 serve the turn ; or the breaking of my Spanish 
 sword. 
 
 1 Lord. We cannot afTord you so. [_Aside. 
 
 Par. Or the baring of my beard; and to say, it 
 was in stratagem. 
 
 1 Lord. 'Twould not do. \^Aside. 
 
 Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was 
 itripped. 
 
 1 Lord. Hardly serve. [^Aside. 
 
 Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window 
 of the citadel 
 
 1 Lord. How deep? \_Aside. 
 
 » t. «. Fciroign troops in the enemy's pay. 
 A. bird like a jack-daw. » The proof. 
 
 Par. Thirty fathom. 
 
 1 Lord. Three great oaths would s:arce rnak« 
 that be believed. [^jiside. 
 
 Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemy's; 
 I would swear, I recovered it. 
 
 1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. [Asida 
 
 Par. A drum now of the enemy's ! 
 
 [Alarum ivithin. 
 
 1 Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo, 
 
 All. Cargo, cargo, villlanda par corbo, cargo. 
 
 Par. ! ransome, ransome : — Do not hide it'ina 
 eyes. {.I'^'^^y seize Jiim, and blindfold him 
 
 1 Sold. Boskos tJiromuldo boskos. 
 
 Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment. 
 And I shall lose my life for want of language: 
 If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch 
 Italian, or French, let him speak to me, 
 I will discover that which shall undo 
 The Florentine. 
 
 1 Sold. Boskos vauvado: 
 
 I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue : 
 
 Kerelybonto: Sir, 
 
 Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 
 Are at thy bosom. 
 
 Par. Oh ! 
 
 1 Sold. O, pray, pray, pray. 
 
 Manka revania dulche. 
 
 1 Lord. Oscorbi dulchos volivorca. 
 
 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet I 
 And hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on 
 To gather from thee : haply, thou mayst inform 
 Something to save thy life. 
 
 Par. O, let me live, 
 
 And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, 
 Their force, their purposes : nay, I'll speak that 
 Which you will wonder at. 
 
 1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfiilly 
 
 Par. If I do not, damn me. 
 
 1 Sold. Acordo linta. — 
 
 Come on, thou art granted space. 
 
 [Exit, loith Paiiollks guarded. 
 
 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my 
 
 brother, 
 We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him 
 
 muffled. 
 Till we do hear from them. 
 
 2 Sold. Captain, I will. 
 
 1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves;- - 
 Inform 'em that. 
 
 2 Sold. So I will, sir. 
 
 1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep liim dark, and safety 
 lock'd. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II.— Florence. A Room in the Widow'i 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Beiitham and Diaita. 
 
 Ber. They told me, that your name was Fontibell 
 
 Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 
 
 Ber. Titled goddess 
 
 And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul. 
 In your fine frame hath love no quality ? 
 If the quick fire of youth light not your mind. 
 You are no maiden, but a monument: 
 M^hcn you are dead, you should be such a one 
 
243 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 As you are now, for you are cold and stern; 
 And now you should be as your mother was, 
 Before yourself were born. 
 
 Dia. She then was honest. 
 
 Ber. So should you be. 
 
 Dia. No: 
 
 My mother did but duty ; such, my lord, 
 As you owe to your wife. 
 
 Ber. No more of that! 
 
 I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows : 
 I was compell'd to her; but I love thee 
 By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
 Do thee all rights of service. 
 
 Dia. Ay, so you serve us. 
 
 Till we serve you : but when you have our roses, 
 You barely leave our thorns to wound ourselves, 
 And mock us with our bareness. 
 
 Ber. How have I sworn 1 
 
 Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; 
 But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. 
 What is not holy, that we swear not by. 
 But take the Highest to witness: Then, pray you, 
 
 tell me, 
 If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, 
 I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths. 
 When I did love you ill ? this has no holding. 
 To swear by him whom I protest to love, 
 That I will work against him: Therefore, your oaths. 
 Are words and poor conditions ; but unseal'd ; 
 At least, in my opinion. 
 
 Ber. Change it, change it; 
 
 Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; 
 And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts. 
 That you do charge men with : Stand no more off, 
 But give thyself unto my sick desires. 
 Who then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever 
 My love, as it begins, shall so perse ver. 
 
 Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs. 
 That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 
 
 Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no 
 power 
 To give it from me. 
 
 Dia. Will you not, my lord? 
 
 Ber. It is an honor 'longing to our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world 
 In me to lose. 
 
 Dia. Mine honor's such a ring : 
 
 My chastity's the jewel of our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world 
 In me to lose: Thus your own proper wisdom 
 Brings in the champion honor on my part, 
 Against your vain assault. 
 
 Ber. Here, take my ring: 
 
 Vly house, mine honor, yea, my life be thine, 
 \nd I'll be bid by thee. 
 
 Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham- 
 ber window; 
 I'll order take, my mother shall not hear. 
 Now will I charge you in the band of truth. 
 When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed. 
 Remain then but an hour nor speak to me : [them. 
 My reasons are most strong ; and you shall know 
 When back again this ring shall be deliver'd : 
 And on. your finger, in the night I'll put 
 Another ring; that, what in time proceeds. 
 May token to the future our past deeds. 
 Adieu, till then ; then fail not : You have won 
 h. wife of me, though there my hope be done. 
 
 Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing 
 thee. [^Exit. 
 
 Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven 
 and me! 
 
 You may so in the end. 
 
 My mother told me just how he would woo, 
 As if she sat in his heart ; she says, all men 
 Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me. 
 When his wife's dead ; therefore I'll lie with him, 
 When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, 
 Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid: 
 Only, m this disguise, I think't no sin 
 To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Extt 
 
 SCENE III.— The Florentine Camp. 
 
 Ejiter ihe two French Lords, U7id two or three 
 Soldiers. 
 
 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's 
 letter? 
 
 2 Lord. I have delivered it an hour since : there 
 is something in't that stings his nature : for, on the 
 reading it, he changed almost into another man. 
 
 1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, 
 for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 
 
 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlast- 
 ing displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his 
 bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you 
 a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. 
 
 1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and 
 I am the grave of it. 
 
 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman 
 here in Florence, of a most chaste renown ; and this 
 night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honor : 
 he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks 
 himself made in the unchaste composition. 
 
 1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion ; as we 
 are ourselves, what things are we ! 
 
 2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the 
 common course of all treasons, we still see them 
 reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred 
 ends ; so he, that in this action contrives against his 
 own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself 
 
 1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable* in us, to be 
 trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall 
 not then have his company to-night ? 
 
 2 Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted 
 to his hour. 
 
 1 Lord. That approaches apace : I would gladly 
 have him see his company* anatomised ; that he 
 might take a measure of his own judgments, where- 
 in so curiously he had set this counterfeit. 
 
 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come; 
 for his presence must be the whip of the other. 
 
 1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you ol 
 these wars ? 
 
 2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 
 
 2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then? 
 will he travel higher, or return again into France ? 
 
 1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not 
 altogether of his council. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ! so should I be a 
 great deal of his act. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since 
 fled from his house ; her pretence is a pilgrimage 
 to Saint Jaques le grand ; which holy undertaking 
 with most austere sanctimony, she accomplished 
 
 » Crafty, deceitful. * Here, as elsewhere, used adverbially 
 ' For companion. 
 
ScI^E Hi. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 24» 
 
 arid, there residing, the tenderness of her nature 
 became as a prey to her grief; in fine made a groan 
 of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. 
 2 Laid. How is this justified! 
 
 1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own 
 letter which makes her story true, even to the point 
 of her death ; her death itself, which could not be 
 her office to say, is come, was faithfully confirmed 
 by the rector of the place. 
 
 2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence 1 
 
 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, 
 pc int from point to the full arming of the verity. 
 
 2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad 
 of fhis. 
 
 1 Lord. How mightily sometimes we make us 
 comforts of our losses ! 
 
 2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, 
 we drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, 
 that his valor hath here acquired for him, shall at 
 home be encountered with a shame as ample. 
 
 1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 
 good and ill together : our virtues would be proud, 
 if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes 
 would despair, if they were not cherished by our 
 virtues. — 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 How now? where's your master? 
 
 Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 
 he hath taken a solemn leave; his lordship will 
 next morning for France. The duke hath offered 
 him letters of commendations to the king. 
 
 2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful 
 there, if they were more than they can commend. 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 
 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's 
 tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, 
 my lord, is't not after midnight ? 
 
 Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen busi- 
 nesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of 
 success: I have conge'd with the duke, done my 
 adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for 
 her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; en- 
 tertained my convoy; and, between these main 
 parcels of despatch, effected many nicer needs; the 
 last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. 
 
 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and 
 this morning your departure hence, it requires haste 
 of 3'our lordship. 
 
 Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing 
 to hear of it hereafter: But shall we have this dia- 
 logue between the fool and the soldier ? Come, 
 
 bring forth this counterfeit module;' he has de- 
 ceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 
 
 2 Lord.Bnng him forth: [i?vi-fw;(/ Soldiers.] He 
 hus sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 
 
 Ber. No matter; his heels have deserved it, in 
 usurping his spurs* so long. How does he carry 
 himself? 
 
 1 Lord. I have told your lordship already ; the 
 stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would 
 be understood ; he weeps, like a wench that had 
 shed her milk : he hath confessed himself to Mor- 
 gan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time 
 of his remembrance, to this v«ry instant disaster of 
 Ills sitting i'thc stocks : And "what think you he 
 hath confessed ? 
 
 licr. Nothing of me, has he ? 
 
 • Mmlcl. pattern. « An nllusion to the degradation 
 
 >t a knicJ t by hacking off his spurs. 
 
 2 Lord, His confession is taken, and it shall be 
 read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I be- 
 lieve you are, you must have the patience to hear it. 
 
 Re-enter Soldiers, with Pargllf.s. 
 
 Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say 
 nothing of me ; hush ! hush ! 
 
 1 Lord. Hoodman comes ! — Porto tartarossa. 
 
 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will yoa 
 say without 'em? 
 
 Par. I will confess what I know without con- 
 straint; if he pinch me like a pasty, I can s«v no 
 more. 
 
 1 Sold. Bosho chimiircho. 
 
 2 Lord. Bohlihindo chicurmurcho. 
 
 1 Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our g'ene 
 ral bids you answer to what I shall ask you out 
 of a note. 
 
 Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 
 
 1 Sold. First demand of him how many horse 
 the duke is strong. What say you to that? 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and 
 unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, and the 
 commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation 
 and credit, and as I hope to live. 
 
 1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so ? 
 
 Par. Do ; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and 
 which way you will. 
 
 Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving 
 slave is this ! 
 
 1 Lm-d. You are deceived, my lord; this is mon 
 sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his 
 own phrase,) that had the whole thcorick of war in 
 the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape' 
 of his dagger. 
 
 2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keep- 
 ing his sword clean; nor believe he can have every 
 thing in him. by wearing his apparel neatly. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will 
 say true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll speak 
 truth. 
 
 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this. 
 
 Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the na- 
 ture he delivers it. 
 
 Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, 
 the rogues are marvellous poor. 
 
 1 Sold. Demand of him of what strength they 
 are afoot. What say you to that? 
 
 Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this 
 present hour, I will tell true. Let me see : Spurio 
 a hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus 
 so many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lo- 
 dowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine 
 own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bcntii, two 
 hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, 
 rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to 
 fifteen thousand [joll; half of which dare not shake 
 the snow from olf their cassocks,* lest they shake 
 themselves to pieces. 
 
 Ber. What shall be done to him ? 
 
 1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have (hanks. De- 
 mand of him my conditions," and what credit I have 
 with the duke. 
 
 I Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall demand 
 ' The point of the scabbard. 
 
 • Ca.isock then signified a horseman's Inose coat. 
 
 * Disposition and character. 
 
244 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act I"V 
 
 f)f him whether one captain Dumain he i'the camp, 
 a Frenchman ; what his reputation is loith the duke, 
 what his valor, honesty, and expertness in tears/ or 
 whether he thinks it were not possible, with well- 
 weifjhing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt. 
 What say you to this? what do you know of it? 
 
 Par. I beseech j'ou, let me answer to the particu- 
 lar of the interrogatories : Demand them singly. 
 
 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain ? 
 
 Par. I know him: he was a botcher's 'prentice in 
 Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the 
 sheriff's fool with child; a dumb innocent,^ that 
 could not say him, nay. 
 
 [Domain lifts up his hand in anger. 
 
 Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ; though 
 I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Flo- 
 rence's camp ? 
 
 Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear 
 of your lordsiiip anon. 
 
 1 Sold. What is his reputation witli the duke ? 
 
 Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor 
 officer of mine; and writ to me the other day, to 
 turn him out o'the band : I think I have his letter 
 in ray pocket. 
 
 1 Sold. Marry, we'll search. 
 
 Par. In good sadness, I do not know : either it is 
 there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other let- 
 ters, in my tent. 
 
 1 Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper. Shall I read it 
 to you? 
 
 Par. I do not know if it be it or no. 
 
 Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 
 
 1 Lord. Excellently. 
 
 1 Sold. Dian. The count's a fool, and full of gold. 
 
 Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that is an 
 advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one 
 Diana; to take heed of the allurements of one count 
 Rousillon, a foolish, idle boy, but, for all that, very 
 ruttish : I pray you, sir, put it up again. 
 
 1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favor. 
 
 Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest 
 in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young 
 count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy ; who is a 
 whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. 
 
 Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue ! 
 
 1 Sold. When he sioears oaths, hid him drop gold, 
 
 and take it ; 
 After he scores he never pays the score; \it ; 
 
 Half won, is match loell made : match, and icell make 
 
 He ne'er jniys after dehts, take it before ; 
 And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this. 
 Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss : 
 For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it. 
 Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. 
 Thine, as he voio'd to thee in thine ear, 
 
 Pakolles. 
 Ber. He. shall be whipped through the army, with 
 this rhyme in his forehead. 
 
 2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the mani- 
 fold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. 
 
 Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, 
 and now he's a cat to me. 
 
 1 Sold. I perceive sir, by the general's looks, we 
 shall be fain to hang you. 
 
 Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am 
 afraid to die : but that, my ofi"ences being many, I 
 would repent out the remainder of nature : let me 
 live, sir, in a dungeon, i'the stocks, or any where, 
 BO I may live. 
 
 1 Sold. AVe'll see what may be done, so you con- 
 fess freely; therefore, once more to this captain Du- 
 main : You have answered to his reputation with the 
 iuke, and to his valor : What is his honesty ? 
 
 Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; 
 » A natural fool. 
 
 for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus.^ Ha 
 professes not keeping of oaths ; in breaking them, 
 he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with 
 such volubility, that you would think truth were a 
 fool : drunkenness is his best virtue ; for he will be 
 swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, 
 save to his bed-clothes about him ; but they know 
 his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but 
 little more to say, sir, of his honesty; he has every 
 thing that an honest man should not have; what 
 an honest man should have, he has nothing. 
 
 1 Lord, I begin to love him for this. 
 
 Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A 
 pox upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 
 
 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war ? 
 
 Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the 
 English tragedians, — to belie him, I will not, — and 
 more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that 
 country he had the honor to be the oflJcer at a place 
 there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling 
 of files : I would do the man what honor I can, but 
 of this I am not certain. 
 
 1 Lord. He hath out-villanied villany so far, that 
 the rarity redeems him. 
 
 Ber. A pox on him ! he's a cat stiU. 
 
 1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I 
 need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt. 
 
 Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu^ he will sell the fee- 
 simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and 
 cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual 
 succession for it perpetually. 
 
 1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Du- 
 main? 
 
 2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me ? 
 1 Sold. What's he ? 
 
 Par. E'en a crow of the same nest; not altogether 
 so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great 
 deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, 
 yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is : 
 In a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in com 
 ing on he has the cramp. 
 
 1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake 
 to betray the Florentine ? 
 
 Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count 
 Rousillon. 
 
 1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know 
 his pleasure. 
 
 Par. I'll no more drumming; a plague of all 
 drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile 
 the supposition'' of that lascivious young boy, the 
 count, have I to run into this danger! Yet who 
 would have suspected an ambush where I was 
 taken ? [Aside. 
 
 1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die ' 
 the general says, you that have so traitorously dis- 
 covered the secrets of your army, and made such 
 pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can 
 serve the world for no honest use : therefore you 
 must die. Come, headsmen, off with his head. 
 
 Par. Lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my 
 death. 
 
 1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of 
 all your friends. [ (JnmnJ/ling him. 
 So, look about you; Know you any here ? 
 
 Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 
 
 2 Lord. Bless you, captain Parolles. 
 
 1 Lord. Save you, noble captain. 
 
 2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my 
 lordLafeu? I am for France. 
 
 1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy 
 of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalfof the count 
 Rousillon ? an I were not a very coward, I'd compel 
 it of you ; but fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Bertram, Lords, <fcc 
 
 a The centaur killed by Hercules. 
 
 » The fourth part of the smaller French crowtt 
 
 4 xo deceive the opinion. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 246 
 
 1 Sold. You are undone, captain : all but your 
 scarf, that has a knot on't yet. 
 
 Pur. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 
 
 1 Sold. If you could find out a country where but 
 women were that had received so much shame, you 
 might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, 
 sir : I am for France, too ; we shall speak of you 
 there. {Exit. 
 
 Par. Yet am I thankful; if my heart were great, 
 'Twould burst at this : Captain I'll be no more ; 
 But I will eat r.ad drink, and sleep as soft 
 As captain shall : simply the thing I am 
 Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart. 
 Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass, 
 That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
 Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live 
 Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive ! 
 There's place, and means, for every man alive. 
 I'll after them. {Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.-Florence. A Room in e.'te Widow's Rouse. 
 Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana. 
 
 Hel. That you may well perceive I have not 
 wrong'd you. 
 One of the greatest in the Christian world 
 Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needful. 
 Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel : 
 Time was I did him a desired ofiBce, 
 Dear almost as his life; which gratitude 
 Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, 
 And answer thanks : I duly am inform'd 
 His grace is at Marseilles; to which place 
 We have convenient convoy. You must know, 
 I am supposed dead : the army breaking, 
 My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding. 
 And by the leave of my good lord the king, 
 We'll be, before our welcome. 
 
 Wid. Gentle madam, 
 
 You never had a servant, to whose trust 
 Your business was more welcome. 
 
 Hel. Nor you, mistress, 
 
 Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labor 
 To recompense your love ; doubt not, but heaven 
 Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower. 
 As it hath fated her to be my motive 
 And helper to a husband. But, strange men ! 
 That can such sweet use make of what they hate, 
 When saucy^ trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 
 Defiles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play 
 With what it loaths, for that which is away : 
 
 But more of this hereafter : You, Diana, 
 
 Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 
 Something in my behalf. 
 
 Dia. Let death and honesty 
 
 Go with your impositions,^ I am yours, 
 Upon your will to suffer. 
 
 Hel. Yet, I pray you, 
 
 But with the word, the time will bring on summer. 
 When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns. 
 And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; 
 Our waggon is prepared, and time revives us : 
 All's icell that ends well : still the fine's^ the crown ; 
 Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 
 
 ^sdf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a 
 snipt-taffeta fellow there; whose villanous saffron' 
 would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth 
 of a nation in his color: your daughter-in-law had 
 been alive at this hour ; and your son here at home, 
 more advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed 
 humble-bee I speak of. 
 
 Count. I would, I had not known him ! it was the 
 
 'Lnscivious. » Comni:iiKl-. » Kiid. 
 
 ' There w:is ji fnsliion dt' usiii^ vi'Uow starch fur bands 
 and runies, to whicli LntVu alludes". 
 
 17 
 
 death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever 
 nature had praise for creating : if she had partaken 
 of my flesh, and caused me the dearest groans of a 
 mother, I could not have owed heramore rooted love. 
 La/. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we 
 may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such 
 another herb. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of 
 the salad, or, rather, the herb of grace.2 
 
 La/. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they 
 are nose-herbs. 
 
 Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir. I ha\ a 
 not much skill in grass. 
 
 La/. AVhether dost thou profess thyself; a knave 
 or a fool ? 
 
 Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a kniT « 
 at a man's. 
 
 La/. Your distinction ? 
 
 Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and da 
 his service. 
 
 La/. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. 
 Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to 
 do her service. 
 
 La/. I will subscribe for thee ; thou art both knave 
 and fool. 
 
 do. At your service. 
 La/. No, no, no. 
 
 Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can servo 
 as great a prince as you are. 
 
 La/. Who's that ? a Frenchman ? 
 Clo. Faith, sir, he has an English name ; but hia 
 phisnomy is more hotter in France, than thcrfl 
 La/. What prince is that ? 
 
 Clo. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince ot 
 darkness ; alias, the devil. 
 
 La/. Hold thee, there's my purse : I give thee not 
 this to suggest* thee from thy master thou talkest 
 of; serve him stiU. 
 
 Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that alwayr 
 loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever 
 keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the 
 world, let his nobility remain in his court. I aui 
 for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to 
 be too little for pomp to enter: some, that humble 
 themselves, may ; but the many will be too chill and 
 tender; and they'll be for the flowery way, that 
 leads to the broad gate, and the great fire. 
 
 La/. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee, 
 and i tell thee so before, because I would not fall 
 out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well 
 looked to, without any tricks. 
 
 Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall 
 be jades' tricks ; which are their own right by the 
 law of nature. {Exit. 
 
 La/. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.^ 
 Count. Soheis. Mylord, that's gone, made himself 
 much sport out of him : by his authority he remains 
 here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; 
 and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. 
 La/. I like him well : 'tis not amiss : and I waa 
 about to tell you. Since I heard of the good lady'i 
 death, and that my lord your son was upon his re- 
 turn home, I moved the king my master, to speak 
 in the behalf of my daughter : which in the minority 
 of them both, his m.ijesty, out of a self-gracious re- 
 membrance, did first propose: his highness hath 
 promised me to do it ; and, to stop up the displea 
 sure he hath conceived against your son, there is nc 
 fitter matter. How docs your ladyship like it ? 
 
 Count. With very much content, my lord, and 1 
 wish it happily effected. 
 
 La/. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of 
 as able body as when he numbered thirty; he will 
 be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by hiui that in 
 such intelligence hath seldom failed. 
 
 Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him 
 
 » / <■ Hui' 'Seduce. « Mischievously unhappy, waggish 
 
246 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 AoT V 
 
 ere I die. I have letters, that my son will bo here 
 to-night : I shall beseech your lordship, to remain 
 with me till they meet together. 
 
 Laf. Madam, I was thinking, with what manners 
 I might safely be admitted. 
 
 Count. You need but plead your honorable privi- 
 lege. 
 
 Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ; 
 •>nt, I thank my God, it holds yet. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 Ok. , madam, ycnder's my lord your son with a 
 
 patch of velvet on's face : whether there be a scai 
 under it, or no, the velvet knows : but 'tis a goodly 
 patch of velvet : his left cheek is a check of twc 
 pUo and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. 
 
 Lof. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
 livery of honor ! so, belike, is that. 
 
 Clo. But it is your carbonadoed^ face. 
 
 Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I long 
 to talk with the young noble soldier. 
 
 Clo. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate 
 fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow 
 the head, and nod at every man. [Extant. 
 
 ACTY. 
 
 SCENE L— Marseilles. A Street. 
 Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, toifh two At- 
 tendants. 
 Ilel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, 
 Must wear j'oiir spirits low: we cannot help it; 
 But since you have made the days and nights as one. 
 To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, 
 Be bold, you do so grow in my requital. 
 As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ; 
 
 Enter a gentle Astringer.9 
 This man may help me to his majesty's ear. 
 If he would spend his power. — God save you, sir. 
 
 Gerit. And you. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 
 
 Gent I have been sometimes there. 
 
 Bel. 1 do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
 From the report that goes upon your goodness; 
 And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions. 
 Which laj' nice manners by, I put you to 
 The use of your own virtues, for the which 
 t shall continue thankful. 
 
 Gent. What's your will ? 
 
 Hel. That it will please you 
 To give this poor petition to the king; 
 And aid me with that store of power you have. 
 To come into his presence. 
 
 ,Gent. The king's not here. 
 
 Hel. Not here, sir ? 
 
 Gent. Not, indeed: 
 
 He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
 Than is his use. 
 
 Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! 
 
 Hel. All's well that ends well, yet; 
 Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. — 
 I do beseech you, whither is he gone ? 
 
 Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; 
 Whither I am going. 
 
 Hel. I do beseech you, sir, 
 
 Since you are like to see the king before me. 
 Commend tlie paper to his gra3ious hand ; 
 Which, I presume, shall render you no blame. 
 But rather make you thank your pains for it : 
 I will come after you, with what good speed 
 Our moans will make us means. 
 
 Gent. This I'll do for you. 
 
 Hel. And you shall findyourself to bo well thank'd, 
 rt'hate'er falls more. — We must to horse again; — 
 Bo, go, provide. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IL— Rousillon. The inner Court of the 
 Countess's Palace. 
 Enter Clown and Parolles. 
 Pur. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu 
 this letter : I have, ere now, sir, been better known 
 to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher 
 clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's 
 moat, and smell somewliat strong of her strong dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, 
 
 • Scored like a piote of meat for the gridiron. 
 
 * A gentleman falconer 
 
 if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will 
 henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'y- 
 thee, allow the wind. 
 
 Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir; 1 
 spake but by a metaphor. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will 
 slop my nose ; or against any man's metaphor. — 
 Pr'ythee, get thee further. 
 
 Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 
 
 Clo. Fob, pr'ythee, stand away : A paper from 
 fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, 
 here he comes himself. 
 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 
 Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, 
 (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean 
 fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is mud- 
 died withal : Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; 
 for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, 
 rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles 
 of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. 
 
 [Exit Clown 
 
 Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath 
 cruelly scratched. 
 
 Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 'tis too 
 late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played 
 the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, 
 who of herself is a good lady, and would not have 
 knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu 
 for you : Let the justices make you and fortune 
 friends : I am for other business. 
 
 Par. I beseech your honor, to hear me one sin- 
 gle word. 
 
 Lnf. You beg a single penny more : come, you 
 shall ha't ; save your word. 
 
 Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. 
 
 Laf. You beg more than one word, then. — Cox' my 
 passion ! give me your hand : — How does your drum ? 
 
 Par. my good lord, you were the first that 
 found me. 
 
 Laf. Was I, in sooth ? and I was the first that 
 lost thee. 
 
 Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in somo 
 grace, for you did bring me out. 
 
 Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upan 
 me at once bcih the ofiice of God and the devil ! on« 
 brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee cat. 
 [7'rumpcts sound.'] The king's coming, I know by 
 his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further after me ; I 
 had talk of 3'ou last night : though you are a fool and 
 a knave, you shall eat ; go to, follow. 
 
 Par. I praise God for you. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Boom in the Countess's Palace- 
 Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords 
 Gentlemen, Guards, tf-e. 
 King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem' 
 Was made much poorer by it : but your son, 
 As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
 Her estimation home.^ 
 
 Count. 'Tis past, my liege : 
 
 ' Reckoning or estimate. • Completely, in its full extent 
 
Scene HI. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 247 
 
 And I beseech your majesty to make it 
 Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth; 
 When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
 O'erbears it, and burns on. 
 
 King. My honor'd lady, 
 
 I have forgiven and forgotten all; 
 Though my revenges were high bent upon him, 
 And watch'd the time to shoot. 
 
 Laf. This I must say, 
 
 But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord 
 Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, 
 Oftence of mighty note ; but to himself 
 The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife, 
 Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
 Of richest eyes ; whose words all cars took captive ; 
 Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve. 
 Humbly call'd mistress. 
 
 Kin 
 
 'S- 
 
 Praising what is lost, 
 
 ■Well, call him 
 
 Makes the remembrance dear. 
 
 hither ; 
 
 We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill 
 All repetition;' — Let him not ask our pardon; 
 The nature of his great offence is dead, 
 And deeper than oblivion do we bury 
 The incensing relics of it : let him approach, 
 A stranger, no offender ; and inform him, 
 So 'tis our will he should. 
 
 Gent. I shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 King. What says he to your daughter 1 have you 
 spoke ] 
 
 Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. 
 
 King. Then shall we have a match. I have let- 
 ters sent me, 
 That set him high in fame. 
 
 Enter Behtram. 
 
 Laf. He looks well on't. 
 
 King. I am not a day of season,' 
 For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail 
 In me at once : But to the brightest beams 
 Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth. 
 The time is fair again. 
 
 Ber. My high repented blames, 
 
 Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 
 
 King. AH is whole; 
 
 iVot one word more of the consumed time. 
 Let's take the instant by the forward top ; 
 For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 
 The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
 Steals ere we can effect them : You remember 
 The daughter of this lord ? 
 
 Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first 
 I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue : 
 Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 Which warp'd the line of every other favor; 
 Sjorn'd a fair color, or cxprcss'd it stol'n; 
 Extended or contracted all proportions, 
 To a most hideous object: Thence it came. 
 That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, 
 Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
 The dust that did offend it. 
 
 King. Well excus'd: 
 
 That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away 
 From the great compt : But love, that comes too late, 
 liike a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
 To the great sender turns a sour offence. 
 Crying, That's good that's gone : our rash faults 
 » Kecolleciion. * i. e. Of uninterrupted rain. 
 
 Make trivial price of serious things we have, 
 Not knowing them, until we know their grave: 
 Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 
 Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: 
 Our own love waking cries to see what's done, 
 While shameful hate sleeps out the aflernoon. 
 Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
 Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: 
 The main consents are had; and here we'll stay 
 To see our widower's second marriage-day. 
 
 Count. Which better than the first, O dear heavca 
 bless ! 
 Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease ! 
 
 Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name 
 Must be digested, give a favor from you. 
 To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter. 
 That she may quickly come. — By my old beard, 
 And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, 
 Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this. 
 The last that e'er I took her leave at court, 
 I saw upon her finger. 
 
 Ber. Hers it was not. 
 
 King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine eye, 
 While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. — • 
 This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, 
 I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
 Necessitied to help, that by this token 
 I would relieve her: Had you that crafl, to reave hei 
 Of what should stead her most 1 
 
 Ber. My gracious sovereign, 
 
 Howe'er it pleases you to take it so. 
 The ring' was never hers. 
 
 Count. Son, on my life, 
 
 I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it 
 At her life's rate. 
 
 Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it. 
 
 Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it : 
 In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
 Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
 Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought 
 I stood ingag'd : ' but when I had subscrib'd 
 To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, 
 I could not answer in that course of honor 
 As she had made the overture, she ceas'd. 
 In heavy satisfaction, and would never 
 Receive the ring again. 
 
 King. Plutus himself. 
 
 That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,' 
 Hath not in nature's mystery more science. 
 Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, 
 Whoever gave it you : Then, if you know, 
 That you are well acquainted with yourself. 
 Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement 
 You got it fi-om her : she call'd the saints to surety. 
 That she would never put it from her finger, 
 Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 
 (Where you have never come,) or sent it us 
 Upon her great disaster. 
 
 Ber. She never saw it. 
 
 King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mini* 
 honor; 
 And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me 
 Which I would fain shut out : If it should prove 
 That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so; — 
 And yet I know not: — thou didst hate her deadly, 
 And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
 Her eyes myself, could win me to believe. 
 More than to see this ring. — Take him away. — 
 
 [Guards seize Beiitii » m 
 » In the sense of unengaged. • The philosopher's a* ; ua 
 
248 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act V 
 
 My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, 
 Shall tax my fears of little vanity, 
 Having vainly fcar'd too little. — Away with him ; — 
 We'll sift this matter further. 
 
 Ber. If you shall prove 
 
 This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
 Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
 Where yet she never was. 
 
 \_Ejcil BEiiTnAM, guarded. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 
 
 Gs7it. Gracious sovereign. 
 
 Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not ; 
 Here's a petition, from a Florentine, 
 Who hath for four or five removes,'' come short 
 To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
 Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech 
 Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, 
 Is here attending: her business looks in her 
 With an important visage ; and she told me, 
 In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
 Your highness with herself. 
 
 King. [Reads.] Upo?i his many protestations to 
 marry me, when his wife ivus dead, I blush to say 
 it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a 
 widower,- his vows are forfeited to me, and my 
 honor's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking 
 no leave, and I follow him to his country for Jus- 
 tice: Grant it me, O king ,- in you it best lies,- 
 otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is 
 undone. Diana Capulet. 
 
 Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and 
 toil him:* for this, I'll none of him. 
 
 King. The heavens have thought well on thee, 
 Lafeu, 
 To bring forth this discovery. — Seek these suitors: — 
 Go, speedily, and bring again the count. 
 
 [_Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. 
 I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, 
 Was foully snatch'd. 
 
 Cou7it. Now, justice on the doers ! 
 
 Enter Behtram, guarded. 
 
 King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to 
 you. 
 And that you fly them as you swear them lordship. 
 Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that 1 
 
 Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and Diana. 
 
 Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
 Derived from the ancient Capulet; 
 My suit, as I do understand, you know. 
 And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
 
 Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honor 
 Both sufTer under this complaint we bring. 
 And both shall cease," without your remedy. 
 
 King. Come hither, count: Do you know these 
 women 1 
 
 Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny 
 But that I knoviT them : Do they charge me further 1 
 
 Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your 
 wife] 
 
 Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. 
 
 Dia. If you shall marry, 
 
 You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 
 V'ou give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ; 
 You give away myself, whid> is known mine ; 
 
 ' Post-Btages. 
 • Decease, die. 
 
 • Pay toll for him. 
 
 For I by vow am so embodied yours, 
 
 That she, which marries you, must marry me, 
 
 Either both or none. 
 
 Laf. Your reputation [7'o Beiitham.] comes to9 
 short for my daughter ; you are no husband for hei. 
 
 Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate crea- 
 ture, 
 Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let youj 
 
 highness 
 Lay a more noble thought upon mine honor, 
 Than for to think that I would sink it here. 
 
 King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to 
 friend, 
 Till your deeds gain them: Fairer prove youi 
 
 honor. 
 Than in my thought it lies ! 
 
 Dia. Good my lord, 
 
 Ask him upon his oath, if he docs think 
 He had not my virginity. 
 
 King. What say'st thou to her? 
 
 Ber. She's impudent, my lord* 
 
 And was a common gamester to the camp." 
 
 Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were sc, 
 He might have bought me at a common pri&e: 
 Do not believe him : O, behold this ring, 
 Whose high respect, and rich validity. 
 Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that. 
 He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, 
 If I be one. 
 
 Count. He blushes, and 'tis it: 
 Of six preceding ancestors, that gem 
 Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue. 
 Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife ; 
 That ring's a thousand proofs. 
 
 King. Methought, you said 
 
 You saw one here in court could witness it. 
 
 Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
 So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles. 
 
 Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 
 
 King. Find him, and bring him hither. 
 
 Ber. What of him 1 
 
 He's quoted^ for a most perfidious slave. 
 With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd ; 
 Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth: 
 Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter. 
 That will speak any thing ] 
 
 King. She hath that ring of yours 
 
 Ber. I think she has : certain it is, I liked her. 
 And boarded her i'the wanton way of youth : 
 She knew her distance, and did angle for me. 
 Madding my eagerness with her restraint 
 As all impediments in fancy's' course 
 Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine. 
 Her insuit coming with her modern grace,* 
 Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring ; 
 And I had that, which any inferior might 
 At market price have bought. 
 
 Dia. I must be patient , 
 
 You that turn'd off a first so noble wife, 
 May justly diet me. I pray you yet, 
 (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband.^ 
 Send for your ring, I will return it home, 
 And give me mine again. 
 
 Ber. I have it not. 
 
 King. What ring was yours, I pray you ? 
 
 Dia. Sir, much lik« 
 
 The same upon yoiii finger. 
 
 « Gamester, when applied to a female, then meant a com 
 mon ■woman. 'Noted. »Debauch"d. Love 
 
 • Her solicitation concurring with her appearance of 
 being; common. 
 
Scene Ilf. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELb. 
 
 24I» 
 
 Ki7ig. Know you this ringi this ring was his 
 
 of late. 
 Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. 
 King. The story then goes false, you threw it him. 
 Out of a casement. 
 
 Dia. I have spoke the truth. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Ber. My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers. 
 
 King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts 
 you. 
 Ts this the man you speak of? 
 
 Dia. Ay, my lord. 
 
 King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge 
 you, 
 Not fearing the displeasure of your master, 
 (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,) 
 By him, and by this woman here, what know you 1 
 
 Par. So please your majesty, my master hath 
 been an honorable gentleman ; tricks he hath had 
 in him, which gentlemen have. 
 
 King. Come, come, to the purpose: Did he love 
 this woman 1 
 
 Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But howl 
 
 King. How, I pray you? 
 
 Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves 
 a woman. 
 
 Kins. How is thatl 
 
 Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. 
 
 King. As thou art a knave, and no knave: — 
 What an equivocal companion is this"? 
 
 Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
 command. 
 
 Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
 <»rator. 
 
 Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage? 
 
 Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak. 
 
 King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? 
 
 Par. Yes, so please your majesty; I did go be- 
 tween them, as I said; but more than that, he 
 loved her, — 'for indeed he was mad for her, and 
 talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I 
 know not what ; yet I was in that credit with them 
 at that time, that I knew of their going to bed ; 
 and of other motions, as promising her marriage, 
 and things that would derive me ill will to speak of, 
 therefore I will not speak what I know. 
 
 King. Thou hast spoken all ahead}', unless thou 
 canst say they are married: But thou art too fine 
 in thy evidence : therefore stand aside — 
 This ring, you say, was yours T 
 
 Dia. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Where did you buy it! or who gave it you? 
 
 Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 
 
 King Who lent it you ? 
 
 Dia. It was not lent me neither. 
 
 King. Where did you find it then ] 
 
 Dia. I found it not. 
 
 King. If it were yours by none of all these ways. 
 How could you give it him ? 
 
 Dia. I never gave it him. 
 
 Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord ; she 
 poes off and on at pleasure. 
 
 King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. 
 
 Dia. It might be yours or hers for aught I know. 
 
 King. Take her away, I do not like her now ; 
 To prison with her, and away with him. — 
 Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring. 
 Thou diest within this hour. 
 
 Dia. I'll never tell you. 
 
 King. Take her away. 
 
 Dia. I'll put in bail, my licgeu 
 
 King. I think thee now some common customer. 
 
 Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. 
 
 King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this 
 while ? 
 
 Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty; 
 He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't. 
 I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
 Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; 
 I am eit'ner maid, or else this old man's wife. 
 
 \_Pointing to Lafeu 
 
 King. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her 
 
 Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. — Stay, royal 
 sir; [Exit Widow 
 
 The jeweller, that owes^ i,ne ring, is sent for 
 And he shall surety me. But for this lord. 
 Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself. 
 Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him ; 
 He knows himself, my bed he hath defil'd ; 
 And at that time he got his wife with child : 
 Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick : 
 So there's my riddle. One, that's dead, is quick: 
 And now behold the meaning. 
 
 Re-enter Widow, with Helena. 
 
 King. Is there no exorcist 
 
 Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes 1 
 Is't real, that I see ? 
 
 Hel. No, my good lord ; 
 
 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, 
 The name, and not the thing. 
 
 Ber. Both, both ; O pardon 1 
 
 Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, 
 I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, 
 And, look you, here's your letter ; This it says, 
 When from my finger you can get this ring. 
 And are by me with child, &c. — This is done 
 Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? 
 
 Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know thi.a 
 I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. [clearly, 
 
 Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, 
 Deadly divorce step between me and you ! — 
 O, my dear mother, do I see you living ? 
 
 Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon 
 — Good Tom Drum, [To Parolles.] lend me a 
 handkerchief: So, I thank thee: wait on me home, 
 I'll make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies alone, 
 they are scurvy ones. 
 
 King. Let us from point to point this story know, 
 To make the even truth in pleasure flow : — 
 If thou be'styetafreshuncropped flower,[7bDiANA 
 Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower 
 For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid, 
 Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. — 
 Of that, and all the progress, more and less, 
 Resolvedly more leisure shall express: 
 AD yet seems well ; and if it end so meet, 
 The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. 
 
 [Flourish, 
 
 Advancing. 
 
 The king's a beggar, now tlie play is dune : 
 All is well ended, if this suit be loon, 
 That you express content; which we will pay. 
 With strife to please you, day exceeding day.- 
 Ours be your patience, then, and yours our parts; 
 Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. 
 
 [Exciird 
 
 * Own?. 
 
 ' i. e. Take our parts, support and defend ua. 
 
TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 A Lord. 
 
 CamsTOPiiER Sly, a drutiken Tinker. ^ Personsiii 
 Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen and > the Indue- 
 other Servants attending on thelutoid. ) tion. 
 
 Baptista, a rich Gentleman of Padua. 
 ViNCENTio, an old Gentleman of Pis2i. 
 LucENTio, Son to Vincentio, tn love with Bianca. 
 Pethuchio, a Gentleman q/" Verona, a Suitor to 
 Katharina. 
 
 TT t Suitors to Bianca. 
 
 o, ) 
 
 NSIO, 5 
 
 T, ' > Servants to Lucentio. 
 
 rSIONDELLO, y 
 
 ■n, ' i Servants to Petruchio. 
 
 buiiTis, ) 
 
 Pedant, an old Fellow, set up to personate Vio 
 
 centio. 
 
 Kathahika, the Shrew, } r, u ^ t> *• ^ 
 Bianca, her Sister, I ^^^S^^^"-' ^^ Baptista. 
 
 Widow. 
 
 Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants aitc7iding on 
 Baptista and Petruchio. 
 
 SCENE, sometimes in Padua ; and sometimes in Petkuchio's House in the Country. 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 I 
 
 SCENE I. — Before an Alehouse on a Heath. 
 Enter Hostess and Slt. 
 
 Sly. I'll pheese ' you, in faith. 
 
 Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! 
 
 Sly. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no rogues: 
 Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard 
 Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris,-'' let the 
 world slide: Sessa/' 
 
 Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have 
 burst 1 
 
 Sly. No, not a denier : Go by, says Jeronimy ; — 
 Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.* 
 
 Host. I know my remedy ; I must go fetch the 
 tlairdborough.' [Exit. 
 
 Sly Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll an- 
 Bwer him by law : I'll not budge an inch, boy ; let 
 tim come, and kindly. 
 
 [^Lies down on tJie ground, and falls asleep. 
 
 Wind Horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with 
 Huntsmen a7id Servants. 
 
 Loid. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my 
 hounds : 
 Brach* Merriman, — the poor cur is emboss'd,' — 
 
 » Beat or knock. » Few words. » Be quiet. 
 
 ♦ This line and scrap of Spanish is used in burlesque from 
 m old play called Hieronymo, or the Spanish Tragedy. 
 
 • An officer whose authority equals that of a constable. 
 6 Bitch. ' Strained. 
 
 250 
 
 And couple ClowJer with the deep-mouth'd bracft. 
 Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
 At the hedge comer, in the coldest fault? 
 I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 
 
 1 Hunt. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord^ 
 He cried upon it at the merest loss. 
 And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent : 
 Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 
 
 Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet, 
 I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
 But sup them well, and look unto them all- 
 To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 
 
 1 Hunt. I will, my lord. 
 
 Lord. What's here 1 one dead, or dnink 1 See, 
 doth he breathe ? 
 
 2 Hunt. He breathes, my lord: Were he not 
 
 warm'd with ale, 
 This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 
 Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine he 
 
 lies! 
 Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image ! 
 
 Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
 
 What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
 Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, 
 A most delicious banquet by his bed. 
 And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 
 Would not the beggar then forget himself? 
 
 1 Hunt. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choosCi 
 
 2 Hunt. It would seem strange unto him when 
 
 he wak'd. 
 
Induction. Scene II. TAMING OF THE SHREW, 
 
 251 
 
 Lord, Even as a flattering dream, or worthless 
 fancy. 
 Then take him up, and manage well the jest : — 
 Can'y him gently to my fairest chamber, 
 And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: 
 Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters, 
 And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet: 
 Procure me music ready when he wakes. 
 To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
 And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, 
 And, with a low submissive reverence. 
 Say, — What is it your honor will command ] 
 Let one attend him with a silver bason, 
 Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers; 
 Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, 
 And say, — Will 't please your lordship cool your 
 
 hands ? 
 Some one be ready with a costly suit, 
 And ask him what apparel he will wear; 
 Another tell him of his hounds and horse. 
 And that his lady mourns at his disease : 
 Persuade him that he hath been lunatic ; 
 And, when he says he is, — say that he dreams, 
 For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 
 This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; 
 It will be pastime passing excellent. 
 If it be husbanded with modesty.* 
 
 1 Hun. My lord, I warrantyou, we'll play our part. 
 As he shall think, by our true diligence. 
 He is no less than what we say he is. 
 
 Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him ; 
 And each one to his office when he wakes. — 
 
 [Some bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. 
 Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : 
 
 \_Exit Servant. 
 Belike, some noble gentleman ; that means. 
 Travelling some journey, to repose him here. — 
 
 Re-enter a Servant 
 
 How now! who is it? 
 
 Serv. An it please your honor, 
 
 Players that offer service to your lordship. 
 Lord. Bid them come near : — 
 Enter Players. 
 Now, fellows, you are welcome. 
 
 1 Play. We thank your honor. 
 
 Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night] 
 
 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. 
 Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow I re- 
 member. 
 
 Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ; — 
 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well : 
 I have forgot your name; but sure that part 
 Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. 
 
 1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honor means. 
 
 Lord. 'Tis very true; — thou didst it excellent. 
 •Veil, you are come to me in happy time; 
 The rather, for I have some sport in hand, 
 Wherein your cunning can assist me much. 
 There is a lord will hear you play to-night: 
 But I am doubtful of your modesties; 
 Lest, over-eying of his odd behavior, 
 (For yet his honor never heard a play,) 
 Vou break into some merry passion. 
 And so olTend him; for I tell you, sirs. 
 If you should smile, he grows impatient 
 
 1 Play. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain our- 
 selves. 
 Were he the veriest antic in the world. 
 ■ Moderation. 
 
 Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery. 
 And give them friendly welcome every one: 
 Let them want nothing that my house afibrds. — 
 
 \_Exeurit Servant and Players 
 Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew, my page, 
 
 [7'o u Servant 
 And see him dress'din al. suits like a lady: 
 That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, 
 And call him — madam, do him obeisance. 
 Tell him from me, (as he will win my love,) 
 He bear himself with honorable action. 
 Such as he hath observed in noble ladies 
 Unto their lords, by them accomplished : 
 Such duty to the drunkard let him do, 
 With soil low tongue, and lowly courtesy 
 And say — What is't your honor will command, 
 Wherein your lady, and your humble wife, 
 May show her duty, and make known her lovel 
 And then — with kind embracements, tempting 
 
 kisses. 
 And with declining head into his bosom, — 
 Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
 To see her noble lord restor'd to health, 
 Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed liin: 
 No better than a poor and loathsome beggar* 
 And if the boy have not a woman's gift, 
 To rain a shower of commanded tears. 
 An onion will do well for such a shift; 
 Which in a napldn being close convey'd. 
 Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
 See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst; 
 
 Anon I'll give thee more instructions. 
 
 \_Exit Servant. 
 I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, 
 Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman: 
 I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband; 
 And how my men will stay themselves from laugh- 
 ter. 
 When they do homage to this simple peasant 
 I'll in to counsel them : haply my presence 
 May well abate the over merry spleen. 
 Which otherwise would go into extremes. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — A Bedchamber in the Lord's House 
 
 Si.Y is discovered in a rich night-gown, with Attend- 
 ants; some with apparel, others with basoii, 
 ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, 
 dressed like a Servant. 
 
 Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 
 
 1 Scrv. Will 't please your lordship drink a cup 
 
 of sack ] 
 
 2 Serv. Will 't please your honor taste if these 
 
 conserves ] 
 
 3 Serv. What raiment will your honor wea^to-dayT 
 
 Sly. I am Christopher Sly ; call not me — honor 
 nor lordship : I never drank sack in my life ; and if 
 you give me any conserves, give me conserves of 
 beef: Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I 
 have no more doublets than backs, no more stock 
 ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay 
 sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes ai 
 my toes look through the over-leather. 
 
 Lord. Heaven cease this idle humrr in you 
 honor ! 
 O, that a mighty man of such descent. 
 Of such possessions, and so high esteem. 
 Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! 
 
 Slij. What, would you make me mad ] Am no 
 
 1 ■ I J ■ [ ^^nw^f^^^ 
 
252 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Induction. Scene II. 
 
 I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath ; by 
 birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by trans- 
 mutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession 
 a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of 
 Wlncot, if she know mo not : if she say I am , not 
 fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me 
 up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I 
 am not bestraught ;9 Here's 
 
 1 Serv. 0, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 
 
 2 Serv. 0, this it is that makes your servants 
 
 droop. 
 Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun 
 
 your house. 
 As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 
 0, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; 
 Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, 
 And banish hence these abject lowly dreams : 
 Look how thy servants do attend on thee. 
 Each in his ofSce ready at thy beck. 
 Wilt thou have music ? hark ! Apollo plays, [Ilusic. 
 And twenty caged nightingales do sing : 
 Or wilt thou sleep ? we'll have thee to a couch, 
 Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 
 On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
 Say, thou wilt walk ; we will bestrew the ground : 
 Or wilt thou ride ? thy horses shall be trapp'd. 
 Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
 Dost thou love hawking ? thou hast hawks will soar 
 Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt? 
 Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them. 
 And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
 
 1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds 
 
 are as swift 
 As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 
 
 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch 
 
 thee straight 
 Adonis, painted by a running brook : 
 And Cytherea all in sedges hid ; 
 Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
 Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
 
 Lord. We'll show thee lo, as she was a maid ; 
 And how she was beguiled and surpris'd. 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. 
 
 3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny 
 
 wood ; 
 Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds : 
 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 
 So workmanly the blood and tears aro drawn. 
 
 Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : 
 Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
 Than any woman in this waning age. 
 
 1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for 
 
 thee, 
 Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face. 
 She was the fairest creature in the world; 
 And yet she is inferior to none. 
 
 Sly. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady ? 
 Or do I dream ? or have I dream'd till now ? 
 I do not sleep; I see, I hear, I speak; 
 I smell sweet savors, and I feci soft things : — 
 Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ; 
 And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly. — 
 Well, bring our lady hither to our sight : 
 And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 
 
 2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash 
 
 your hands? 
 [Servants j9)'eseji< an ewer, basin, and napkin. 
 how we joy to see your wit restor'd ! 
 0, that once more you knew but what you are ! 
 These fifteen years, you have been in a dream ; 
 Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 
 Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly 
 nap. 
 But did I never speak of all that time ? 
 1 Serv. 0, yes, my lord ; but very idle words : — 
 
 • extracted. 
 
 For though j'ou lay here in this goodly chamber, 
 Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of doors > 
 And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
 And saj', you would present her at the loet,' 
 Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts? 
 Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 
 
 Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 
 
 3 *S'e)-i'. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such 
 maid; 
 Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up, — 
 As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, 
 And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpemell ; 
 And twenty more such names and men as these, 
 Which never were, and no man ever saw. 
 
 Sly. Now, Lord be thank'd for my good amends ! 
 
 All. Amen. 
 
 Sly. I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it. 
 
 Enter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants. 
 
 Page. How fares my noble lord? 
 
 Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough. 
 Where is my wife ? 
 
 Pat/e. Here, noble lord; What is thy ■will with 
 her? 
 
 Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me — hus- 
 band? 
 My men should call me — lord ; I am your goodman. 
 
 Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and hus- 
 band; 
 I am your wife in all obedience. 
 
 Sly. I know it well : — What must I call her ? 
 
 Lord. Madam. 
 
 Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ? 
 
 Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call 
 ladies. 
 
 Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, 
 and slept 
 Above some fifteen year and more. 
 
 Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me : 
 Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. 
 
 Sly. 'Tis much; Servants, leave me and her 
 
 alone. 
 
 Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. 
 
 Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, 
 To pardon me yet for a night or two; 
 Or, if not so, until the sun be set : 
 For your physicians have expressly charged, 
 In peril to incur your former malady. 
 That I should yet absent me from your bed : 
 I hope, this reason stands for my excuse. 
 
 Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry sa 
 long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams 
 again ; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flest 
 and the blood. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Your honor's players, hearing your amend- 
 ment. 
 Are come to play a pleasant comedy : 
 For so your do^^tors hold it very meet ; 
 Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blocd, 
 And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy. 
 Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play, 
 And frame your mind to mirth and merriment. 
 Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. 
 
 Sly. Marry, I will; let them play it: Is not a 
 commonty2 a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling- 
 trick ? 
 
 Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing stuff. 
 
 Sly. What, household stuff? 
 
 Page. It is a kind of history. 
 
 Sly. Well, we'll see't : Come, madam wife, sit by 
 my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er b* 
 younger. [They sit down 
 
 > Court-leet. 
 
 * For comedy 
 
Scene I. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 253 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Padua. A public Place. 
 
 Enter Lucentio and Thanio. 
 
 Luc . Tranio, since — for the great desire I had 
 To see fa> Padua, nursery of arts, — 
 I am arriv'd for fr:itful Lombardy, 
 The pleasant garden of great Italy : 
 Ar.c. by my father's love and leave, am arm'ii 
 W .h his good will, and thy good company, 
 Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all; 
 Here let us breathe, and happily institute 
 A course of learning, and ingenious' studies. 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, 
 Gave me my being, and my father first, 
 A merchant of great traffic through the world, 
 Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. 
 Vincentio, his son, brought up in Florence, 
 It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd, 
 To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : 
 And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, 
 Virtue, and that part of philosophy 
 Will I apply, that treats of happiness 
 By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. 
 Tell me th}' mind: for I have Pisa left. 
 And am to Padua come: as he that leaves 
 A shallow plash,* to plunge him in the deep. 
 And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 
 
 Tra. Mi perdonate,'' gentle master mine, 
 [ am in all affected as yourself; 
 (xlad that you thus continue your resolve. 
 To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
 Only, good master, while we do admire 
 This virtue, and this moral discipline. 
 Let's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray ; 
 Or so devote to Aristotle's checks,^ 
 As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd: 
 Talk logic with acquaintance that you have, 
 And practise rhetoric in your common talk: 
 Alusic and poesy use to quicken you ; 
 The mathematics and the metaphysics. 
 Fall to them as you find j'our stomach serves you: 
 No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en; — 
 In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 
 
 Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. 
 If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, 
 We could at once put us in readiness : 
 And take a lodging fit to entertain 
 Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget. 
 But stay a while: What company is this? 
 
 Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. 
 
 t'~l/rT BaPTISTA, KATHAniJTA, BlANCA, GhEMIO, 
 
 and IIohtexsio. Lccextio and Tranio 
 
 •iiand aside. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no further. 
 For now I firmly am resolv'd you know; 
 That is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter. 
 Before I have a husband for the elder: 
 [f cither of you both love Katharina, 
 Because I know you well, and love you well, 
 ficave shall you have to court Iut at your pleasure. 
 
 Gre. To cart her rather; She's too rough for me: — 
 There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife? 
 
 Kath. I pray you, sir, [7b Bap.] is it your will 
 To make a stale of me among these mates? 
 
 » Ingenuous. 
 < Parioa mo. 
 
 ♦ Small piece of water. 
 
 • Uai-sh rules. 
 
 Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that 1 no mates 
 for you. 
 Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. 
 
 Kath. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to feai , 
 I wis,' it is not half way to her heart : 
 But, if it were, doubt not her care should be 
 To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool. 
 And paint your face, and use you like a fool. 
 
 Hur. From all such devils, heaven deliver us! 
 
 Gre. And me too, good Lord ! 
 
 Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pastime 
 toward ; 
 That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward 
 
 Luc. But in the other's silence I do see 
 Maid's mild behavior and sobriety. 
 Peace, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your 
 fill. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
 What I have said, — Bianca, get you in : 
 And let it not displease thee, good Bianca ; 
 For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. 
 
 Kath. A pretty peat !' 'tis best 
 Put finger in the eye, — an she knew why. 
 
 Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent.— 
 Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe; 
 My books, and instruments, shall be my company 
 On them to look, and practise by myself. 
 
 Luc. Hark, Tranio ! thou mayst hear Minerva 
 speak. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange? 
 Sorry am I, that our good will effects 
 Bianca's gi^ief. 
 
 Gre. Why ^'ill you mew^ her up, 
 
 Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell. 
 And make her bear the penance of her tongue ? — ■ 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, content j'e ; I am resolv'd : — 
 Go in, Bianca. [^Exit Bianca. 
 
 And for I know, she taketh most delight 
 In music, instruments, and poetry. 
 Schoolmasters will I keep withm my house 
 Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortensio, 
 Or signior Grcmio, you, — know any such, 
 Prefer them hither; for to cunning men 
 I will be very kind, and liberal 
 To mine own children in good bringing up ; 
 And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay; 
 For I have more to commune with Bianca. \^Exil. 
 
 Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too; May I 
 not? 
 What, shall I be appointed hours ; as though, belike, 
 I knew not what to take, and what to leave ? [Exit. 
 
 Gre. You may go to the devil's dam ; your gifts' 
 are so good, here is none will hold you. Our love 
 is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails 
 together, and fast it fairly out ; our cake's dough on 
 both sides. Farewell : — Yet, for the love I bear 
 my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a 
 fit man, to teach her that wherein she delights, I 
 will wish him to her father. 
 
 Hor. So will I, signior Grcmio: But a word. I 
 pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never 
 brook'd parle, know now, upon advice,' it toucheth 
 us both, — that we may yet again have access t<r 
 
 ' Think. 
 
 > Endowments. 
 
 »Pct. 
 
 » Shut. 
 s ConsideratioQ 
 
254 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's 
 love, — to labor and effect one thing 'specially. 
 
 Gre. What's that, I pray ] 
 
 Kor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 
 
 Gre. A husband ! a devil. 
 
 Hor. I say, a husband. 
 
 Gre. I say, a devil : Think'st thou, Hortensio, 
 though her father be very rich, any man is so very 
 a fool to be married to her 1 
 
 Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience, 
 and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man. 
 there be good fellows in the world, an a man could 
 bght on them, would take her with all faults, and 
 Eicney enough. 
 
 Gre. I cannot tell ; but I had as lief take her 
 dowry with this condition, — to be whipped at the 
 high-cross, every morning. 
 
 Hor. 'Faith as you say, there's small choice in 
 lotten apples. But, come; since this bar in law 
 makes us friends, it shall be so forth friendly main- 
 tained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter 
 to a husband, we set his youngest free for a hus- 
 band, and then have to't afresh. — Sweet Bianca! 
 • — Happy man be his dole !^ How say you, signior 
 Gremio 1 
 
 Gre. I am agreed : and 'would I had given him 
 the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that 
 would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and rid the 
 nouse of her. Come on. 
 
 l^Exeu7it Gremio and Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. [_Advanci>ig.^ I pray, sir, tell me, — Is it 
 possible 
 That love should of a sudden take such hold 1 
 
 Luc. Tranio, till I found it to be true, 
 I never thought it possible, or likely ; 
 But see ! while idly I stood looking on, 
 I found the effect of love in idleness : 
 And now in plainness do confess to thee, — 
 That art to me as secret, and as dear. 
 As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, — 
 Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, 
 If I achieve not this young modest girl : 
 Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst; 
 Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 
 
 Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now; 
 Affection is not rated' from the heart: 
 If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — 
 Redirne te captum quam queas minlmo. 
 
 Luc. Gramercies, lad ; go forward : this contents ; 
 The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. 
 
 Tra. Master, you look'd so longly' on the maid. 
 Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. 
 
 Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, 
 Such as the daughter of Agenor^ had. 
 That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, 
 When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 
 
 Tra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not, how hei 
 sister 
 Began to scold; and raise up such a storm. 
 That mortal ears might hardly endure the din ] 
 
 Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move. 
 And with her breath she did perfume the air; 
 Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. 
 
 Tra. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his 
 trance. 
 I pray, awalce, sir; If you love the maid. 
 Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it 
 stands: — 
 
 » Gain or lot. 
 I Longingly. 
 
 « Driven out by chiding. 
 Europa. 
 
 Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd, 
 That, till the father rid his hands of her, 
 Master, your love must live a maid at home; 
 And therefore has he closely mew'd her up. 
 Because she shall not be annoy 'd with suitors. 
 
 Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he! 
 But art thou not advised, he took some care 
 To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her 1 
 
 Tra. Ay, maiTy, am I, sir; and now 'tis plotted. 
 
 Luc. I have it, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Master, for my hand, 
 
 Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 
 
 Luc. Tell me thine first. 
 
 Tra. You will be schoolmaster, 
 
 And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
 That's your device. 
 
 Luc. It is : May it be done 1 
 
 Tra. Not possible ; For who shall bear your part, 
 And be in Padua here Vincentio's son 1 
 Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends ; 
 Visit his countrymen, and banquet them 1 
 
 Luc. Basta;' content thee ; for I have it full. 
 We have not yet been seen in any house ; 
 Nor can we be distinguished by our faces. 
 For man, or master: then it follows thus ; — 
 Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, 
 Keep house, and port,' and servants, as I should: 
 I will some other be; some Florentine, 
 Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa. 
 'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so : — Tranio, at once 
 Uncase thee ; take my color'd hat and cloak : 
 When Biondello comes, he waits on thee; 
 But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. 
 
 Tra. So had you need. [^They exchange habits. 
 In brief then, sir, sith' it your pleasure is. 
 And I am tied to be obedient; 
 (For so your father charg'd me at our parting; 
 Be serviceable to my son, quoth he. 
 Although, I think, twas in another sense;) 
 I am content to be Lucentio, 
 Because so well I love Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: 
 And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid 
 W^hose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where have you 
 been 1 [are you ? 
 
 Bion. Where have I been 1 Nay, how now, where 
 Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes ? 
 Or you stol'n his ? or both 1 pray, what's the news ? 
 
 Luc. Sirrah, come hither ; 'tis no time to jest, 
 And therefore frame your manners to the time. 
 Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, 
 Puts my apparel and my countenance on. 
 And I for my escape have put on his ; 
 For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
 I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried : 
 Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, 
 While I make way from hence to save my life) 
 Vou understand me 1 
 
 Bion. I, sir ? ne'er a whit. 
 
 Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth ; 
 Tranio is changed into Lucentio. 
 
 Bion. The better for him ; Would I were so too ! 
 
 Tra. So would I, boy, to have the next wish after,— 
 
 That Lucentia indeed had Baptista's youngest 
 
 daughter. [I advis« 
 
 But, siiTah, — not for my sake, but your master's— 
 
 1 'Tis enough. • Show, appearance. * Since. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 35? 
 
 1 
 
 5fou use your mannera discreetly in all kinds of 
 
 companies •. 
 When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio : 
 But in all places else, your master Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, let's go : — 
 One thing more rests, that thyself execute ; — 
 To make one among these wooers : if thou ask me 
 
 why,— 
 Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty 
 
 \^Exeuni. 
 
 1 Serv. My lord, you nod: you do not mind the play . 
 
 Sly. Yea, by eaiytt An7ie, do I. A good matter, 
 tarely; Cornea there any more ofitf 
 
 Pago. My lord, 'tia but begun. 
 
 Sly. 'Tia a very excellent piece of worlc, madam 
 lady; ' Would 't were done! 
 
 SCENE IL— Before Hortensio's House. 
 Enter Petkuchio and Grumio. 
 
 Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave. 
 To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all, 
 My best beloved and approved friend, 
 Hortensio ; and, I trow, this is his house ; — 
 Here, sirrah Grumio : knock, I say. 
 
 Gru. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock ? is there 
 any man has rebused your worship 7 
 
 Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. 
 
 Gru. Knock you here, sir ? why, sir, what am I, 
 eii, that I should knock you here, sir ? 
 
 Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate. 
 And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. 
 
 Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome : I should 
 knock you first. 
 And then I know after who comes by the worst. 
 
 Pet. Will it not be? 
 'Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll wring it ; 
 T'U try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 
 
 [He wrings Grumio by tlie ears. 
 
 Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 
 
 Pet. Now, knock when I bid you : sirrah ! villain ! 
 
 Enter Hortensio. 
 
 Hor. How now? what's the matter? — My old 
 triend Grumio! and my good friend Petruchio ! — • 
 How do you all at Verona? 
 
 Pet, Signior Hortensio, come you to part the 
 fray ? Con tutto il core bene trovato, may I say. 
 
 Hor. Alia nostra casa bene ventiio, 
 Molto honorato signor mio Petruchio. 
 Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will compound this quarrel. 
 
 Gru, Nay, 'tisno matter, whathe 'leges' in Latin. 
 • — 'If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his 
 service, — Look you, sir, — he bid me knock him, 
 and rap him soundly, sir: Well, was it fit for a ser- 
 vant to use his master so ; being, perhaps, (for aught 
 I see,) two-and-thirty, — a pip out? 
 Whom, 'would to God I had well knock'd at first. 
 Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 
 
 Pet. A senseless villain — Good Hortensio, 
 I bade the rascal knock upon your gate. 
 And could not get him for my heart to do it. 
 
 Gru. Knock at the gate ? — O heavens ! 
 Spake you not these words plain — Sirrah, knock 
 
 me here, 
 Rap me here, knock mewell, and knock me soundly? 
 And come you now with — knocking at the gate? 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. 
 Hor. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge: 
 Why, this is a heavy chance 'twixt him and you; 
 Vjur ancient, 'jrusty, pleasant servant Grumio. 
 
 • Alleses. 
 
 And tell me now, sweet friend, — what happy gale 
 Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona? 
 
 Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through 
 the world. 
 To seek their fortunes further than at home, 
 Where small experience grows. But, in a few, 
 Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: — 
 Antonio, my father, is deceased: 
 And I have thrust myself into this maze, 
 Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may: 
 Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, 
 And so am come abroad to see the world. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee^ 
 And wisli thee to a shrewd ill-favored wife? 
 Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel: 
 And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich. 
 And very rich: — but thou'rt too much my friend, 
 And I'll not wish thee to her. 
 
 Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such fi-iends as we, 
 Few words suffice : and therefore, if thou know 
 One rich enough to be Petruchio's v/ife, 
 (As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance,) 
 fie she as foul as was Florentius' love,' 
 As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd 
 As Socrates' Xantippc, or a worse. 
 She moves me not, or not removes, at least 
 Afleclion's edge in me ; were she as rough 
 As are the swelling Adriatic seas: 
 I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ; 
 If wealthily, then happily in Padua. 
 
 Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly wha; 
 his mind is : Why, give him gold enough and marry 
 him to a puppet, or an aglet baby;^ or an old tro< 
 with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as 
 many diseases as two and fifty horses : why no- 
 thing comes amiss, so money comes withal. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus far in, 
 I will continue that I broach'd in jest. 
 I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife 
 With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous ; 
 Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman : 
 Her only fault (and that is fault enough) 
 Is, — that she is intolerably curst. 
 And shrewd, and froward : so beyond all measure 
 That, were my state far worser than it is, 
 I would not wed her for a mine of gold, [effect : — 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, peace ; thou know'st not gold's 
 Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough; 
 For I will board her, though she chide as loud 
 As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. 
 
 Hor Her lather is Baptista Minola, 
 An affiible and courteous gentleman : 
 Her name is Katharina Minola, 
 Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. 
 
 Pet. I know her father, though I know not her, 
 And he knew my deceased father well : — 
 I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; 
 And therefore let me be thus bold with you, 
 To give you over at this first encounter, 
 Unless you will accompany me thither. 
 
 Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humor 
 lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I 
 do, she would think scolding would do little good 
 upon him : She may, perhaps, call him half a score 
 knaves, or so: why, that's nothing; an he begin 
 once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks.' I'll tell you what, 
 sir, — an she stand him but a little, he will throw a 
 
 » See the story. No. 39, of "j4 Thousand Notahk Thingt.* 
 * A small imase on the tag of a lace. 
 > Abusive language. 
 
256 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 figure in hei face, and so disfigure her with it, that 
 she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat: 
 You know him not, sir. 
 
 Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee ; 
 For in Baptista's keep my treasure is: 
 He hath the jewel of my life in hold. 
 His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca; 
 And her withholds from me, and other more 
 Suitors to her, and rivals in my love: 
 Supposing it a thing impossible, 
 (For those defects I have before rehears'd,) 
 That ever Katharina v/ill be woo'd ; 
 Therefore this order'' hath Baptista ta'en: — 
 That none shall have access unto Bianca, 
 Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. 
 
 Gru. Katharine the curst! 
 A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. 
 
 Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace ; 
 And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes, 
 To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 
 Well seen' in music, to instruct Bianca: 
 That so I may by this device, at least. 
 Have leave and leisure to make love to her. 
 And, unsuspected, court her by herself. 
 
 E/i/er Ghemio; with him Lucentio, disguised, 
 with books wider his arm. 
 
 Gru. Here's no knavery! See; to beguile the 
 old folks, how the young folks lay their heads to- 
 gether! Master, master, look about you: Who 
 goes there] ha! 
 
 Hor. Peace, Grumio ; 'tis the rival of my love : — 
 Petruchio, stand by a while. 
 
 Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous ! 
 
 [They retire. 
 
 Gre. O, very well ; I have perused the note. 
 Hark you, sir ; I'll have them very fairly bound : 
 All books of love, see that at any hand ; 
 And see you read no other lectures to her; 
 You understand mc : — over and beside 
 Siguier Baptista's liberality, 
 
 I'll mend it with a largess : — Take your papers too. 
 And let me have them very well perfura'd ; 
 For she is sweeter than perfume itself. 
 To whom they go. What will you read to her? 
 
 Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you. 
 As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,) 
 As firmly as yourself were still in place; 
 Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful words 
 Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. 
 
 Gre. O this learning ! what a thing it is ! 
 
 Gru. O this woodcock ! what an ass it is ! 
 
 Pet. Peace, sirrah. 
 
 Hor Grumio, mum ! — Save you, signior Gre- 
 mio ! 
 
 Gre, And you're well met, signior Hortensio. 
 Trow you, 
 Whither I am going? — To Baptista Minola. 
 I promis'd to enquire carefully 
 About a schoolmastei for fair Bianca: 
 And, by good fortune, I have lighted well 
 On this young man : for learning, and behavior. 
 Fit for her turn; well read in poetry. 
 And other books, — good ones, I warrant you. 
 
 Hor. 'Tis well : and I have met a gentleman. 
 Hath promis'd me to help me to another, 
 A fine musician, to instruct our mistress; 
 Bo shall I no whit be behind in duty 
 To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. 
 
 * These measures. 
 
 ' Versed. 
 
 Gie. Belov'd of me, — and that ihy deeds shall 
 prove. 
 
 Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Aside, 
 
 Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent ourIova« 
 Listen to me, and if you speak mc fair, 
 I'll tell you news indilferent good for either. 
 Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met, 
 Upon agreement fi-om us to his liking. 
 Will undertake to woo curst Katharine; 
 Yea, and to marry her, if her dowiy please. 
 
 Gre. So said, so done, is well: 
 Hortensio, have you told him all her faults: 
 
 Fet. I know ; she is an irksome brawling scold , 
 If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. 
 
 Gre. No, say'st me so, friend? What country 
 man ? 
 
 Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son: 
 My lather dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
 And I do hope good days, and long, to see. 
 
 Gre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, were 
 strange : 
 But, if you have a stomach, to't, o' God's name ; 
 You shall have me assisting you in all. 
 But will you woo this wild-cat? 
 
 Pet. Will I live? 
 
 Gru. Will he woo her ? ay, or I'll hang her. 
 
 [^Aside, 
 
 Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent ? 
 Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears? 
 Have I not in my time heard lions roar ? 
 Have I not heard the sea, puflf'd up with winds. 
 Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat ? 
 Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, 
 And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? 
 Have I not in a pitched battle heard 
 Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang 1 
 And do you tell me of a woman's tongue; 
 That gives not half so great a blow to the eai. 
 As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire ? 
 Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs.' 
 
 Gru. For he fears none, 
 
 [^Aside. 
 
 Gre. Hortensio, hark ! 
 This gentleman is happily arriv'd, 
 My mind presumes, for his own good, and ours. 
 
 Hor. I promis'd we would be contributors, 
 And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 
 
 Gre. And so we will ; provided, that he win her. 
 
 Gru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. 
 
 [^Aside. 
 
 Enter Thanio, bravely apparelVd ; and 
 
 BlONDELLO. 
 
 Tra. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold, 
 Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
 I'o the house of signior Baptista Minola ? 
 
 Gre. He that has the two fair daughters: — is"t 
 [^Aside to Thanio.] he you mean? 
 
 Tra. Even he. Biondello ! 
 
 Gre. Hark you, sir; You mean not her to 
 
 Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sur; What have you 
 to do? 
 
 Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray 
 
 Tra. I love no chiders, sir: — Biondello, let'i 
 away. 
 
 Luc. Well begun, Tranio. {AsidA 
 
 Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; — 
 Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no 
 
 Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any ofl!ence ? 
 
 • Fright boys with bughears. 
 
A.CT II. Scene I, 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 257 
 
 Gre. No; if without more words, you will get 
 you hence. 
 
 Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free 
 For me, as for youl 
 
 Gre. But so is not she. 
 
 Tra. For what reason, I beseech you 1 
 
 Gre. For this reason, if you'll know, 
 
 That she's the choice love of signior Grcmio. 
 
 Hot. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentlemen. 
 Do me this right, — hear me with patience. 
 Baptisfa is a noble gentleman, 
 To whom my father is not all unknown ; 
 And, were his daughter fairer than she is. 
 She may more suitors have, and me for one. 
 Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers ; 
 Then well one more may fair Bianca have: 
 And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one. 
 Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. 
 
 Gre. What ! this gentleman will out-talk us all. 
 
 Luc. Sir, give him head ; I know he'll prove a 
 jade. 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words 1 
 
 Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you, 
 Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter] 
 
 Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do, that he hath two ; 
 The one as famous for a scolding tongue. 
 As is the other for beauteous modesty. 
 
 Pet. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. 
 
 Gre. Yea, leave that labor to great Hercules, 
 And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 
 
 Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth ;- 
 The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for. 
 Her father keeps from all access of suitors; 
 And will not promise her to any man, 
 Until the elder sister first be wed : 
 The younger then is free, and not before. 
 
 Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man 
 Must stead us all, and me among the rest; 
 An if you break the ice, and do this feat, — 
 Achieve the elder, set the younger free 
 For our access, — whose hap shall be to have her 
 Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate. 
 
 Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do con- 
 ceive ; 
 And since you do profess to be a suitor. 
 You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
 To whom we all rest generally beholden. 
 
 Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign whereof 
 Please ye we may contrive this afternoon. 
 And quaff carouses to our mistress' health; 
 And do as adversaries do in law, — 
 Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. 
 
 Gru. Bioii. O excellent motion ! Fellows,' let's 
 be gone. 
 
 Hor. The motion's good indeed, and be it so ;— =• 
 Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 ?<CENE I.— ^ Room in Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Katharixa and Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Good sister, wrong mc not, nor wrong 
 J'o make a bondmaid and a shive of me: [yourself. 
 That I disdain ; but foi these other gawds,' 
 Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, 
 Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat ; 
 Or, what you will command me, will I do, 
 So well I know my duty to my elders. 
 
 Kafh. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell 
 Whom thou lov'st best: see thou dissemble not. 
 
 Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive 
 I never yet beheld that special face. 
 Which I could fancy more than any other. 
 
 Kafh. Minion, thou liest; Is't not Hortensio? 
 
 Bian. If you affect' him, sister, here I swear, 
 I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him. 
 
 Kafh. O then, belike, you fancy riches more; 
 You will have Grcmio to keep you fair. 
 
 Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so? 
 Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive. 
 You have but jested with me all this while: 
 I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 
 
 Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. 
 
 [Strikes her. 
 Enter Baptista. 
 
 Bap Why, how now, dame ! whence grows this 
 
 insolence ? 
 
 Bianca, stand aside; — poor girl ! she weeps; — 
 Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. — 
 For shame, thou hilding' of a devilish spirit. 
 Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thecl 
 When did she cross thee with a bitter word ] 
 
 • Trifling ornaments. « Loye. a A worthless woman. 
 
 Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revcng'd. 
 
 [Flies after Bianca. 
 Bap. What, in my sight? — Bianca, get thee in. 
 
 [Exit Bianca. 
 Kath. Will you not suffer mc ? Nay, now I see, 
 She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
 I must dance barefoot on her wedding-day. 
 And, for your love to her, lead apes in helL 
 Talk not to me ; I will go sit and weep. 
 Till I can find occasion of revenge. 
 
 [Exit Kathahina. 
 Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I? 
 But who comes here? 
 
 Enter Ghemio, with Lucentio in the habit of a 
 mean man,- Petruchio, iy///t Hortensio as a 
 musician; anrf Tranio, with BioNDELLofiear- 
 ing a lute and books. 
 
 Gre. Good-morrow, neighbor Baptista. 
 
 Bap. Good-morrow, neighbor Gremio : sare you 
 gentlemen ! 
 
 Pet. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a 
 daughter 
 CalI'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous? 
 
 Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katha.ina 
 
 Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. 
 
 Pet. You wrong me, signior Gremio; give mc 
 leave. — 
 I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, 
 That, — hearing of her beauty, and her wit, 
 Her affability, and bashful modesty. 
 Her wondrous qualities, and mild behavior,— 
 Am bold to show myself a forward gues* 
 Within your house, to make mine eye tne witncM 
 
 * Companions. 
 
858 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act li 
 
 Of that report which I so oft have heard. 
 And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
 I do present you with a man of mine, 
 
 [^Presenting Hoiitensio. 
 Cunning in music, and the mathematics, 
 To instruct her fully in those sciences. 
 Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant: 
 Accept of him, or else you do me wrong; 
 His name is Licio, born in Mantua. 
 
 Bap. You're welcome, sir; and he, for your good 
 sake : 
 But for my daughter Katharine, — this I know. 
 She is not for your turn, the more my grief. 
 
 Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her; 
 Or else you like not of my company. 
 
 Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. 
 Whence are you, sir 1 what may I call your name 1 
 
 Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, 
 A man well known throughout all Italy. 
 
 Bap. I know him well : you are welcome for his 
 
 sake. 
 Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray. 
 Let us that are poor petitioners, speak too : 
 Baccare!* you are marvellous forward. 
 
 Pet. 0, pardon me, signior Gremio ; I would fam 
 
 be doing. 
 Gre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your 
 wooing 
 
 Neighbor, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of 
 it. To express the like kindness myself, that have 
 been more kindly beholden to you than any,! freely 
 give unto you this young scholar {Presenting'Lv- 
 CENTio.] that hath been long studying at Rheims: 
 as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, 
 as the other in music and mathematics: his name 
 is Cambio; pray, accept his service. 
 
 Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio: wel- 
 come, good Cambio.— But, gentle sir, \To Tra- 
 Nic] methinks you walk like a stranger; May I 
 be so bold to know the cause of your coming] 
 
 Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own; 
 That, being a stranger in this city here. 
 Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
 Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous. 
 Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, 
 In the preferment of the eldest sister : 
 This liberty is all that I request, — 
 That, upon knowledge of my parentage, 
 I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, 
 And free access and favor as the rest. 
 And, toward the education of your daughters, 
 I here bestow a simple instrument. 
 And this small packet of Greek and Latin books : 
 If you accept them, then their worth is great. 
 Bap. Luccntio is your name"! of whence, I pray? 
 Tra. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. 
 Bap. A mighty man of Pisa; by report 
 I know him well: you are very welcome, sir. — 
 Take you [To Hon.] the lute, and you [To Luc.] 
 
 tiie set of books. 
 You shall go see your pupils presently. 
 Holla! within! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Sirrah, lead 
 
 These gentlemen to my daughters; and tell them both 
 These are their tutors ; bid them use them well. 
 [Exit Servant, ti>i7A Hortensio, Lccextio, 
 and BioNDELLO. 
 We will go walk a little in the orchard, 
 
 * A proTerbial exclamatien theu in use. 
 
 And then to dinner: You are passing welcome, 
 And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 
 
 Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh hast^ 
 And every day I cannot come to woo. 
 You knew my father well ; and in him, me, 
 Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, 
 Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd: 
 Then tell me,— if I get your daughter's love. 
 What dowry shall I have with her to wifel 
 
 Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands: 
 And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. 
 Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of 
 Her widowhood, — be it that she survive me, — 
 In all my lands and leases whatsoever : 
 Let specialities be therefore drawn between us. 
 That covenants may be kept on either hand. 
 
 Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, 
 This is, — her love ; for that is all in all. 
 
 Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, 
 lam as peremptory as she proud-minded; 
 And where two raging fires meet together. 
 They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: 
 Though little fire grows great with little wind, 
 Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all : 
 So I to her, and so she yields to me ; 
 For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. 
 
 Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy 
 speed ! 
 But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 
 Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for 
 winds. 
 That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 
 
 Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broken. 
 Bap. How now, my friend 1 why dost thou look 
 
 so palel 
 Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. 
 Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mu- 
 sician"! 
 Hor. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier , 
 Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 
 
 Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to tha 
 
 lute] 
 Hor. Why, no ; for she hath broke the lute to me 
 I did but tell her, she mistook her frets,' 
 And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering; 
 When, with a most impatient devilish spirit. 
 Frets, call you these? quoth she: Til fume with 
 
 them: 
 And, with that word, she struck me on the head. 
 And through the instrument my pate made way ; 
 And there I stood amazed for a while. 
 As on a pillory, looking through the lute 
 While she did call mc — rascal fiddler, 
 And— twangling Jack ; with twenty such vile terms, 
 As she had studied to misuse me so. 
 
 Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; 
 I love her ten times more than e'er I did: 
 O, how I long to have some chat with her ! 
 
 Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discom 
 fited: 
 Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; 
 She's apt to learn, and thankful for gocd turns.— 
 Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ; 
 Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you • 
 Pet. I pray you do ; I will attend her here,— 
 
 [Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, 
 and Hortensio. 
 
 I A fret in music is the stop which causes or regulatet 
 the •» 'bration of the string 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 259 
 
 And w 00 her with some spirit when she comes. 
 
 Say, that she rail: M'hy, then I'll tell her plain, 
 
 She sings as sweetly as a nightingale: 
 
 Say, that she frown: I'll say, she looks as clear 
 
 As morning roses newly washd with dew: 
 
 Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word; 
 
 Then I'll commend her volubility, 
 
 And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence : 
 
 If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks. 
 
 As though she bid mc stay by her a week ; 
 
 If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day 
 
 When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. — 
 
 But here sne comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. 
 
 Etiter Kathauina. 
 
 Gcod-morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. 
 
 Kuth. Well have you heard, but something hard 
 of hearing ; 
 Tliey call me — Katharine, that do talk of me. 
 
 I'et. You lie, in faith ; foryou are call'd plain Kate, 
 And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; 
 But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
 Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 
 For dainties are all cates ; and therefore, Kate, 
 Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; — 
 Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, 
 Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
 (Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,) 
 Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. 
 
 Kath. Mov'd! in good time: let him that mov'd 
 you hither. 
 Remove you hence : I knew you at the first, 
 You were a moveable. 
 
 Pet. Why, what's a moveable ? 
 
 Kath. A joint-stool. 
 
 }'et. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me. 
 
 Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 
 
 Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 
 
 Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. 
 
 Pet. Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee : 
 For, knowing thee to be but young and light, — 
 
 Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch ; 
 And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 
 
 Pet. Should be 1 should buz. 
 
 Kuth. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard, [thee ? 
 
 Pet. O, slow-winged turtle ! shall a buzzard take 
 
 Kath. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard. 
 
 Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i'faith,you are too 
 angry. 
 
 Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 
 
 Pet. My remedy is then to pluck it out. 
 
 Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. 
 
 Pit. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear 
 h, his tail. [his sting] 
 
 KatK. In his tongue. 
 
 Pet. Whose tongue 1 
 
 Kath. Yours, if )'0u talk of tails ; and so farewell. 
 
 Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail 1 nay, 
 Good Kate ; I am a gentleman. [come again, 
 
 Kath. That I'll try. [Striking him. 
 
 I'et. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. 
 Kath. So may you lose your arms : 
 If you strike me, you are no gentleman; 
 ,^nd if no gentleman, why, then no arms. 
 
 Pet. A herald, Kate] O, put me in thy books. 
 Kath. What is your crest ] a coxcomb ] 
 Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. 
 fi'ai^. INo cock of mine, you crow too like a 
 cra^!n.' 
 
 • A doeenerate cock. 
 
 Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not loolf 
 so sour. 
 
 Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. 
 
 Pet. Why here's no crab : and theref.ire look nd 
 sour. 
 
 Kath. There is, there is. 
 
 Pet. Then show it me. 
 
 Kath. Had I a glass, t would 
 
 Pet. What, you mean my face] 
 
 Kath. Well aim'd of such a young rne. 
 
 Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for 
 J'ou. 
 
 Kath. Yet you are wither 'd. 
 
 Pet. 'Tis w:'th cares. 
 
 Kath. I care not. 
 
 Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth, you 'scaf»e 
 not so. 
 
 Kath. I chafe you, if I tany ; let me go. 
 
 Pet. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle. 
 'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen, 
 And now I find report a very liar; 
 For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous; 
 But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-tirne flowers : 
 Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, 
 Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ; 
 Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk; 
 But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers; 
 With gentle conference, soft and ailkble. 
 Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp '' 
 
 slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazle-twig. 
 Is straight and slender; and as brown in hue 
 As hazlc-nuts, and sweeter than the Icerncls. 
 0, let me sec thee walk: thou dost not halt. 
 
 Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st commanil 
 
 Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove, 
 As Kate this chamber with her princely gait 1 
 O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; 
 And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful! 
 
 Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech] 
 
 Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. 
 
 Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son. 
 
 Pet. Ami not wise ] 
 
 Kath. Yes ; keep you warra. 
 
 Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy 
 And therefore, setting all this chat aside, [bed : 
 Thus in plain terms : — Your father hath consented 
 That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed on; 
 And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. 
 Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; 
 For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, 
 (Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,) 
 Thou must be married to no man but me : 
 For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate ; 
 And bring you fi-om a wild-cat to a Kate 
 Conformable, as other household Kates. 
 Here comes your father ; never make denial ; 
 
 1 must and will have Katharine to my wife. 
 
 Re-enter Baptista, Guemio, and Tranio. 
 
 13 a p. Now, 
 Signior Petru<'hio: How speed you with 
 My daughter ] 
 
 Pet. How but well, sir ] how but well • 
 
 It were impossible I should speed amiss. 
 
 Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine] u| 
 your dumps] 
 
 Kath. Call you mo, daughter ] now I promise you 
 You have show'd a tender fatherly regai J, 
 To wish me wed to one half lunatic; 
 A mad-cap ruflian, and a swearing Jack, 
 That thinks with oaths to face the matter ou» 
 
260 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Pet. Father, 'tis tlius, — yourself and all the world, 
 That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her ; 
 If she be curst, it is for policy: 
 For she's not froward, but modest as the dove, 
 She is net hot, but temperate as the morn; 
 For patience she will prove a second Grisscl ; 
 And Roman Lucrece for her chastity: 
 And to conclude,— we have 'greed so well together, 
 That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 
 
 Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 
 
 Gre. Hark, Petruchio! she says, she'll see thee 
 hang'd first. 
 
 Tra. Is this your speeding] nay, then, good 
 night our part ! 
 
 Pet. Be patient, gentlemen! I choose her for 
 myself; 
 If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you 1 
 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, 
 That she shall still be curst in company. 
 1 tell you 'tis incredible to believe 
 How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate! 
 She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss 
 She vied'' so fast, protesting oath on oath, 
 That in a twink she won me to her love. 
 O, you arc novices ! 'tis a world to see,' 
 How tame, when men and women are alone, 
 A meacock' wretch can make the curstest shrew. 
 Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, 
 To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day : — 
 Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests ; 
 I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine, [hands ; 
 
 Bap. I know not what to say ; give me your 
 Heaven send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match. 
 
 Gre. Tra. Amen, say we ; we will be witnesses. 
 
 Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu ; 
 I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace : 
 We will have rings, and things, and fine array ; 
 And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday. 
 
 {^Exeunt Petruchio, and Katharina, severally. 
 
 Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly ? 
 
 Bap. 'Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's 
 And venture madly on a desperate mart. [part, 
 
 Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you : 
 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 
 
 Bap. The gain I seek is — quiet in the match. 
 
 Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. 
 But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter ; — 
 Now is the day we long have looked for ; 
 I am your neighbor, and was suitor first. 
 
 Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more 
 Than words can witness,or your thoughts can guess. 
 
 Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear as I. 
 
 Tra. Grey-beard ! thy love doth freeze. 
 
 Gre. But thine doth fry. 
 
 Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age that nourisheth. 
 
 Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth. 
 
 Bap. Content you, gentlemen ; I'll compound 
 this strife : 
 'Tis deeds must win the prize ; and he, of both, 
 That can assure my daughter greatest dower 
 Shall have Bianca's love. — 
 Say, signior Gremio, what can you assure her ? 
 
 Gre. First, as you know, my house within the city 
 s richly furnished with plate and gold ; 
 Basins, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands; 
 My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry : 
 In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns ; 
 
 ' To vye and revye were terms at cards, now superseded 
 by the word brag. 
 » It is well worth seeing. » A dastardly creature. 
 
 In cypress chests my arms, counterpoints,' 
 Costly apparel, tents and canopies. 
 Fine linen, Turkey cushions, boss'd with pearl, 
 Valance of Venice gold in needle-work. 
 Pewter and brass, and all things that belong 
 To house, or housekeeping: then, at my farm, 
 I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, 
 Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls, 
 And all things answerable to this portion. 
 Myself am struck in years, I must confess; 
 And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers, 
 If whilst I live, she will be only mine. 
 
 Tra. That, only, came well in Sir, list lo inc 
 
 I am my father's heir, and only son: 
 
 If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
 
 I'll leave her houses three or four as good, 
 
 Within rich Pisa wails, as any one 
 
 Old signior Gremio has in Padua; 
 
 Besides two thousand ducats by the year, 
 
 Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.— 
 
 What, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio? 
 
 Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land. 
 My land amounts not to so much in all: 
 That she shall have; besides an argosy,^ 
 
 That now is lying in Marseilles' road: 
 
 What, have I chok'd you with an argosy ] 
 
 Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no lest 
 Than three great argosies ; besides two galiiasscs,* 
 And twelve tight gallics: these I will assure her, 
 And twice as much, whate'cr thou offer'st next. 
 
 Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more; 
 And she can have no more than all I have; 
 If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 
 
 Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the 
 world, 
 By your firm promise ; Gremio is out-vied. 
 
 Bap. I must confess, your offer is the best: 
 And, let your father make her the assurance. 
 She is your own; else, you must pardon me: 
 II' you should die before him, where's her dower 1 
 
 Tra. That's but a cavil ; he is old, I young. 
 
 Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old ! 
 
 Bap. Well, gentlemen, 
 I am thus resolv'd : — On Sunday next you know. 
 My daughter Katharine is to be married : 
 Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
 Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; 
 If not, to signior Gremio : 
 And so I take my leave, and thank you both. 
 
 lExit, 
 
 Gre. Adieu, good neighbor. — Now I fear the* 
 not; 
 Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool 
 To give thee all, and in his waning age, 
 Set foot under thy table: Tut! a toy! 
 An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. \_ExiL 
 
 Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide ! 
 Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.* 
 'Tis in my head to do my master good : 
 I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio 
 Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio. 
 And that's a wonder : fathers, commonly, 
 Do get their children; but, in this case of 
 
 wooing, 
 A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning 
 
 [^Exit. 
 
 > Coverings for beds; now called counterpane?. 
 
 a A large merchant-ship. 
 
 » A vessel of burthen worked both with sails and oara 
 
 * The highest card. 
 
feCEBfE 1. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 261 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Baptista's House. 
 Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. 
 
 Luc. Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too forward, sir; 
 Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
 Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal ' 
 
 Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is 
 The patroness of heavenly harmony ; 
 Then give me leave to have prerogative ; 
 And when in music we have spent an hour. 
 Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 
 
 Luc. Preposterous ass ! that never read so far 
 To know the cause why music was ordain'd ! 
 Was it not, to refresh the mind of man, 
 After his studies, or his usual pain 1 
 Then give me leave to read philosophy. 
 And while I pause, serve in your harmony. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. 
 
 Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong. 
 To strive for that which resteth in my choice : 
 I am no breeching scholar' in the schools; 
 I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times. 
 But learn my lessons as I please myself. 
 And to cut off all strife, here sit we down : — 
 Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; 
 His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd. 
 
 Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? 
 [To Bianca. — Houtensio retires. 
 
 Luc. That will be never ; tune your instrument. 
 
 Bian. Where left we lastl 
 
 Luc, Here, madam : 
 Hac ibat Simois.- hie est Sigeia tellus: 
 Hie steterat Priarni regia ceka senis. 
 
 Bian. Construe them. 
 
 Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, — Simois, I 
 am Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of 
 Pisa, — Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your 
 love ; — Hie steterat, and that Lucentio that comes 
 a wooing, — Priami, is my man Tranio, — regia, 
 bearing my port, — celsa senis, that we might be- 
 guile the old pantaloon.' 
 
 Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. 
 
 [Returning. 
 
 Bian. Let's hear; [Hortensio plays. 
 
 fye ! the treble jars. 
 
 Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tunc again. 
 Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : Hac 
 ibat Simois, I know you not ; hie est Sigeia tellus, 
 
 1 trust you not ; — Hie steterat Priami, take heed 
 he hear us not; — reg-/a, presume not; — eelsa senis, 
 despair not. 
 
 Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. 
 
 Ltic. All but the base. 
 
 Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that 
 jars. 
 How fiery and forward our pedant is ! 
 Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love : 
 Pedascule* I'll watch you better yet. 
 
 Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 
 
 Luc. Mistrust it not; for sure, ^^5acides 
 Was Ajax, — call'd so from his grandfather. 
 
 Bian. I must believe my master; else I promise 
 I should be arguing still upon that doubt: [yiu, 
 But let it rest. — Now, Licio, to yv^u : — 
 
 'Xo i!chool-boy, liable to bo whipfcd. 
 » The old cully in Italian farces. 
 
 18 
 
 * recl:iiit. 
 
 Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray. 
 That I have been thus pleasan with you both. 
 Hor. You may go walk, [7b Lx'centio.] and 
 give me leave awliile : 
 My lessons make no music in three parts. 
 
 Luc. Are you so formal, sirl well, I must wait, 
 And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd. 
 Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside 
 
 Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, 
 To learn the order of my fingering, 
 I must begin the rudiments of art; 
 To teach you gamut in a briefer sort. 
 More pleasant, pithy, and effectual. 
 Than hath been taught by any of my trade ; 
 And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 
 
 Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. 
 Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 
 Bian. [Reads."] Gam ut I am, the ground of all 
 accord, 
 A re, to plead Hortensio' s passion,- 
 B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, 
 C faut, that laves ivith all affection; 
 D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I.- 
 E la mi, shoiv pity, or I die. 
 Call you this — gamut 1 tut! I like it not: 
 Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice. 
 To change true rules for odd inventions. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave youi 
 books. 
 And help to dress your sister's chamber up; 
 You know, to-morrow is the wedding day. 
 
 Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both ; I must be 
 gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant 
 Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to 
 stay. [Exit. 
 
 Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant; 
 Methinks, he looks as though he were in love : — 
 Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble. 
 To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale,' 
 Seize thee, that list: If once I find thee ranging, 
 Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE U.— Before Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Baptista, Ghemio, Tranio, Kathahina, 
 Bianca, Lucentio, and Attendants. 
 
 B'ip. Signior Lucentio, [To Thanic] this i» 
 the 'pointed day 
 That Katharine and Petruchio should be married. 
 And yet we hear not of our son-in-law: 
 What will be said? what mockery will it be, 
 To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends 
 To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage? 
 What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? 
 
 Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, \>t 
 forced 
 To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart. 
 Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen:' 
 Who wooM in ha.ste, and means to wed at leisure 
 I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, 
 Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior: 
 
 s Bsiit, decoy. 
 
 < Caprice, incon8tan<9. 
 
262 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Acr III. 
 
 And, to be noted for a merry man, 
 He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, 
 Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns ; 
 Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
 Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
 And say, — Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, 
 If it would please him come and marry her. 
 
 Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista,t(>3; 
 Upon my life, Petruchio means but well. 
 Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
 Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; 
 Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. 
 
 Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him 
 though ! 
 [Exit, iveeping, followed by Bianca, and others. 
 
 Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep ; 
 For such an injury would vex a saint, 
 Much more a shrew of thy impatient humor. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 Bion. Master, master ! news, old news, and such 
 news as you never heard of ! 
 
 Bap. Is it new and old tool how may that be? 
 
 Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's 
 Eoming 1 
 
 Bap. Is he come 1 
 
 Bion. Why, no, sir. 
 
 Bap. What then : 
 
 Bion. fle is coming. 
 
 Bap. When will he be here? 
 
 Bion. W^hen he stands where I am, and sees you 
 •here. 
 
 Tra. But, say, what: — To thine old news. 
 
 Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and 
 an old jerkin ; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned, 
 a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buc- 
 kled, another laced ; an old rusty sword ta'en out of 
 the town armory, with a broken hilt and chapeless ; 
 with two broken points: His horse hipped with an 
 old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred : besides, 
 possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the 
 ■ chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the 
 fashions,'' full of wind-galls, sped with spavins, raicd 
 with the yellows, past cure of the fives,' stark spoiled 
 with the staggers, begnawn with the bots ; swayed 
 in the back, and shoulder-shotten ; ne'er-legg'd be- 
 fore, and with a half-check'd bit, and a head-stall 
 of sheep's leather ; which, being restrained to keep 
 him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and 
 now repaired with knots : one girt six times pieced, 
 and a woman's crupper of velure,' which hath two 
 letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and 
 here and there pieced with packthread. 
 
 Bap. Who comes with him ? 
 
 Bion. O, sir, his lacquey, for all the world capa- 
 risoned like the horse; with a linen stock' on one 
 leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered 
 with a red and blue list ; an old hat, and The humor 
 of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather : a monster, 
 a very monster in apparel; and not like a Christian 
 footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis some odd humor pricks him to this 
 fashion ; 
 Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. 
 Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes. 
 Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 
 Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes? 
 
 » Farcy. 
 
 • Vives ; a distempdr in horses, little differing from the 
 »trangles. 
 
 • Velvet > Stocking. 
 
 Bion. Who? that Petruchio came? 
 
 Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. 
 
 Bion. No, sir ; I say, his horse comes with him 
 on his back. 
 
 Bap. Why, that's all one. 
 
 Bion. Nay, by saint Jamy, I hold you a peimy, 
 A horse and a man is more than one, and yet no* 
 many. 
 
 Enter Petruchio and GnuMio. 
 
 Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who is at 
 home? 
 
 Bap. You are welcome, sir. 
 
 Pet. And yet I come not well. 
 
 Bap. And yet you halt not. 
 
 Tra. Not so well appaieli'd 
 
 As I wish you were. 
 
 Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus. 
 But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? — 
 How does my father? — Gentles, methinks you 
 
 frown : 
 And wherefore gaze this goodly company ; 
 As if they saw some wondrous mo^ vment, 
 Some comet, or unusual prodigy ? 
 
 j5g/7. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: 
 First were we sad, fearing you would not come ; 
 Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 
 Fyc ! doff this habit, shame to your estate. 
 An eye-sore to our solemn festival. 
 
 Tra, And tell us, what occasion of import 
 Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife. 
 And sent you hither so unlike yourself? 
 
 Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: 
 SufKceth, I am come to keep my word, 
 Though in some part enforced to digress; 
 Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse 
 As you shall well be satisfied withal. 
 But, where is Kate? I stay too long from her; 
 The morning wears, 'tio time we were at church. 
 
 Tra. See not jour bride in these unreverent robes: 
 Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. 
 
 Pet. Not I, believe me ; thus I'll visit her. 
 
 Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 
 
 Pet. Good sooth, even thus ; therefore have done 
 with words; 
 To me she's married, not unto my clothea 
 Could I repair what she will wear in me. 
 As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. 
 But what a fool am I, to chat with you, 
 When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, 
 And seal the title with a lovely kiss ! 
 \_Exeu7it Petruchio, Grumio, and'Bio'si-iT.TA.o- 
 
 Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire; 
 We will persuade him, be it possible. 
 To put on better ere he go to church. 
 
 Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. 
 
 {Exit 
 
 Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to add 
 Her father's liking: Which to bring to pass. 
 As I before imparted to your worship, 
 I am to get a man, — whate'er he be, 
 It skills'^ not much; we'll fit him to our turn, • 
 And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa; 
 And make assurance, here in Padua, 
 Of greater sums than I have promised. 
 So shall you quietly enjoy your hope. 
 And marry sweet Bianca with consent. 
 
 Lwc. Were it not that my fellow-schoolmMteB 
 
 " Matters. 
 
SCENK II 
 
 TAMING OF THL SHREW. 
 
 263 
 
 Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 
 'Twcre gooj, methinks, to steal our marriage ; 
 Which once perform'd, let all the world say, — no, 
 V\\ keep mine own, despite of all the world. 
 
 Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into. 
 And watch our vantage in this business; 
 We'll over-reach the grey-beard, Gremio; 
 The narrow-prying father, Minola; 
 The quaint' musician, amorous Licio; 
 All for my master's sake, Lucentio. — 
 
 Re-enter Gremio. 
 
 Signior Gremio, came you from the church 1 
 
 G-rc. As willingly as e'er I came from school. 
 
 Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming 
 home I 
 
 Gre. A bridegroom say youl 'tis a groom, indeed, 
 A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 
 
 Tra. Curster than shel why, 'tis impossible. 
 
 Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 
 
 Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. 
 
 Gre. Tut! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. 
 I'll tell you, sir Lucentio: When the priest 
 Should ask — if Katharine should be his wife. 
 Ay, by gogs-wouns, quoth he; and swore so loud. 
 That, all amazed, the priest let fall the book: 
 And, as he stoop'd again to take it up. 
 The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cufF, 
 That down fell priest and book, and book and priest; 
 Now fake them up, quoth he, if any list. 
 
 Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again? 
 
 Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why,hestamp'd, 
 and swore, 
 As if the vicar meant to cozen him. 
 But after many ceremonies done, 
 He calls for wine : — A health, quoth he ; as if 
 He had been aboard carousing to his mates 
 After a storm: — Quaff 'd off the muscadel,* 
 And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
 Having no other reason, — 
 But that his beard grew thin and hungerly, 
 And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. 
 This done, he took the bride about the neck; 
 And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack, 
 That, at the parting, all the church did echo. 
 I, seeing this, came thence for very shame ; 
 And, after me, I know the route is coming; 
 Such a mad maniage never was before : 
 Hark, hark ! I hear the minstrels play. [^Music. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, KAXHAniNA, Bianca, Bap- 
 TisTA, HoRTENsio, Grumio, atid Train. 
 
 Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for 
 your pains: 
 f know, you think to dine with me to-day, 
 And have prcpar'd great store of wedding cheer; 
 But so it is, my haste doth call me hence. 
 And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 
 
 Bap. Is't possible, you will away to-night? 
 
 Pet. I must away to-day, before night come: — 
 Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, 
 Vou would entreat me rather go than stay; 
 And, honest company, I thank you all. 
 That have beheld me give away myself 
 To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife : 
 
 ' Strnnge. 
 
 « It was (he custom for the company present to drink 
 »iue immediately after the marriage ceremony. 
 
 Dine with my father, drink a nealth to me ; 
 For I must hence: and farewell to you all. 
 
 Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 
 
 Pet. It may not be. 
 
 Gre. Let me entreat yon 
 
 Pet. It cannot be. 
 
 Kath. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Pet. I am content. 
 
 Kath. Are you content to stay 1 
 
 Pet. I am content you shall entreat nie stay : 
 But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 
 
 Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. 
 
 Pet. Grumio, my 1 orscs 
 
 Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready ; the oats have f aten 
 the horses. 
 
 Kath. Nay, then. 
 Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; 
 No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
 The door is open, sir, there lies your way. 
 You may be jogging, whiles your boots are green ; 
 For me, I'll not be gone, till I please myself: — 
 'Tis like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom, 
 That take it on you at the first so roundly. 
 
 Pet. O, Kate, content thee ; pr'y thee be not angry. 
 
 Kath. I will be angry : What hast thou to do T 
 Father, be quiet: he shall stay my leisure. 
 
 Gre. Ay, marry, sir: now it begins to work. 
 
 Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: — 
 I see, a woman may be made a fool, 
 If she had not a spirit to resist 
 
 Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy com 
 Obey the bride, you that attend on her : [mand . 
 Go to the feast, revel and domineer, 
 Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, 
 Be mad and merry, — or go hang yourselves; 
 But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. 
 Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; 
 I will be master of what is mine own : 
 She is my goods, my chattels; she is my houa*" 
 My household stuff, my field, my barn. 
 My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; 
 And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; 
 I'll bring my action on the proudest he 
 That stops my way in Padua. — Grumio, 
 Draw forth thy weapon; we're beset with thieves^ 
 Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : — 
 Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, 
 
 Kate: 
 I'll buckler thee against a million. 
 
 [Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, a7id 
 Grumio. 
 
 Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
 
 Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with 
 laughing. 
 
 Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like! 
 
 Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister ! 
 
 Bian. That being mad herself, she's madly mated. 
 
 Gre. I wanant him, Petruchio is Kated. 
 
 Bap. Neighbors and friends, though bride and 
 bridegroom wants 
 For to supply the places at the table, 
 You know, there wants no junkets' at the feast; — 
 Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place 
 And let Bianca take her sister's room. 
 
 Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride itt 
 
 Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemea 
 let's go. [Exeunt 
 
 > Delicacies 
 
264 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Ac? IV 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 BCEXE I.— A Hall in VcixwcUd'aCountry House. 
 Enter Grumio. 
 
 i^tvu. Fye, fye, on all tired jades, on all mad 
 m;istcrs, and all foul ways ! Was ever man so 
 beaten 1 was ever man so rayed ?° was ever man so 
 weary ? I am sent before to make a fire, and they 
 are coming after to warm them. Now, were I not 
 a little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze 
 to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, 
 my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire 
 to thaw me : — But, I, with blowing the fire, shall 
 warm myself: for, considering the weather, a taller 
 man than I will take cold. Holla, hoa ! Curtis ! 
 Enter CcRTlS. 
 
 Curt, Who is that, calls so coldly 1 
 
 Gru. A piece of ice : If thou doubt it, thou mayst 
 elide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater a 
 run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? 
 
 Gru. 0, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, fire ; 
 cast on no water. 
 
 Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported ] 
 
 Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost ; 
 but, thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and 
 beast ; for it hath tamed my old master, and my 
 new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no beast. 
 
 Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a 
 foot ; and so long am I, at the least. But wilt thou 
 make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mis- 
 h-ess, whose hand (she being now at hand) thou 
 shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow 
 in thy hot office ] 
 
 Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, how 
 goes the world 1 
 
 Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; 
 and, therefore, fire : Do thy duty, and have thy duty; 
 for my master and mistress are almost fi-ozen to death. 
 
 Cii^-t. There's fire ready : And therefore, good 
 Grumio, the news 1 
 
 Gru. Why, Jack boy ! ho boy ! and as much 
 news as thou wilt. 
 
 Curt. Come, you are so full of conycatching : — 
 
 Gru. Why, therefore, fire ; for I have caught ex- 
 treme cold. Where's the cook ? is supper ready, 
 the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept ; 
 the sen'ing men in their new fustian, their white 
 stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment 
 on 1 Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, 
 the carpets laid, and every thing in order ? 
 
 Curt. All ready ; and therefore, I pray thee, news? 
 
 Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master 
 %iA mistress fallen out. 
 
 Curt. How ? 
 
 Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt ; And 
 thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. 
 
 Gru. Lend thine ear. 
 
 Curt. Here. 
 
 Gru. There. \Str'iking Mm. 
 
 Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 
 
 Cri-u. And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale: 
 and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and 
 beseech listening. Now I begin : Imprimis, we 
 
 e Striped. 
 
 came down a foul hill, my master rlniing behind mj 
 mistress : — 
 
 Curt. Both on one horse? 
 
 Gru. What's that to thee ? 
 
 Curt. Why, a horse. 
 
 Gru. Tell thou the tale : But hadst thou nol 
 
 crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse 
 fell, and she under her horse ; thou shouldst hava 
 heard in how miry a place : how she was bemoiled;' 
 how he left her with the horse upon her ; how he 
 beat me because her horse stumbled ; how she waded 
 through the dirt to pluck him off me ; how he swore-, 
 how she prayed— that never prayed before ; how 
 I cried ; how the horses ran away ; how her bridle 
 was burst; how I lost my crupper;— with many 
 things of worthy memory ; which now shall die in 
 oblivion, and tbou retumunexperienced tothy gra-ve. 
 
 Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than 
 she. 
 
 Gru. Ay; and that, thoti and the proudest of 
 you all shall find, when he comes home. But what 
 talk I of this? — call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, 
 Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest i 
 let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats 
 brushed, and their garters of an indifferent' knit: 
 let them curtsey with their left legs ; and not pre- 
 sume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, till 
 they kiss their hands. Are they all ready? 
 
 Curt. They are. 
 
 Gru. Call them forth. 
 
 Curt. Do you hear, ho ! you must meet my 
 master, to countenance my mistress. 
 
 Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 
 
 Curt. Who knows not that? 
 
 Gru. Thou, it seems ; that callest for company 
 to countenance her. 
 
 Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 
 
 Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them 
 
 Enter several Servants. 
 
 Nath. Welcome liome, Grumio, 
 
 Phil. How now, Grumio ? 
 
 Jos. W^hat, Grumio ! 
 
 Nich. Fellow Grumio I 
 
 Nath. How now, old lad I 
 
 Gru. Welcome, you ; — how now, you ; — what, 
 you ; — fellow, you — and thus much for greeting 
 Now, my spruce companions, is all eady and all 
 things neat? 
 
 Nath. All things are ready : How near is oui 
 master? 
 
 Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and there- 
 
 fore be not Cock's passion, silence ! 1 bear 
 
 my master. 
 
 Enter Petruchio and Katharina. 
 
 Pet. Where be these knaves ? What, no man a I 
 To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse ! [door 
 Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip ? 
 
 All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir. 
 
 Pet. Here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir !— ■ 
 You logger-headed and unpohsh'd grooms ! 
 What, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ?— 
 Where is the foohsh knave I sent before ? 
 
 Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before. 
 I Bemired. • Not different one from ths other. 
 
Scene II 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 26^ 
 
 Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt- 
 horse drudge ! 
 Did I not bid thee meet me in the park. 
 And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? 
 
 Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made. 
 And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel; 
 There was no link' to color Peter's hat, 
 And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing: 
 There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gre- 
 gory; 
 The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; 
 Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. 
 
 ^et. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. — 
 
 [Exeunt some of the Servants. 
 
 Where is the life that late I led — [Sings. 
 
 Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome. 
 
 Soud, soud, soud ! ' 
 
 Re-enter Servants luith Supper. 
 Why, when, I say ? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be 
 
 merry. 
 Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains 
 When 1 
 
 It wa^ the friar of orders gray, [Sings. 
 
 As he forth walked on his way: — 
 Out, out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot a^vry ; 
 Take that, and mend Uie plucking off the othei. — 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 Be merry, Kate : — Some water, here; what, ho ! — 
 Where's my spaniel Troilus? — Sirrah, get you 
 
 hence, 
 .\nd bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: — 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 <^ne, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted 
 
 with. — 
 Where are my slippers ? — shall I have some waterl 
 [A basin is presented to him. 
 Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily : — 
 [Servant kts the ewer fall. 
 You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ? 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 Kath. Patience, I pray you ; 'twais a fault un- 
 willing. 
 Pet. A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! 
 Come, Kate; sit down ; I know you have a stomach. 
 Will you give thanks, sweet Kate ; or else shall II' — 
 What is this ? mutton 1 
 1 Serv. Ay. 
 
 Pet. Who brought it 1 
 
 1 Serv. I. 
 
 Pet. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat; 
 What dogs are these? — Where is the rascal cook 1 
 How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, 
 And serve it thus to me that love it Jioti 
 There, take it to you, trenchers, cups and all : 
 
 [Throws the meat, Sic. about the stas;e. 
 You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves ! 
 What, do you grumble] I'll be with you straight. 
 Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet ; 
 The meat was well, if you were so contented. 
 
 Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away ; 
 ^nd I expressly am forbid to touch it. 
 For it engenders choler, planteth anger; 
 And better 'twere, that both of us did fast, — 
 Since of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, — 
 Than feed it with such ovcr-roastcd flesh. 
 Be patient; to-morrow it shall be mended, 
 
 • A torch of pitch. 
 
 « A word coined by Shakspeare to express the noise 
 Cide bf « person heated and fatigued. 
 
 And, for this night, we'll fast for conpany: 
 Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt Pkthuchio, Kathahina, and 
 Curtis. 
 Nath. [Advancing.'\ Peter, didst ever see the like^ 
 Peter. He kills her in her own humor 
 
 Re-enter Curtis^ 
 
 Gi-u. Where is he ? 
 
 Curt. In her chamber. 
 Making a sermon of continency to her : 
 And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, poor soul, 
 Knows not which way to stand, to look, to spetk; 
 And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
 Away, away! for he is coming hither. [F4xcx»nt. 
 
 Re-enter Pktruchio. 
 
 Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, 
 And 'tis my hope to end successfully : 
 My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty ; 
 And till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged, 
 For then she never looks upon her lure.^ 
 Another way have I to man my haggard,' 
 To make her come, and know her keeper's call, 
 That is, — to watch her, as we watch these kites, 
 That bate,' and beat, and will not be obedient. 
 She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ; 
 Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not ■. 
 As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
 I'll find about the making of the beil; 
 And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, 
 This way the coverlet, another way the sheets ••- 
 Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend,'* 
 That all is done in reverend care of her; 
 And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night : 
 And, if she chance to nod, I'll rail and brawl, 
 And with the clamor keep her still awake. 
 This is the way to kill a wife with kindness ; 
 And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong hu« 
 
 mor : — 
 He that knows better how to tame a shrew, 
 Now let him speak; 'tis charity to shew. [Exit 
 
 SCENE II.— Padua. Before Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Tranio crwf/HoRXENsio. 
 
 Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca 
 Doth fancy any other but Lucentio ? 
 I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 
 
 Hur, Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said. 
 Stand by, and mark the manner of his leaching. 
 
 [They stand aside. 
 
 Enter Biaxca and Ldcentio. 
 
 Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read I 
 Bian. What, master, read you 1 first resolve ma 
 
 that. 
 Luc. I read that I profess, the art of love. 
 Bian. And may j'ou prove, sir, master cf your 
 
 art! 
 Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress if 
 
 my heart. [They retire* 
 
 Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell me, I 
 
 pray. 
 You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca 
 Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. 
 
 * A thing stuffed to look like the game which the hawM 
 was to pursue. 
 ' To tame my wild hawk. 
 « Flutter. » Pretend. 
 
S66 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Tru. despiteful love! unconstant woman- 
 kind ; — 
 I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 
 
 Hor. Mistake no more: I am not Licio, 
 Nor a musician as I seem to be; 
 But one that scorn to live in this disguise, 
 For such a one as leaves a gentleman, 
 And makes a god of such a cullion : * 
 Know, sir, that I am call'd — Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard 
 Of your entire affection to Bianca; 
 And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, 
 I will with you, — if you be so contented, — 
 Forswear Bianca and her love lor ever. 
 
 Hor. Sec, how they kiss and court! — Signior Lu- 
 Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow — [centio. 
 Never to woo her more ; but to forswear her, 
 As one unworthy all the former favors 
 That I have fondly flattered her withal. 
 
 Ira. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, — 
 Ne'er to marry with her, though she would entreat : 
 Fie on her ! see, how beastly she doth court him. 
 
 Hor. Would all the world, but he, had quite for- 
 For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, [sworn ! 
 I will be married to a wealthy widow. 
 Ere three days pass ; which hath as long lov'd me, 
 As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard: 
 And so farewell, signior Lucentio. — 
 Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks. 
 Shall win my love — and so I take my leave, 
 In resolution as I swore before. 
 
 [_Exii HoiiTENsio. — Lucentio a7id Bianca 
 adva7ice. 
 
 Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace 
 As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case ! 
 Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love ; 
 And have forsworn you with Hortensio. 
 
 Bia7i. Tranio, you jest: But have you both for- 
 sworn me 1 
 
 Tra. Mistress, we have. 
 
 Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. 
 
 Tra. I'faith, he'll have a lusty widow now. 
 That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 
 
 Bian. God give him joy ! 
 
 Ti-a. Ay, and he'll tame her. 
 
 Bian. He says so, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. 
 
 Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such a 
 place 1 
 
 Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master ; 
 That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, — 
 To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue. 
 
 Eiiter BioNDELLO, rimning. 
 
 Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so long 
 That I'm dog-weary ; but at last I spied 
 An ancient angel ' coming down the hill, 
 Will serve the turn. 
 
 Tra. What is he, Biondello ? 
 
 Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant,' 
 I know not what; but formal in apparel. 
 In gait and countenance surely like a father. 
 
 Luc. And what of him, Tranio 7 
 
 Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, 
 I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio ; 
 And give assurance to Baptista Minola, 
 As if he were the right Vincentio. 
 Take in your love, and then let me alone. 
 
 [Exeunt LtriENTio and Bianca. 
 
 • Despicable fellow. ' Messenger. 
 
 * A mercbaut or a schoolmaster. 
 
 Enter a Pedant. 
 
 Fed. God save you, sir ! 
 
 Tra. And you, sir ! you are welcomis 
 
 Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest ? 
 
 Fed. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two 
 But then up further; and as far as Rome; 
 And so to 'fripoly, if God lend me life. 
 
 Tra. What countryman, I pray 1 
 
 Fed. Of Mantua. 
 
 Tra. Of Mantua, sirl — marry, God forbid ! 
 And come to Padua, careless of your life ? 
 
 Fed. My life, sir ! how, I pray 1 for that goes hai d 
 
 Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua 
 To come to Padua ; Know you not the cause ? 
 Your ships are staid at Venice ; and the duke 
 (For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him) 
 Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly : 
 'Tis marvel ; but that you're but newly come, 
 You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 
 
 Fed. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so; 
 For I have bills for money by exchange 
 From Florence, and must here deliver them- 
 
 T?-«. Well, sir, to do you courtesy. 
 This will I do, and this will I advise you; 
 First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisal 
 
 Fed. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been; 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
 
 Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentiol 
 
 Fed. I know him not, but I have heard of him ; 
 A merchant of incomparable wealth. 
 
 Tra. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say. 
 In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 
 
 Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and 
 all one. [A.sidc, 
 
 Tra. To save your life in this extremity, 
 This favor will I do you for his sake ; 
 And think it not the worst of all your fortunes, 
 That you are like to sir Vincentio. 
 His name and credit shall you undertake. 
 And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd;- 
 Look, that you take upon you as you should ; 
 You understand me, sir; — so shall you stay 
 Till you have done your business in the city. 
 If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 
 
 Fed. O, sir, I do ; and will repute you ever 
 The patron of my life and liberty. 
 
 Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter goo i. 
 This, by the way, I let you understand ; 
 My father is here look'd for every day. 
 To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : 
 In all these circumstances I'll instruct you : 
 Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you- 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room in Pe. uchio's House. 
 
 E7iter Katharina and Gupmio. 
 
 Gru. No, no, forsooth : I dare not for my life. 
 
 Kaih. The more my wrong, the more his spite 
 appears : 
 What, did he marry me to famish ine 1 
 Beggars, that come unto my father's door. 
 Upon entreaty, have a present alms ; 
 If not, elsewhere they meet with charity : 
 But I, — who never knew how to entreat. 
 Nor never needed that I should entreat, — 
 Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; 
 With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed 
 And that which spites me more than all thew wanta 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 261 
 
 He docs it under name of perfect love ; 
 
 As who should say, — If I should sleep, or eat, 
 
 Twero deadly sickness, or else present death. — 
 
 I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast; 
 
 I care not what, so it be wholesome food. 
 
 Grti. What say you to a neat's footi 
 
 Kalh. 'Tis passing good ; I pr'ythee let me have it. 
 
 Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat: — 
 How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd] 
 
 Kath. I like it well ; good Giumio, fetch it me. 
 
 Gru. I cannot tell ; I fear 'tis choleric. 
 What S37 you to a piece of beef, and mustard 1 
 
 Ktsth, A dish that I do love to feed upon. 
 
 Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 
 
 Kath Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest. 
 
 Gru. Nay, then I will not ; you shall have the 
 mustard, 
 Or else you get no beef of Grumio. 
 
 Kath. Then both or one, or any thing thou wilt. 
 
 Gru. Why then the mustard without the beef 
 
 Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding 
 slave, [Beats him. 
 
 That feed'st me with the very name of meat: 
 Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you, 
 That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
 Go, get thee gone, I say. 
 
 Enter Petruchio w///i a dish of meat; and 
 
 HOHTENSIO. 
 
 Pet. How fares my Kate 1 What, sweeting, all 
 amort 1 ' 
 
 Hor. Mistress, what cheer 1 
 
 Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. 
 
 Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. 
 Here, love ; thou seest how diligent I am, 
 To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee ; 
 
 \_Sets the dish on a table. 
 I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. 
 What, not a word? Nay then, thou lov'st it not; 
 And all my pains is sorted to no proof: — 
 Here, take away this dish. 
 
 Kath. 'Pray you, let it stand. 
 
 Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks ; 
 And so shall mine before you touch the meat. 
 
 Kath. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Hor. Signor Petruchio, fye ! you are to blame ! 
 Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. 
 
 Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me. — 
 
 [^Aside. 
 Much good do it unto thy gentle heart! 
 Kate, eat apace: — And now, m}' honey love, 
 Will we return unto thy father's house; 
 And revel it as bravely as the best. 
 With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, 
 With rufis, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things ; 
 With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery,' 
 With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. 
 What, hast thou din'd 1 The tailor stays thy leisure, 
 r ; deck thy body \vith liis ruffling treasure. 
 
 E?iter Tailor. 
 
 Come, tailor, let us sec these ornaments; 
 Enter Haberdasher. 
 
 Lay forth the gown. — What news with you, sir ] 
 Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak 
 Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer! 
 
 A velvet dish ; fie, fie ! 'tis lewd and filthy ! 
 
 Why, 'lis a cockle, or a walnut shell, 
 
 K knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap ; 
 
 \way with it, come, let me have a bigger. 
 •Dispirited; a QaUicism. "Finery. 
 
 Kath. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, 
 And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 
 
 Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, 
 And not till then. 
 
 Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside. 
 
 Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak; 
 And speak I will ; I am no child, no babe ; 
 Your betters have endur'd me say my mind ; 
 And, if you cannot, best you stop your ear9. 
 My tongue will tell the anger of my heart; 
 Or else my heart, concealing it, will break; 
 And rather than it sliall, I will be free 
 Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 
 
 Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; it is a paltry cap, 
 A custard-coffin,^ a bauble, a silken pie: 
 I love thee well, in that thou lilc'st it not 
 
 Kalh. Love me, or love me not. Hike the cap; 
 And it I will have, or I will have none. 
 
 Pet. Thy gown 1 why, ay : — Come, tailor, let uf 
 sce't. 
 
 mercy, God! what masking stuff is here 1 
 What's this] a sleeve 1 'tis like a demi-caimon : 
 What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart 1 
 Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash 
 Like to a censer' in a barber's shop: — 
 
 Why, what, o'devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this 1 
 Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap noi 
 sown. [Aside. 
 
 Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well. 
 
 According to the fashion, and the time. 
 
 Pet. Marry and did; but if you be remember'd. 
 
 1 did not bid you mar it to the time. 
 Go, hop me over every kennel home. 
 
 For you shall hop without my custom, sir: 
 I'll none of it; hence, make your best of it. 
 
 Kath. I never saw a better-fashion'd gown, 
 More quaint,' more pleasing,nor more commendabla 
 Belike, you mean to make a puppet of me. [thoe. 
 
 Pet. Why, true ; he means to make a puppet of 
 
 Tai. She says, your worship means to make a 
 puppet of her. 
 
 Pet. O monstrous arrogance ! Thou liest, thou 
 Thou thimble, [thread, 
 
 Thou yard, three quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, 
 Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou : — 
 Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread ! 
 Away thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant: 
 Or I shall so be-mete' thee with thy yard. 
 As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st J 
 I tell thee, I, that thou hast marred her gown. 
 
 Tai. Your worship is deceiv'd ; the gown is made 
 Just as my master had direction: 
 Grumio gave order how it should be done. 
 
 Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff. 
 
 Tai. But how did you desire it should be made I 
 
 Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread 
 
 Tai. But did you not request to have it cut? 
 
 Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 
 
 Tai. I have. 
 
 Gru. Face not me: thou hast braved many men 
 brave not me : I will neither be faced nor braved. 
 say unto thee, — I bid thy master cut out the gown; 
 but I did not bid liim cut it to pieces : ergo, thou liest. 
 
 Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify 
 
 Pet. Read it. 
 
 Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he says I said 
 
 Tai. Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown : [so 
 
 Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, 
 » A coffin was tlie culinary term for raised crust. 
 » These censers resembled our brasiers in shape 
 « Curious. « Be-meaaur*. 
 
268 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 sew n.e in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with 
 a bottom of brown thread : I said, a gown. 
 
 Pet. Proceed. 
 
 Tai. With a small compassed cape ; 
 
 Gru. I confers the cape. 
 
 Tai. With a, trunk sleeve, 
 
 Gru. I confess two sleeves. 
 
 Tai. The sleeves curiously cut. 
 
 Pet. Ay, there's the viilany. 
 
 Gru. Error i'the bill, sir; error i'thc bill. I com- 
 manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed 
 up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, though 
 thy little finger be armed in a thimble. 
 
 Tai. This is true, that I say ; an I had thee in 
 place where, thou shouldst know it. 
 
 Gru. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, 
 give me thy mete-yard,* and spare not me. 
 
 Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ! then he shall have 
 no odds. 
 
 Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 
 
 Gru. You are i'the right, sir ; 'tis for my mistress. 
 
 Pet. Go take it up unto thy master's use. 
 
 Gru. Villain, not for thy life : Take up my mis- 
 tress' gown for thy master's use ! 
 
 Pet. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that] 
 
 Gru. 0,sir,the conceit is deeper than you think for; 
 Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! 
 0, fie, fie, fie ! 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor 
 paid : — [Aside. 
 
 Go, take it hence ; be gone, and say no more. 
 
 Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow. 
 Take no unkindness of his hasty words : 
 Away, I say ; commend me to thy master. [Exit Tai. 
 
 Pet. Well, come, my Kate ; we will unto your 
 Even in these honest mean habiliments ; [father's. 
 Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor: 
 For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; 
 And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
 So honor peereth in the meanest habit. 
 What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
 Because his feathers are more bcautifun 
 Or is the adder better than the eel. 
 Because his painted skin contents the eye 1 
 0, no, good Kate ; neither art thou the worse 
 For this poor furniture, and mean array. 
 If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me : 
 And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith. 
 To feast and sport us at thy father's house. 
 Go, call my men, and let us straight to him; 
 And bring our horses unto Long-lane end. 
 There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. — 
 Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock, 
 And well Vvc may come there by dinner-time. 
 
 Kaih. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two ; 
 .■j nd 'twill be supper time, ere you come there. 
 
 Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse : 
 Ljok, what I speak, or do, or think to do. 
 You are still crossing it. — Sirs, let't alone: 
 I will not go to-day ; and ere I do. 
 It shall be what o'clock I say it is. 
 
 Hor. Why, so ! this gallant will command the 
 sun. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Padua. Before Baptista's House. 
 Enter Tiianio, and the Pedant dressed like 
 
 ViNCENTIO. 
 
 Tra Sir, this is the house: Please it you, that I 
 calll 
 
 e Meafiuring j'ard. 
 
 Ped. Ay, what else ] and, but 1 be deceived, 
 Signior Baptista may remember me. 
 Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where 
 We were lodgers at the Pegasus. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis well ; 
 
 And hold your own, in any case, with such 
 Austerity as 'longeth to a father. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 Ped. I warrant you : But, sir, here comes yout 
 boy; 
 'Twere good, he were school'd. 
 
 Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello, 
 Now do your duty thoroughly, I advise you; 
 Imagine 'twere the right Vmcentio. 
 
 Bion. Tut! fear not me. 
 
 Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista ! 
 
 B{on. I told him, that your father was at Venice 
 And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 
 
 Tra. Thou'rt a talP fellow; hold thee that t« 
 drink. 
 Here comes Baptista : — set your countenance, sir. — 
 
 Enter Baptista and Luceittio. 
 
 Signior Baptista, you are happily met: — 
 Sir, [To the Pedant.] 
 This is the gentleman I told you of; 
 I pray you, stand good father to me now, 
 Give me Bianca for my patrimony. 
 
 Ped. Soft, son !— 
 Sir, by your leave ; having come to Padua 
 To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
 Made me acquainted with a weighty cause 
 Of love between your daughter and himself: 
 And, — for the good report I hear of you ; 
 And for the love he beareth to your daughter, 
 And she to him — to stay him not too long, 
 I am content, in a good father's care, 
 To have him match'd ; and, — if you please to like 
 No worse than I, sir, — upon some agreement. 
 Me shall you find most ready and most willing 
 With one consent to have her so bestowed; 
 For curious" I cannot be with you, 
 Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 
 
 Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say ; — 
 Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well 
 Right true it is, your son, Lucentio here. 
 Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, 
 Or both dissemble deeply their affections : 
 And therefore, if you say no more than this, 
 That like a father you will deal with him. 
 And pass' my daughter a sufficient dower. 
 The match is fully made, and all is done : 
 Your son shall have my daughter with consent. 
 
 Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know 
 best. 
 We be affied ; ' and such assurance ta'en, 
 As shall with either part's agreement stand ? 
 
 Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio; for you know, 
 Pitchers have cars, and I have many servants: 
 Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still ; 
 And, happily,^ we might be interrupted. 
 
 Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, sir: 
 There doth my father lie ; and there, this night, 
 We'll pass the business privately and well : 
 Send for your daughter by your servant here. 
 My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
 The worst is this, — that, at so slender warning. 
 You're like to have a thin and slender pittance. 
 
 ' Brave. 
 » Betrothed. 
 
 ' Scrupulous. 
 
 ' Assure or convej 
 a Uaply, perhaps. 
 
•Scene V. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 269 
 
 Bap. It likes me well; — Cambio, hie you home, 
 And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
 And, if you will, tell what hath happened : — 
 Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, 
 And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. 
 
 Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart ! 
 
 Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. 
 Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way 1 
 Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer : 
 Come, sir ; we'll better it in Pisa. 
 
 Bap. I follow you. 
 
 [Eji;nnt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptista. 
 
 Bion. Cambio, — ■ 
 
 Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello? 
 
 Dion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon 
 50U? 
 
 Luc. Biondello, what of thatl 
 
 Bion. 'Faith nothing; but he has left me here 
 behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his 
 signs and tokens. 
 
 Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. 
 
 Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with 
 the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 
 
 Luc. A.nd what of him 1 
 
 Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to 
 the supper. 
 
 Luc. And then] 
 
 Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is 
 at your command at all hours. 
 
 Luc. And what of all this ? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tell ; except they are busied about 
 a counterfeit assurance : Take you assurance of her, 
 cum privikgio ad imprimendum solum: to the 
 church ; — take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient 
 honest witnesses : 
 If this be not what you look for, I have no more to 
 
 say. 
 But, bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. 
 
 [^Going. 
 
 Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tarry : I knew a wench married in 
 n afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley 
 to stufTa rabbit ; and so may you, sir ; and so adieu, 
 sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint 
 Liike's, to bid the priest be ready to come against 
 you come with your appendix. [^Exit. 
 
 Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
 She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt 1 
 Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her. 
 It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ public Road. 
 
 Enter PETRtrCHIO, KATHARINA,a7i(/HoilTEIfSIO. 
 
 Pet. Come on, o' God's name ; once more toward 
 our father's, 
 3rc»>d Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon ! 
 
 Kath. The moon ! the sun ; it is not moonlight 
 now. 
 
 Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. 
 
 Kath. I know, it is the sun that sliines so bright. 
 
 Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's my- 
 self. 
 It shall be moon, or star, or what I list. 
 Or ere I journey to your father's house : 
 (jo on, and fetch our horses back again. — 
 Evermore cross'd, and cross'd; nothing but cross'd! 
 
 Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 
 
 Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, 
 \.ii'l be it moon, or sun, or what you please* 
 
 And if you please to call it a rush candle, 
 Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 
 
 Pet- I say, it is the moon. 
 
 Kath. I know it is. 
 
 Pet. Nay, then you lie ; it is the blessed sun. 
 
 Kath. Then, God be blessed, it is the blessed sun:— 
 But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; 
 And the moon changes, even as your mind. 
 What you will have it named, even that it is; 
 And so it shall be so, for Katharine. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won. 
 
 Pet. Well, forward, forward : thus the bowl 
 should run. 
 And not unluckily against the bias — 
 But soft; what company is coming here? 
 
 Enter Vincentio, in a travelling dress. 
 
 Good morrow, gentle mistress: Where awayl — 
 
 [7b ViNCENTIO. 
 
 Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too. 
 Hast thou beheld a firesher gentlewoman 1 
 Such war of white and red within her cheeks! 
 What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, 
 As those two eyes become that heavenly facel — 
 Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee:— 
 Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. 
 
 Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a 
 woman of him. 
 
 Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fi-esh 
 and sweet. 
 Whither away ; or where is thy abode 7 
 Happy the parents of so fair a child ; 
 Happier the man, whom favorable stars 
 Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, Kate ! I hope thou art not 
 mad: 
 This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd ; 
 And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 
 
 Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes. 
 That have been so bedazzled with the sun, 
 That every tiling I look on seemeth green : 
 Now I perceive, thou art a reverend father ; 
 Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. 
 
 Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and, withal, make 
 known 
 Which way thou travellest : if along with us. 
 We shall be joyful of thy company. 
 
 Fm. Fair sir, — and you, my merry mistress, — 
 That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me 
 My name is call'd — Vincentio ; my dwelling — Pisa 
 And bound I am to Padua ; there to visit 
 A son of mine, Avhich long I have not seen. 
 
 Pet. What is his name 1 
 
 Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir. 
 
 Pet. Happily met; the happier for thy son. 
 And now by law, as well as reverend age, 
 I may entitle thee — my loving father; 
 The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, 
 Thy son by this hath married: Wonder not. 
 Nor be not griev'd ; she is of good esteem, 
 Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ; 
 Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
 The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
 Let me embrace with old Vincentio : 
 And wander we to sec thy honest son, 
 Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 
 
 Vi7i. But is this true! or is it else your pleasure 
 Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
 Upon the company you overtake] 
 
 Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 
 
870 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; 
 For our first merriment hath made me jealous. 
 
 [Exeunt Phthuchio, Kathabina, and 
 
 ViNCENTIO. 
 
 Hw. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart 
 Have to my widow ; and if she be froward, 
 Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 SCENE I.— Padua. Before Lucentio's House. 
 
 Enter cm one side Biondeilo, Lucentio, and 
 BiAKCA ; Gremio walking on the other side. 
 
 Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir ; for the priest is ready. 
 
 Luc. I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to 
 need thee at home, therefore leave us. 
 
 Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back ; 
 and then come back to my master as soon as I can. 
 
 [Exeunt Ltjcentio, Bianca, and Biondello. 
 
 Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 
 
 Enter Pethuchio, Katharina, Viif cektio, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house, 
 My father's bears more toward the market place ; 
 Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 
 
 Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go ; 
 I think, I shall command your welcome here. 
 And by all likeliliood, some cheer is toward. 
 
 [Knochs. 
 
 Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock 
 louder. 
 
 Enter Pedant above, at a window. 
 
 Ped. What's he, that knocks as he would beat 
 down the gate 1 
 
 Vi7i. Is signior Lucentio within, sir? 
 
 Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. 
 
 Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound 
 or two, to make merry withal. 
 
 Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he 
 shall need none, so long as I live. 
 
 Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in 
 Padua. — Do you hear, sir? — to leave frivolous 
 circumstances, — I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, 
 that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the 
 door to speak with him. 
 
 Ped. Thou liest ; his father is come fi"om Pisa, 
 and here looking out at the window. 
 
 Vin. Art thou his father? 
 
 Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may be- 
 lieve her. 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, gentlemen ! [To Vistcen.] 
 why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another 
 man's name. 
 
 Ped. Lay hands on the villain ; I believe 'a means 
 to cozen somebody in this city under my counte- 
 nance. 
 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 
 Bion. I have seen them in the church together : 
 But who is here ? mine old master, Vincentio ? now 
 we are undone, and brought to nothing. 
 
 Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. 
 
 [Seeing Biondello. 
 
 Bion. I hope, I may choose, sir. 
 
 Vin. Come hither, you rogue : What, have you 
 fcwgot me ? 
 
 Bion. Forget you? no, sir: I could not forget 
 f ou, for I never saw you before in all my life. 
 
 Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thctt 
 never see thy master's father, Vincentio ? 
 
 Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master ? yea 
 marry, sir ; see where he looks out of the window. 
 
 Vin. Is't so, indeed? [jBea/s Biondello. 
 
 Bion. Help, help, help ! here's a madman will 
 murder me. [Exit. 
 
 Ped. Help, son ! help, signior Baptista ! 
 
 [Exit from the window 
 
 Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside,, and see 
 the end of this controversy. [They retire. 
 
 Re-enter Pedant below; Baptista, Tranio, and 
 Servants. 
 
 TVa. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my 
 servant ? 
 
 Vin. What am I, sir ? nay what are you, sir ? — 
 O immortal gods ! O fine villain ! A silken doublet ! 
 a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! and a copatain hat I' 
 — O, I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play 
 the good husband at home, my son and my servant 
 spend all at the university. 
 
 Tra. How now ! what's the matter ? 
 
 Bap. What, is the man lunatic ? 
 
 Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman 
 by your habit, but your words show you a madman : 
 Why, sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl and 
 gold ? I thank my good father, I am able to main- 
 tain it. 
 
 Vin. Thy father? O, villain ! he is a sail-maker 
 in Bergamo. 
 
 Bap. You mistake, sir ; you mistake, sir : Pray, 
 what do you think is his name ? 
 
 Vin. His name ? as if I knew not his name : I 
 have brought him up ever since he was three years 
 old, and his name is — Tranio. 
 
 Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Lucen- 
 tio ; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands 
 of me, signior Vincentio. 
 
 Vin. Lucentio ! 0, he hath murdered his master ! 
 — Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's 
 name : — 0, my son, my son ! — tell me, thou villain, 
 where is my son Lucentio ? 
 
 TVa. Call forth an officer : — [Enter one with an 
 Officer.] Carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father 
 Baptista, I charge you, see that he be forthcoming. 
 
 Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! 
 
 G)-e. Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison. 
 
 Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio; I say he shall 
 go to prison. 
 
 Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be 
 cheated in this business ; I dare swear, this is the 
 right Vincentio. 
 
 Ped. Swear, if thou darest. 
 
 Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. 
 
 Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not 
 Lucentio. 
 
 Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. 
 
 Bap. Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with him 
 3 A hat with a conical crown. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 271 
 
 Y{7i. Thus strangers may be haled and abused :— 
 monstrous villain ! 
 Re-e«i;erBioNDELLO,w7/tLTJCi;NTioanc?BiANCA. 
 
 Bioii. O, we are spoiled, and — Yonder he is; 
 deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 
 
 Luc. Pardon, sweet father. lK?ieelmg. 
 
 y;,j. Lives my sweetest son ] 
 
 [BioxDELLo, Thanio, and Pedant run out. 
 
 Bian. Pardon, dear father. [K7ieeling. 
 
 jiap. How hast thou offended 1 — 
 
 Where is Lucentio'? 
 
 Luc. Here's Lucentio, 
 
 Right son unto the right Vincentio ; 
 That have bv marriage made thy daughter mine. 
 While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine cyne." 
 
 Gre. Here's packing,' with a witness, to deceive 
 
 us all! m • 
 
 Vin. Where is that damned villain Tranio, 
 That faced and braved me in this matter sol 
 
 Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio ? 
 
 Bian. Cambio is changed into Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love 
 Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
 While he did bear my countenance in the town; 
 And happily I have arrived at last 
 Unto the wished haven of my bliss: — 
 What Tranio did, myself enforced him to ; 
 Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 
 
 Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have 
 sent me to the gaol. 
 
 Bap. But do you hear, sirl [To Lucentio.] 
 
 Have you married my daughter without asking my 
 
 good-will 1 
 
 rZn. Fear not,Baptista; we will content you; goto: 
 
 But I will in, to be revenged for this villany. [Exit. 
 Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. 
 ^ [Exit. 
 
 Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not 
 frown. [Exeunt Luc, and Bian. 
 
 Gre. My cake is dough:' But I'll in among the rest: 
 Out of hope of all,— but my share of the feast. [Exit. 
 Petruchio and Katharina advance. 
 Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of 
 Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will, [this ado. 
 Kath. What, in the midst of the street 1 
 Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me ] [kiss. 
 Kath. No, sir: God forbid: — but ashamed to 
 Pet. Why, then let's home again : — Come, sin-ah, 
 
 let's away. 
 Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss : now pray 
 
 thee, love, stay. 
 Pet. Is no.t this well"! — Come, my sweet Kate; 
 Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Lucentio's house. 
 A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio, 
 Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petru- 
 chio, Katharina, Hortensio, ohcZ Widow; Tra- 
 nio, BiONDELLO, Grumio, and others, attending. 
 Luc. At last, though long, our j arring notes agree ; 
 \nd time it is, when raging war is done, 
 To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. — 
 My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, 
 While I with self-same kindness welcome thine :— 
 Brother Petruchio, — sister Katharina, — 
 And thou, Hortensio, with thy lovmg widow, 
 
 * DecelTcd thine eyes 
 » Tricking, underhand contrivances. 
 
 • A proverhial expression, repeated after a dl8appoln^ 
 kicut 
 
 Feast with the best, and welcome to my house . 
 My banquet is to close our stomachs up. 
 After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down 
 For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. 
 
 [They sit at tabu 
 Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! 
 Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. 
 Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 
 Hot. For both our sakes, I would that word wer« 
 
 true. 
 Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. 
 Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. 
 Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my 
 sense ; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. 
 
 Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns 
 Pet. Roundly replied. [round. 
 
 Kath. Mistress, how mean you that? 
 
 Wid. Thus I conceive by hun. [thati 
 
 Pet. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio 
 Hot. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. 
 Pet. Very well mended : Kiss him for that, good 
 
 widow. [round : 
 
 Kath. He that is giddy, thuiks the world turns 
 I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 
 
 Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, 
 Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe : 
 And now you know my meaning. 
 Kath. A very mean meaning. 
 Wid. Right, I mean you. 
 
 Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. 
 Pet. To her, Kate! 
 
 Hot. To her, widow! [down 
 
 Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her 
 Hot. That's my office. 
 Pet. Spoke like an officer:— Ha, to thee, lad. 
 
 [Drinks to Hortensio. 
 Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks' 
 Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 
 Bian. Head, and butt? a hasty-witted body 
 Would say, your head and butt were head and horn. 
 Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd youl 
 Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll 
 
 sleep again. 
 Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have 
 begun. 
 Have at you for a bitter jest or two. 
 
 Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush 
 And then pursue me as you draw your bow: — 
 You are welcome all. 
 
 [Exeunt Bianca, Katharina, and Widow 
 Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, signior 
 Tranio, 
 This bird you aim'd at, though you hither not; 
 Therefore^ a health to all that shot and miss'd. 
 Tra. O sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his grey 
 hound. 
 Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 
 Pet. A good swift simile, but something cumsh. 
 Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself 
 'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. 
 Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. 
 Luc. I thank thee for that gird,'' good Tranio. 
 Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here ■ 
 Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; 
 And as the jest did glance away from me, 
 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 
 
 Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchi'>, 
 I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 
 
 I Sarcasm. 
 
872 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Pet. Well, I say — no: and therefore, for as- 
 surance. 
 Let's each one send unto his wife ; 
 And he, whose wife is most obedient 
 To come at first when he doth send for her, 
 Shall win the wager which we will propose. 
 
 Hor. Content : — What is the wager 1 
 
 Luc. Twenty crowns. 
 
 Pet. Twenty crowns! 
 I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound, 
 But twenty times so much upon my wife. 
 
 Luc. A hundred then. 
 
 Hor. Content. 
 
 Pet. A match; 'tis done. 
 
 Hor. Who shall begin 1 
 
 Luc. That will I. Go, 
 
 Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 
 
 Bion. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. 
 
 Luc. I'll have no halves : I'll bear it all myself. 
 
 He-enter Biondello. 
 How now ! what news 1 
 
 Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word 
 
 That she is busy, and she cannot come. 
 
 Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come ! 
 Is that an answer 1 
 
 Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : 
 
 Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 
 
 Pet. I hope, better. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife 
 To come to me forthwith. [Exit Bioxdello. 
 
 Pet. ho ! entreat her ! 
 
 Nay, then she must needs come. 
 
 Hor. I am afraid, sir, 
 
 Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 
 
 Re-enter Biobtdelio. 
 Now, Where's my wife? 
 
 Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in 
 hand; 
 She will not come ; she bids you come to her. 
 
 Pet. Worse, and worse; she will not come ! vile. 
 Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! 
 Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress ; 
 Say, I command her come to me. [Exit Grumio. 
 
 Hor. I know her answer. 
 
 Pet. What? 
 
 Hor. She will not come. 
 
 Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 
 
 Enter Katiiarina. 
 
 Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Ka- 
 tharina ! 
 
 Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me? 
 
 Pet. Where is your sister, and H ortensio's wife? 
 
 Kath. They sit conferring by the parlor fire. 
 
 Pet. Go fetch them hither ; if they deny to come, 
 Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: 
 Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 
 
 [Exit Katharina. 
 
 Ltic. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. 
 
 Hor. And so it is ; I wonder what it bodes. 
 
 Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love,and quiet life. 
 An awful rule, and right supremacy; 
 And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy 
 
 Bap. Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio ! 
 The wager thou hast won ; and I will add 
 Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; 
 Another dowry to another daughter. 
 For she is changed, as she had never been. 
 
 Pet. Nay, Twill win my wager better yet; 
 And show more sign of her obedience, 
 Her new-built virtue and obedience. 
 
 Re-enter Katharina, ivith Bianca and Widow. 
 
 See, where she comes; and brings your froward 
 
 wives 
 As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. — 
 Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not ; 
 Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. 
 
 [Katharina pul/s off her cap, and throxvi 
 it down. 
 
 Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, 
 Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 
 
 Bian. Fye ! what a foolish duty call you this '! 
 
 Iaic. I would, your duty were as foolish too: 
 The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
 Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. 
 
 Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. 
 
 Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head 
 strong women 
 What duty they do owe their lords and husbands 
 
 Wid. Come, come, you're mocking ; we will have 
 no telling. 
 
 Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. 
 
 Wid. She shall not. 
 
 Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with her. 
 
 Kath. Fye, fye ! unknit that threat'ning unkind 
 brow; 
 And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
 To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor ; 
 It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads ; 
 Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buda^ 
 And in no sense is meet, or amiable. 
 A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, j 
 Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; / 
 And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty / 
 Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. 
 Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper. 
 Thy head, thy sovereign; one that caiesfor thee, 
 And for thy maintenance : commits his body 
 To painful labor, both by sea and land ; 
 To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 
 While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ; 
 And craves no other tribute at thy hands. 
 But love, fair looks, and true obedience; — 
 Too little payment for so great a debt. 
 Such duty as the subject owes the prince. 
 Even such, a woman oweth to her husband: 
 And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, 
 And not obedient to his honest will. 
 What is she, but a foul contending rebel. 
 And g^-aceless traitor to her loving lord ? 
 I am asham'd, that women are so simple 
 To offer war, where they should kneel for peace: 
 Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway. 
 When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 
 Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth. 
 Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ; 
 But that our soft conditions' and our hearts, 
 Should well agree with our external parts ? 
 Come, come, you froward and unable worms ! 
 My mind hath been as big as one of yours. 
 My heart as great ; my reason, haply more 
 To bandy word for word, and frown for frown : 
 But now, I see our lances are but straws; 
 Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,— 
 That seeming to be most, which we least are. 
 Then vail your stomachs,' for it is no boot: 
 
 » Gentle tempers. 
 
 » Abate, your spirits. 
 
■-.^-■A.,-. -— — ^ ^ ^■■^■^-^.s-^.-^ ,^^ 
 
 CENE II. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 273 
 
 And place your hands below your husband's foot : 
 [n token of which duty, if he please, 
 My hand is ready, may it do him ease. 
 
 Pet. Why, there's a wench ! — Come on, and Idss 
 
 me, Kate. 
 Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou shalt 
 
 ha't. 
 Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are to- 
 ward. 
 Imc, But a harsh hearing, when women are firo- 
 
 Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed :— — 
 We three are married, but you two are sped. 
 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; 
 
 [To LUCENTIO. 
 
 And, being a winner, God give you good night! 
 [Exeunt PETnucnio and Kath. 
 Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tamed a curst 
 
 shrew. 
 Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be 
 tamed m, lExeimi. 
 
WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Leontes, King of Sicilia. 
 " Sot 
 
 bon. 
 
 > Sicilian Lords. 
 
 Mamillius, his 
 
 Camillo, 
 
 Antigonus, 
 
 Cleomenes, 
 
 Diox, 
 
 Another Sicilian Lord. 
 
 RoBERo, a Sicilian Gentleman. 
 
 An Attendant on the young Prince Mamillius. 
 
 Officers of a Court of Judicature. 
 
 PoLixENEs, King of Bohemia. 
 
 Florizel, his Son. 
 
 AncHiDAMus, a Bohemian Lord. 
 
 A Mariner. 
 
 Gaoler. 
 
 A n old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita. 
 
 Clown, his Son. 
 Servant to the old Shepherd. 
 AuTOLTcus, a Rogue. 
 Time, as Chorus. 
 
 Hermione, Queen to Leontes. 
 
 Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and IlermioiaA 
 
 Paulina, Wife to Antigonus. 
 
 MiiiA, y, I attending the Queen. 
 
 Two other Ladies, ^ & -» 
 
 DOBCAS, ) ^ 
 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants,- Satyrs for < 
 Dance,- SJiepherds, Shejjhcrdesses, Guards, 4"' 
 
 SCENE, sometimes in Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 CENE L — Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes' 
 
 ^alace. 
 
 Enter Camillo and Akchidamus. 
 
 Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bo- 
 hemia, on the like occasion whereon my services 
 are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great 
 difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. 
 
 Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of 
 Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which 
 he justly owes him. 
 
 Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame 
 ua, we will be justified in our loves : for, indeed, — 
 
 Cam. 'Beseech you, 
 
 Arch. Verily, I speak it in the fi-eedom of my 
 knowledge : we cannot with such magnificence — 
 
 in so rare — I know not what to say. We will 
 
 give you sleepy drinks : that your senses, unintel- 
 ligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot 
 praise us, as little accuse us. 
 
 Cam. You pay a great deal too dear, for what's 
 given freely. 
 
 Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding 
 instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. 
 
 Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to 
 Bohemia. They were trained together in their 
 
 ildhood?; and there rooted betwixt them then 
 2H 
 
 such an affection, which cannot choose but branch 
 now. Since their more mature dignities, and r'^yal 
 necessities, made separation of their society, their 
 encounters, though not personal, have been royally 
 attornied,' with interchange of gifts, letters, loving 
 embassies; that they have seemed to be together, 
 though absent ; shook hands, as over a vast ; '' and 
 embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed 
 winds. The heavens continue their loves ! 
 
 Arch. I think, there is not in the world either 
 malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an un- 
 speakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius ; 
 it is a gentleman of the greatest promise, that ever 
 came into my note. 
 
 Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of 
 him : it is a gallant child ; one that, indeed, phy- 
 sics the subject,' makes old hearts fresh : they, that 
 went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their 
 life, to see him a man. 
 
 Arch. Would they else be content to die 1 
 
 Cam. Yes : if there were no other excuse why 
 they should desire to live. 
 
 Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire 
 to live on crutches till he had one [Exeuni 
 
 • Supplied by substitution of embassies. 
 » Wide waste of country. 
 
 * Affords a cordial to the state. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 27b 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Lkontks, Polixenf.s, Heumioxe, Mamil- 
 Lius, Camillo, and Attendants. 
 
 Pol Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been 
 The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne 
 Without a burden : time as long again 
 Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks; 
 And yet we should, for perpetuity, 
 Go hence in debt : And therefore, like a cipher, 
 Yet standing in rich place, I multiply. 
 With one we-thank-you, many thousands more 
 That go before it. 
 
 Leon. Stay your thanks awhile ; 
 
 And pay them when you part. 
 
 P(jl, . Sir, that's to-morrow. 
 
 I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance. 
 Or breed upon our absence : That may blow 
 No sneaping' winds at home, to make us say, 
 This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have stay'd 
 To tire your royalty. 
 
 Leon. We are tougher, brother, 
 
 Than you can put us to't. 
 
 Pol. No longer stay. 
 
 Leon. One seven-night longer. 
 Pol. Very sooth, to-morrovf. 
 
 Leon. We'll part the time between's then : and 
 in that 
 I'll no gain-saying. 
 
 Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you so : 
 
 There is no tongue that moves, none, none i'the 
 
 world. 
 So soon as yours, could win me : so it should now. 
 Were there necessity in your request, although 
 ■Twere needful I denied it. My affiiirs 
 Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder, 
 Were, in your love, a whip to me ; my stay, 
 To you a charge, and trouble : to save both. 
 Farewell, our brother. 
 
 Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen 1 speak you. 
 Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, 
 until 
 You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, 
 
 sir, 
 (charge him too coldly : Tell him, you are sure, 
 All in Bohemia's well : this satisfaction 
 The by-gone day proclaim'd : say this to liim. 
 He's beat from his best ward. 
 
 Leon. Well said, Hermione. 
 
 Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong ; 
 But let him say so then, and let him go; 
 But let him swear so, and he shall not stay. 
 We'll thwack hin hence with distaffs. — 
 7et of your royal presence [To Polixenes.] I'll 
 
 adventure 
 The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
 You take my lord, I'll give him my commission, 
 To let him there a month, behind the gcst' 
 Prefixed for his parting: yet, good dccd,"^ Leontes, 
 I love thee not a jar o'the clock behind 
 What lady she her lord.— You'll stay 1 
 Pol. No, madam. 
 
 Her. Nay, but you will. 
 Pol. I may not, verily. 
 
 Her. Verily! 
 You put me off with limber vows: But I, 
 
 • NippinR. 
 
 • r.i-sta were the names of the stages where the king ap- 
 pointed to lie, during a royal progress. 
 
 « Indeed. 
 
 Though you would seek to unsphere the sta;a with 
 
 oaths, 
 Should yet say. Sir, no going. Verily, 
 You shall not go; a lady's verily is 
 As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet ? 
 Force me to keep you as a prisoner. 
 Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees, 
 When you depart, and save your thanks. How 
 
 say you"? 
 My prisoner] or my guest? by your dread verily 
 One of them you shall be. 
 
 Pol. Your guest then, madam 
 
 To be your prisoner, should import offending ; 
 Which is for me less easy to commit. 
 Than you to punish. 
 
 Her. Not your gaoler then. 
 
 But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you 
 Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys- 
 You were pretty lordlings' then. 
 
 Pol. We were, fair queen, 
 
 Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, 
 But such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
 And to be boy eternal. 
 
 Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o'the two 1 
 Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' 
 the Sim, 
 And bleat the one at the other : what we changed, 
 Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not 
 The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dreara'd 
 That any did: Had we pursued that life, 
 And our weak spirits ne'er been higher reared 
 With stronger blood, we should have answer'd 
 
 heaven 
 Boldly, Not Guiliy: the imposition clear'd. 
 Hereditary ours. 
 
 Her. By this we gather. 
 
 You have tripp'd since. 
 
 Pol. O my most sacred lady, 
 
 Temptations have since then been borne to us : for 
 In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ; 
 Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes 
 Of my young play-fellow. 
 
 Her. Grace to boot \ 
 
 Of this make no conclusion; lest you say. 
 Your queen and I are devils : Yet, go on ; 
 The offences we have made you do, we'll answer; 
 If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us 
 You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
 With any but with us. 
 
 Leon. Is he won yet 1 
 
 Her. He'll stay, my lord. 
 Leon. At my request, he would QC*. 
 
 Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st 
 To better purpose. 
 
 Her. Neverl 
 
 Leon. Never, but once. 
 
 Her. What? have I twice said welll when 
 was't before ] 
 I pr'ythee, tell me: Cram us with praise, and make u- 
 As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying 
 
 tongiielcss. 
 Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. 
 Our praises are our wages: You may ride us, 
 With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere 
 With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ; — 
 My last good deed was, to entreat his stay ; 
 What was my first] it has an elder sister. 
 Or I mistake you : O, would her name weie Grace 
 
 1 A diminutiTe of lords 
 
276 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act i. 
 
 But onco before I spoko to the purpose : When ? 
 Nay, let me have't, I long. 
 
 Leon. Whj) that was when 
 
 Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to 
 
 death 
 Ere I could make thee open thy white hand 
 And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, 
 / am yours for ever. 
 
 Her. It is Grace, indeed. — 
 
 Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice : 
 The one for ever earned a royal husband ; 
 The other, for some while, a friend. 
 
 \Gi'oing her hand to Polixenes. 
 
 Leon. Too hot, too hot : \_Aside. 
 
 To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. 
 I have tremor cordis^ on me : — my heart dances ; 
 But not for joy, — not joy. — This entertainment 
 May a free face put on : derive a liberty 
 From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, 
 And well become the agent: it may, I grant: 
 But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers. 
 As now they are ; and making practis'd smiles. 
 As in a looking-glass ; — and then to sigh, as 'twere 
 The mort o' the deer f that is entertainment 
 My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — Mamillius, 
 Art thou my boy ? 
 
 Ifam. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Leon. I'fecks ? 
 
 Why, that's my bawcock.i What, hast smutch'd 
 
 thy nose ? — 
 They say it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain. 
 We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain : 
 And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, 
 Are all call'd, neat. — Still virginalling^ 
 
 [Obaervinf/ PoLIXENES and IIermione. 
 Upon his palm ? — How now, you wanton calf? 
 Art thou my calf? 
 
 Ifam. Yes, if you will, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots 
 that I have,' 
 To be full like me : — yet, they say we are 
 Almost as like as eggs ; women say so. 
 That will say any thing : but were they false 
 As o'er-died blacks, as wind, as waters ; false 
 As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes 
 No bourn 'twixt his and mine ; yet were it true 
 To say this boy were like me. — Come, sir page. 
 Look on me with your welkin* eye : Sweet villain ! 
 Most dear'st ! my collop ! — Can thy dam ? — may't be ? 
 Afi'ection ! thy intention stabs the centre : 
 Thou dost make possible, things not so held, 
 Communicat'st with dreams; — (How can this be?) 
 With what's unreal thou co-active art. 
 And fellow'st nothing: Then, 'tis very credent^ 
 Thou may'.st co-join with something; and thou dost: 
 (And that beyond commission; and I find it:) 
 And that to the infection of my brains. 
 And hardening of my brows. 
 
 Pol. What means Sicilia ? 
 
 Her. He something seems unsettled. 
 
 Pol. How, my lord ? 
 
 What cheer ? how is't with you, best brother ? 
 
 Her. You look, 
 
 Ab if you held a brow of much distraction : 
 Are you moved, my lord ? 
 
 Leon. No, in good earnest. — 
 
 How sometimes nature will betray its folly, 
 Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
 To harder bosoms ? Looking on the lines 
 Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil 
 Twenty-three years : and saw myself unbreech'd, 
 
 • Trembling of the heart. 
 » The tune played at the death of the deer. 
 » Hearty fellow. 
 
 a i. e. Playing with her fingers, as if on a spinet. 
 » Thou wantest a rough bead, and the budding boms 
 (hat I have. 
 « Blue, like the sky. • Credible. 
 
 In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled. 
 
 Lest it should bite its master, and so prove. 
 
 As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. 
 
 How like, methought, I then was to this kernel. 
 
 This squash,^ this gentleman : — Mine honest friend, 
 
 Will you take eggs for money ?'' 
 
 Ilam. No, my lord, I'll fight. 
 
 Leon. You will ? why, happy man be his doln '' 
 — My brother. 
 Are you so fond of your young prince, as wo 
 Do seem to bo of ours ? 
 
 Pol. If at homo, sir. 
 
 He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter : 
 Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy ; 
 My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all : 
 He makes a July's day short as December ; 
 And, with his varying childness, cures in me 
 Thoughts that would thick my Dlood. 
 
 Leon. So stands this sqiiiro 
 
 OflBced with me : we two will walk, my lord. 
 And leave you to your graver stops. — Hermione, 
 How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's wekiome , 
 Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap : 
 Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's 
 Apparent^ to my heart. 
 
 Her. If you would seek us. 
 
 Wo are yours i' the garden : Shall's attend you 
 there ? 
 
 Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you''' be 
 found. 
 Be you beneath the sky : — I am angling now, 
 Though you perceive me not how I give line. 
 Go to, go^o ! 
 
 [Aside, observing Polixenes xnd Hermiove. 
 How she holds up the neb,' the bill to him ! 
 And arms her with the boldness of a wife 
 To her allowing^ husband ! Gone already ; 
 Inch-thick, knee-deep ; o'er head and ears a fork'd 
 one. 3 
 
 [Exetint Polixenes, Hermione, and AtUndants. 
 Go, play, boy, play ; — thy mother plays, ar.i I 
 Play too; but so disgraced a part, whoso issiic 
 Will hiss me to my grave ; contempt and clamor 
 Will be my knell. — Go, play, boy, play: — The'- 
 
 have been. 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; 
 And many a man there is, even at this present, 
 Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the ftm». 
 That little thinks she has been sluiced in his absence, 
 And his pond fish'd by his next neighbor, by 
 Sir Smile, his neighbor ; nay, there's comfort in't. 
 Whiles other men have gates; and those gates 
 
 open'd. 
 As mine, against their will : Should all despair. 
 That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
 Would hang themselves. Physic for't tho»e is none ; 
 It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
 Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it, 
 From east, west, north, and south : be it concluded, 
 Nobarricado for a belly ;- know it; 
 It will let in and out the enemy. 
 With bag and baggage : many a thousand of us 
 Have the disease, and feel't not. — How now, boy ? 
 
 Mam. I am like you, they say. 
 
 Leon. Why, that's some comfort. — 
 
 What! Camillo there ? 
 
 Cam. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest 
 man. — [Exit Mamillius. 
 
 Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 
 
 Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold-, 
 When you cast out, it still came home. 
 
 • Pearcod. ' WUl you be cajoled? 
 
 • May his lot in life be a happy one 1 
 
 • neir apparent, next claimant. 
 
 •Month. 'Approving. 
 
 • A homed one, a cuckold. 
 
SCENK II. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 277 
 
 Leon. Didst note it 1 
 
 Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; made 
 His business more material. 
 
 Letjn. Didst perceive it 1 — 
 
 They're here with me already ; whispering, round- 
 ing," 
 SiciUa is a so-forth: 'Tis far gone. 
 When I shall gust' at last. — How canie't, Camillo, 
 That he did stay ] 
 
 Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 
 
 Leon. At the queen's be't: good should be per- 
 tinent; 
 But so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
 By any understanding pate but thine? 
 For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
 More than the common blocks: — Not noted, is't, 
 But of the finer natures? by some scverals. 
 Of head-piece extraordinary 1 lower messes,* 
 Perchance, are to this business purblind: say. 
 Cam. Business, my lord 1 I think, most under- 
 stand 
 •iohemia stays here longer. 
 Leon. Ha ? 
 
 Cam. Stays here longer. 
 
 Leon. Ay, but why 1 
 
 Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties 
 Of our most gracious mistress. 
 
 Leon. Satisfy 
 
 The entreaties of your mistress 1 satisfy'? 
 
 Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 
 M'ith all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
 My chamber-councils: wherein, priest-like, thou 
 Hast cleans'd my bosom ; I from thee departed 
 Thy penitent reform'd : but we have been 
 Deceiv'd in thy integrity, dcceiv'd 
 In that which seems so. 
 
 Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! 
 
 Leon. To bide upon't ; — Thou art not honest : or. 
 If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward ; 
 Which boxes' honesty behind, restraining 
 From course rcquir'd : Or else thou must be counted 
 A servant, grafted in my serious trust. 
 And therein negligent; or else a fool. 
 That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake 
 
 drawn. 
 And tak'st it all for jest. 
 
 Cam. My gracious lord, 
 
 I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; 
 In every one of these no man is free, 
 But that his negligence, his folly, fear. 
 Amongst the infinite doings of the world. 
 Sometime puts forth: In your affairs, my lord, 
 If ever I were wilful-negligent, 
 It was my folly ; if industriously 
 I play'd the fool, it was my negligence. 
 Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful 
 To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, 
 Whereof the execution did cry out 
 Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear 
 Which oft affects the wisest: these, my lord, 
 Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty 
 .s never free of. But, 'beseech your grace, 
 Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass 
 By its own visage: if I then deny it, 
 'Tis none of mine. 
 
 Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, 
 
 (But that's past doubt : you have ; or your eye-glass 
 Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,) or heard, 
 
 » To round in the ear was to tell Becretly. ' Taste. 
 • Inferiors in rank. » To hex is to hamstring. 
 
 (For, to a vision so apparent, rumor 
 Cannot be mute,) or thought, (tor cogitation 
 Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) 
 My wife is slippery ? If thou wilt confess, 
 (Or else be impudently negative, 
 To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say. 
 My wife's a hobby-horse : deserves a name 
 As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to 
 Before her troth-plight: say it, and justify it. 
 Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear 
 My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
 My present ven'tjeance taken : 'Shrew my heart, 
 YoM. never spoke what did become you less 
 Than this : which to reiterate, were sin 
 As deep as that, though true. 
 
 Leon. Is whispering nothing! 
 
 Is leaning cheek to cheek 1 is meeting noses 1 
 Kissing with inside lip 1 stopping the career 
 Of laughter with a sigh 1 (a note infallible 
 Of breaking honesty :) horsing foot on foot 1 
 Skulking in corners 1 wishing clocks more swift 1 
 Hours, minutes'! noon, midnight 1 and all eyes blind 
 With the pin and web,* but theirs, theirs only. 
 That would unseen be wicked 1 is this nothing 1 
 Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing ; 
 The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; 
 My wife is nothing; nor nothing have thesenothings, 
 If this be nothing. 
 
 Cam. Good my lord, be cured 
 
 Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ; 
 For 'tis most dangerous. 
 
 Leon. Say, it be ; 'tis true- 
 
 Cam. No, no, my lord. 
 
 Leon. It is; you lie, you lie. 
 
 I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee ; 
 Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave : 
 Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
 Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil. 
 Inclining to them both: Were my wife's liver 
 Infected as her life, she would not live 
 The running of one glass. 
 
 Cam. Who does infect her! 
 
 Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal. 
 About his neck, Bohemia : Who — if I [hanging 
 Had servants true about me, that bare eyes 
 To see alike mine honour as their profits. 
 Their ovm particular thrifts, — they would do that 
 Which should undo more doing: Ay, and thou. 
 His cup-bearer, — whom I from meaner form [see 
 Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship ; who may'st 
 Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven, 
 How I am galled, — thou might'st bespice a cup. 
 To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; 
 Which draught to me were cordial. 
 
 Cam. Sir, my lord 
 
 I could do this : and that with no rash' potion 
 But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work 
 Maliciously like poison : But I cannot 
 Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
 So sovereignly being honorable. 
 
 I have loved thee, 
 
 Leon. Mak't thy question, and go rot. 
 
 Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled. 
 To appoint myself in this vexatioii ! sully 
 The jjurity and whiteness of my sheets. 
 Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted, 
 Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps ! 
 Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son ! 
 Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine ; 
 Disorders of the eve. ' Uafitv 
 
278 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Without ripe moving to'tT Would I do this 1 
 Could man so blench ] ' 
 
 Cam. I must believe you, sir ; 
 
 I do: and will fetch off Bohemia for't: 
 Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness 
 Will take again your queen, as yours at first ; 
 Even for your son's sake : and, thereby, for sealing 
 The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms 
 Known and allied to yours. 
 
 Leon. Thou dost advise me. 
 
 Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
 I'll give no blemish to her honor, lione. 
 
 Cam. My lord, 
 Go then ; and with a countenance as clear 
 As fi-iendship wears at feasts,keep with Bohemia, 
 And with your queen : I am his cupbearer; 
 If from mc he have wholesome beverage, 
 Account me not your servant. 
 
 Leon. This is all ; 
 
 Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; 
 Do't not thou split'st thine own. 
 
 Cam. ril do't, my lord. 
 
 Leoi'. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd 
 me. [^Exit. 
 
 Cam. O miserable lady ! — But, for me. 
 What case stand I inl I must be the poisoner 
 Of good Polixenes: and my ground to do't 
 Is the obedience to a master ; one, 
 Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 
 All that are his, so too. — To do this deed. 
 Promotion follows : If I could find example 
 Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings, 
 And flourish'd after, I'd not do't : but since 
 Nor brass nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, 
 Let villany -tself forswcar't. I must 
 Forsake the t ourt : to do't, or no, is certain 
 To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now ! 
 Here comes Bohemia. 
 
 Enter Polixenks. 
 
 Pol. This is strange, methinks, 
 
 My favor here begins to warp. Not speak ? 
 
 Good-day, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Hail, most royal sir! 
 
 Pol. What is the news i' the court 1 
 Cam. None rare, my lord. 
 
 Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance. 
 As he had lost some province, and a region, 
 Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him 
 With customary compliment; when he. 
 Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling 
 A lip of much contempt, speeds from me : and 
 Bo leaves me, to consider what is breeding. 
 That changes thus his manners. 
 Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 
 Vol. How ! dare not 1 do not. Do you know, and 
 dare not 
 Be intelligent to me] 'Tis thereabouts; 
 For, to yourself, what you do know, you must; 
 And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
 if our changed complexions are to me a mirror. 
 Which shows me mine changed to : for I must be 
 A party in this alteration, finding 
 Myself thus alter'd with it. 
 
 Cam. There is a sickness 
 
 Which puts some of us in distemper; but 
 I cannot name the disease; and it is caught 
 Of you that yet are well. 
 
 • i. e. Could any man so start off from propriety ? 
 
 Pol. How 1 caught of me \ 
 
 Make me not sighted like the basilisk) 
 I have look'd on thousands, who have sped tht 
 better 
 
 By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo, 
 
 As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto 
 Clerk-like, experienced, which no less adorns 
 Our gentry, than our parents' noble names. 
 In whose success' we are gentle,' — I beseech you 
 If you know aught which does behove my know 
 
 ledge 
 Thereof to be inform'd, imprison il not 
 In ignorant concealment. 
 
 Cam. I may not answer. 
 
 Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well ! 
 I must be answered. — Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
 I conjure thee, by all the parts of man. 
 Which honor does acknowledge, — whereof the 
 
 least 
 Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare 
 What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
 Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near ; 
 Which way to be prevented, if to be; 
 If not, how best to bear it. 
 
 Cam. Sir, I'll tell you ; 
 
 Since I am charged in honor, and by him 
 That I think honorable : Therefore, mark my 
 
 counsel; 
 Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, as 
 I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me 
 Cry, lost, and so good night. 
 
 Pol. On, good Camillo. 
 
 Cam. I am appointed him ° to murder you. 
 
 Pol. By whom, Camillo? 
 
 Cam. By the king. 
 
 Pol. ' For what . 
 
 Cam,. He thinks, nay, with all confidence ho 
 swears. 
 As he had seen't, or been an instrument 
 To vice ' you to't, — that you have touch'd his queen 
 Forbiddenly. 
 
 Pol. O, then my best blood turn 
 
 To an infected jelly ; and my name 
 Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best ! 
 Turn then my fi-eshest reputation to 
 A savor that may strike the dullest nostril 
 Where I arrive ; and my approach be shunn'd. 
 Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection 
 That e'er was heard, or read ! 
 
 Cam. Swear his thought ovei 
 
 By each particular star in heaven, and 
 By all their influences, you may as well 
 Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, 
 As or by oath, remove, or counsel, shake 
 The fabric of his folly ; whose foundation 
 Is piled upon his faith, and will continue 
 The standing of his body. 
 
 Pol, How should this grow! 
 
 Cam. I know not: but, I am sure, 'tis safer to 
 Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born. 
 If therefore you dare trust my honesty, — 
 That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you 
 Shall bear along impawn'd, — away to-night. 
 Your followers I will whisper to the business; 
 And will, by twos, and threes, at several postern^ 
 Clear them o' the city : For myself, I'll put 
 My fortunes to your service, which are here 
 
 For succession. 
 
 « Gentle was opposed to simple ; well born. 
 
 > ». e. The person » Draw 
 
Act II. Scene I. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 je79 
 
 Bj this discovery lost Be not uncertain; 
 ?or, by the honor of my parents, I 
 Have uttcr'd truth: which if you seek to prove, 
 [ dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer 
 Than one condenMi'd by the king's own mouth, 
 
 thereon 
 His execution sworn. 
 
 Pol. I do believe thee : 
 
 I saw his heart in his face. Give nie thy hand ; 
 Be pilot to me, and thy places shall 
 Still neighbor mine ; My ships are ready, and 
 My people did expect my hence departure 
 
 Two days ago. This jealousy 
 
 Is for a precious creature : as she's rare, 
 
 Must it be great ; and, as his persjn's mighty, 
 
 Must it \ie violent; and as he does conceive 
 
 He is dishonor'd by a man which ever 
 
 Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
 
 In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades ma 
 
 Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
 
 The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing 
 
 Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo; 
 
 I will respect thee as a father, if 
 
 Thou bear'st my life off hence : Let us avoid. 
 
 Cam. It is in mine authority to command 
 The keys of all the posterns : Pleate your highncM 
 To take the urgent hour: come, sir, away. 
 
 [^Exciinl 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 Enter Hekmione, Mamillius, and Ladies. 
 
 Her. Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, 
 'Tis past enduring. 
 
 I Lady. Come, my gracious lord. 
 
 Shall I be your play-fellow ] 
 
 Mam. No, I'll none of you. 
 
 1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord] 
 
 Mam. You'll kiss me hard ; and speak to me as if 
 I were a baby still. — I love you better. 
 
 2 Lady. And why so, my good lord ? 
 
 Mam. Not for because 
 
 Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they say. 
 Become some women best; so that there be not 
 Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle. 
 Or half-moon made with a pen. 
 
 2 Lady. Who taught you this] 
 
 Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. — Pray 
 now, 
 What color are your eye-brows ? 
 
 1 Lady. Blue, my lord. 
 Mam. Nay, that's a mock; I have seen a lady's 
 
 nose 
 That has been blue, but not her eye-brows. 
 
 2 Lady. Hark ye ; 
 The queen, your mother, rounds apiice: we shall 
 Present our services to a fine new prince, 
 
 One of these days ; and then you'd wanton with us 
 If we would have you. 
 
 1 Lady. She is spread of late 
 
 Into a goodly bulk: Good time encounter her! 
 Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, 
 sir, now 
 1 ain for you again: Pray you, sit by us, 
 And toll's a tale. 
 
 Mam. Merry, or sad, shall'tbe? 
 Her. As merry as you will. 
 Mam. A sad tale's best for winter: 
 
 1 have one of sprites and goblins. 
 
 Her. Let's have that, sir. 
 
 Come on, sit down: — Come on, and do your 
 
 best 
 To fright me with your sprites: you're powerful 
 It it. 
 
 Mam. There was a man, 
 
 Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on. 
 
 Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard; — I will tell it 
 softly; 
 Ifon crickets shall not hear it. 
 
 Her. Come on, then, 
 
 ind give't rac in mine ear. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Aittigonus, Lords, and others. 
 
 Leon. Was he met there ? his train 1 Camillo 
 with him 1 
 
 1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them ; 
 never 
 Saw I men scour so on their way : I ey'd them 
 Even to their ships. 
 
 Leon. How bless'd am I, 
 
 In my just censure I' in my true opinion? — 
 Alack, for lesser knowledge ! How accurs'd, 
 In being so blest ! — There may be in the cup 
 A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart. 
 And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
 Is not infected : but if one present 
 The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known 
 How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides. 
 With violent hefts : ' — I have drank, and seen the 
 
 spider. 
 Camillo was his help in this, his pander :— 
 There is a plot against my life, my crown; 
 All's true that is mistrusted : — that false villain, 
 Whom I employed, was pre-employ'd by him • 
 He has discover'd my design, and I 
 Remain a pinch'd thing ; ' yea, a very trick 
 For them to play at will : — How came the postern* 
 So easily open 1 
 
 1 Lord. By his great authority ; 
 
 Which often hath no less prevailed than so, 
 On your command. 
 
 Leon. I know't too well. 
 
 Give me the boy ; I am glad, you did not nurse him 
 Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
 Have too much blood in him. 
 
 Her. What is this] sport 1 
 
 Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not corns 
 about her; 
 Away with him : — and let her sport herself 
 With that she's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes 
 Has made thee swell thus. 
 
 Her. But I'd say, he had not 
 
 And, 111 be sworn, you would believe my saying, 
 Howe'er you lean to the nayward. 
 
 Leon. You, my lorda, 
 
 Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 
 
 To say, she is a goodly lady, and 
 
 The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 
 
 'Tis pity she's not honest, honorable: 
 
 Praise her but for this her without-door form, 
 
 (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and 
 
 straight 
 
 « Judirmpnt. » Heavlnga- 
 
 • \ tiling pinched out of clouts, a puppet 
 
280 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 The shrug, the hum, or ha ; these petty hrands. 
 That calumny doth use: — O, I am out, 
 That mercy does ; for calumny will sear' 
 Virtue itself: — These shrugs, these hums, and ha's, 
 When you have said she's goodly, come between, 
 Ere you can say she's honest : But be it known, 
 From him that has most cause to grieve it should be. 
 She's an adultress. 
 
 Her. Should a villain say so, 
 
 The most replenish'd villain in the world. 
 He were as much more villain : you, my lord 
 Do but mistake. 
 
 Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 
 
 Polixenes for Leontes : O thou thing. 
 Which I'll not call a creature of thy place. 
 Lest barbarism, making me the precedent. 
 Should a like language use to all degrees. 
 And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
 Betwixt the prince and beggar ! — I have said. 
 She's an adultress ; I have said with whom : 
 More, she's a traitor ; and Camillo is 
 A federary' with her ; and one that knows 
 What she should shame to know herself. 
 But* with her most vile principal, that she's 
 A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
 That vulgars give bold titles ; ay, and privy 
 To this their late escape. 
 
 Her. No, by my life, 
 
 Privy to none of this ; How will this grieve you. 
 When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
 You thus have publish'd me ? Gentle my lord. 
 You scarce can right me throughly then, to say 
 You did mistake. 
 
 Leon. No, no ; if I mistake 
 
 In hose foundations which I build upon, 
 The centre is not big enough to bear 
 A school-boy's top. — Away with her to prison : 
 He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty,' 
 But that he speaks.' 
 
 Her. There's some ill planet reigns : 
 
 I must be patient, till the heavens look 
 With an aspect more favorable. Good my lords, 
 I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
 Com-nonly are ; the want of which vain dew, 
 Perciiance, shall dry your pities : but I have 
 That honorable grief lodged here, which burns 
 Worse than tears drown : 'Beseech you all, my 
 With thoughts so qualified as your charities [lords. 
 Shall best instruct you, measure me ; — and so 
 The king's will be perform'd ! 
 
 Leon. Shall I be heard 1 [To the Guards. 
 
 Her. Who is't that goes with me 1 — 'Beseech 
 your highness, 
 My women may be wilh me ; for, you see. 
 My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; 
 There is no cause : when you shall know your 
 Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears, [mistress 
 A 3 I come out : this action, I now go on. 
 Is for my better grace. — Adieu, my lord : 
 I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now, [leave. 
 
 I trust, I shall. My women, come ; you have 
 
 Leon. Go do our bidding ; hence. 
 
 [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 
 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen 
 again. 
 
 Ant. Be certain what you do, sir ; lest your justice 
 
 Prove violence ; in the which three great ones suffer, 
 
 Vourself, your queen, yoiir son. 
 
 1 Lord. For her, my lord, — ■ 
 
 1 Brand as infamous. • Confederate. ' Only. 
 
 ' Remotely guilty. » In merely speaking. 
 
 I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir, 
 Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotlesf 
 I'the eyes of heaven, and to you ; I mean, 
 In this which you accuse her. 
 
 Ant. If it prove 
 
 She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 
 I lodge my wife ; I'll go in couples with her ; 
 Than when I feel, and see her, no further trust hei 
 For every inch of woman in the world. 
 Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false, 
 If she be. 
 
 Leon. Hold your peaces. 
 
 I Lord. Good my lord, — 
 
 A7it. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves ; 
 You are abus'd, and by some putter on. 
 That will be damn'd for't ; 'would I knew the villaii, 
 I would land-damn him : Be she iionor-flaw'd, — 
 I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ; 
 The second, and the third, nine, and some five ; 
 If this prove true, they'll pay for't : by mine honor, 
 I'll geld them all ; fourteen they shall not see, 
 To bring false generations : they are co-heirs ; 
 And I had rather glib myself, than they 
 Should not produce fair issue. 
 
 Leon. Cease ; no more 
 
 You smell this business with a sense as cold 
 As is a dead man's nose : I see't and feel't, 
 As you feel doing thus ; and see withal 
 The instruments that feel. 
 
 Ant. If it be so, 
 
 We need no grave to bury honesty ; 
 There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten 
 Of the whole dungy earth. 
 
 Lemi. What ! lack I credit 1 
 
 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord, 
 Upon this ground : and more it would content nifl 
 To have her honor true, than your suspicion ; 
 Be blam'd for't how you might. 
 
 Lean. W'hy, what need we 
 
 Commune with you of this 1 but rather follow 
 Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative 
 Calls not your councils ; but our natural goodnest 
 Imparts this : which, — if you (or stupified. 
 Or seeming so in skill) cannot, or will not, 
 Relish as truth, like us ; inform yourselves. 
 We need no more of your advice : the matter. 
 The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all 
 Properly ours. 
 
 Ant. And I wish, my liege. 
 
 You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
 Without more overture. 
 
 Leon. How could that be 1 
 
 Either thou art most ignorant by age. 
 Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, 
 Added to their familiarity, 
 
 (Which was as gi-oss as ever touched conjecture 
 That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation,' 
 But only seeing, all other circumstances 
 Made up to the deed,) doth push on tliis proceedn.g." 
 Yet, for a greater confirmation, 
 (For, in an act of this importance, 'twere 
 Most piteous to be wild,) I have despatch'd in post, 
 To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
 Cleomcncs and Dion, whom you know 
 Of stuff'd sufiiciency :* Now, from the oracle 
 They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had. 
 Shall not stop or spur me. Have I done well 1 
 
 1 Lord. Well done, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no mor< 
 
 » Proof. 
 
 « Of abilities ijore tiaa sjffioicni 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 381 
 
 Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 
 Give rest to the minds of others ; such as he, 
 Whose ignorant credulity will not 
 Come up to the truth : So have we though* it good, 
 From our free person she should be confined; 
 Lest that the treachery of the two, fled hence, 
 Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; 
 We are to speak in public : for this business 
 Will raise us all. 
 
 Ant. [^Aside.J To laughter, as I take it, 
 If the good truth were known. ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IL— The outer Room of a Prison. 
 
 Enter Paulix a and Attendants. 
 
 Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ; — 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 Let him have knowledge who I am. — Good lady! 
 No court m Europe is too good for thee, 
 What dost thou then in prison ! — Now, good sir, 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper. 
 You knov/ me, do you not] 
 
 Keep. For a worthy lady, 
 
 And one whom much I honor. 
 
 Paul. Pray you, then, 
 
 Conduct me to the queen. 
 
 Keep. I may not, madam ; to the contrary 
 I have express commandment. 
 
 Paul, Here's ado, 
 
 To lock up honesty and honor from 
 
 The access of gentle visitors ! Is it lawful, 
 
 Pray yoa, to see her women ? any of them ] 
 Emilia? 
 
 Keep. So please you, madam, to put 
 Apart these your attendants, I shall bring 
 Emilia forth. 
 
 Paul. I pray now, call her. 
 
 Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend. 
 
 Keep. And, madam, 
 
 { must be present at your conference. 
 
 Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. [Exit Keeper. 
 Here's such ado to make no stain a stain, 
 As passes coloring. 
 
 Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia. 
 
 Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious ladyl 
 
 Emit. As well as one so great, and so forlorn, 
 May hold together : On her frights and griefs, 
 (Which never tender lady hath borne greater,) 
 She is, something before her time, deliver'd. 
 
 Paul. A boy ? 
 
 Einil. A daughter, and a goodly babe, 
 
 Lusty, and like to live: the queen receives 
 Much comfort in 't : says, Mi/ poor prisoner, 
 I am innocent as you. 
 
 Paul. I dare be sworn : — 
 
 These dangerous unsafe lunes' o'the Icing! bcshrew 
 
 them ' 
 He must be told on't, and he shall: the office 
 Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me: 
 [f I prove ioncy-mouth'd, let my tongue blister; 
 And never to my red-look'd anger be 
 The trumpet any more: Pray you, Emilia, 
 Commend my best obedience to the queen; 
 If she dares trust me with her little babe, 
 ['11 show't the king, and undertake to be 
 Hei advocate to Ih' loudest: We do no know 
 
 How he may soften at the sight c' the child; 
 The silence often of pure innocence 
 Persuades, when speaking fails. 
 
 Emil. Most worthy madam, 
 
 Your honor, and your goodness, is so evident, 
 That your free undertaking cannot miss 
 A thriving issue; there is no lady living 
 So meet for this great errand: Please your ladyshif 
 To visit the next room, I'll presently 
 Acquaint the queen of your most noble oflfer; 
 Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design: 
 But durst not tempt a minister of honor. 
 Lest she should be denied. 
 
 Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 
 
 I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from it, 
 As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted 
 I shall do good. 
 
 Emil. Now, be you blest for it! 
 
 I'll to the queen: Please you, come something 
 nearer. 
 
 Keep. Madam, if 't please the queen to send tha 
 babe, 
 I know not what I shall incur, to pass it. 
 Having ho warrant. 
 
 Paul. You need not fear it, sir: 
 
 The child was prisoner to the womb ; and is, 
 By law and process of great nature, thence 
 Freed and enfranchis'd : not a party to 
 The anger of the king; nor guilty oi, 
 If any be, the trespass of the queen. 
 
 Keep. I do believe it. 
 
 Paul. Do not you fear: upon 
 
 Mine lionor, I will stand 'twixt you and danger. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room hi the Palace. 
 
 Enter Lkontes, Antigonus, Lords, and othct 
 Attendants. 
 
 Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is bul 
 weakness 
 To bear the matter thus ; mere weakness, if 
 The cause were not in being; — part o'the cause, 
 She, the adultress ; — for the harlot king 
 Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
 And level of my brain, plot-proof: but she 
 I can hook to me : Say, that she were gone. 
 Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
 Might come to me again. Who's there 1 
 
 1 Atten. My lord! 
 
 [Advancing, 
 
 Leon. How does the boy 1 
 
 1 Atten. He took good rest to-niglit: 
 
 'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharged. 
 
 Leon. To see 
 
 His nobleness ! 
 
 Conceiving the dishonor of his mother. 
 He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply; 
 j Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself, 
 I Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, 
 And downright languish'd. — Leave me solely; ' — go 
 See how he fares. [Exit Attend.] — Fye, fye! nf 
 
 thought of him ; 
 The very thought of my revenges that way 
 Recoil upon me; in himself too mighty; 
 And in his parties, his alliance, — Let him be. 
 Until a time may serve: for present vengeance. 
 Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
 Laugh at me ; make their pastime at my sorrow 
 
 * LuiL-vcies, fits of mad&css. 
 
 > Alona 
 
882 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act II 
 
 They shoulJ not laugh if I could reach them ; nor 
 Shall she, within my power. 
 
 Enter Paulina, udth a Child. 
 
 1 Lord. You must not enter. 
 
 Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to 
 me: 
 Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, 
 Than the queen's life ] a gracious innocent soul ; 
 More fi'ee, than he is jealous. 
 
 Ant. That's enough. 
 
 1 Aften. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; 
 commanded 
 None should come at him. 
 
 Paul. Not so hot, good sir; 
 
 I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,- 
 That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
 At each his needless heaving, — such as you 
 Nourish the cause of his awaking: I 
 Do come with words as med'cinal as true ; 
 Honest, as either ; to purge him of that humor, 
 That presses liim from sleep. 
 
 Leon. What noise there, ho ? 
 
 Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference. 
 About some gossips for your highness. 
 
 Leon. How ? 
 
 Away with that audacious lady ; Antigonus, 
 
 I charged thee, that she should not come about me ; 
 
 I knew, she would. 
 
 Ant. I told her so, my lord. 
 
 On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, 
 She should not visit you. 
 
 Leon. What, canst not rule her? 
 
 Paul. From all dishonesty, he can ; in this 
 (Unless he take the course that you have done. 
 Commit me, for committing honor.) trust it. 
 He shall not rule me. 
 
 Ant. Lo you now ; you hear ! 
 
 When she will take the rein, I let her run ; 
 But she'll not stumble. 
 
 Paul. Good my liege, I come, — 
 
 And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess 
 Myself your loyal servant, your physician, 
 Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare 
 Less appear so, in comforting your evils,' 
 Than such as most seem yours: — I say, I come 
 From your good queen. 
 
 Leon. Good queen! 
 
 Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say 
 good queen; 
 And would by combat make her good, so were I 
 A man, the worst" about you. 
 
 Leon. Force her hence. 
 
 Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes. 
 First hand me : on mine own accord, I'll off; 
 But first, I'll do my errand. — The good queen. 
 For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter ; 
 Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing. 
 
 \Laying down the Child. 
 
 Leon. Out! 
 
 Averymankind'wdtch! Hence with her,outo'door: 
 A most intelligencing bawd ! 
 
 Paul. Not so : 
 
 1 &m as ignorant in that, as you 
 In so entitling me : and no less honest 
 Than yc u are mad : which is enough, I'll warrant, 
 As this world goes, to pass for honest. 
 
 Leon. Traitors ! 
 
 Will you not push her out 1 Give her the bastard : — 
 
 ' Abetting your ill warees. » Lowest. ' Masculine. 
 
 Thou, dotard, [To Antigobttjs.] thou art woma» 
 
 tired,' unroosted 
 By thy dame Partlet here, — take up the bastard ; 
 Take't up, I say ; give't to thy crone.' 
 
 Paul. For ever 
 
 Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 
 Tak'st up the princess, by that forced ' baseness 
 Which he has put upon't ! 
 
 Leon. He dreads his wife. 
 
 Paul. So, I would, you did : then, 'twere pasl 
 all doubt. 
 You'd call your cliildren yours. 
 
 Leon. A nest af traitors ! 
 
 Ant. I am none, by this good light. 
 
 Paul. Nor I; nor any, 
 
 But one, that's here ; and that's himself: for he 
 The sacred honor of himself, his queen's. 
 His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, 
 Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and will 
 
 not 
 (For as the case now stands, it is a curse 
 He cannot be compell'd to't) once remove 
 The root of his opinion, which is rotten. 
 As ever oak, or stone, was sound. 
 
 Leon. A callat,' 
 
 Of boundless tongue; who late hath beat hei 
 
 husband. 
 And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine; 
 It is the issue of Polixencs : 
 Hence with it; and, together with the dam, 
 Commit them to the fire. 
 
 Paul. It is yours ; 
 
 And, might we lay the old proverb to your chargs. 
 So like you, 'tis the worse. — Behold, my lords, 
 Although the print be little, the whole matter 
 And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip. 
 The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley, 
 The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his 
 
 smiles ; 
 The very mould and fi-ame of hand, nail, finger : — 
 And thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it 
 So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
 The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colors 
 No yellow' in't; lest she suspect as he does. 
 Her cnildren not her husband's ! 
 
 Leon. A gross hag*.- 
 
 And, lozel,* thou art worthy to be liang'd, 
 That wilt not stay her tongue. 
 
 Ant. Hang all the husbands 
 
 That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 
 Hardly one subject. 
 
 Leon. Once more, take her h ence, 
 
 Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lo'o 
 Can do no more. 
 
 Leon. I'll have thee burn'd. 
 
 Paul. I can no' 
 
 It is an heretic, that makes the fire, 
 Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant , 
 But this most cruel usage of your queen 
 (Not able to produce more accusation 
 Than your own weak-hinged fancy) something 
 
 savors 
 Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, 
 Yea, scandalous to the world. 
 
 Leon. On your allegiance 
 
 Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, 
 
 8 Pecked by a woman ; hen-pecked. 
 
 » Worn out old woman. 
 
 » Forced 18 false; uttered with violence to truth. 
 
 » Trull. » The color of jealousy. ♦ Worthless fellow 
 
y^LCT III. Scene I. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 385 
 
 Whore were her lifel she durs» not call me so, 
 If she did know me one. Away with her. 
 
 Paul I pray you, do not piwh me ; I'll be gone. 
 Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send 
 
 her 
 A better guiding spirit!— Wb it need these hands^— 
 Vou, that arc thus so tender o'er his follies. 
 Will never do him good, not one of you. 
 8c, so: — Farewell; v;e are gone. [Exit. 
 
 Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.— 
 My child 1 awaywith't! even thou, that hast 
 A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence. 
 And see it instantly consum'd with fire; 
 Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight : 
 Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, 
 (And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life. 
 With what thou else call'st thme: If thou refuse. 
 And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; 
 The bastard brains with these my proper hands 
 Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; 
 For thou sett'st on thy wife. 
 
 Ant. I did not, sir: 
 
 These lords, my noble fellows, if they please. 
 Can clear me in't. 
 
 1 Lord. 'We can ; ray royal liege. 
 
 He is not guilty of her coming hither. 
 Leon. You are liars all. 
 
 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better 
 credit; 
 We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech 
 So to esteem of us : And on our knees we beg, 
 (As recompense of our dear services. 
 Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose; 
 Which being so horrible, so bloody, must 
 Lead on to some foul issue : We all kneel. 
 
 Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows : — 
 Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel 
 And call me father 1 Better burn it now, 
 Than curse it then. But, be it; let it live: 
 It shall not neither.— You, sir, come you hither; 
 
 [To Antigonus. 
 You, that have been so tenderly officious 
 With lady Margery, your midwife, there. 
 To save this bastard's life: — for 'tis a bastard. 
 So sure as this beard's grey,— what will you ad- 
 venture 
 To save this brat's lifel 
 
 Ant. Any thing, my lord, 
 
 That my ability may undergo. 
 
 And nobleness impose: at least thus much-, 
 I'll pawn the little blood which I have left, 
 To save the innocent: any thing possible. 
 
 Leon. It shall be possible: swear by this sworo, 
 Thou wilt perform my bidding. 
 
 Ant. I will, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Mark, and perform it; (seest thoul) foi 
 the fail 
 Of any point in't shall not only be 
 Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongued wife. 
 Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee, 
 As thou art licgc-man to us, that thou carry 
 This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it 
 To some remote and desert place, quite out 
 Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it. 
 Without more mercy, to its own protection. 
 And favor of the climate. As by strange fortune 
 It came to u.--, I do in justice charge thee, — 
 On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture,— 
 That thou commend it strangely to some place,' 
 Where chance may nurse, or end it: Take it up. 
 
 Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
 Had been more merciful. — Come on, poor babe: 
 Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens, 
 To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say, 
 Casting their savageness aside, have done 
 Like oflaces of pity.— Sir, be prosperous 
 In more than this deed doth require ! and blessing, 
 Against tliis cruelty, fight on thy side. 
 Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! [Exit with the Child. 
 
 Leon. No, I'll not reai 
 
 Another's issue. 
 
 1 Atten. Please your highness, posts, 
 
 From those you sent to the oracle, are come 
 An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
 Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed. 
 Hasting to the court. _ 
 
 1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 
 
 Hath been beyond account. 
 
 Leon. Twenty-three daya 
 
 They have been absent: 'Tis good speed ; foretells, 
 The great Apollo suddenly will have 
 The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; 
 Summon a session, that we may arraign 
 Our most disloyal lady : for as she hath 
 Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
 A just and open trial. While she lives. 
 My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me; 
 And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCEINE I. — A Street in some Town. 
 Enter Cleomex es and Diojf. 
 Cleo. The climate's delicate; the air most sweet ; 
 Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing 
 The common praise it bears. 
 
 Dion. I shall report, 
 
 For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
 (^Methinks, I should so term them,) and the reve- 
 rence 
 Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! 
 How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
 It was i' the olTering ! 
 
 CleA But, of all, the burst 
 
 And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, 
 Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense, 
 That I was nothing. . 
 
 Dion. If the event o' the journej 
 
 Prove as successful to the queen,— 0, be't so!— 
 As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy, 
 The time is worth the use on't. 
 
 Cleo. Great Apollo, 
 
 Turn all to the best! These proclamations. 
 So forcing laults upon Heroiione, 
 I little like. 
 
 t It was anciently a practice to swear by the cross at tb 
 hilt of the sword. 
 i. e. Commit it to some place as a stranger 
 
28-1 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Dion. The violent carriage of it 
 
 Will clear, or end, the business : When the oracle, 
 (Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,) 
 Shall the contents discover, something rare. 
 
 Even then, will rush to knowledge. Go, — fresh 
 
 horses ; — 
 And gracious be the issue ! [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Court of Justice. 
 
 Leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear properly 
 seated. 
 
 Leon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- 
 nounce) 
 Even pushes 'gainst our heart: The party tried. 
 The daughter of a king; our wife; and one 
 Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd 
 Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
 Proceed in justice; which shall have due course, 
 Even^ to the guilt, or the purgation. — — 
 Produce the prisoner. 
 
 OJJi. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen 
 Appear in person here in court. — Silence ! 
 
 Hermioste is brought in, guarded; Paulina and 
 Ladies attending. 
 
 Leon. Read the indictment. 
 
 Offi. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, 
 king oy Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned 
 of high treason, in committing adultery with Po- 
 lixenes, Miig of Bohemia; aiid conspiring with 
 Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord 
 the king, thy royal husbaiid; the pretence'' whereof 
 being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, 
 Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a 
 true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their 
 better safety, to fly away by night. 
 
 Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that 
 Which contradicts my accusation; and 
 The testimony on my part, no other 
 But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me 
 To say. Not guilty: mine integrity, 
 Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it. 
 Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers divine 
 Behold our human actions, (as they do,) 
 I doubt not then, but innocence shall make 
 False accusation blush, and tyranny 
 Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know, 
 (Who least will seem to do so,) my past life 
 Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
 As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
 Than history can pattern, though devis'd. 
 And play'd to take spectators : For behold me, — 
 A fellow of the royal bed, which owe' 
 A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 
 The mother to a hopeful prince, — here standing 
 To prate and talk for life, and honor, 'fore 
 Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it, 
 As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honor, 
 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, 
 And only that I stand for. I appeal 
 To your conscience, sir, before Pohxenes 
 Came to your court, how I was in your grace, 
 How merited to be so ; since he came. 
 With what encounter so uncurrent I 
 Have strain'd to appear thus : if one jot beyond 
 The bound of hmor; or, in act, or will, 
 
 ' Equal. 
 
 ' Own, possess. 
 
 • Scheme laid. 
 
 That way inclining; harden d be the hearts 
 Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
 Cry, Fye upon my grave ! 
 
 Leon. I ne'er heard yet, 
 
 That any of these bolder vices wanted 
 Less impudence to gainsay what they did, 
 Than to perform it first. 
 
 Her. That's true enough ; 
 
 Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. 
 
 Leo.n. You will not own it. 
 
 Her. More than mistress o^ 
 
 Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
 At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
 (With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess, 
 I lov'd Mm, as in honor he requir'd; 
 With such a kind of love, as might become 
 A lady like me ; with a love, even such, 
 So, and no other, as yourself commanded; 
 Which not to have done, I think, had been in me 
 Both disobedience and ingratitude, 
 To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had 
 
 spoke. 
 Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely, 
 That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
 I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd 
 For me to try how : all I know of it 
 Is, that Camillo was an honest man ; 
 And, why he left your court, the gods themselves, 
 Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 
 
 Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
 What you have underta'en to do in his absence. 
 
 Her. Sir, 
 You speak a language that I understand not ; 
 My life stands in the level' of your dreams. 
 Which I'll lay down. 
 
 Leon. Your actions are my dreams ; 
 
 You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
 And I but dream'd it: — As you were past all shame, 
 (Those of your fact'' are so,) so past all truth ; 
 Which to deny, concerns more than avails: 
 For as 
 
 Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
 No father owning it, (which is, indeed. 
 More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou 
 Shalt feel our justice ; in whose easiest passage^ 
 Look for no less than death. 
 
 Her. Sir, spare your threats; 
 
 The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. 
 To me can life be no commodity: 
 The crown and comfort of my life, your favor, 
 I do give lost; for I do feel it gone. 
 But know not how it went: My second joy, 
 And first fruits of my body, from his presence, 
 I am barr'd like one infectious: My third comfort, 
 Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, 
 The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth. 
 Haled out to murder: Myself on every post 
 Proclaim'd a strumpet ; With immodest hatred, 
 The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
 To women of all fashion : — Lastly, hurried 
 Here to this place, i' the open air, before 
 I have got strength of limit.^ Now, my liege. 
 Tell me what blessings I have here alive. 
 That I should fear to die ] Therefore, proceed. 
 
 But yet, hear this; mistake me not; No! life, 
 
 I prize it not a straw: — but for mine honor, 
 
 « Is within the reach, s They who have done like you. 
 
 = i. e. The degree of strength which it is customary U 
 acquire before women are suffered to go abro.id after ehlUk 
 bearing. 
 
CENE II. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 385 
 
 I Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd 
 tJpc n surmises ; all proofs sleeping else, 
 But what your jealousies awake; I tell you, 
 'Tis rigor, and not law. — Your honors all, 
 I do refer mo to the oracle ; 
 Apollo be my judge. 
 
 1 Lord. This your request 
 
 Is altogether just : therefore, bring forth, 
 And in Apollo's name, his oracle. 
 
 \_Exeunt certain Officers. 
 
 Her. The emperor of Russia was my father : 
 0, that he wore alive, and here beholding 
 His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
 The flatness of my misery ; yet with eyes 
 Of pity, not revenge ! 
 
 Re-enter Officers with Cleomehes and Diox. 
 
 Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword 
 of justice, 
 That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
 Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought 
 This seal'd up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
 Of great Apollo's priest : and that, since then, 
 You have not dared to break the holy seal, 
 Nor read the secret's in't. 
 
 Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. 
 
 Leon. Break up the seals and read. 
 
 Offi. IReads.'] Hermione is chaste, Polixenes 
 blameless, Caraillo a true subject, Leontes a jeal- 
 ous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and 
 the king shall live without an heir, if that, which 
 is lost, be not found. 
 
 Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! 
 
 Her. Praised. 
 
 heon. Hast thou read truth 1 
 
 Ofli. Ay, my lord ; even so 
 
 As it is here set down. 
 
 Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle : 
 The sessions shall proceed ; this is mere falsehood. 
 
 Enter a Servant, hastily. 
 
 IServ. My lord the king, the kijig ! 
 
 Leon. What is the business ! 
 
 Serv. sir, I shall be hated to report it : 
 The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
 Of the queen's speed,* is gone 
 
 Leon. How! gonel 
 
 Serv. Is dead. 
 
 Leon. Apollo's angry: and the heavens themselves 
 Do strike at my injustice. [HERMioNE/am^s.] How 
 now there "? 
 
 Paul. This news is mortal to the queen : — Look 
 down. 
 And see what death is doing. 
 
 Leon. Take her hence : 
 
 Her heart is but o'erchargcd ; she will recover. — 
 I have too much bcliev'd mine own suspicion: — 
 'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
 Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon 
 
 [^Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Hekm. 
 My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle! — 
 I'll reconcile me to Polixenes; 
 New woo my queen; recall the good Camillo; 
 Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy: 
 For, being transported by my jealousies 
 To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 
 Camillo for the minister, to poison 
 My friend Polixenes: which had been done, 
 
 « Of the event of the queen's trial. 
 
 But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
 
 My swift command, though I with death, and with 
 
 Reward, did threaten and encourage him, 
 
 Not doing it, and being done : he, most humane. 
 
 And lill'd with honor, to my kingly guest 
 
 Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here, 
 
 Which you knew great; and to the certain hazard 
 
 Of all incertainties himself commended, 
 
 No richer than his honor : — How he glisters 
 
 Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
 
 Does my deeds make the blacker! 
 
 Re-enter Paulina. 
 
 Paul. Woe the while ! 
 
 0, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it, 
 
 Break too! 
 
 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady 1 
 
 Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast lor mel 
 
 What wheels ? racks 1 fires 1 What flaying 1 boiling. 
 
 In leads, or oils 1 what old, or newer torture 
 
 Must I receive ; whose every word deserves 
 
 To taste of thy most worst ] Thy tyranr.v 
 
 Together working with thy jealousies,- — 
 
 Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
 
 For girls of nine ! — O, think, what they have dciic, 
 
 And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad ! for all 
 
 Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
 
 That thou bctray'dst Polixenes, 'twas notliing ; 
 
 That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, 
 
 And damnable ungrateful: nor was't mucli. 
 
 Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camiilo's honor, 
 
 To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses. 
 
 More monstrous standing by : whereof I recko'* 
 
 The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, 
 
 To be or none, or little ; though a devil 
 
 Would have shed water out of fire,* ere done't ; 
 
 Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death 
 
 Of the young prince, whose honorable thoughts 
 
 (Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart 
 
 That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire 
 
 Blemish'd his gracious dam : this is not, no. 
 
 Laid to thy answer: But the last, O, lords. 
 
 When I have said, cry, woe ! — the queen, the queen, 
 
 The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead ; and ven 
 
 Nor dropp'd down yet. [geance for' 
 
 1 Lord. The higher powers forbid ! 
 
 Paul. I say, she's dead ; I'll swear't : if word, noi 
 
 Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring [oath, 
 
 Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye. 
 
 Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you 
 
 As I would do the gods. — But, O, thou tyrant! 
 
 Do not repent these things ; for they are heavier 
 
 Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee 
 
 To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
 
 Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
 
 Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
 
 In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
 
 To look that way thou wert. 
 
 Leon. Go on, go on : 
 
 Thou canst not speak too much: I have deserv'd 
 
 All tongues to talk their bitterest. 
 
 1 Lord. Say no more 
 
 Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
 
 I'the boldness of your speech. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry for't* 
 
 All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
 
 I do repent: Alas, I have show'd too much 
 
 The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd [Tielp 
 
 To the noble heart. — What's gone, and what's past 
 
 I • i. e. A devil would hare shed tears of pltj, ere be would hki- 
 perpetrated :iucb an ftetloa. 
 
im 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction 
 
 At my petition, I beseech you ; rather 
 
 Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
 
 Of what you should forget. Now, good my hege, 
 
 Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman : 
 
 The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool again ! — 
 
 I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children ; 
 
 I'll not remember you of my own lord. 
 
 Who is lost too : Take your patience to you. 
 
 And I'll say nothing. 
 
 Leo7i. Thou didst speak but well, 
 
 When most the truth ; which I receive much better 
 Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me 
 To the dead bodies of my queen and son : 
 One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall 
 The causes of their death appear, unto 
 Our shame perpetual : Once a day I'll visit 
 The chapel where they lie ; and tears shed there, 
 Shall be my recreation : So long as 
 Nature will bear up with this exercise. 
 So long I daily vow to use it. Come, 
 And lead me to these sorrows. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Bohemia. A desert Country near 
 the Sea. 
 
 Enter AT<niGOT<ivs, with the Child; and a Mariner. 
 
 Ant. Thou art perfect' then, our ship hath 
 touch'd upon 
 The deserts of Bohemia? 
 
 Mar. Ay, my lord, and fear 
 
 We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly. 
 And threaten present blusters. In my conscience. 
 The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, 
 And fiown upon us. 
 
 A7it. Their sacred wills be done! — Go, get aboard; 
 Look to thy bark ; I'll not be long, before 
 I call upon thee. 
 
 Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not 
 Too far i'the land : 'tis like to be loud weather ; 
 Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
 Of prey, that keep upon't. 
 
 A}it. Go thou away : 
 
 I'll follow instantly. 
 
 Mar. I am glad at heart 
 
 To be so rid o'the business. [^Exit. 
 
 Ant. Come, poor babe :■ 
 
 I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the 
 
 dead 
 May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 
 Appear'd to me last night ; for ne'er was dream 
 So like a waking. To me comes a creature. 
 Sometimes her head on one side, some another ; 
 I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 
 So fiU'd, and so becoming: in pure white robes. 
 Like very sanctity, she did approach 
 My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me; 
 And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 
 Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 
 Did this break from her ; Good Antigonus, 
 Since fate, agaiiist thy better disposition, 
 Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 
 Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, — 
 Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 
 There weep, and leave it crying,- and, for the bale 
 Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
 I pr'ythee, call't; for this ungentle business, 
 Put on thee by my lord, thou nier shalt see 
 
 » Well-assured. 
 
 Thy wife Paulina more: — and so, with shrieks, 
 
 She melted ;sju> iir. Affrighted much, 
 
 I did in time collect myself; and thought 
 
 This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys 
 
 Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, 
 
 I will be squared by this. I do believe, 
 
 Hcrmione hath suflbr'd death; and that 
 
 Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
 
 Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid, 
 
 Either for life, or death, upon the earth 
 
 Of its right father. — Blossom, speed thee well! 
 
 [Laying down the Child. 
 There lie ; and there thy character :" there these ; 
 
 [Laying down a bundle. 
 Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, 
 
 And still rest ihine. The storm begins : — Poor 
 
 WTetch, 
 That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd 
 To loss, and what may follow ! — Weep I cannot. 
 But my heart bleeds : and most accurs'd am I, 
 To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell ! 
 The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have 
 A lullaby too rough : I never saw 
 The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamor 1 — 
 Well may I get aboard ! — This is the chase ; 
 I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a Bear. 
 
 Enter an old Shepherd. 
 
 Shep. I would there were no age between ten 
 and three and twenty ; or that youth would sleep 
 out the rest : for there is nothing in the between 
 but getting wenches with child, wronging the an- 
 cientry, stealing, fighting. Hark you now! — 
 
 Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and 
 two and twenty, hunt this weather 1 They have 
 scared away two of my best sheep ; which, I fear, 
 the wolf will sooner find, than the master : if any 
 where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing 
 on ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will ! what have we 
 here 1 [Taking up the Child.] Mercy on's, a barne ;' 
 a very pretty barne ! A boy, or a child,* I wonder 1 
 A pretty one ; a very pretty one : Sure, some scape : 
 though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting- 
 gentlewomen in the scape. This has been some 
 stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door 
 work : they were warmer that got this, than the 
 poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity : Yet I'll 
 tarry till my son come ; he halloed but even now. 
 Whoa, ho hoa ! 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. Hilloa, loa! 
 
 Shep. What, art so near? ifthou'ltsee •hing 
 to talk on when thou art dead and rotten come 
 hither. What ailest thou, man 1 
 
 Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by 
 land ; — but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it ia 
 now the sky ; betwixt the firmament and it, you 
 cannot thrust a bodkin's point. 
 
 Shep. Why, boy, how is it 1 
 
 Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how 
 it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that's not 
 to the point : O, the most piteous cry of the poor 
 souls ! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em • 
 now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast, 
 and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd 
 thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for tht 
 
 « The writing afterward discovered with Perdita. 
 1 Child. • Female infant. 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 2Bi 
 
 land service.— To see how the bear tore out his 
 BhoulJcr-bone : how he cried to me for help, and 
 said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman :— But 
 to make an end of the ship :— to see how the sea 
 tl.ip-dragoned' it :— but, first, how the poor souls 
 roared, and the sea mocked them ;— and how the 
 poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, 
 both roaring louder than the sea or weather. 
 
 Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy 1 
 
 Clo. Now, now : I have not winked since I saw 
 these sights : the men are not yet cold under water, 
 nor the bear half dined on the gentleman : he's at 
 it now. 
 
 Shtp. Would I had been by, to have helped the 
 old man ! 
 
 Clo., I would you had been by the ship side, to 
 have helped her ; there your charity would have 
 lacked footing. {^Aside. 
 
 Shep. Heavy matters ! heavy matters ! but look 
 thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st 
 with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's 
 a sight for thee ; look thee, a bearing-cloth' for a 
 squire's child ! Look thee here : take up, take up. 
 
 boy ; open't. So, let's see : It was told me, I should 
 be rich by the fairies : this is some changeling :— 
 open't: What's within, ha jl 
 
 Clo. You're a made old man : if the sins of youi 
 youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold • 
 all gold ! 
 
 Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so , 
 up with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next 
 way. We are lucky, boy ; and to be so still, re- 
 quires nothing but secrecy.— Let my sheep go : — 
 Come, good boy, the next way home. 
 
 Clo. Go you the next way with your findings 
 I'll go ace if the bear be gone from the gentleman, 
 and how much he hath eaten : they are never curst, 
 but when they are hungry : if there be any of him 
 left, I'll bury it. 
 
 Shep. That's a good deed : If thou may st dis- 
 cern by that which is left of liim, what he is, fetch 
 me to the sight of him. 
 
 Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put him 
 i'the ground. 
 
 Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy ; and we'll do good 
 deeds on't. \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Time, as Chorus. 
 Time. I, — that please some, try all; both joy 
 and terror, 
 «)f good and bad; that make, and unfold error, — 
 Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
 To use my wings. Impute it not a crime. 
 To me, or my swift passage, that I slide 
 
 er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
 Of that wide gap : since it is in my power 
 To o'erthrovv law, and in one self-born hour 
 To plant and o'ervvhelm custom : Let me pass 
 The same I am, ere ancient'st order was. 
 Or what is now received : I witness to 
 The times that brought them in ; so shall I do 
 To the freshest things now reigning; and make stale 
 The glistering of this present, as my tale 
 Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
 I turn my glass; and give my scene such growing, 
 As you had slept between. Leontcs leaving 
 The effects of his fond jealousies ; so grieving, 
 That he shuts up himself; imagine me. 
 Gentle spectators, that I now may be 
 In fair Bohemia; and remember well, 
 I mentione.l a son o' the king's, which Florizel 
 I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 
 To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
 Equal with wond'ring: What of her ensues, 
 I list not prophecy ; but let Time's news 
 Be known, when 'tis brought forth : — a shepherd's 
 
 daughter, 
 And what to her adheres which follows after. 
 Is the argument^ of time: Of this allow, 
 \( ever you have spent time worse ere now ; 
 If never yet, that Time himself doth say. 
 He wishes earnestly, you never may. [Exit. 
 
 BCENE I.— Bohemia. A Room in the Palace 
 of Polixencs. 
 Enter Polixenes and Camillo. 
 Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo,! e no more im- 
 
 • Swallowfxl. . , . , , ■• 1 
 
 I Tbe mantle in wliich a child was corned to be baptizoU. 
 
 S'llucct. 
 
 portunate : 'tis a sickness, denying thee any tliint, 
 a death, to grant this. 
 
 Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country : 
 though I have, for the most part, been' aired abroad, 
 I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni- 
 tent king, my master, hath sent for me : to whose 
 feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'er- 
 ween " to think so ; which is another spur to my 
 departure. 
 
 Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out 
 the rest of thy services, by leaving me now : the 
 need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made 
 better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee 
 thou, having made the businesses, which none, with 
 out thee, can sufficiently manage, must either stay 
 to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the 
 very services Miou hast done : which if I have not 
 enough considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be 
 more thankful to thee, shall be my study ; and my 
 profit therein, the heaping friendshi ds. Of that 
 fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more: 
 whose very naming punishes me witl i the remem- 
 brance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and 
 reconciled king, my brother; whose lo. b of his most 
 precious queen, and children, are eve i now to be 
 afresh lamented. Say to me, when sa v'st thou the 
 prince Florizel, my son ] Kings are no l ss unhappy, 
 their issue not being gracious, than ttey ire in losing 
 them, when they have approved their • irtues. 
 
 Cam. Sir, it is three days, since I saw the prince : 
 What his happier affairs may be, are to me un- 
 known: but I have, missingly, noted,* he is of late 
 much retired from court; and is less frequent to his 
 princely exercises, than formerly he hath appeared. 
 Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo; and 
 with some care; so far, that I have eyes under my 
 service, which look upon his removedncss; from 
 whom I have this intelligence : That he is seldom 
 from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, 
 they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the 
 imagination of his neighbors, is grown into an un- 
 speakable estate. 
 » Think too highly of myself. * Observed at inwrral* 
 
tss 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath 
 a daughter of most rare note : the report of her is 
 extended more, than can be thought to begin from 
 such a cottage. 
 
 Pol. That's Ukewise part of my intelligence. But, 
 J fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou 
 shall accompany us to the place : where we will, 
 not appearing what we are, have some question 
 with the shepherd; from whose simplicity, I think 
 it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort 
 thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this 
 business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. 
 
 Ca/}2. I willingly obey your command. 
 
 Pol. My bpst Camillo ! — We must disguise our- 
 ss./vcs. [^Exeunt. 
 
 S(y'ENE II.- -A Roadnear the Shepherd's Cottage. 
 
 Enter AuTOLTCus, singing. 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer, — 
 
 With heigh! the doxy over the dale, — 
 
 Why then comes in the sweet d'the year; 
 For the red blood reigns in the luinter's pale. 
 
 The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, — 
 With, hey.' the sweet birds, how they sing! 
 
 Doth set my pugging tooth on edge,- 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 Tlie lark, that tirra-lirra chants, — 
 
 With, heyL with hey! the thrush and the jay: 
 Are summers' songs forme and my aunts, 
 
 While we lie tumbling ifi the hay. 
 
 I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, 
 wore three-pile ; ' but now I am out of service : 
 
 But shall 1 go mourn for that, my dear? [Sings. 
 
 The pale moon shines by night: 
 And lohen I wander here and there, 
 
 I then do inost go right. 
 
 If tinkers may have leave to live, 
 
 And bear the sow-skin budget; 
 Then my account I well may give, 
 
 And in the stocks avouch it. 
 
 My traffic is in sheets ; when the kite builds, look to 
 lesser linen. My father named me, Autolycus ; 
 Who, being, as I am, httered under Mercury, was 
 likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles : With 
 die, and drab, I purchased this caparison ; and my 
 revenue is the silly cheat:* Gallows, and knock, 
 are too powerful on the highway; beating and 
 hanging, are terrors to me ; for the life to come, I 
 ileep 3ut the thought of it. — A prize ! a prize ! 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Cla. I»3i; me see : — Every 'leven wether — tods : 
 svery t )d yields — pound and odd shilling : fifteen 
 hundred shorn, — What comes the wool to 1 
 
 Aut. Ifthe springe hold, the cock's mine. [Aside. 
 
 Clc. I cannot do't without counters. — Let me 
 see ; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast "i 
 Three pounds of sugar; Jive pounds of currants ,- 
 
 f-ice What will this sister of mine do with rice 1 
 
 But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, 
 and she lays it on. She hath made me four-and- 
 twenty nosegays for the shearers : three-man song- 
 men' all, and very good ones ; but thev are most 
 »f them means' and bases : but one Puniitn amongst 
 fiem, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must 
 
 • Rich velyet. • Picking: pockets. 
 
 ■» Singers ( f catches in three parts. • Tcuors. 
 
 have saffron, to color the warden pies;* mace, — 
 dates, — none ; that's out of my note : nu*megi, 
 seven ; a race, or two, of ginger ; but that I may 
 l^cg •,—foy,r pound of prunes, and as many of 
 raisi7is o' the sun. 
 
 Aut. O, that ever I was born ! 
 
 \_Grovelling on the ground 
 
 Clo. I'the name of me, 
 
 Aul. O JH'lp me, help me! pluck but off these 
 rags; and then, death, death! 
 
 Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more 
 rags to lay on thee, rather than have these c ff. 
 
 Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offenda 
 me more than the stripes I have received ; which 
 are mighty ones and millions. 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may 
 come to a great matter. 
 
 Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money 
 and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable 
 things put upon me. 
 
 Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man'? 
 
 Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the 
 garments he hath left with thee ; if this be a horse- 
 man's coat, it halli seen very hot service. Lend 
 me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy 
 hand. [Helping him up. 
 
 Aut. ! good sir, tenderly, oh ! 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor soul. 
 
 Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my 
 shoulder-blade is out. 
 
 Clo. How now 1 canst stand 1 
 
 Aut. Softly, dear sir ; [Picks his pocket.^ good 
 sir, softly : you ha' done me a charitable office. 
 
 Clo. Dost lack any money 1 I have a little money 
 for thee. 
 
 Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: 
 I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile 
 hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have 
 money, or any thing I want; Offer me no money, 
 I pray you; that kills my heart. 
 
 Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed 
 youl 
 
 Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go 
 about with trol-my-dames : ' I knew him once a 
 servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for 
 which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly 
 whipped out of the court. 
 
 Clo. His vices, you would say ; there's no virtue 
 whipped out of the court: they cherish it, to make 
 it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. 
 
 Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man 
 well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ; then a 
 process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a mo 
 tion* of the prodigal son, and married a tinker' 
 wife within a mile where my land and living lies 
 and, having flown over many knavish professions 
 he settled only in rogue : some call him Autolycus 
 
 Clo. Out upon him ! Prig, for my life, prig : he 
 haunts wakes, fairs, and bair-bai tings. 
 
 Aut. Very true, sir ; he, sir, he; that's the rogue 
 that put me into this apparel. 
 
 Clo. Not a more cowaidly rogue in all Bohemia: if 
 y ouhad but looked big,and spit athim,he'd have run 
 
 Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter , 
 I am false of heart that way ; and that he knew, 
 warrant him. 
 
 Clo. How do you now 1 
 
 » Pies made of a species of pears. 
 
 1 The machine used in the game of pigeon-holes. 
 
 9 Puppet show 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTI^RS TALE. 
 
 2?y 
 
 Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was ; I can 
 Bland, and walk : I will even take ray leave of you, 
 and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 
 Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way ? 
 Aitt. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. 
 Clo. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices 
 for our sheep-shearing. 
 
 Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! — [Exit Clown.] 
 Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. 
 I'll bo with you at j'our sheep-shearing too : If I 
 make not this cheat bring out another, and the 
 shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my 
 name put in the book of virtue ! 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the /oot-jyatJi way, 
 And merrily hent"^ the stile-a : 
 A merry heart goes all the day. 
 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Shepherd's Cottage. 
 Enter Flokizel and Pereita. 
 
 Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you 
 Do give a life : no shepherdess ; but Flora, 
 Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing 
 Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
 And you the queen on't. 
 
 Per. Sir, my gracious lord. 
 
 To chide at your extremes,^ it not becomes me ; 
 
 pardon, that I name them : your high self, 
 The gracious mark* o'the land, you have obscur'd 
 With a swain's wearing ; and me, poor lowly maid. 
 Most goddess-like prank'd^ up : IBut that our feasts 
 In every mess have folly, and the feeders 
 
 Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
 To see you so attired; sworn, I think. 
 To show myself a glass. 
 
 Flo. I bless the time, 
 
 When my good falcon made her flight across 
 Thy father's ground. 
 
 Per. Now Jove afford you cause ! 
 
 To me the difference^ forges dread; your greatness 
 Ilath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble 
 To think, your father, by some accident. 
 Should pass this way, as you did : 0, the fates ! 
 How would he look, to see his work, so noble, 
 Vilely bound up? What would he say ? Or how 
 Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold 
 The sternness of his presence ? 
 
 Flo. Apprehend 
 
 Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, 
 Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
 The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
 Became a bull, and hello w'd ; the green Neptune 
 A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god. 
 Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain. 
 As I seem now : Their transformations 
 Were never for a piece of beauty rarer ; 
 Nor in a way so chaste : since my desires 
 Run not before mine honor; nor my lusts 
 Burn hotter than my faith. 
 
 Psr. but, dear sir, 
 
 Yr.iiT resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
 CpjDs'd, as it must be, by the power o'tho king: 
 Cng of these two must be necessities, 
 Wlich then will speak ; that you must change this 
 Or I my life. [purpose, 
 
 Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 
 
 With these forced thoughts, I pr'ythec, darken not 
 The mirth o'the feast : or I'll be thine, my fair. 
 Or not my father's: for I cannot be 
 Mine own, nor any thing to any, if 
 
 1 be not thine : to this I am most constant. 
 Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle ; 
 Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing 
 That you behold the while. Your guests are coming : 
 
 » Take bol-l of. a Kxcesscg. 
 
 « Obj<«t or all men's notice. • Dressed with ostentation. 
 < e. Of station. 
 
 Lift up your countenance : aa it were the day 
 Of celebration of that nuptial, which 
 We two have sworn shall come. 
 
 Per. lady fortune, 
 
 Stand you auspicious ! 
 
 Ente^ Shepherd, with Polixenes and CAMiLLa,, 
 disguised; Clown, MOPSA, DoRCAS, and others. 
 
 Flo. See your guests approach ; 
 
 Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 
 And let's be red with mirth. 
 
 Shcp. Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon 
 This day, she was both pantlcr, butler, cook ; 
 Both dame and servant : welcom'd all ; sorv'd all : 
 Would sing her song, and dance her turn : now heic. 
 At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle ; 
 On his shoulder, and his : her face o'fire 
 With labor; and the thing, she took to quench It, 
 She would to each one sip : You are retired. 
 As if you were a feasted one, and not 
 The hostess of the m'eeting: Pray you, bid 
 These unknown friends to us welcome : for it is 
 A way to make us better friends, more known. 
 Come, quench your blushes; and present yoursell 
 That which you are, mistress o'the feast : Come on. 
 And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
 As your good flock shall prosper. 
 
 Per. Welcome, sir ! [ To Pol. 
 
 It is my father's will, I should take on me 
 The hostess-ship o'the day : — You're welcome, sir ! 
 
 iTo Camillo. 
 everend sirs, 
 For you there's rosemary, and rue ; these keep 
 Seeming, and savor,' all the winter long : 
 Grace, and remembrance, bo to you both. 
 And welcome to our shearing ! 
 
 Pol. Shepherdess, 
 
 (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages 
 With flowers of winter. 
 
 Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 
 
 Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
 Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o'the sea- 
 Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers, [son 
 Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
 Our rustic garden's barren ; and I care not 
 To get slips of them. 
 
 Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden, 
 
 Do you neglect them ? 
 
 Per. For' I have heard it said, 
 
 There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Pol. Say, there be ; 
 
 Yet nature is made better by no mean. 
 But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art, 
 AVhich, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
 That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
 A gentle scion to the wildest stock ; 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 By bud of nobler race : This is an art 
 Which does mend nature, — change it rather: but 
 The art itself is nature. 
 
 Per. So it is. 
 
 Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, 
 And do not call them bastards. 
 
 Per. I'll not put 
 
 The dibble in earth to set one slip of them : 
 No more than, wore I painted, I would wish [for< 
 This youth should say, 'twere well; and only there- 
 Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you ; 
 Hot lavender, mints, savory, maijoram; 
 The marigold, that goes to bed v.'ith the sun, 
 And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers 
 Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given 
 To men of middle age : You are very welcome. 
 
 Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock 
 And only live by gazing. 
 
 1 Likeness and smell. • Because that 
 
890 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act n 
 
 Per. Out, alas! 
 
 You'd ba sa lean, that blasts of January 
 Would blow you through and through. — Now, my 
 
 fairest friend, 
 I would, I had some flowers o'the spring, that might 
 Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours ; 
 That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
 Your maidenheads growing : — Proserpina, 
 For the flowers now, that frighted, thou let'st fall 
 From Dis's^ waggon ! dafibdils. 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. 
 Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses. 
 That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
 Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady 
 Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and 
 The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds. 
 The flower-de-luce being one ! 0, these, I lack, 
 To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend. 
 To strew him o'er and o'er. 
 
 Flo. What? like a corse? 
 
 Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on ; 
 Not like a corse : or if, — not to be buried, [flowers : 
 But quick,' and in mine arms. Come, take your 
 Methinks, I play as I have seen them do 
 In AVhitsun' pastorals : sure, this robe of mine 
 Does change my disposition. 
 
 Flo. What you do, 
 
 Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
 I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
 I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
 Pray so ; and, for the ordering your afi"airs. 
 To sing them too : AVhen you do dance, I wish you 
 A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do 
 Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own 
 No other function : Each your doing. 
 So singular in each particular, 
 Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, 
 That all your acts are queens. 
 
 Per. Doricles, 
 
 Your praises are too large; but that your youth, 
 And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it. 
 Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd; 
 With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
 You woo'd me the false way. 
 
 Flo. I think, you have 
 
 As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
 To put you to't. — But, come ; our dance, I pray : 
 Your hand, my Perdita, : so turtles pair. 
 That never mean to part. 
 
 Per. I'll swear for 'em, 
 
 Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever 
 Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does, or seems. 
 But smacks of something greater than herself; 
 Too noble for this place. 
 
 Cam. He tells her something. 
 That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she is 
 I he queen of curds and cream. 
 Clo. Come on, strike up. 
 
 Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, garlic, 
 To mend her kissing with. — 
 Mop. Now, in good time ! 
 
 Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our 
 manners. — 
 Come, strike up. [Ifustc. 
 
 Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. 
 
 Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what 
 Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter? 
 
 Ship. They call him Doricles; and he boasts him- 
 To have a worthy feeding •?■ but I have it [self 
 
 Upon his own report, and I believe it; 
 He looks like sooth •? He says, he loves my daughter; 
 [ think so too; for never gazed the moon 
 
 » Pluto. I Living. 
 
 « A valuable tract of pasturage. » Truth. 
 
 Upon the water, as he'll sUand, and read. 
 As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain, 
 I think, there is not half a kiss to choose. 
 Who loves another best. 
 
 Pol. She dances featly."! 
 
 Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it 
 That should be silent : if young Doricles 
 Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
 Which he not dreams of. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. master, if you did but hear the pedler at 
 the door, you would never dance again after a caboi 
 and pipe ; no, the bagpipe could not move you : he 
 sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money ; 
 he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all 
 men's ears grew to his tunes. 
 
 Clo. He could never come better : he shall como 
 in ; I love a ballad but even too well : if it be dole- 
 ful matter, merrily set down; or a very pleasant 
 thing indeed, and sung lamentably. 
 
 Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all 
 sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with 
 gloves : he has the prettiest love songs for maids ; 
 so without bawdry, which is strange with such deli- 
 cate burdens of dildos and/adinga ; jump her and 
 thump her ; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal 
 would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul 
 gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, 
 Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts him off", 
 slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, good man. 
 Pol. This is a brave fellow. 
 Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable 
 conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares ?^ 
 
 Serv. He hath ribands of all the colors i'the 
 rainbow ; points more than all the lawyers in Bo- 
 hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to 
 him by the gross ; inkles, caddisses,^ cambrics, lawns : 
 why, he sings them over, as they were gods or god- 
 desses ; you would think a smock were a she angel ; 
 he so chants to the sleeve-hapd,' and the work about 
 the square on't.^ 
 
 Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him ap- 
 proach singing. 
 
 Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilou'i 
 words in his tunes. 
 
 Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 
 'em than you'd think, sister. 
 
 Per. Ay, good brother, or go .about to think. 
 Enter AuTOLYCUS, singing. 
 Lawn, as ivhite as driven snow; 
 Cyprus, black as e'er was crow; 
 Gloves, as sweet as damash rosea; 
 Masks for faces, and for noses; 
 Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, 
 Perfume for a lady's chamber; 
 Golden coifs, and stomachers, 
 For my lads to give their dears; 
 Pins and poking-sticks of steel. 
 What maida lack from head to heel: 
 Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy. 
 Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry; 
 Come buy, &c. 
 Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thov 
 shouldst take no money of me ; but being enthrall'd 
 as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands 
 and gloves. 
 
 Mop). I was promis'd them against the feast ; but 
 they come not too late now. 
 
 Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or 
 there be liars. 
 
 Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you: 
 may be he hath paid you more ; which will shama 
 you to give him again. 
 
 Clo. Is there no manners left among maids ? will 
 
 « Neatly. » Plain goods. « A kind of tape. 
 
 1 The cuffs. B The work about tbf bosom 
 
Scene Hi. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 29 i 
 
 they wear their plackets, where they should bear 
 their faces? Is there not milking-tiiiie, when you 
 are going to-bed, or kiln-hole,' to whistle off these 
 secrets ; but you must be tittle-tattling before all our 
 guests ? 'Tis well they are whispering : Clamor your 
 tongues,' and not a word more. 
 
 Moj). I have done. Come, you promised me a 
 tawdry laee,^ and a pair of sweet gloves. 
 
 Olo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by 
 the way, and lost all my money ? 
 
 Ant. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; 
 therefore it behoves men to be 'V.ary. 
 
 Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing 
 here. 
 
 Aut. I hope so, sir: for I have about me many 
 parcels of charge. 
 
 Clo. What hast here ? ballads ? 
 
 Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in 
 print, a'-life ; for then we are sure they are true. 
 
 Aiit. Here's one to a very doleful tune. How a 
 usurer's wife was brought to-bed of twenty money- 
 bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat adders' 
 heads, and toads carbonadoed. 
 
 Mo]). Is it true, think you ? 
 
 Axt. Very true, and but a month old. 
 
 Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer ! 
 
 Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress 
 Taleporter ; and five or six honest wives, that were 
 present : Why should I carry lies abroad ? 
 
 Mop. Pray you now, buy it. 
 
 C/o. Come on, lay it by, and let's first see more 
 ballads ; we'll buy the other things anon. 
 
 Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish, that ap- 
 peared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore 
 of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and 
 sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids : 
 it was thought, she was a woman, and was turned 
 into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh 
 with one that loved her: The ballad is very pitiful, 
 and as true. 
 
 Dor. Is it true, think you ? 
 
 Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, 
 more than my pack will hold. 
 
 Clo. Lay it by : Another. 
 
 Aut. This is a merry ballad ; but a very pretty one. 
 
 Mop. Let's have some merry one. 
 
 Aut. Why this is a passing merry one; and goes 
 to the tune of. Two maids toooimj a man: there's 
 scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in re- 
 quest, I can tell you. 
 
 Mojy. We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part, 
 thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. 
 
 Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. 
 
 Aut. I can bear my part, you must know, 'tis my 
 ecupation : have at it with you. 
 
 SONG. 
 A. Get you hence, for I must go; 
 Where, it Jits not you to know. 
 
 D. Whither? M. 0, whither? D. Wliither? 
 M. It becomes thy oath full well, 
 Thou to me thy secrets tell: 
 
 D. Me too, let me go thither. 
 
 M. Ov thou go'st to the grange, or mill: 
 D. If to either, thou dost ill. 
 
 A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither. 
 D. Thou hast sicorn my love to be; 
 M. Thou hast sworn it more to me: 
 
 Then, whither go'st ? say, whither ? 
 
 Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves ; 
 My father and the gentlemen are in sad^ talk, and 
 fre'll not trouble them : Come, bring away thy pack 
 
 rire-plaoe for drying malt; still a noted gossiping-place. 
 - King a dumb peal. 
 » A lace to wear about the head or waist » Serious. 
 
 after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both : — Pedler 
 let's have the first choice. — Follow me, girls. 
 Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. \_A8id^ 
 Will yoti buy any tape. 
 Or lace for your cape, 
 My dainty duck, my dear-a? 
 Any silk, any thread, 
 Any toys for your head. 
 Of the new' at, and fin'st,Jin'stwear-af 
 Come to the pedler; 
 Money's a medler. 
 That doth titter* all men's wear-a. 
 \_Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, ocid Mopsa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
 herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have 
 made themselves all men of hair;' they call them- 
 selves saltiers -.^ and they have a dance which the 
 wenches say is gallimaufry^ of gambols, because 
 they are not in't; but they themselves are o'tho 
 mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that know 
 little but bowling,) it will please plentifully. 
 
 Shep. Away, we'll none on't; here has been too 
 much humble foolery already: — I know, sir, we 
 weary you. 
 
 Pol. You weary those that refresh us : Pray, let's 
 see these four threes of herdsmen. 
 
 Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, 
 hatii danced before the king; and not the worst of 
 the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the 
 squire.^ 
 
 Shep. Leave your prating; since these good men 
 are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly now. 
 
 Sirv. AVhy, they stay at door, sir. [Exit, 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with ticelve Rustics habited likt 
 Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. 
 
 Pol. 0, father, you'll know more of that her<^- 
 after. — 
 Is it not too far gone ? — 'Tis time to part them. — 
 He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.] — How now, 
 
 fair shepherd ? 
 Your heart is full of something, that does take 
 Your mind from feasting. 'Sooth, when I was young, 
 And handed love, as you do, I was wont 
 To load my she with knacks: I would have ran- 
 
 sack'd 
 The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
 To her acceptance ; you have let him go. 
 And nothing marted^ with him : if your lass 
 Interpretation should abuse ; and call this 
 Your lack of love, or bounty : j'ou were straitcd 
 For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
 Of happy holding her. 
 
 Flo. Old sir, I know 
 
 She prizes not such trifles as these are : 
 The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and loek'd 
 Up in my heart ; which I have given already, 
 But not deliver'd. — 0, hear me breathe my life 
 Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem. 
 Hath sometime lov'd : I take thy hand, this band, 
 As soft as dove's down, and as white as it; 
 Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow. 
 That's bolted' by the northern blasts twice e'er. 
 
 Pol. AVhat follows this ?— 
 How prettily the young swain seems to wash 
 The hand, was fair before ! — I have put you out :— 
 But to your protestation ; let me hear 
 What you profess. 
 
 Flo. Do, and be witness to't. 
 
 'Sell. » Dressed themselves in habits imitating hail 
 
 « Satyrs. ' Medley. 
 
 ' Square, foot-rule. » Bought, trafficked. 
 
 ' The sieve used to separate flour from bran is called 
 boltingK;loth. 
 
?.92 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act l\ 
 
 Pol. And this my neighbor too? 
 
 Flo. And he, and more 
 
 Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all : 
 That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch. 
 Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth 
 That ever made eye swerve ; had force, and know- 
 ledge. 
 More than was ever man's, — I would not prize them. 
 Without her love ; for her, employ them all ; 
 Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, 
 Or to their own perdition. 
 
 Pol. Fairly offer'd. 
 
 Cam. This shows a sound affection. 
 
 Shep. But, my daughter, 
 
 Say you the like to him 1 
 
 Per. I cannot speak 
 
 So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: 
 By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
 The purity of his. 
 
 Shep. Take hands, a bargain : 
 
 And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't : 
 I give my daughter to him, and will make 
 Her portion equal his. 
 
 Flo. O, that must be 
 
 I'the virtue of your daughter : one being dead, 
 I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
 Enough then for your wonder: But, come on, 
 Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 
 
 Shep. Come, your hand ; 
 
 And, daughter, yours. 
 
 Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you : 
 
 Have you a father? 
 
 Flo. I have: But what of him? 
 
 Pol. Knows he of this ? 
 
 Flo. He neither does, nor shall. 
 
 Pol. Methinks, a father 
 Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest 
 That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ; 
 Is not your father grown incapable 
 Of reasonable affairs ? is he not stupid 
 Withageandalteringrheums? Canhespeak? hear? 
 Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? ' 
 Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing. 
 But what he did being childish? 
 
 Flo. No, good sir ; 
 
 He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed. 
 Than most have of his age. 
 
 Pol. By my white beard, 
 
 You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
 Something unfilial : Reason, my son 
 Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason, 
 The father (all whose joy is nothing else 
 But fair posterity ) should hold some counsel 
 In such a business. 
 
 Flo. I yield all this; 
 
 But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
 Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint 
 My father of this business. 
 
 Pol. Let him know't. 
 
 Flo. He shall not. 
 
 Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. 
 
 Flo. No, he must not. 
 
 Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve 
 .\t knowing of thy choice. 
 
 Flo. Come, come, he must not : — 
 
 Mark our contract. 
 
 Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 
 
 [Discoverhig himself. 
 Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
 » Talk over his aSairs. 
 
 To be acknowledg'd : Thou a sceptre's heir. 
 That thus affect'st a sheep-hook ! — Thou old traitoi 
 I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but 
 Shorten thy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece 
 Of excellent witchcraft ; who, of force must know 
 The royal fool thou cop'st with ; 
 
 Shep. O, my heart! 
 
 Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, 
 and made 
 More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy,~ 
 If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh. 
 That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as neve; 
 I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succet,sion; 
 Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin: 
 Far" than Deucalion off: — Mark thou my words, 
 Follow us to the court. — Thou churl, for this lime, 
 Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
 From the dread blow of it. — And you, enchant- 
 Worthy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too, [ment, — 
 That makes himself, but for our honor therein. 
 Unworthy thee, — if ever, henceforth, thou 
 These rural latches to his entrance open. 
 Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
 I will devise a death as cruel for thee, 
 As thou art tender to't. [^Exit. 
 
 Per. Even here undone ' 
 
 I was not much afeard : for once or twice, 
 I was about to speak; and tell him plainly. 
 The self-same sun, that shines upon his court, 
 Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
 Looks on alike. — Wilt please you, sir, begone ? 
 
 [To FLoniZEi. 
 I told you, what would come of this : 'Beseech you, 
 Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, — 
 Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further, 
 But milk my ewes, and weep. 
 
 Cam. Why, how now, father T 
 
 Speak ere thou diest. 
 
 Shep. I cannot speak, nor think. 
 
 Nor dare to know that which I know. — 0, sir, 
 
 [To Flohizei™ 
 You have undone a man of fourscore three. 
 That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea. 
 To die upon the bed my father died. 
 To lie close by his honest bones: but now 
 Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me 
 Where no priest shovels-in dust. — O wretched girl ! 
 
 [To Peiidita. 
 That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst ad- 
 venture 
 To mingle faith with him. — Undone! undone! 
 If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
 To die when I desire. [Exit. 
 
 Flo. Why look you so upon me ^ 
 
 I am but sorry, not afeard ; delay'd. 
 But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am; 
 More strainuig on, for plucking back ; not following 
 My leash'' unwillingly. 
 
 Cam. Gracious my lord, 
 
 You know your father's temper: at tliis time 
 He will allow no speech, — which, I do guess, 
 You do not purpose to him ; — and as hardly 
 Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear : 
 Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
 Come not before him. 
 
 Flo. I not purpose it- 
 
 I think, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Even he, my lord. 
 
 Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thua 
 « Further. ' A leading-string. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE, 
 
 293 
 
 How of>cn said my dignity would last 
 But till 'twere known] 
 
 Flo. It cannot fail, but by 
 
 The violation of my faith ; and then 
 Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together, 
 And mar the seeds within ! — Lift up thy looks : — ■ 
 From my succession wipe me, father ! I 
 A.m heir to my affection 
 
 Cam. Be advised. 
 
 Flo. I am; and by my fancy:' if my reason 
 Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; 
 If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, 
 Do bid it welcome. 
 
 Cam. This is desperate, sir. 
 
 Flo. So call it : but it does fulfil my vow ; 
 I needs must think it honesty. Cainillo, 
 Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 
 Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or 
 The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide 
 In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 
 To this my fair belov'd : Therefore, I pray you. 
 As you have ever been my father's friend. 
 When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not 
 To see him any more,) cast your good counsels 
 Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune. 
 Tug for the time to come. This you may know. 
 And so deliver, — I am put to sea 
 With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore ; 
 And, most opportune to our need, I have 
 A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared 
 For this design. What course I mean to hold. 
 Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
 Concerns me the reporting. 
 
 Cam. O, my lord, 
 
 I would your spirit were easier for advice, 
 Or stronger for your need. 
 
 Flo. Hark, Pcrdita. [Takes her aside. 
 
 I'll hoar you by and by. [7b Camillo. 
 
 Cam. He's irremovable, 
 
 Resolv'd for flight: Now were I happy, if 
 His going I could frame to serve my turn ; 
 Save him from danger, do him love and honor ; 
 Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, 
 And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
 I so much thirst to see. 
 
 Flo. Now, good Camillo, 
 
 I am so fraught with curious business, that 
 I leave out ceremony. [Gams;. 
 
 Cam. Sir, I think, 
 
 You have heard of my poor services, i'the love 
 That I have borne your father"? 
 
 Flo. Very nobly 
 
 Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music. 
 To speak your deeds: not little of his care 
 To have them recompens'd as thought on. 
 
 Cam. Well, my lord. 
 
 If you may please to think I love the king; 
 And through him, what is nearest to him, which is 
 Your gracious self; embrace but my direction, 
 (If your more ponderous and settled project 
 May suffer alteration,) on mine honor 
 I'll point you where you shall have such receiving 
 As shall become your highness ; where you may 
 Enjoy your mistress; (from the whom, I see, 
 There's no disjunction to he made, but by. 
 As heavens forcfend ! your ruin;) marry her; 
 And (with my best endeavors, in your absence) 
 Your discontenting" father strive to qualify. 
 And bring him up to liking. 
 
 • Love. For discontented. 
 
 20 
 
 Flo. How, Camillo, 
 
 May this, alnr.ost a miracle, be done ? 
 That I may call thee something more than man, 
 And, after that, trust to thee. 
 
 Cam. Have you thought on 
 
 \ place, whereto you'll go ] 
 
 Flo. Not any yet: 
 
 But as the unthought-on accident' is guilty 
 To what we wildly do; so we profess 
 Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies 
 Of every wind that blows. 
 
 Cam. Then list to me: 
 
 This follows, — if you will not change your purpose, 
 But undergo this flight: — Make for Sicilia; 
 And there present yourself, and your fair princess, 
 (For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes ; 
 She shall be habited, as it becomes 
 The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see 
 Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping 
 His welcomes forth : asks thee, the son, forgiveness, 
 As 'twere i'the father's person : kisses the hands 
 Of your fresh princess : o'er and o'er divides him 
 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness ; the one 
 He chides to hell, and bids the other grow, 
 Faster than thought, or time. 
 
 Flo. Worthy Camillo, 
 
 What color for my visitation shall I 
 Hold up before him 1 
 
 Cam. Sent by the king your father 
 
 To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, 
 The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
 What you, as from your father, shall deliver. 
 Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down* 
 The which shall point you forth at every sitting, 
 What you must say; that he shall not perceive. 
 But that you have your father's bosom there. 
 And speak his very heart. 
 
 Flo. I am bound to you : 
 
 There is some sap h\ this. 
 
 Cam. A course more promising 
 
 Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
 To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores; most certain. 
 To miseries enough: no hope to help you; 
 But, as you shake off one, to take another: 
 Nothing so certain as your anchors: who 
 Do their best office, if they can but stay you 
 Where you'll be loath to be: Besides, you know, 
 Prosperity's the very bond of love; 
 Whose fresh complexior» and whose heart togethei 
 Affliction alters. 
 
 Per. One of these is true: 
 
 I think, affliction may subdue the cheek, 
 But not take in^ the mind. 
 
 Cam. Yea, say you sc ! 
 
 There shall not, at your father's house, these seven 
 
 years, 
 Be horn another such. 
 
 Flo. My good Camillo, 
 
 She is as forward of her breeding, as 
 I'the rear of birth. 
 
 Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity 
 
 She lacks instructions; for she seems a mistress 
 To most that teach. 
 
 Per. Your pardon, sir, for this • 
 
 I'll blush you thanks. 
 
 Flo. My prettiest Perdita. 
 
 But, O, the thorns we stand upon ! — Camillo,— 
 Preserver of my father, now of me: 
 
 « The unexpected disrovery toade by Polixenes. 
 » Conquer. 
 
i94 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 The Medicin' of our house! — how shall we do? 
 Wc are not fiirnish'd like Bohemia's son ; 
 
 Nor shall appear in Sicily 
 
 Catn. My lord, 
 
 Fear none of this : I think, you know, my fortunes 
 Do all lie there : it shall be so my care 
 To have you royally appointed, as if 
 The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir, 
 That you may know you shall not want, — one word. 
 
 l^They talk aside. 
 Enter Autoltcus. 
 
 Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool honesty is ! and trust, 
 his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman ! I have 
 sold all my trumpery ; not a counterfeit stone, not 
 a riband, glass, pomander,'' brooch, table-book, 
 ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn- 
 ring, to keep my pack from fasting; they throng 
 who should buy first; as if my trinkets had been 
 hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer: 
 by which means I saw whose purse was best in 
 picture ; and, what I saw, to my good use, I remem- 
 bered. My clown (who wants but something to be 
 a reasonable man) grew so in love with the wenches' 
 song, that he would not stir his pettitoes, till he 
 had both tunc and words ; which so drew the rest 
 of the herd to me, that all their other senses stuck 
 in ears : you might have pinched a placket, it was 
 senseless ; 'twas nothing, to geld a cod-piece of a 
 purse ; I would have filed keys off, that hung in 
 chains : no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, 
 and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this 
 time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their fes- 
 tival purses : and had not the old man come in 
 with a whoobub against his daughter and the king's 
 son, and scared my choughs' from the chaff, I had 
 not left a purse alive in the whole army. 
 [Camillo, Florizel, a»,e?PERDiTA, come forward. 
 Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being there 
 So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 
 
 Flo. And those that you'll procure from king 
 
 Cam. Shall satisfy your father. [Leontcs, 
 
 Per, Happy be you ! 
 
 All, that you speak, shows fair. 
 
 Cam. Who have we here? 
 
 [^Seeing Autoltcus. 
 We'll make an instrument of this; omit 
 Nothing, may give us aid. 
 
 Aut. If they have overheard me now, why, 
 
 hanging. [Aside. 
 
 Cam. How now, good fcllowl Why shakest thou 
 BO ? Fear not, man ; here's no harm intended to 
 *3e. 
 
 Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 
 
 Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal 
 that from thee : Yet, for the outside of thy poverty, 
 we must make an exchange: therefore, disease thee 
 instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in't,) 
 and change garments with this gentleman : Though 
 the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold 
 thee, there's some boot.* 
 
 Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir : — I know ye well 
 enough. \^Aside. 
 
 Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch : thevgentleman is 
 half flayed already. 
 
 Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? — I smell the thick 
 of it — {^Aside. 
 
 » Physician. 
 
 « A little ball made of perfumes, and worn to prevent 
 Infection in time? of plague. 
 * A bird re.sembling a jackdaw. 
 » Something over and above. 
 
 Flo. Dcspatcn, [ pr'ythee. 
 
 Aut. Indeed I have had earnest; but 1 canncr 
 with conscience take it. 
 
 Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. — 
 
 [Flo. and Autol. exchange garments 
 Fortunate mistress, — let my prophesy 
 Come home to you — you must retire yours.elf 
 Into some covert : take your sweetheart's hat. 
 And pluck it o'er your brows; muffle your face; 
 Dismantle you: and as you can, disliken 
 The truth of your own seeming ; that you may 
 (For I do fear eyes over you) to shipboard 
 Get undescried. 
 
 Per. I see, the play so lies, 
 
 That I must bear a part. 
 
 Cum. No remedy. — 
 
 Have you done there ] 
 
 Flo. Should I now meet my fiith<&, 
 
 He would not call me son. 
 
 Cam. Nay, you shall have 
 
 No hat : — Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend. 
 
 Aut. Adieu, sir. 
 
 Flo. Perdita, what have we twain forgot ] 
 Pray you, a word. \They converse apart. 
 
 Cam. What I do next, shall be, to tell the king 
 
 l^Aside. 
 Of this escape, and whither they are bound ; 
 Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail, 
 To force him alter : in whose company 
 I shall review Sicilia; for whose sight 
 I have a woman's longing. 
 
 Flo. Fortune speed us ' 
 
 Thus we set on. Camillo, to the sea-side. 
 
 Cam. The swifter speed, the better. 
 [Exeunt Flohizel, Pr.RniTA,a?7f/ Camillo. 
 
 Aut. I understand the business, I hear it: To 
 have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is 
 necessary for a cut-purse: a good nose is requisite 
 also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see, 
 this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. 
 What an exchange had this been, without hoof? 
 what a boot is here, with this exchange? Sure, the 
 gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any 
 thing extempore. The prince himself is about a 
 piece of iniquity; stealing away from his father, 
 with his clog at his heels: If I thought it were not 
 a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I 
 would do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal 
 it ; and therein am I constant to my profession. 
 
 Enter Clown and Shepherd. 
 
 Aside, aside ; — here is more matter for a hot brain . 
 Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- 
 ing, yields a careful man work. 
 
 Clo. See, t^ee ; what a man you are now I there 
 is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change- 
 ling, and none of your flesh and blood. 
 
 Shep. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Clo. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 S/iep. Go to, then. 
 
 Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood 
 your flesh and blood has not offended the king 
 and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punishet 
 by him. Show those things you found about her 
 those secret things, all but what she has with her. 
 This being done.let the law go whistle; Iwarrant you 
 
 Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, 
 and his son's pranks too ; who, I may say, is no 
 honest man neither to his father, nor to me, io go 
 about to make me the king's brother-in-law 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 2m 
 
 Clo. Inclccci, brother-in-law was the furthest off 
 fou could have been to him ; and then your blood 
 liad been the dearer, by I know how much an ounce. 
 
 Aut. Very wisely; puppies! \^Aside. 
 
 Shep. Well; let us to the king: there is that in 
 this fardel,'' will make him scratch his beard. 
 
 Aut. I know not what impediment this complaint 
 may be to the flight of my master. 
 
 Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. 
 
 Auf. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so 
 sometimes by chance : — Let me pocket up my ped- 
 ler's beard. — [Takes off his fake beard.^ How now, 
 'ustics 1 whither are you bound 1 
 
 Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 
 
 Auf. Your affairs there ? what? with whom 1 the 
 condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, 
 your names, your ages, of what having," breeding, 
 and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. 
 
 Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 
 
 Aut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy : I/et me 
 have no lying ; it becomes none but ti-adesmen, 
 and they often give us soldiers the lie : but we pay 
 them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel ; 
 therefore they do not give us the lie. 
 
 Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, 
 if you had not taken yourself with the manner.' 
 
 Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sirl 
 
 Auf. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. 
 Secst thou not the air of the court in these enfold- 
 ings ! hath not my gait in it, the measure of the 
 court? receives not thy nose court-odor from mel 
 reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt? — 
 Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, or toze' from 
 thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier ? I am 
 courtier cap-i-pe; and one that will either push 
 on, or pluck back thy business there : whereupon I 
 command thee to open thy affair. 
 
 Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. 
 
 Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? 
 
 Shep. I know not, an't like you. 
 
 Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; 
 say, you have none. 
 
 Shep. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock, nor hen. 
 
 Auf. How bless'd are we, that are not simple men! 
 Yet nature might have made me as these are, 
 Therefore I'll not disdain. 
 
 Civ. This cannot be but a great courtier. 
 
 Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them 
 not handsomely. 
 
 Ch. He seems to be the more noble in being 
 fantastical; a great man, I'll warrant; I know, by 
 the picking on's teeth. 
 
 Auf. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? 
 \^'lu■refore that box ? 
 
 Shep. Sir, thwc lies such secrets in this fardel, 
 and box, whifh none must know but the king; 
 and which he shall know within this hour, if I may 
 come to the speech of him. 
 
 Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labor. 
 
 Shep. Why, sir? 
 
 dut. The king is not at the palace; he is gone 
 aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air 
 himself: For if thou be'st capable of things serious, 
 thou nuist know, the king is full of grief. 
 
 Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should 
 have married a shoi)herd's daughter. 
 
 Auf. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let 
 ^im fly ; the curses he shall have, the tortures he 
 
 ' Bundle, parcel. 
 ' In the fact 
 
 • Estate, property. 
 
 • I ctyjole or force. 
 
 shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of 
 monster. 
 
 Clo. Think you so, sir? 
 
 Auf. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make 
 heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that art 
 germane' to him though removed fifty times, shall 
 all come under the hangman: which though it be 
 great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep- 
 whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his 
 daughter come into grace! Some say, he shall 
 be stoned ; but that death is too soft for him, say I : 
 Draw our throne into a sheep-cote ! all deaths a'-f. 
 too few, the sharpest too easy. 
 
 Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, di yen 
 hear, an't like you, sir ? 
 
 Auf. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; 
 then, 'nointcd over with honey, set on the head of a 
 wasp's nest; then stand till he be three-quarter.? 
 and a dram dead : then recovered again with aqua- 
 vitae, or some other hot infusion ; then, raw as he is, 
 and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims,' 
 shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking 
 with a southward eye upon him ; where he is to be- 
 hold him, with flies blown to death. But what talk 
 we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to 
 be smiled at, their otfences being so capital? Tell 
 me, (for you seem to be honest plain men,) what 
 you have to the king: being something gently con- 
 sidered,* I'll bring you where he is aboard, tende' 
 your persons to his presence, whisper him in youi 
 behalfs; and, if it be in man, besides the king, to 
 effect your suits, here is the man shall do it. 
 
 Clo. He seems to be of great authority : cIosk 
 with him, give him gold; and though authority be 
 a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with 
 gold : show the inside of your purse to the outside 
 of his hand, and no more ado : Remember stoned, 
 and flayed alive. 
 
 Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the bu- 
 siness for us, here is that gold I have : I'll make it 
 as much more ; and leave this j'oung man in pawn, 
 till I bring it you. 
 
 Auf. After I have done what I promised? 
 
 Shep. Ay, sir. 
 
 Aut. Well, give me the moiety : — Are you 3 
 party in this business? 
 
 Clo. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a 
 pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 
 
 Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son • 
 Hang him, he'll be made an example. 
 
 clo. Comfort, good comfort; we must to the 
 king, and show our strange sights ; he must know, 
 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are 
 gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old 
 man does, when the business is performed ; and re- 
 main, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you. 
 
 Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the 
 sea side; go on the right hand; I will but look 
 upon the hedge, and follow you. 
 
 Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may say 
 even blessed. 
 
 Shep. Let's before, as he bids us: he was pre 
 vided to do us good. [£a'e!/«/ Shepherd and Clown 
 
 Auf. If I had a mind to be honest, I sec, fortune 
 would not suffer inc; she drops booties in my mouth. 
 I am courted now with a double occasion ; gold, 
 and a means to do the prince my master good 
 which, who knows how that may turn back tjmj 
 
 " Related. • The hottest day foretold in tl e alman:u-k 
 • Being handsomely bribed. 
 
W(i 
 
 WINTERS TALE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 advancement i I will bring these two moles, these 
 blind ones, aboard him : if he think it fit to shore 
 them again, and that the complaint they have to the 
 ting concerns him nothing, let him call me, rogue, 
 
 for being so far officious; for I am proof agains? 
 that title, and what shame else belongs to't : To 
 him will I present them, there may be matter in it. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Sicilia. A Roxrmiiiihe Talace of 
 Leontes. 
 
 Enter Leoktes, Cleojienes, Diox, Paulina, 
 and others. 
 
 Cko. Sir, you have done enough, and have per- 
 form'd 
 A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make. 
 Which you have not redecnvd ; indeed, paid down 
 More penitence than done trespass: At the last, 
 Do, as the heavens have done; forget your evil; 
 With them, forgive yourself. 
 
 Leon. Whilst I remember 
 
 Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
 My blemishes in them ; and so still think of 
 The wrong I did myself: which was so much, 
 That heirless it hath made my kingdom ; and 
 Destroy'd the swect'st companion, that e'er man 
 Bred his hopes out of. 
 
 Paul. True, too true, my lord : 
 
 If, one by one, you wedded all the world. 
 Or, from the all that are, took something good, 
 To make a perfect woman; she you kill'd, 
 Would be unparallel'd. 
 
 Leon. I think so. Kill'd ! 
 
 She I kill'd 1 I did so : but thou strik'st me 
 Sorely to say I did ; it is as bitter 
 Upon thy tongue, as in my thought: Now, good 
 
 now. 
 Say so but seldom. 
 
 Cko. Not at all, good lady: 
 
 You might have spoken a thousand things that 
 
 would 
 Hav^ done the time more benefit, and graced 
 Your kindness better. 
 
 Paul. You are one of those, 
 
 Would have him wed again. 
 
 Dlo7i. If you would not so. 
 
 You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
 Of his most sovereign dame; consider little, 
 What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue. 
 May drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
 Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy. 
 Than to rejoice, the former queen is welH 
 What holier, than, — for royalty's repair, 
 For present comfort, and for future good, — 
 To bless the bed of majesty again 
 With a sweet fellow to't 1 
 
 Paul. There is none worthy. 
 
 Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods 
 Will have fulfilled their secret purposes: 
 For has not the divine Apollo said, 
 [s't not the tenor of his oracle. 
 That king Leontes shall not have an heir. 
 Till his lost child be found 1 which, that it shall. 
 Is all as monstrous to our human reason, 
 .\s my Antigonus to break his grave. 
 And come again to me; who, on my life. 
 Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel, 
 M V lord should to the heav 3ns be contrary. 
 
 Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue; 
 
 [^To Leontes 
 The crown will find an heir : Great Alexander 
 Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor 
 Was like to be the best. 
 
 Leon. Good Paulina, — 
 
 Who hast the memory of Hermione, 
 I know in honor, — O, that ever I 
 Had squared me to thy counsel ! — then, even now 
 I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes; 
 
 Have taken treasure from her lips, 
 
 Paul. And left them 
 
 More rich, for what they yielded. 
 
 Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 
 
 No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one worse, 
 And better used, would make her sainted spirit 
 Again possess her corpse; and, on this stage, 
 (Where we offenders now appear,) soul-vex'd, 
 Begin, And why to me? 
 
 Paul. Had she such power. 
 
 She had just cause. 
 
 Leon. She had : and would incense ma 
 
 To murder her I married. 
 
 Paul. I should so : 
 
 Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark 
 Her eye ; and tell me, for what dull part in't 
 You chose her : then I'd shriek that even your ears 
 Should rift' to hear me ; and the words that foUow'd 
 Should be. Remember mine. 
 
 Leon. Stars, very stars. 
 
 And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife, 
 I'll have no wife, Paulina. 
 
 Paul. Will you swear 
 
 Never to marry, but by my free leave ? 
 
 Leon. Never, Paulina; so be bless'd my spirit! 
 Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his 
 
 oath. 
 Cleo. You tempt him over-much. 
 Paul. Unless another, 
 
 As like Hermione as is her picture, 
 Affront' his eye. 
 
 Cleo. Good madam, 
 
 Paul. I have done. 
 
 Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir, 
 No remedy but you will ; give me the office 
 To choose you a queen : she shall not be so young 
 As was your former ; but she shall be such. 
 As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy 
 To see her in your arms. 
 
 Leon. My true Paulina, 
 
 We shall not marry, till thou bid'st us. 
 
 Paul. That 
 
 Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath' 
 Never till then. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. One that gives out himself prince Floiize^ 
 Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she 
 The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access 
 To your high presence. 
 
 > SpUt. • Meet 
 
Scene I. 
 
 WllNTER'S TALE. 
 
 29? 
 
 Leon. What with him ? he comes not 
 
 Like to his fatlier's greatness : his approach, 
 So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 
 'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced 
 By need, and accident. What train? 
 
 Gent. But few. 
 
 And those but mean. 
 
 heon. His princess, say you, with him 1 
 
 Gent. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I 
 think, 
 That e'er the sun shone bright on. 
 
 Paul. O Hermione, 
 
 As every present time doth boast itself 
 Above a better, gone ; so must thy grave 
 Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself 
 Have said, and writ so, (but your writhig now 
 Is colder than that theme,) .S'Ae had iwt been 
 Nor tvas not to be equull d ; — thus your verse 
 Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd. 
 To say, you have seen a better. 
 
 Gent. Pardon, madam: 
 
 The one I have almost forgot ; (3'our pardon ;) 
 The other, when she has obtain'd your eye. 
 Will have your tongue too. Tliis is such a crea- 
 ture. 
 Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
 Of all professors else ; make proselytes 
 Of who she but bid follow. 
 
 raid. Howl not women? 
 
 Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman 
 More worth than any man; men, that she is 
 The rarest of all women. 
 
 Leon. Go, Cleomenes; 
 
 Vourself, assisted with your honor'd friends. 
 Bring them to our embracement. — Still, 'tis strange, 
 [Exeunt Cleomesks, Lords, a«c? Gentleman. 
 He thus should steal upon us. 
 
 Paul. Had our prince, 
 
 (Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd 
 Well with this lord ; there was not full a month 
 Between their births. 
 
 Leon. Pr'y thee, no more; thou know'st. 
 
 He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure. 
 When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
 Will bring me to consider that, which may 
 Unfuruish me of reason. — They are come. 
 
 Re-enter Cleomenes, luith Florizel, Perdita, 
 
 and Attendants. 
 Your mother wa.s most true to wedlock, prince; 
 For she did print your royal father off, 
 Conceiving you: Were I but twenty-one, 
 Your father's image is so hit in you. 
 His very air, that I should call you brother. 
 As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly 
 By us pcrform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
 And your fa'r princess, goddess! — 0, alas! 
 r lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
 Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as 
 You, gracious coun'e, do ! and then I lost 
 (All mine own folly) the society, 
 Amity too, of your brave father; whom. 
 Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
 Dnce more to look upon. 
 
 Flo. By his command 
 
 Have I here touch'd Sicilia: and from him 
 Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend. 
 Can send his brother: and, but infirmity 
 (Which waits upon worn times) hath something 
 
 seiz'd 
 clis wifih'd ability, h e had himself 
 
 The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
 Measur'd, to look upon you whom he loves 
 (He bade me say so) more than all the sceptres, 
 And those that bear them, living. 
 
 Leo7i. O, my brother, 
 
 (Good gentleman,) the v^TongsIhave done thee, sti. 
 Afresh within me ; and these thy ofllccs. 
 So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
 Of my behind-hand slackness ! — Welcome ;. '»her. 
 As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too 
 Expos'd this paragon to the fcarfiil usage 
 (At least, ungentle) of the dreadful Neptune, 
 To greet a man, not worth her pains; much less 
 The adventure of her person ? 
 
 Flo. Good my lord, 
 
 She came from Libya. 
 
 Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 
 
 That noble honor'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd ? 
 
 Flo. Most royal sir, from thence : from him, 
 whose daughter 
 His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her : thence, 
 (A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we havecross'd. 
 To execute the charge my father gave me, 
 For visiting your liighness: My best train 
 I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; 
 Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 
 Not only my success in Libya, sir. 
 But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety 
 Here, where we are. 
 
 Leon. The blessed gods 
 
 Purge all infection from our air, whilst you 
 Do climate here ! You have a holy father, 
 A graceful gentleman ; against whose person. 
 So sacred as it is, I have done sin: 
 For which the heavens, taking angry note. 
 Have left me issueless; and your father's bless'd 
 (As he from heaven merits it ) with you, 
 Worthy his goodness. W^hat might I have been. 
 Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on. 
 Such goodly things as you ? 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. Most noble sii, 
 
 That which I shall report, will bear no credit. 
 Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
 Bohemia greets you from himself, by me; 
 Desires you to attach ^ his son ; who has 
 (His dignity and duty both cast off) 
 Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
 A shepherd's daughter. 
 
 Leon. Where's Bohemia? speak. 
 
 Lord. Here in the city: I now came from him; 
 I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
 My marvel, and my message. To your court 
 Whiles he was hast'ning, (in the chase, it seems, 
 Of this fair couple,) meets ha on the way 
 The father of this seeming lady, and 
 Her brother, having both their country quitted 
 With this young prince. 
 
 Flo. Camillo has betray'd me 
 
 W^hose honor, and whose honesty, till now. 
 Endured all weathers. 
 
 Lord. Lay't so, to his charge; 
 
 He's with the king your father. 
 
 Leon. Who? Camillo T 
 
 Lord. Camillo, sir; I spnke with him; who now 
 Has these poor men in question.' Never saw I 
 Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the earth 
 Forswear themselves as often as they speak: 
 
 * Seize, arrest. 
 
 > Oonyersatioa 
 
89S 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act. "V. 
 
 Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
 With divers deaths in death. 
 
 Per. O, my poor father! — 
 
 The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
 Our contract celebrated. 
 
 Leon. You are married'? 
 
 Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; 
 The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: 
 The odds for high and low's alike.* 
 
 Leon. My lord, 
 
 Is this the daughter of a king? 
 
 Flo. She is, 
 
 When once she is my wife. 
 
 ieo/?. That once, I see, by your good father's speed. 
 Will come on very slowly. I am sorry. 
 Most sorry, you have broken from his liking. 
 Where you were tied in duty : and as sorry. 
 Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, 
 That you might well enjoy her. 
 
 Flo. Dear, look up: 
 
 Though fortune, visible an enemy. 
 Should chase us, with my father; power no jot 
 Hath she, to change our loves. — 'Beseech you, sir. 
 Remember since you ow'd no more to time 
 Than I do now: with thought of such alTections, 
 Step forth mine advocate; at your request, 
 My father will giant precious things, as trifles. 
 
 Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious 
 mistress, 
 Which he counts but a trifle. 
 
 Paul. Sir, my liege. 
 
 Your eye hath too much youth in't : not a 2nonth 
 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such 
 
 gazes, 
 Than what you look on novy. 
 
 Leon. I thought of her, 
 
 Even in these looks I made. — But your petition 
 
 [To Floiiizel. 
 Is yet unanswer'd : I will to your father ; 
 Your honor not o'erthrown by your desires, 
 I am a friend to them, and you : upon which errand 
 I now go toward him ; therefore, follow me, 
 A nd mark what way I make : Come, good my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— Before the Palace. 
 Enter Autoltcus and a Gentleman. 
 
 Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at tliis 
 relation ? 
 
 1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, 
 heard the old shepherd deliver the manner, how he 
 found it: whereupon, after a Uttle amazedness, we 
 were all commanded out of the chamber; only this 
 methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the 
 child. 
 
 Ant. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 
 
 1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business ; 
 — But the changes I perceived in the king, and 
 Camillo, were very notes of admiration : they seemed 
 almost, with staring on one another, to tear the 
 cases of their eyes ; there was speech in their dumb- 
 ness, language in their very gesture ; they looked, 
 as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one de- 
 stroyed: A notable passion of wonder appeared in 
 them : but the wisest beholder, that knew no more 
 but seeing, could not say, if the importance ' were 
 joy, or soiTow: but in the extremity of the one, it 
 must needs be. 
 
 » A quibble on ibe false dice so called. 
 ' The thiug imported. 
 
 Enter another Gentleman. 
 
 Here comes a gentleman, that, happily knows more 
 The news, Rogerol 
 
 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires : The oracle is iul 
 filled; the king's daughter is found: such a dea^ 
 of wonder is broken out within this hour, that bal 
 lad-makers cannot be able to express it. 
 
 Enter a third Gentleman. 
 
 Here comes the lady Paulina's steward; he can de- 
 liver you more. — How goes it now, sir 1 this news, 
 which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the 
 verity of it is in strong suspicion : Has the king 
 found his heir ? 
 
 .3 Gent. Most true ; if ever truth were pregnant 
 by circumstance ; that which you hear, you'll 
 swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. 
 The mantle of queen Hermione : — her jewel about 
 the neck of it: — the letters of Antigonus, found 
 with it, which they know to be his character: — 
 the majesty of the creature, in resemblance of the 
 mother ; — the aflection ^ of nobleness, which nature 
 shows above her breeding, — and many other evi- 
 dences, proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the 
 king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of th3 
 two kings'? 
 
 2 Gent. No. 
 
 3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was 
 to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you 
 have beheld one joy crown another; so, and in such 
 manner, that it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave 
 of them ; for their joy waded in tears. There was 
 casting up of eyes, holding up of hands ; with 
 countenance of such distraction, that they were to 
 be known by garment, not by favor. " Our king, 
 being ready to leap out of himself for joy of bis 
 found daughter; as if that joy were now become a 
 loss, cries, 0, thy mother, thy mother J then asks 
 Bohemia forgiveness ; then embraces his son-in-law; 
 then again worries he his daughter, with clipping * 
 her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands 
 by, like a weather-beaten conduit of many kings' 
 reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, 
 which lames report to follow it, and undoes de- 
 scription to do it. 
 
 2 Gent. What, pray 3'ou, became of Antigonus, 
 that carried hence the child] 
 
 3 Gent. Like an old tale still ; which will have 
 matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not 
 an ear open: He was torn to pieces with <i bear: 
 this avouches the shepherd's son ; who has not only 
 his innocence (which seems much) to justify him, 
 but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina 
 knows. 
 
 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his fol- 
 lowers 1 
 
 3 Gent. Wreck'd, the same instant of their mas 
 ter's death ; and in the view of the shepherd : so that 
 all the instruments, which aided to expose the child, 
 were even then lost, when it was found. But, O, 
 the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow, was 
 fought in Paulina ! She had one eye declined for 
 the loss of her husband; another tlevated that the 
 oracle was fulfilled : She lifted the princess from 
 the earth : and so locks her in embracing, as if she 
 would pin her to her heart, that she might no mord 
 be in danger of losing. 
 
 a Disposition or quality. 
 * Embracing. 
 
 » Ountenanoe, features 
 
BcUNE III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 299 
 
 1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the 
 auilience of kings and princes; for by such was it 
 acted. 
 
 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and 
 that which angled for mine eyes, (caught the water, 
 though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of 
 the queen's death, with the manner how she came 
 to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,) 
 how attentiveness wounded his daughter: till, from 
 one sign of di'^lor to another, she did with an ahwi! 
 1 would fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure, my 
 heart wept blood. Who was most marble there, 
 changed color ; some swooned, all sorrowed : if 
 all the world could have seen it, the v/oe had been 
 universal. 
 
 1 Gent. Are they returned to the court 1 
 
 3 Gent. No: the princess hearing of her mother's 
 statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — ^a piece 
 many years in doing, and now newly performed by 
 that rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had 
 he himself eternity, and could put breath into his 
 work, would beguile nature of her custom, so per- 
 fectly he is her ape : he so near to Hermione hath 
 done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to 
 her, and stand in hope of answer : thither with all 
 greediness of affection, are they gone; and there 
 they intend to sup. 
 
 2 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter 
 there in hand; for, she hath privately, twice or 
 thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, 
 visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and 
 with our company piece the rejoicing ? 
 
 1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the be- 
 nefit of access! every wink of an eye, some new 
 grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty 
 to our knowledge. Let's along. 
 
 [Exeunt Gentlemen. 
 
 Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life 
 hi me, would preferment drop on my head. I 
 brought the old man and his son aboard the prince ; 
 told him I heard him talk of a fordel, and I know 
 not what: but he at that time, over-fond of the 
 shepherd's daughter, (so he then took her to be,) 
 who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little 
 better, extremity of weather continuing, this mys- 
 tery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to 
 me : for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it 
 would not have relished among my other discredits. 
 
 Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
 
 Here come those I have done good to against my 
 will, and already appearing m the blossoms of their 
 fortune. 
 
 Shep. Come, boy ; I am past more children ; but 
 thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 
 
 CIo. You are well met, sir; You denied to fight 
 with me this other day, because I was no gentleman 
 born: See you these clothes ] say, you see them 
 not, and think me still no gentleman born : you 
 were best say, these robes are not gentlemen born. 
 Give me the lie; do; and try whether I am not 
 now a gentleman born. 
 
 Atit. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 
 
 CIu. Ay, and have been so any time these four 
 hours. 
 
 Shep. And jd ri;; I, boy. 
 
 Clo. So you have : — but I was a gentleman born 
 before my father: for the king's son took me by the 
 nand, and called me, brother: and then the two 
 kinjvs called my father brother; and then the 
 
 prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, call 
 cd my father, father ; and so we wept : and there 
 was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. 
 
 Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 
 
 Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so 
 preposterous estate as we are. 
 
 Aut. I humbly beseech you,sir,to pardon me all the 
 foults I have committed to your worship, and to give 
 me your good report to the prince my master. 
 
 Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do ; for we must be gentle, 
 now we are gentlemen. 
 
 Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life ? 
 
 Aut. Ay, an it like your good wiiTship. 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand : I will swear to the princo 
 thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bunemia. 
 
 Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 
 
 Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman 1 Let 
 boors and franklins' say it, I'll swear it. 
 
 Shep. How if it be false, son ] 
 
 Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may 
 swear it in the behalf of his friend : — And I'll 
 swear to the prince, thou art a talP fellow of thy 
 hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I 
 know, thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that 
 thou wilt be drunk ; but I'll swear it : and I would, 
 thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. 
 
 Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 
 
 Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if I 
 do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be 
 drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. — Hark ! 
 the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going 
 ' to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us : we'll 
 be thy good masters. [Exeunt. 
 
 I SCENE III.— ^ Room in Paulina's House. 
 
 I E7iter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, 
 
 i Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great com 
 That I have had of thee ! [fort 
 
 Paul. What, sovereign sir, 
 
 I did not well, I meant well : All my services. 
 You have paid home : but that you have vouchsafed 
 
 ; With your crown'd brother, and these your con- 
 
 j tracted 
 
 j Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, 
 It is a surplus of your grace which never 
 My life may last to answer. 
 
 Leon. Paulina, 
 
 We honor you with trouble : But we came 
 To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
 Have we passed through, not without much content 
 In many singularities ; but we saw not 
 That which my daughter came to look upon, 
 The statue of her mother. 
 
 Paul. As she liv'd peerless. 
 
 So her dead likeness, I do well believe. 
 Excels whatever yet you look'd upon, 
 Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
 Lonely, apart : But here it is ; prepare 
 To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever 
 Still sleep mock'd death : behold ; and say, 'tis welL 
 [Paul, undraws a Curtain, and discovers a Statue, 
 I like your silence, it the more shows off 
 Your wonder : but yet speak ; — first, you, my liegft 
 Comes it not something near 1 
 
 Leon. Her natural posture !— 
 
 Chide me, dear stone ; that I may say, indeed, 
 Thou art Hermione : or, rather, thou art she. 
 In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender, 
 
 • Yeomen. « Stout 
 
300 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 As infancy and grace. — But yet, Paulina, 
 Hennione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing 
 So aged, as this seems. 
 
 Pol. O, not by much, [lence ; 
 
 Paul. So much the more our carver's excel- 
 Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her 
 As she liv'd now. 
 
 Leon. As now she might have done. 
 
 So much to my good comfort, as it is 
 Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, 
 Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, 
 As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her ! 
 I am ashamed : Does not the stone rebuke me, 
 For being more stone than it 1 — O, royal piece, 
 There's magic in thy majesty ; which has 
 My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and 
 From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
 Standing like stone with thee ! 
 
 Per. And give me leave ; 
 
 And do not say 'tis superstition, that 
 1 kneel, and then implore her blessing. — Lady, 
 Dear queen, that ended when I but began. 
 Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. 
 
 Paul. 0, patience ; 
 
 The statue is but newly fix'd, the colors 
 Not dry. 
 
 Cam My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on : 
 Which sixteen winters cannot blow away. 
 So many summers, dry : scarce any joy 
 Did ever so long live : no sorrow, 
 But kill'd itself much sooner. 
 
 Pol. Dear my brother, 
 
 Let him, that was the cause of this, have power 
 To take off so much grief from you, as he 
 Will piece up in liimself. 
 
 Paul. Indeed, my lord. 
 
 If I had thought the sight of my poor image 
 Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is 
 I'd not have show'd it. [mine,) 
 
 Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 
 
 Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't ; lest your 
 i\lay think anon it moves. [fancy 
 
 Leon. Let be, let be. 
 
 Would I were dead, but that, methinks already — 
 What was he, that did make it? — See, my lord. 
 Would you not deem, it breath'd 1 and that those 
 Did verily bear blood ? [veins 
 
 Pol. Masterly done : 
 
 The very life seems warm upon her lip. 
 
 Leon. The fixture of her eye has motion in't 
 As' we are mock'd with art. 
 
 Paul. I'll draw the curtain ; 
 
 My lord's almost so far transported, that 
 He'll think anon, it lives. 
 
 Leon. O, sweet Paulina, 
 
 Make me to think so twenty years together ; 
 No settled senses of the world can match 
 The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you ; 
 [ could afflict you further. [but 
 
 Leon. Do, Paulina; 
 
 For this aflfliction has a taste as sweet 
 As any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks, 
 There is an air comes from her : What fine chisel 
 Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me. 
 For I will kiss her. 
 
 Paul. Good my lord, forbear : 
 
 The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; 
 Vou'll mar it, if you kiss it ; stain your own 
 
 With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain 1 
 
 Leon. No, not these twenty years. 
 
 Per. So long could 
 
 Stand by, a lookei -on. 
 
 Paul. Eithei Torbear, 
 
 Quit presently the chapel ; or resolve you 
 For more amazement : If you can behold it, 
 I'll make the statue move indeed ; descend. 
 And take you by the hand : but then you'll think, 
 (Which I protest against,) I am assisted 
 By wicked powers. 
 
 Leon. What you can make her d(S 
 
 I am content to look on : what to speak 
 I am content to hear : for 'tis as easy 
 To make her speak, as move. 
 
 Paul. It is required 
 
 You do awake your faith : Then, all stand still ; 
 Or those, that think it is unlawful business 
 I am about, let them depart. 
 
 Leon. Proceed ; 
 
 No foot shall stir. 
 
 Paul. Music ; awake her : strike. — [Music 
 'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more : approach : 
 Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come : 
 I'll fill your grave up : stir ; nay, come away ; 
 Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 
 Dear life redeems you. — You perceive she stirs : 
 
 [Hermione comes down from the PedestaL 
 Start not : her actions shall be holy, as 
 You hear, my spell is lawful : do not shun her, 
 Until you see her die again ; for then 
 You kill her double : Nay, present your hand : 
 When she was young, you woo'd her ; now, in age, 
 Is she become the suitor. 
 
 Leon. O, she's warm ! [^Embracing her. 
 
 If this be magic, let it be an art 
 Lawful as eating. 
 
 Pol. She embraces him. 
 
 Cam. She hangs about his neck ; 
 If she pertains to life, let her speak too. 
 
 Pol. Ay, and mak't manifest where she has liv'd, 
 Or, how stolen from the dead. 
 
 Paul. That she is living, 
 
 Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
 Like an old tale ; but it appears, she lives 
 Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.- 
 Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel. 
 And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good 
 Our Perdita is found. [lady ; 
 
 [Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Hermione. 
 
 Her. You gods, look down. 
 
 And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
 Upon my daughter's head ! — Tell me, mine own. 
 Where hast thou been preserv'd ? where liv'd 1 hov* 
 
 found 
 Thy father's court 1 for thou shalt hear that I, — 
 Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle 
 Gave hope thou wast in being, — have presei c'd 
 Myself to see the issue. 
 
 Paul. There's time enough foi tLa< ; 
 
 Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble 
 Your joys with like relation. — Go together, 
 You precious winners all ; your exultation 
 Partake to every one. I, an old turtle. 
 Will wing me to some wither'd bough ; an6 ther* 
 My mate, that's never to be found again. 
 Lament till I am lost. 
 
 Leon. O peace, Paulina ; 
 
 Thou shouldst a husband take by my conswit, 
 ha I by thine, a wife : this is a matcli. 
 
SuBNK III 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 301 
 
 And made between's by vows Thou hast found 
 
 mine ; 
 But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, 
 As I thought, dead ; and have, in vain, said many 
 A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far 
 (For him, I partly know his mind) to find thee 
 An honorable husband: — Come, Camillo, 
 And take her by the hand: whose worth, and 
 
 honesty, 
 Is richly noted ; and here justified 
 By 'is,a pair of kings. —Let'i* fr"Ti his pli 
 
 What? — Look upon my brother :— both youi 
 
 pardons. 
 That e'er I put between your holy looks 
 My ill suspicion. — This your son-in-law, 
 And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,) 
 Is troth-plight to your daughter. — Good Paulina, 
 Lead us firom hence; where wc may leisurely 
 Each one demand, and answer to his part 
 Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first 
 We were dissever'd • Hastily lead away. 
 
r 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 EoLiNDd, Diike of Ephesus. 
 ^GEos, a Merchant of Syracuse. 
 
 ' Twin 
 Antipholus 0/ Ephesus, 
 Antipuolus o/'Syracuse, 
 
 Brothers, and 
 Sons to JGgeon and 
 Emilia, but unknown 
 to each other. 
 Twin Brothers, and At- 
 tendants on the two An- 
 tipholus's. 
 Balthazar, a Merchant. 
 
 SCENE, 
 
 DnoMio of Ephesus, 
 DnoMio of Syracuse, 
 
 Angelo, a Goldsmith, 
 
 A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuae. 
 
 Pinch, a Schoolmaster, and a Conjurer. 
 
 ^MiiiA, Wife to ^geon, an Abbess a^ Ephesus 
 Adriajta, Wife to Antipholus 0/ Ephesus. 
 LuciANA, her Sister. 
 Luce, her Servant. 
 A Courtezan. 
 
 Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants. 
 
 Ephesus. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Hall in the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke, ^Egeon, Gaoler, Officers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 Mge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall. 
 And by the doom of death, end woes and all. 
 
 Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more ; 
 I am not partial to infringe our laws: 
 The enmity and discord, which of late 
 Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke 
 To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, — 
 Who, wanting gilders ' to redeem their lives, 
 Have seal'd his rig'rous statutes with their bloods, — 
 Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks, 
 For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, 
 It hath in solemn synods been decreed. 
 Both by the Syracusans and ourselves, 
 To admit no traffic to our adverse towns : 
 Nay, more, 
 
 If any born at Ephesus, be seen 
 At any Syracusan marts and fairs ; 
 Again, If any Syracusan born. 
 Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies. 
 His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose; 
 Unless a thousand marks be levied. 
 To quit the penalty, and to ransome him. 
 Thy substance valued at the highest rate, 
 Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; 
 Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die. 
 
 ^ge. Yet this my comfort; when your words 
 arc done, 
 Mt woes end likewise with the evening sun. 
 
 I Name of a coin. 
 302 
 
 Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause 
 Why thou departedst from thy native home ; 
 And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. 
 
 Mge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd 
 Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable: 
 Yet, that the world may witness, that my end 
 Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 
 I'll utter what my soitow gives me leave. 
 In Syracusa was I bom ; and wed 
 Unto a woman, happy but for me. 
 And by me too, had not our hap been bad. 
 With her I liv'd in joy ; our wealth inc-eas'd, 
 By prosperous voyages I often made 
 To Epidamnum, till my factor's death; 
 And he (great care of goods at random left) 
 Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: 
 From whom my absence was not six months old. 
 Before herself (almost at fainting under 
 The pleasing punishment that women bear) 
 Had made provision for her following me, 
 And soon, and safe, arrived where I was. 
 There she had not been long, but she became 
 A joyful mother of two goodly sons; 
 And which was strange, the one so like the otheii 
 As could not be distinguish'd but by names. 
 That very hour, and in the self-same inn, 
 A poor mean woman was delivered 
 Of such a burden, male twins, both alike: 
 Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 
 I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 
 My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 
 Made daily motions for our home return: 
 Unwilling I agreed ; alas, too soon. 
 We came aboard: 
 
Scene U. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 303 
 
 A league from Epidamnum had we sailed, 
 
 Before the always-whid-obeying deep 
 
 Gave any tragic instance of our harm : 
 
 But longer did we not retain much hope; 
 
 For what obscured light the heavens did grant 
 
 Did but convey unto our fearful minds 
 
 A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 
 
 Which, though myself would giadly have embraced, 
 
 Yet the incessant weepings of my wife. 
 
 Weeping before for what she saw must come, 
 
 And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, 
 
 That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, 
 
 Forced me to seek delays for them and nie. 
 
 And this it was, — for other means was none. — 
 
 The sailors sought for safety by our boat. 
 
 And left the ship, then sinking-ri))e, to us : 
 
 My wife, more careful for the elder born, 
 
 Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, 
 
 Such as sea-faring men provide for storms ; 
 
 To him one of the other twins was bound. 
 
 Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. 
 
 The children thus disposal, my wife and I, 
 
 Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 
 
 Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 
 
 And floating straight, obedient to the stream. 
 
 Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 
 
 At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 
 
 Dispers'd those vapors that olfended us; 
 
 And, by the benefit of his wish'd light, 
 
 The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 
 
 Two ships from far making amain to us. 
 
 Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : 
 
 But ere they came, — O, let me say no more! 
 
 Gather the sequel by that went before. 
 
 Duke. Nay, forward, old man. do not break offso ; 
 For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 
 
 JEge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now 
 Worthily term'd them merciless to us ! 
 For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, 
 We were encounter'd by a mighty rock; 
 Which being violently borne upon. 
 Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst, 
 So that, in this unjust divorce of us, 
 Fortune had left to both of us alike 
 What to delight in, what to sorrow for. 
 Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 
 With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe. 
 Was carried with more speed before the wind ; 
 And in our sight they three were taken up 
 By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
 At length, another ship had sciz'd on us ; 
 And, knowing whom it was their hap to save. 
 Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests-, 
 And would have reft^ the fishers of their prey, 
 Had not their bark been very slow of sail. 
 And therefore homeward did they bend their 
 
 course. — 
 Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss ; 
 That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd. 
 To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 
 
 Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest 
 for, 
 bo me the favor to dilate at full 
 What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now. 
 
 JEge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, 
 .\t eighteen years became inquisitive 
 After his brother ; and importun'd me, 
 That his attendant (for his case was like, 
 !'eft 3f his brother, but retain'd his name) 
 « Bvreft, deprived. 
 
 Might bear him company in the quest of him: 
 Whom whilst I labor'd of a love to see 
 I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. 
 Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, 
 Roaming clean' through the bounds of Asia, 
 And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; 
 Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought. 
 Or that, or any place that harbors men. 
 But here must end the story of my life ; 
 And happy were I in m)' timely death. 
 Could all my travels warrant me they live. 
 
 Duke. Hapless ^Egeon, whom the fates hari 
 mark'd 
 To bear the extremity of dire mishap! 
 Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
 Against my crown, my oath, my dignity. 
 Which princes, would they, may not disannul, 
 My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 
 But, though thou art adjudged to the death, 
 And passed sentence may not be recall'd, 
 But, to our honor's great disparagement. 
 Yet will I favor thee in what I can : 
 Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this dav 
 To seek thy help by beneficial help : 
 Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus ; 
 Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, 
 And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die; 
 Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 
 
 Gaol. I will, my lord. 
 
 JEge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth ^geon wend, 
 But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE ll.—A public Place. 
 
 Enter A>TiPHOLusflr?rfDnoMio of Syracuse, and 
 a Merchant. 
 
 Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum 
 Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
 This very day, a Syracusan merchant 
 Is apprehended for arrival here; 
 And, not being able to buy out his life, 
 According to the statute of the town. 
 Dies ere the weary sun set in the west, 
 There is your money that I had to keep. 
 
 Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, 
 And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 
 Within this hour it will be dinner-time : 
 Till that I'll view the manners of the town. 
 Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings. 
 And then return, and sleep within mine inn; 
 For with long travel I am stifl' and weary. 
 Get thee away. 
 
 Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word, 
 And go indeed, having so good a mean. 
 
 [Exit Dno. Si 
 
 Ant. S. A trusty villain,' sir; that very oft. 
 When I am dull with care and melancholy. 
 Lightens my humor with his merry jests. 
 What, will you walk with me about the town, 
 And then go to my inn. and dine with me 1 
 
 Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants. 
 Of whom I hope to make much benefit; 
 I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock, 
 Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart, 
 And afterwards consort you till bed-time ; 
 My present business calls me from you now. 
 
 Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose myself 
 And wander up and down, to view the city. 
 
 » Clear, completely. 
 • t. e. Servant. 
 
 *Go. 
 
304 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. 
 
 [Exit Merchant. 
 
 Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own con- 
 tent, 
 Commends me to the thing I cannot get. 
 I to the world am like a drop of water, 
 That in the ocean seeks another drop ; 
 Who, falUng there to find his fellow forth, 
 Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: 
 So I, to find a mother, and a brother. 
 In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 
 
 Enter Dhomio of Ephesus. 
 
 Here comes the almanac of my true date, — 
 What now? How chance, thou art return'd so soon? 
 
 Dro. E. Return'd so soon ! rather approach'd too 
 late: 
 The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; 
 The clock has strucken twelve upon the bell, 
 My mistress made it one upon my cheek : 
 She is so hot, because the meat is cold ; 
 The meat is cold, because you come not home; 
 Vou come not home, because you have no stomach; 
 Yon have no stomach, having broke your fast; 
 But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray. 
 Are penitent for your default to-day. 
 
 Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I 
 pray; 
 Where have you left the money that I gave you 1 
 
 Dro. E. O, — sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday 
 last. 
 To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ; — 
 The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. 
 
 A7it. S. I am not in a sportive humor now: 
 Tell me, and dally not, where is the money 1 
 We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust 
 So great a charge from thine own custody 1 
 
 Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner : 
 I fi-om my mistress come to you in post ; 
 If I return, I shall be post indeed ; 
 For she will score your fault upon my pate. 
 Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your 
 
 clock. 
 And strike you home without a messenger. 
 
 Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are ou» 
 of season ; 
 Reserve them till a merrier hour than this : 
 Where is the gold I gave in charge to theel 
 
 Dro. E. To me, sir ] why you gave no gold to me 
 
 Ant. S. (>ome on, sir knave, have done your fool- 
 ishness. 
 And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. 
 
 Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the 
 mart 
 Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; 
 My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. 
 
 Ant. S. Now, as I am a christian, answer me, 
 In what safe place you have bestow'd my money; 
 Or I shall break that merry sconce' of yours. 
 That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd; 
 Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ? 
 
 Dro. E. I have some marks ofy ours upon my pate, 
 Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, 
 But not a thousand marks between j'ou both. — 
 If I should pay your worship those again. 
 Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. 
 
 Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, 
 hast thou ? [Phoenix : 
 
 Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
 She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner. 
 And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. 
 Ant. S. What,wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, 
 Being forbid 1 There, take you that, sir knave. 
 
 Dro. E. What mean you, sirl for heaven's sake, 
 hold your hands ; 
 Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. 
 
 [Exit Dro. E. 
 
 Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other 
 The villain is o'er-raught' of all my money. 
 They say, this town is full of cozenage ; 
 As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye. 
 Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind 
 Soul-killing witches, that deform the body ; 
 Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks. 
 And many such like liberties of sin ; 
 If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 
 I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave ; 
 I greatly fear my money is not safe. [Exit 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ public Place. 
 
 Enter Adriana anc? Luciana. 
 
 Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd. 
 That in such haste I sent to seek his master ! 
 Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 
 
 Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him. 
 And from the mart he's somewhere 'j;one to dinner. 
 Good sister, let us dine, and never fret: 
 A man is master of his liberty : 
 Time is their master ; and, when they see time. 
 They'll go, or come : if so, be patient, sister. 
 
 Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be morel 
 
 hue. Because their business still lies out o'door. 
 
 Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. 
 
 Luc. 0, know, he is the bridle of your will. 
 
 Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so. 
 
 Luc. Why headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. 
 There's nothing situate under heaven's eye, 
 But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky: 
 
 The beasts, the fisnts, and the winged fowls. 
 Are their males' subject, and at their controls : 
 Men, more divine, the masters of all these. 
 Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas, 
 Indued with intellectual sense and souls, 
 Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, 
 Are masters to their females, and their lords: 
 Then let your will attend on their accords. 
 
 Adr. Tliis servitude makes you to keep unwed. 
 
 Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed. 
 
 Adr. B ut were you wedded, you would bear some 
 sway. 
 
 Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. 
 
 Adr. How if your husband start some othcf 
 where ? 
 
 Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. 
 
 Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though sh« 
 pause ; 
 They can be meek, tliat have no other cause. 
 « Head. ' Over-reached. 
 
KCENE 11. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 30f 
 
 A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, 
 
 We bid be quiet, wlicn we hear it cry ; 
 
 But were we burden'd with like weight of pain. 
 
 As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: 
 
 So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. 
 
 With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me: 
 
 But if thou live to see like right bereft. 
 
 This fool-bcgg'd patience in thee will be left. 
 
 Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try ; — 
 Hc-re comes your man, now is your husband nigh. 
 Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
 
 Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and 
 that my two cars can witness. 
 
 Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him 1 luiow'st 
 thou his mind 1 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear : 
 Bcshrcw his hand, I scarce could understand it. 
 
 Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not 
 feel his meaning ? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too 
 well feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully, that 
 I could scarce understand them." 
 
 Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home 1 
 It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is hom- 
 
 Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ? [mad. 
 
 Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; but, sure, 
 he's stark mad : 
 When I desired him to come home to dinner, 
 He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
 ' 7Ys dinner-time, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he : 
 Your meat doth burn, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he : 
 Will you come home ? quoth I ; My gold, quoth he ; 
 Where is the thousand marks I gave thee^ villain ? 
 The pig, quoth I, is burned; My gold, quoth he : 
 Ml/ mistress, sir, quoth I ; Hang up thy mistress; 
 I know not thy mistress,- out on tTiy mistress.' 
 
 Luc. Quoth who 1 
 
 Dro. E. Quoth my master : 
 / know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress; — 
 So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
 
 I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders ; 
 For, in conclusion, he did beat me there, [home. 
 
 Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him 
 
 Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home? 
 For God's sake, send some other messenger. 
 
 Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. 
 
 Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other 
 beating: 
 Between you I shall have a holy head. 
 
 Adr. Hence, prating peasant ; fetch thy master 
 home. 
 
 Dro. E. Am I so round with yon, as you with me. 
 That like a footliall you do spurn me thus .' 
 you spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: 
 
 II I last in this service, you must case me in leather. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Luc. Fye, how impatience low'reth in your face. 
 
 Adr. His company must do his minions grace, 
 Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
 Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
 From my poor check ? then he hath wasted it : 
 Arc my discourses dull? barren my wit? 
 If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
 Unkindncss blunts it, more than marlile hard. 
 Do their gay vestments his affections bait 1 
 That's not my fault, he's master of my state: 
 
 • ». e Scarce stand under them. 
 
 What ruins are in me, that can be found 
 By him not ruin'd 1 then is he the ground 
 Of my defeatures:' My decayed fair' 
 A sunny look of his would soon repair ; 
 But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale. 
 And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale.' 
 Luc. Self-arming jealousy ! — fye, beat it henca 
 Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs di* 
 pcnse, 
 I know his eye doth homage otherwhere- 
 Or else, what lets' it but he would be here 1 
 Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain ; — 
 Would that alone alone he would detain. 
 So he would keep fair quarter with his bed ! 
 I see, the jewel, best enamelled, 
 Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still. 
 That others touch, yet often touching will 
 Wear gold : and so no man, that hath a name» 
 But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
 Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
 I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. 
 Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Enter Antipholtjs of Syracuse. 
 Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up 
 Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
 Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. 
 By computation, and mine host's report, 
 I could not speak with Dromio, since at first 
 I sent him from the mart : See, here he come.s. 
 
 Enter Dromio o/* Syracuse. 
 
 How now, sir? is your merry humor alter'd ? 
 As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
 You know no Centaur ] you rcceiv'd no gold ? 
 Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 
 My house was at the Phoenix ? Wast thou mad, 
 That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? 
 
 Dro. S. What answer, sir ? when spake I such a 
 word ? 
 
 Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an houi 
 since. 
 
 Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, 
 Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 
 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt. 
 And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner ; 
 For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. 
 
 Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein: 
 What means this jest ? I pray you, master, tell me. 
 
 Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in th« 
 teeth ? 
 Think'.st thou, I jest ? Hold, take thou that, and 
 that. [^Beating kim. 
 
 Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake : now youi 
 jest is earnest : 
 Upon what liargain do you give it me? 
 
 Ant. i>. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
 Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, 
 Your sauciness will jest upon my love. 
 And make a common of my serious hours. 
 When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport 
 But creep in crannies, when he hides his beams. 
 If you will jest with me, know my aspect,* 
 And fashion your demeanor to my looks. 
 Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 
 
 » Alteration of features. 
 
 » Stalking-horse. 
 
 * Study my countenance. 
 
 ' Fair, for feimese 
 • Ilindcra. 
 
305 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Dro. S. Sconce, call you itl so you would leave 
 battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use 
 these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, 
 and insconce' it *oo ; or else I shall seek my wit in 
 my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten? 
 
 Ant. S. Dost thou not know] 
 
 Dro. S. Nothing, sir ; but that I am beaten. 
 
 Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ? 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, 
 every why hath a wherefore. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, first; — for flouting me ; and then, 
 wherefore, — 
 For urging it the second time to me. 
 
 Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out 
 of season 1 
 When, in tlie why, and the wherefore, is neither 
 
 rhyme nor reason] — 
 Well, sir, I thank you. 
 
 Ant. S. Thank me, sir ! for what ] 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you 
 gave me for nothing. 
 
 A)it. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you 
 nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner- 
 time] 
 
 Dro. S'. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I 
 have. 
 
 Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that ] 
 
 Dro- S. Basting. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. 
 
 Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. 
 
 Ant. S. Your reason ] 
 
 Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase 
 me another dry basting. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time ; 
 There's a time for all things. 
 
 Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were 
 so choleric. 
 
 Ant. S. By what rule, sir] 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain 
 bald pate of father Time himself. 
 
 Ant. S. Let's hear it. 
 
 Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his 
 hair, that grows bald by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery] 
 
 Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and 
 recover the lost hair of another man. 
 
 Ant. S. Why is time such a niggard of hair, 
 being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement ] 
 
 Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows 
 on beasts : and what he hath scanted men in hair, 
 he hath given them in wit. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more 
 hair than wit. 
 
 Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit 
 to lose his hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men 
 plain dealers without wit. 
 
 Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : Yet 
 he loseth it in a kind of jollity. 
 
 Ant. S. For what reason] 
 
 Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 
 
 Dro. S. Sure ones then. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. 
 
 Dro. S. Certain ones then. 
 
 Ant. S. Name them. 
 
 Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he 
 spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they 
 should not drop in his porridge. 
 
 » A scoiwe was a fortification. 
 
 Atit. S. You would all this lime have proved, 
 there is no time for all things. 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, no time t<( 
 recover hair lost by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, 
 why there is no time to recover. 
 
 Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is bald, 
 and therefore, to the world's end, will have baitl 
 followers. 
 
 Ant. S. I knew it would be a bald conclusion 
 But soft! who wafts^ us yonder] 
 
 Enter Aduian a and Luciana. 
 
 Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown. 
 Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects ; 
 I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. 
 The time was once, when thou unurged wouldst vow 
 That never words were music to thine ear, 
 That never object pleasing in thine eye, 
 That never touch well-welcome to thy hand, 
 That never meat sweet-savor'd in thy taste. 
 Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee. 
 How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes i< 
 That thou art then estranged from thyself] 
 Thyself I call it, being strange to me, 
 That, undividable, incorporate, 
 Am better than thy dear sclfs better part- 
 Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; 
 For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall 
 A drop of water in the breaking gulf. 
 And take unmingled thence that drop again. 
 Without addition, or diminishing, 
 As take from me thyself, and not me too. 
 How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, 
 Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious ] 
 And that this body, consecrate to thee, 
 By ruffian lust should be contaminate ] 
 Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, 
 And hurl the name of husband in my face. 
 And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow, 
 And from my false hand cut the wedding ring, 
 And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ] 
 I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it. 
 I am possess'd with an adulterate blot; 
 My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 
 For, if we two be one, and thou play false, 
 I do digest the poison of thy flesh. 
 Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 
 Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; 
 I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonored. [not: 
 
 Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know you 
 In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 
 As strange unto your town, as to your talk ; 
 Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd. 
 Want wit in all one word to understand. [you : 
 
 Luc. Fye, brother ! how the world is changed with 
 When were you wont to use my sister thus ? 
 She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 
 
 Ant. S. By Dromio ] 
 
 Dro. S. By me ? [him, — 
 
 Adr. By thee : and this thou didst return from 
 That he did buffet thee, and in his blows 
 Denied my house for his, me for his wife, [man ? 
 
 Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewo« 
 What is the force and drift of your compact ] 
 
 Dro. S. I, sir ? I never saw her till this time. 
 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very 
 Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. [word. 
 
 Dro. S. I never spake with her in all m> life, 
 c Beckons. 
 
A.CT III. Scene I. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 307 
 
 Ant. S. How can snc thus then call us by our 
 names, 
 Unless it be by inspiration 1 
 
 Ad)\ How ill agrees it with your gravity, 
 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave. 
 Abetting him to thwart me in my mood? 
 Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, 
 But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. 
 (!ome, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: 
 Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine; 
 Whose weakness, married to t'-y stronger state, 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate : 
 If autrht possess thee from me, it is dross, 
 Usurping ivy, briar, or idle'' moss; 
 Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
 [nfect Ihy sap, and live on thy confusion. 
 
 Ant. S. To me she speaks ; she moves me for her 
 theme : 
 What, was I married to her in my dream ? 
 Or sleep I now, and think I hear all thisi 
 What error drives our eyes and cars amiss 1 
 Until I know this sure uncertainty, 
 I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy. 
 
 Luc. Droinio, go bid the servants spread for 
 dinner. 
 
 Dm. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner. 
 This is the fairy land ; — O, spite of spites ! — 
 We talk with gobWns, owls, and elvish sprites; 
 If we obey them not, this will ensue. 
 They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. 
 
 Lite. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st 
 not] 
 Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot ! 
 
 Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I T 
 
 A7it, S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my 
 shape. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 
 
 Dro. S. No, I am an ape 
 
 Luc. If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an 
 ass. 
 
 Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me, and I long 'bi 
 grass. 
 'Tis so, I am an ass ; else it could never be, 
 But I should know her as well as she knows me. 
 
 Adr. Come, come, no longer will I lie a fool, 
 To put the finger in the eye and weep, 
 Whilst man, and master, laugh my 'vces to 
 
 scorn. — 
 Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate: — 
 Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day, 
 And shrive' you of a thousand idle pranks: 
 Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, 
 Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter. — 
 Come, sister: — Dromio, play the porter well. 
 
 Ajit. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell 
 Sleeping or waking ? mad or well-advised 1 
 Known unto these, and to myself disguised'? 
 I'll say as they say, and persever so, 
 And in this mist at all adventures go. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate "^ 
 
 Adr. Ay ; and let none enter, lest I break your 
 pate. 
 
 Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 
 Enter AsTiPHOLus of Ephesus, Dromio of 
 Ephesus, Angelo, and Baltiiazaii. 
 
 Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse 
 us all; 
 My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours: 
 Say, that I lingcr'd with you at your shop. 
 To see the making of her carkanet,' 
 And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
 But here's a villain, that would face me down 
 He met me on the mart; and that I beat him. 
 And charged him with a thousand marks in gold, 
 And that I did deny my wife and house: — 
 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? 
 Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what 
 I know: 
 That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to 
 
 show : 
 A the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave 
 
 were ink. 
 Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. 
 Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. 
 Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 
 
 By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. 
 F should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that 
 
 pass, 
 f DU would keep from my heels, and beware of an 
 ass. 
 
 • Unfruitful, barron. 
 
 • 4 neckla<9 strung wi^'^ Njarls. 
 
 Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: 'Pray 
 God, our cheer 
 May answer my good will, and your good welcome 
 here. 
 Bui. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your 
 
 welcome dear. 
 Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, 
 A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty 
 dish. 
 Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every churl 
 
 affords. 
 Ant. E. And welcome more common; for that's 
 
 nothing but words. 
 Bal. Small cheer and great welcome, makes a 
 
 merry feast. 
 Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more spai 
 ing guest; 
 But though my cates' be mean, take them in good 
 
 part; 
 Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. 
 But, soft ; my door is lock'd : Go, bid them let us in. 
 Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, 
 
 Jen'! 
 Dro. S. [^Withhi.'] Mome," malt-horse, capon, 
 coxcomb, idiot, patch !' 
 E ither get thee from the door,or sit dowm at the hatch. 
 Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for 
 
 such store, 
 When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from 
 the door. 
 
 » Hear your confession, 
 ulilockhcml. 
 
 > Diebes of meat 
 *FooL 
 
^08 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Dro. E. What patch is made our porter 1 My 
 
 master stays in the street. 
 J)ro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, 
 
 lest lie catch cold on's feet. 
 Ant. E. Who talks within there 1 ho, open the 
 
 door. 
 Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll 
 
 tell me wherefore 1 
 Ant. E. Wherefore, for my dinner ; I have not 
 
 dined to-day. 
 Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not ; come 
 
 again when you may. 
 Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from 
 
 the house I owe 1 * 
 Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my 
 
 name is Dromio. 
 Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine 
 office and my name; 
 The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. 
 If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, 
 Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, 
 
 or thy name for an ass. 
 Luce. IWithin.'] What a coil' is there? Dromio, 
 
 who are those at the gate"? 
 Dro. E. Let thy master in. Luce. 
 Luce. Faith, no ; he comes too late ; 
 
 And so tell your master. 
 
 Dro. E. Lord, I must laugh : — 
 
 Have at you with a proverb: -—Shall I set in my 
 
 staff? 
 Luce. Have at you with another: that's, — When? 
 
 can you tell ? 
 Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou 
 
 hast answer'd him well. 
 Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion ? you'll let us 
 
 in, I hope ? 
 Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. 
 Dro. S. And you said, no. 
 
 Dro. E. So, come, help ; well struck ; there was 
 
 blow for blow. 
 Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
 Luce. Can you tell for whose sake? 
 
 Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
 Luce. Let him knock till it ache. 
 
 Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the 
 
 door down. 
 Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks 
 
 in the town ? 
 Adr. ^Within.'] Who is that at the door, that 
 
 keeps all this noise ? 
 Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with 
 
 unruly boys. 
 Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might have 
 
 come before. 
 Adr. Your wife, sir knave! go, get you from 
 
 the door. 
 Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave 
 
 would go sore. 
 Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome ; 
 
 we would fain have either. 
 Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part* 
 
 with neither. 
 Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid 
 
 them welcome hither. 
 Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we 
 
 cannot get in. 
 Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your gar- 
 ments were thin. 
 
 * I own, am owner of. 
 
 • lake part. 
 
 > Bustle, tumult. 
 
 Your cake here is warm within ; you stand here ir. 
 
 the cold: 
 It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought 
 and sold. 
 Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope 
 
 the gate. 
 Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break 
 
 your knave's pate. 
 Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, 
 sir : and words are but wind ; 
 Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not 
 behind. 
 Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking : Out 
 
 upon thee, hind ! 
 Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee ! I pray 
 
 thee, let me in. 
 Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and 
 
 fish have no fin. 
 Ant. E. Well, I'll break in ; Go, borrow me a 
 
 crow. 
 Dro. E. A crow without a feather ; master, mean 
 you so 1 
 For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a 
 
 feather : 
 If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow 
 together. 
 Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow. 
 Bal. Have patience, sir ; O, let it not be so ; 
 Herein you war against your reputation. 
 And draw within the compass of suspect 
 The unviolated honor of your wife. 
 Once this, — Your long experience of her wisdom, 
 Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, 
 Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
 And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
 Why at this time the doors are made' against you, 
 Be ruled by me ; depart in patience. 
 And let us to the Tiger all to dinner : 
 And, about evening, come yourself alone, 
 To know the reason of this strange restraint. 
 If by strong hand you offer to break in, 
 Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
 A vulgar comment will be made on it ; 
 And that supposed by the common rout 
 Against your yet ungalled estimation, 
 That may with foul intrusion enter in. 
 And dwell upon your grave when you are dead • 
 For slander lives upon succession ; 
 For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. 
 
 Ant. E. You have prevail'd ; I will depart in quiel 
 And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. 
 I know a wench of excellent discourse, — 
 Pretty and witty ; wild, and, yet too, gentle ; — 
 There will we dine : this woman that I mean. 
 My wife (but, I protest, without desert) 
 Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal ; 
 To her will we to dinner. — Get you home, 
 And fetch the chain ; by this,' I know, 'tis made : 
 Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine; 
 For there's the house : that chain will I bestow 
 (Be it for nothing but to spite my wife) 
 Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste : 
 Since mine own doors refiise to entertain me, 
 I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. 
 Aug. I'll meet you at that place, some houi 
 
 hence. 
 Ant. E. Do so ; This jest shall cost me some 
 expense. [Exeunt 
 
 1 i. e. Made fast. 
 
 • By this time. 
 
feCENE II 
 
 COMEDY OF ERR0R8. 
 
 3UU 
 
 SCENE II.— TAe same. 
 
 Bnter Luciana, and Antipholus 0/ Syracuse. 
 
 Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot 
 A husband's office ? Shall, Antipholus, hate, 
 Lvcn in the spring of love, thy love-springs* rot ? 
 
 Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate ? 
 If you did wed my sister for her wealth, 
 
 Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more 
 kindness : 
 Of if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; 
 
 Muffle your false love with some show of blindness: 
 liCt not my sister read it in your eye ; 
 
 Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ; 
 Liook sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ; 
 
 Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: 
 Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ; 
 
 Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ; 
 Be secret-false : What need she be acquainted ? 
 
 What simple thief brags of his own attaint ? 
 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed, 
 
 And let her read it with thy looks at board : 
 Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; 
 
 111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 
 Alas, poor women ! make us but believe, 
 
 Being compact of credit, that you love us ; 
 Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve, 
 We in your motion turn, and you may move us ; 
 Then, gentle brother, get you in again ; 
 
 Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife : 
 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,' 
 
 When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 
 Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else, 
 
 I know not. 
 Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) 
 Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you 
 show not, 
 Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth divine. 
 Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak ; 
 
 Lay open to my earthly gross conceit, 
 Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak. 
 
 The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
 Against my soul's pure truth why labor you, 
 To make it wander in an unknown field 1 
 Are you a god ? would you create me new 1 
 
 Transform me, then, and to your power I'll yield. 
 But if that I am I, then well I know. 
 
 Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 
 Nor to her bed no homage do I owe ; 
 
 Far more, far more, to you do I decline. 
 O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note. 
 
 To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears ; 
 Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote : 
 
 Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 
 And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie; 
 And, in that glorious supposition, think 
 He gains by death, that hath such means to die : — 
 Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink ! 
 Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so? 
 Ant. S. Not mad, but mated;" how, I do not know. 
 TjUC. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 
 Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, 
 
 being by. 
 Luc. Gaze where you should ; and that will 
 
 clear your sight. 
 Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet lo\1;, as look on 
 
 night. 
 Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. 
 
 »I,ov<M'pnn^;s aro young plants or shoots of love. 
 « Vain, b light of tonsuu. j. e,. Confounded. 
 
 21 
 
 Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 
 
 Luc. That's my sister. 
 
 Ant. S. No, 
 
 It is thyself, mine own self's better part ; 
 Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart. 
 My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, 
 My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. 
 
 Luc. All this my sijter is, or else should be. 
 
 Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee • 
 Thee will I love, and with thee lead my hfe : 
 Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife ; 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Luc. 0, soft, sir, hold you still ; 
 
 I'll fetch my sister, to get her good- will. [Exit Lrc. 
 
 Enter, from the house of Antipholus of Ephesus, 
 Dromio of Syracuse. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio ? where run'st 
 thou so fast ? 
 
 Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio ? 
 am I your man ? am I myself? 
 
 Ant. St Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, 
 thou art thyself. 
 
 Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and 
 besides myself. 
 
 Ant. S. What woman's man ? and how besides 
 thyself? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to 
 a woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me 
 one that will have me. 
 
 Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee ? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay 
 to your horse ; and she would have me as a beast : 
 not that, I being a beast, she would have me ; but 
 that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim 
 to me. 
 
 Ant. S. What is she ? 
 
 Dro. S. A very reverent body ; ay, such a one 
 as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir 
 reverence : I have but lean luck in the match, and 
 yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. 
 
 Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage ? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and 
 all grease ; and I know not what use to put her to, 
 but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by 
 her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow 
 in them, will burn a Poland winter : if she lives 
 till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the 
 whole world. 
 
 Ant. S. What complexion is she of? 
 
 Dro. S. Swart,* like my shoe, but her fa:e no- 
 thing like so clean kept : For why ? she sweats, a 
 man may go over shoes in the grime of it. 
 
 Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could 
 not do it. 
 
 Ant. S. What's her name ? 
 
 Dro. S. Nell, sir; — but her name and three 
 quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will 
 not measure her from hip to hip. 
 
 Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ? 
 
 Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from 
 hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe ; I couh. 
 find out countries in her. 
 
 Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland 1 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found * 
 out by the bogs. 
 
 Aut. S. Where Scotland ? 
 
 > Swarthy 
 
310 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness ; hard, in 
 the palm of the hand. 
 
 Ant. S. Where France? 
 
 Dro. S. In her forehead ; arm'd and reverted, 
 making war against her hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Where England ? 
 
 Dro. S. I look'd for the clialky cliffs, but I could 
 find no whiteness in them : but I guess it stood in 
 her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France 
 and it. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Spain ? 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it, hot in 
 her breath. 
 
 Ant. S. Where America, the Indies ? 
 
 Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish'd 
 wiih rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their 
 rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain ; who sent 
 whole armadas of carracks* to be ballast at her 
 nose. 
 
 Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands 1 
 
 Dro. S, O, sir, I did not look so low. To con- 
 clude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me ; 
 call'd me Dromio ; swore, I was assured' to her ; 
 told me what privy marks I had about me, as the 
 mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the 
 great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from 
 her as a witch : and, I think, if my breast had not 
 been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had 
 transform'd me to a curtail-dog, and made me tui^n 
 i'thc wheel." 
 
 Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road ; 
 And if the wind blow any way from shore, 
 I will not harbor in this town to-night. 
 If any bark put forth, come to the mart. 
 Where I will walk, till thou return to me. 
 If every one know us, and we know none, 
 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. 
 
 Dro. S, As from a bear a man would run for 
 life, 
 fio fly I from her that would be my wife. lExit. 
 
 Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit 
 here ; 
 And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. 
 She, that doth call me husband, even my soul 
 Doth for a wife abhor : but her fair sister, 
 Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign gract>. 
 Of such enchanting presence and discourse. 
 Hath almost made me traitor to myself: 
 But, lest myself be guilty to self- wrong, 
 I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 
 
 Enter Angelo 
 
 .4??^. Master Antipholus. 
 
 Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. 
 
 Ang. I know it well, sir . Lo, here is 'he cnaln ; 
 I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine • 
 The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. 
 
 Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with 
 this? 
 
 Ang. What please yourself, sir ; I have made i 
 for you. 
 
 Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I bespoke it not. 
 
 Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you 
 have : 
 Go home with it, and please your wife withal , 
 And soon at supper-time, I'll visit you. 
 And then receive my money for the chain 
 
 A7it. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now 
 For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. 
 
 Ang. You are a merry man, sir ; fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot 
 tell; 
 But this, I think, there's no man is so vain, 
 That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. 
 I see, a man here needs not live by shifts. 
 When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. 
 I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay ; 
 If any ship put out, then straight away. [_Exit 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer. 
 
 Mcr. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due. 
 And since I have not much importuned you ; 
 Nor now I had not, but that I am bound 
 To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage: 
 Therefore make present satisfaction. 
 Or ril attach you by this officer. 
 
 Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you. 
 Is growing' to me by Antipholus : 
 And, in the instant that I met with you, 
 He had of me a chain ; at five o'clock, 
 r shall receive the money for the same : 
 Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
 I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 
 
 Eiiter Antipholus o/Ephesus, and Dromio of 
 Ephesus. 
 
 Off". That labor may you save ; see where he 
 comes. 
 
 « Large ships. 
 • A turn-spit. 
 
 • Affianced. 
 ' Accruing. 
 
 Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmitli's house, 
 go thou 
 And buy a rope's end ; that will I bestow 
 Among my wife and her confederates. 
 For locking me out of my doors by day. — 
 But soft, I see the goldsmith: — get thee gone; 
 Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. 
 
 Dro. E. I [ uy a thousand pound a-year ! I buy 
 a rope ! [^Exit Dno. E. 
 
 Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to 
 you: 
 I promised your piesence, and the chain ; 
 But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me : 
 Belike, you thought our love would last too long, 
 If it were chain'd together; and therefore came 
 not. 
 
 Ang. Saving your merry humor, here's the note, 
 How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat; 
 The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion ; 
 Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 
 Than I stand debted to this gentleman ; 
 I pray you, see him presently discharged. 
 For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it 
 
BcEifE n. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 311 
 
 Ant. E. I im not fiinJshed with the present 
 money ; 
 Besides, I have some business in the town : 
 Good signior, take the stranger to my house, 
 And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
 Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof; 
 Perchance I will be there as soon as you. 
 Ang, Then wilt thou bring the chain to her 
 
 yourself] 
 Ant. E. No : bear it with you, lest I come not 
 
 time enough. 
 Ang. Well, sir, I will : Have you the chain about 
 
 you T 
 Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have ; 
 Or else you may return without your money. 
 Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the 
 chain ; 
 Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman. 
 And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 
 Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance, to 
 excuse 
 V'our breach of promise to the Porcupine : 
 I should have chid you for not bringing it. 
 But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 
 
 Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, sir, de- 
 spatch. 
 A.ng. You hear, how he importunes me ; the 
 
 chain — 
 Ant. E, Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your 
 
 money. 
 Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even 
 now; 
 Either send the chain, or send by me some token. 
 Ant. E. Fye ! how you run this humor out of 
 breath : 
 Oome, wherc's the chain 1 I pray you, let me 
 see it. 
 Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance ; 
 Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me or no ; 
 U not, I'll leave him to the officer. 
 
 Ant. E. I answer you ! What should I answer 
 
 you? 
 Ang. The money that you owe me for the 
 
 chain. 
 Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the 
 
 chain. 
 Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour 
 
 since. 
 Ant. E. You gave me none ; you wrong me 
 
 much to say so. 
 Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it : 
 fjonsider, how it stands upon my credit. 
 Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 
 Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name, 
 
 to obey me. 
 Ang. This touches me in reputation : — 
 E'lher consent to pay this sum for me, 
 ;">r I attach you by this officer. 
 Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never 
 had! 
 .\rrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 
 
 -'1 77"-. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer; 
 I would not spare my brother in this case. 
 If he should scorn me so apparently. 
 
 Off. I do arrest you, sir ; you hear the suit. 
 Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail:-- 
 l]u% sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 
 As all the metal in your shop will answer. 
 
 Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
 To vour notorious shame, I doubt it not 
 
 Enter Dromio of Sytacuse. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, 
 That stays but till her owner comes aboard. 
 And then, sir, bears away : our fraughtage," sir, 
 I have convey'd aboard ; and I have bought 
 The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vita;. 
 The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind 
 Blows fair from land: they stay for nought ai 
 
 all, 
 But for their ovraer, master, and yourself. 
 
 Ant. E. How now ! a madman ! Whj', thou 
 peevish* sheep, 
 What ship of Epidamnum stays for me. 
 
 Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waft- 
 age.* 
 Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a 
 rope; 
 And told thee to what purpose and what end. 
 Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's end aa 
 soon: 
 You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. 
 
 A72t. E. I will debate this matter at more 
 leisure. 
 And teach your ears to listen with more heed. 
 To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight: 
 Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
 That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry, 
 There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it ; 
 Tell her, I am arrested in the street, 
 And that shall bail me hie thee, slave ; be gone 
 On, officer, to prison, tL it come. 
 
 [^Exeunt Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and 
 Ant. E. 
 Dro. S. To Adriana ; that is where he dined. 
 Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband : 
 She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 
 Thither I must, although against my will. 
 For servants must their master's minds fulfil. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Enter Adriana and Ldciana. 
 
 Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so ? 
 Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye 
 That he did plead in earnest, yea or no 1 
 
 Look'd he or red, or pale ; or sad or merrily ? 
 What observations mad'st thou in this case, 
 Of his heart's meteors tOting in his face 1' 
 
 Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right, 
 Adr. He meant, he did me none ; the more my 
 
 spite. 
 Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. 
 Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn 
 
 he were. 
 Luc. Then pleaded I for you. 
 Adr. And what said he ? 
 
 Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of 
 
 me. 
 Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt shy 
 
 love 1 
 Luc. With words that in an honest suit might 
 move. 
 First he did praise my beauty ; then, my speecn. 
 Adr. Didst thou speak him fair ? 
 Luc. Have patience, I beseech 
 
 Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still 
 
 > Freight, cargo. * Silly. • Carriage. 
 
 « An allusion to the redness of the northern lightn 
 llkencU to the appearance of armies. 
 
312 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act I> 
 
 My tongue, tiiough not my heart, shall have his 
 will. 
 lie is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,' 
 Ill-faced, worse-bodied, shapeless every where : 
 Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind ; 
 Stigmatical in making,' worse in mind. 
 
 Lite. Who would be jealous then of such a 
 one] 
 No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 
 
 Adr. Ah ! but I think him better than I say, 
 And yet would herein others' eyes were worse : 
 Far from her nest the lapwing cries away ;* 
 
 My heart prays for him, though my tongue 
 do curse. 
 
 Enter DnoMio q/" Syracuse. 
 
 Dro. S. Here, go ; the desk, the purse ; sweet 
 
 now, make haste. 
 Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? 
 Dro. S. By running fast. 
 
 Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio 1 is he well 1 
 Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than 
 hell: 
 A devil in an everlasting garment* hath him, 
 One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel ; 
 A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough ; 
 A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff; 
 A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun- 
 termands 
 The passages of alleys, creeks, and nan^ow lands ; 
 A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot 
 
 well ; 
 One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls 
 to hell.'' 
 Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ? 
 Dro. S. I do not know the matter ; he is 'rested 
 
 on the case. 
 Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose 
 
 suit. 
 Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested, 
 well ; 
 But he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that 
 
 can I tell ; 
 Wil' you send him, mistress, redemption, the mo- 
 ney in the desk ? 
 Adr. Go fetch it, sister. — This I wonder at, 
 
 [_Exit LCCIANA. 
 That he, unknown to me, should be in debt : 
 Tell me, was he arrested on a band ]' 
 
 Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ; 
 A chain, a chain ; do you not hear it ring 1 
 Adr. What, the chain ? 
 
 Dm. S. No, no, the bell ; 'tis time that I were 
 
 gone. 
 
 ^ was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes 
 
 one. 
 
 Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. 
 
 Dro. S. O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, 
 
 a'turns back for very fear. 
 Adr. As if time were in debt ! how fondly dost 
 
 thou reason ! 
 Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more 
 than he's worth to season. 
 Nay, he's a thief too : Have you not heard men 
 
 say. 
 That time comes stealing on by night and day 1 
 
 1 Dry, withered. • Marked by nature with deformity. 
 ' ^^■ho crieth most where her nest is not. 
 ' The officers in those days were clad in buff, which is 
 llso a cant expression for a man's skin. 
 » Hell was the cant term for prison. ' ». e. Bond. 
 
 If he be in debt, and theft, jind a sergeant n th« 
 
 way. 
 Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day 1 
 
 Enter Luciana. 
 
 Adr. Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear U 
 
 straight ; 
 
 And bring thy master home immediately. — 
 
 Come, sister : I am pressed down with conceit ;* 
 
 Conceit my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— TAe same. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 
 
 Ant. S. There's not a man I meet, but doth sa- 
 lute me 
 As if I were their well-acquainted friend ; 
 And every one doth call me by my name. 
 Some tender money to me, some invite me ; 
 Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
 Some offer me commodities to buy : 
 Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, 
 And show'd me silks that he had bought for me. 
 And, therewithal, took measure of my body. 
 Sure, these are but imaginary wiles. 
 And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 
 
 Enter Dromio o/* Syracuse. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for. 
 What, have you got the picture of old Adam new 
 apparel'd 1 
 
 Ant. S. What gold is this 1 what Adam dosl 
 thou mean? 
 
 Dro. S. Not that Adam, that kept the paradise, 
 but that Adam, that keeps the prison : he that goes 
 in the calf's skin that was kill'd for the prodigal ; 
 he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, 
 and bid you forsake your liberty. 
 
 Ant. S. I understand thee not. 
 
 Dro. S. No ? why, 'tis a plain case : he that went 
 like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sii, 
 that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob 
 and 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed 
 men, and gives them suits of durance ; he that sets 
 up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, 
 than a morris-pike. 
 
 Ant. S. What ! thou mean'st an officer 1 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ; he, 
 tliat brings any man to answer it, that breaks hia 
 band ; one that thinks a man always going to bed 
 and says, God give you good rest ! 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is 
 there any ship put forth to-night] may we lit 
 gone] 
 
 Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hou> 
 since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-nigh\ 
 and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to 
 taiTy for the hoy. Delay ; Here are the angels, that 
 you sent for, to deliver you. 
 
 Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ; 
 And here we wander in illusions ; 
 Some blessed power deliver us from hence I 
 
 Enter a Courtezan. 
 
 Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. 
 I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now ; 
 Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day 1 
 
 Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt me 
 not! 
 
 « Fanciful conception. 
 
Scene IV 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 81b 
 
 Dro. <& Master, is this mistress Satan 1 
 
 Ant. S. It is the devil. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam ; 
 and here she comes in the habit of a light wench ; 
 and thereof comes, that the wenches say, God 
 damn me, that's as much as to say, God malce me 
 a light wench. It is written, they appear to men 
 like angels of light : hght is an effect of fire, and 
 fire will burn ; ergo, light wenches will bum ; 
 Come not near her. 
 
 Coiir. Your man and you are raai-vellous merry, 
 sir. 
 Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner 
 here. 
 
 Dro, S. Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, 
 bespeak a long spoon. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, Dromio ? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon, that 
 must eat with the devil. 
 
 Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend ! what tell'st thou me 
 of supping ■? 
 Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress: 
 I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. 
 
 Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, 
 Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd : 
 And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 
 Dro. S. Some devils ask but the paring of one's 
 nail, 
 A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 A nut, a cherry-stone : but she, more covetous, 
 Would have a chain. 
 Master, be wise ; and if you give it her, 
 The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it. 
 
 Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else tlie chain ; 
 I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so. 
 
 Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, let 
 us go. 
 
 Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress, 
 that you know. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. 8. 
 
 Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, 
 Else would he never so demean himself: 
 A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats. 
 And for the same he promis'd me a chain ! 
 Both one, and other, he denies me now. 
 The reason that I gather he is mad, 
 (Besides this present instance of his rage,) 
 Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner, 
 Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
 Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits. 
 On purpose shut the doors, against his way. 
 My way is now, to hie home to his house. 
 And tell his wife, that, being a lunatic, 
 He rushed into my house, and took perforce 
 My ring away : This course I fittest choose ; 
 For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— T;^e same. 
 Enter Antipholcs o/Ephesus, and an Officer. 
 Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not break away ; 
 I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money 
 To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
 My wife is in a wayward mood to-day : 
 And will not lightly trust the messenger, 
 That I should be attach'd in Ephesus: 
 r tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. — 
 
 Enter Dkomio o/ Ephesus, with a rope's end. 
 Here comes my man ; I think, he brings the money. 
 How now, sir ' have you that I sent you for ? 
 
 Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pa^ 
 them all.* 
 
 Ant. E. But where's the money T 
 
 Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope 
 
 Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope 1 
 
 Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. 
 
 Ant. E. To what enddid I bid thee hie thee home] 
 
 Dro. E. 'i'o a rope's end, sir; and to that end 
 am I return'd. 
 
 Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. 
 
 [Beating him 
 
 Off. Good sir, be patient. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am in 
 adversity. 
 
 Off. Good now, hold tliy tongue. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his 
 hands. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! 
 
 Di-o. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I 
 might not foci your blows. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, 
 and so is an ass. 
 
 Dro. E. I am an ass indeed; you may prove it 
 by my long ears. I have served him fi'cm the hour 
 of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at 
 his hands for my servic«, but blows: when I am 
 cold, he heats me with beating: when I am warm, 
 he cools me with beating : I am waked with it 
 when I sleep ; raised with it, when I sit ; driven out 
 of doors with it, when I go from home ; welcomed 
 home with it, when I return : nay, I bear it on my 
 shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat; and, I think, 
 when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from 
 door to door. 
 
 Enter Adhiana, Luciana, and the Courtezan 
 with Pinch, and others. 
 
 Ant. E. Come, go along; my wife is coming 
 yonder. 
 
 Dro. E. Misiress,respice Jinem, respect your end ; 
 or rather the prophecy, like the parrot, Beware the 
 rope''s end. 
 
 Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Beats him. 
 
 Cour. How say you now? is not your husband 
 mad? 
 
 Adr. His incivility confirms no less. — 
 Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; 
 Establish him in his true sense again. 
 And I will please you what you will demand. 
 
 Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks! 
 
 Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstasy ! 
 
 Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your 
 pulse. 
 
 Aut. E. There is my hand and let it feci youT ear. 
 
 Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this 
 man. 
 To yield possession to my holy prayers. 
 And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight; 
 I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. 
 
 Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace; I am not 
 mad. 
 
 Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul! 
 
 Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your cu» 
 tomcrs? 
 Did this companion with a saffron face 
 Revel and feast it at my house to-day. 
 Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut. 
 And I denied to enter in my house' 
 
 < Cnrrect them M 
 
314 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act IV. ScF.NE ITV 
 
 Adr. 0, husband, God doth know, you dined at 
 home. 
 Where 'would you had remain'd until this time, 
 Free from these slanders, and this open shame! 
 Atit. E. I dined at home ! Thou villain, what 
 
 say'st thou 1 
 Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at 
 
 home. 
 Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I 
 
 shut out 1 
 Dro, E. Perdy,' your doors were lock'd, and you 
 
 shut out. 
 Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there 1 
 Dro. E. Sans fable,' she herself reviled you there. 
 Ani. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, 
 
 and scorn me ] 
 Dro. E. Certes,'' she did ; the kitchen-vestal 
 
 scorn'd you. 
 Ajit. E. .\nd did not I in rage depart from thence ? 
 Dro. E. In verity you did; — my bones bear 
 witness, 
 That since have felt the vigor of his rage. 
 
 Adr. Is't good to sooth him in these contraries ? 
 Pinch. It is no shame ; the fellow finds his vein. 
 And, yielding to him, humors well his frenzy. 
 Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to 
 
 arrest me. 
 Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you. 
 By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 
 
 Dro. E. Money by mel heart and good-will you 
 might, 
 But, surely, master, not a rag of money. 
 
 Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of 
 
 ducats? 
 Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. 
 Luc. And I am witness with her, that she did. 
 Dro. E. God and the rope-maker, bear me wit- 
 ness, 
 That I was sent for nothing but a rope! 
 
 Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is pos- 
 sess'd ; 
 I know it by their pale and deadly looks : 
 They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 
 Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth 
 to-day, 
 And why dost thou deny the bag of gold 1 
 
 Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 
 Dro. E. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold ; 
 But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 
 
 Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in 
 
 both. 
 Ant. E. Dis«ernbling harlot, thou art false in all ; 
 And art confederate with a damned pack. 
 To make a loathsome abject scorn of me: 
 But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes, 
 That would behold in me this shameful sport. 
 
 [Pinch and his Assistants hind Ant. E. 
 and Dro. E. 
 Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come 
 
 near me. 
 Pinch. More company ! — the fiend is strong 
 
 within him. 
 Luc. Ah me, poor man, how pale and wan he 
 
 looks ! 
 Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, 
 thou, 
 
 • A corruption of the French o«Xh—pardieu. 
 « Without a fable. ' Cfertainly. 
 
 I am thy prisoner ; wilt thou suffer them 
 To make a rescue 1 
 
 Off. Masters, let him go ; 
 
 He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 
 
 Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic toa 
 
 Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish* officer? 
 Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
 Do outrage and displeasure to himself? 
 
 Off. He is my prisoner ; if I let him go, 
 The debt he owes, will be required of mc. 
 
 Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee: 
 Bear me forthwith unto his creditor. 
 And knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
 Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd 
 Home to my house. — O most unhappy day . 
 
 A7it. E. O most unhappy strumpet! 
 
 Dro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond foi 
 you. 
 
 Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore dost thou 
 mad me? 
 
 Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing ? be mad, 
 Good master; cry, the devil. — 
 
 Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk ! 
 
 Adr. Go, bear him hence. — Sister, go you with 
 me. — 
 [^Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, with Ant. B 
 and Duo. E. 
 Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? 
 
 Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith ; Do you know 
 him? 
 
 Adr. I know the man : What is the sum he owes ? 
 
 Off. Two hundred ducats. 
 
 Adr. Say, how grows it due ? 
 
 Off. Due for a chain, your husband had of him. 
 
 Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it 
 not. 
 
 Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day 
 Came to my house, and took away my ring, 
 (The ring I saw upon his finger now,) 
 Straight after, did I meet him with a chain. 
 
 Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it : — 
 Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is, 
 I long to know the truth hereof at large. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, with his rapier 
 drawn, ancf Dromio o/ Syracuse. 
 
 Luc. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose again. 
 
 Adr. And come with naked swords ; let's call 
 more help, 
 To have them bound again. 
 
 Off. Away, they'll kill us 
 
 [Exeunt Officer, Adr., and Luc. 
 
 Ant. S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords. 
 
 Dro. S. She, that would be your wife, new lan 
 from you. 
 
 Ant.S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff* 
 from thence: 
 I long, that we were safe and sound aboard. 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night, they will 
 surely do us no harm ; you saw, they speak us fair, 
 give us gold: metliinks, they are such a gentln 
 nation, that but for the mountain of mad flesh that 
 claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart ta 
 stay here still, and turn witch. 
 
 Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town 
 Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeuul 
 
 * Foolish. 
 
 •BiK^eage. 
 
 I 
 
Act. "V . Scene I 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 8j8 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 Enter Merchant and Angelo. 
 
 Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you ; 
 But, I protest, he had the chain of me, 
 riiough most dishonestly he doth deny it. 
 
 Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the cityl 
 
 Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir. 
 Of credit infinite, highly belov'd. 
 Second to none that lives here in the city ; 
 His vsford might bear my wealth at any time. 
 
 Mer. Speak softly : yonder, as I think, he walks. 
 
 Enter Antipholus, and Dnosrio of Syracuse. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his neck, 
 Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have. 
 Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. 
 Signior Antipholus, I wonder much 
 That you would put me to this shame and trouble; 
 And not without some scandal to yourself, 
 With circumstance, and oaths, so to deny 
 This chain, which now you wear so openly : 
 Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment, 
 You have done wrong to this my honest friend ; 
 Who, but for staying on our controversy. 
 Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day : 
 This chain you had of me, can you deny it ? 
 
 Ant. S. I thmk, I had ; I never did deny it. 
 
 Mer. Yes, that you did, sir ; and forswore it too. 
 
 Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it ] 
 
 Mer. These ears of mine, thou kuowest, did hear 
 thee : 
 Fye on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity, that thou liv'st 
 To walk where any honest men resort. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art a villain, to impeach me thus: 
 I'll prove mine honor, and mine honesty 
 Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. 
 
 Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. 
 
 [Tliey draw. 
 
 Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, a«c?o//iers. 
 
 Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake ; he is 
 mad ; — 
 Borne get withm him,' take his sword away : 
 Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 
 Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, take 
 a house. 
 This is some priory ; — In, or we are spoil'd. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dno. S. to the Priory. 
 
 Enter the Abbess. 
 
 Abb. Be quiet, people ; Wherefore throng you 
 hither? 
 
 Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence: 
 Let us come in, that we may bind him fast. 
 And bear liiin home for his recovery. 
 
 Aug. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits. 
 
 Mer. I am sorry now, that I did draw on him. 
 
 Abb. How long hath this possession held the man? 
 
 Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad. 
 And much, much dilTeront from the man he was; 
 But, till this alternoon, his passion 
 Ne'ei brake into extremity of rage. 
 
 Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck at sea! 
 
 < 1. 1. Close, grapple with him. 
 
 Buried some dear friend 1 Hath not else his e/e 
 Stray'd his affection in u ilawful love 1 
 A sin, prevailing much ia youthful men. 
 Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
 Which of these sorrows is he subject to] 
 
 Adr. To none of these, except it be the last 
 Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home 
 
 Abb. You should for that have reprehended him 
 
 Adr. Why, so I did. 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 
 
 Adr. As roughly, as my modesty would let mfo 
 
 Abb. Haply, in private. 
 
 Adr. And in assemblies too 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not enough. 
 
 Adr. It was the copy^ of our conference: 
 In bed, he slept not for my urging it ; 
 At board, he fed not for my urging it; 
 Alone, it was the subject of my theme; 
 In company, I often glanced it; 
 Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 
 
 Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was mad: 
 The venom clamors of a jealous woman 
 Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
 It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy raiUng: 
 And thereof comes it that his head is light. 
 Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy up 
 
 braidings : 
 Unquiet meals make ill digestions, 
 Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 
 And what's a fever but a fit of madness 1 
 Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy brawla 
 Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, 
 But moody and dull melancholy; 
 (Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair;) 
 And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop 
 Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life 1 
 In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest 
 To be disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast; 
 The consequence is then, thy jealous fits 
 Have scared thy husband from the use of wits. 
 
 Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly. 
 When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and 
 
 wildly. — 
 Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not ? 
 
 Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. — 
 Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. 
 
 A.bb. No, not a creature enters in my house. 
 
 Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband 
 forth. 
 
 Abb. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary, 
 And it shall privilege him from your hands. 
 Till I have brought him to his wits again, 
 Or lose my labor in essaying it. 
 
 Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, 
 Diet his sickness, for it is my office, 
 And will have no attorney but myself; 
 And therefore let me have him home with me. 
 Abb. Be patient; fori will not let him stir, 
 Till I have used the approved means I have. 
 With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayer^ 
 To make of him a formal man again:' 
 It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
 A charitable duty of my onler, 
 Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. 
 
 > The theme. * ». e. To bring him back to hia smun* 
 
?1f) 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 AoT. V 
 
 Adr. I will not hence, and leave my husband 
 here; 
 And ill it doth beseem your holiness, 
 To separate the husband and the wife. 
 
 Abb. Be quiet, and depart, thou shalt not have 
 him. [i?a,7/ Abbess. 
 
 Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. 
 
 Adr. Come, go ; I will fall prostrate at his feet, 
 And never rise until my tears and prayers 
 Have won his grace to come in person hither, 
 And take perforce my husband from the abbess. 
 
 Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five: 
 Anon, I am sure, the duke himself in person 
 Comes this way to the melancholy vale ; 
 The place of death and sorry' executioc, 
 Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 
 
 Ang. Upon what cause 1 
 
 Mer, To see a reverend Syracusan merchant, 
 Who put unluckily into this bay 
 Against the laws and statutes of this town, 
 Beheaded publicly for his offence. 
 
 Ang. See, where they come; we will behold his 
 death. 
 
 Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey. 
 
 Enter Duke attended; ^geon bare-headed; with 
 the Headsman and other Officers. 
 
 Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly. 
 If any friend will pay the sum for him, 
 He shall not die, so much we tender him. 
 
 Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess! 
 
 Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady ; 
 It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. 
 
 Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my 
 husband, — 
 Whom I made lord of me and all I had, 
 At your important' letters, — this ill day 
 A most outrageous fit of madness took him ; 
 That desperately he hurried through the street, 
 (With him his bondman, all as mad as he,) 
 Doing displeasure to the citizens 
 By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
 Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
 Once did I get him bound, and sent him home. 
 Whilst to take order'' for the wrongs I went. 
 That here and there his fury had committed. 
 Anon, I wot'' not by what strong escape. 
 He broke from those that had the guard of him ; 
 And, with his mad attendant and himself. 
 Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, 
 Met us again, and, madly bent on us, 
 Chased us away; till raising of more aid, 
 We came again to bind them : then they fled 
 Into this abbey, whither we pursued them ; 
 And here the abbess shuts the gates on us, 
 And will not suffer us to fetch him out, 
 Nor send him forth, tliat we may bear him hence; 
 Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command, 
 Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help. 
 
 Duke. Long since, thy husband serv'd me in 
 my wars ; 
 And I to thee engaged a prince's word, 
 When thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
 To do hir.i all the grace and good I could. — 
 Bo some of you, knock at the abbey-gate, 
 A.nd bid the lady abbess come to me; 
 will determine this before I stir. 
 
 <Sad. 
 
 • i. e. To take meastires. 
 
 » Importunate. 
 ' Know. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourselfi 
 My master and his man arc both broke loose. 
 Beaten the maids a-row,' and bound the doctor. 
 Whose beard they have si»gcd off with brands of fire 
 And ever as it blazed, they threw on him 
 Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair: 
 My master preaches patience to him, while 
 His man with scissors nicks him like a fool: 
 And, sure, unless you send some present help, 
 Between them they will kill the conjurer. 
 
 Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are heret 
 And that is false thou dost report to us. 
 
 Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true ; 
 I have not breath'd almost since I did see it. 
 He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, 
 To scorch your face, and to disfigure you. 
 
 \^Cry within. 
 Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone. 
 
 Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: Guard 
 with halberts. 
 
 Adr. Ah me, it is my husband ! Witness you, 
 That he is borne about invisible : 
 Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here ; 
 And now he's there, past thought of human reason 
 
 Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant 
 me justice ! 
 Even for the service that long since I did thee, 
 When I bestrid thee, in the wars, and took 
 Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the blood 
 That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 
 
 A!lge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, 
 I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that wo« 
 man there. 
 She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ; 
 That hath abused and dishonor'd me 
 Even in the strength and height of injury ! 
 Beyond imagination is the wrong. 
 That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 
 
 Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. 
 
 Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors 
 upon me. 
 While she with harlots' feasted in my house. 
 
 Duke. A grievous fault: Say, woman, didst thou so? 
 
 Adr. No, my good lord: — myself, he, and my 
 sister, 
 To-day did dine together: so befall my soul, 
 As this is false, he burdens me withal ! 
 
 Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, 
 But she tells to your highness simple truth! 
 
 Aug. O perjured woman! They are both forsworn. 
 In this the madman justly chargeth them. 
 
 Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; 
 Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, 
 Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire. 
 Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
 This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner; 
 That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with ter, 
 Could vfitness it; for he was with me then; 
 Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, 
 Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, 
 Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
 Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
 
 " i. e. Successively, one after another. 
 » Ilarlot was a term of reproach applied to cheats amoB4 
 men, as well as to wantons among women. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 317 
 
 I went to seek him ; in the street I met him ; 
 
 And in his company, that gentleman; 
 
 There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, 
 
 That I this day of him receiv'd the chain. 
 
 Which, God he knows, I saw not : for the which. 
 
 He did arrest me with an officer. 
 
 [ did obey ; and sent my peasant home 
 
 For certain ducats : he with none return'd. 
 
 Then fairly I bespoke the officer. 
 
 To po in person with me to my house. 
 
 By li.«' way we met 
 
 M) wi).', her sister, and a rabble more 
 
 Of vile confederates; along with them 
 
 They brought one Pinch; a hungry, lean-faced 
 
 villain, 
 A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
 A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller; 
 A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, 
 A living dead man : this pernicious slave, 
 F'jrsooth, took on him as a conjurer; 
 And gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse, 
 And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me. 
 Cries out, I was possess'd: then altogether 
 They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence ; 
 And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
 There left me and my man, both bound together; 
 Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
 I gain'd my freedom, and immediately 
 Ran hither to your grace ; whom I beseech 
 To give me ample satisfaction 
 For these deep shames and gi-eat indignities. 
 
 Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far, I witness with him: 
 That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 
 
 Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or, nol 
 
 Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran in here. 
 These people saw the chain about his neck. 
 
 Mer. Besides I will be sworn, these ears of mine 
 Heard you confess you had the chain of him, 
 After you first forswore it on the mart. 
 And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you; 
 And then you fled into tliis abbey here, 
 From whence, I tliink, you are come by miracle. 
 
 A7it. E. I never came within these abbey walls. 
 Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me: 
 I never saw the chain, so help me heaven! 
 And this is false you burden me withal. 
 
 Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this ? 
 I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup. 
 If here you hous'd him, here he would have been 
 If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : — ■ 
 You say he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
 Denies that saying: — Sirrah, what say you ! 
 
 Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por- 
 cupine. 
 
 Cour. He did ; and fi'om my finger snatch'd that 
 ring. 
 
 Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her. 
 
 Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here ? 
 
 Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is strange : — Go call the abbess 
 hither ; 
 I think you are &11 mated, or stark mad. 
 
 \^Exit an Attendant. 
 
 ^gc. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a 
 word ; 
 Haply I see a friend will save my life. 
 And pay the sum that may deliver me. 
 
 Du/ce. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. 
 
 ■3i}ge. Is not your name, sir, called Antipholus? 
 A ad is not that your bondman Dromiol 
 
 Dro. E. Witliin this hour I was his bondman, sir. 
 But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords; 
 Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. 
 
 ^ge. I am sure, you both of you remember me. 
 
 Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; 
 For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
 You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ] 
 
 ^ge. Why look you strange on me ] you know 
 me well. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. 
 
 ■Ege. Oh ! grief hath changed me since you saw 
 me last; 
 And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand 
 Have written strange defeatures' in my face: 
 But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice 1 
 
 Ant.E. Neither. 
 
 ^ge. Dromio, nor thouT 
 
 Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 
 
 ^ge. I am sure thon dost 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, sir ] but I am sure I do not ; and 
 whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to 
 believe him. 
 
 £ge. Notknow my voice! O, time's extremity ! 
 Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, 
 In seven short years, that here my only son 
 Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares T 
 Though now this grained^ face of mine be hid 
 In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow. 
 And all the conduits of my blood froze up ; 
 Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
 My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left. 
 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
 All these old witnesses (I cannot err) 
 Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 
 
 ^ge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boyj 
 Thou know'st we parted : but, perhaps, my son, 
 Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. 
 
 Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in th* 
 city. 
 Can witness with me that it is not so ; 
 I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 
 
 Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty yeais 
 Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
 During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa: 
 I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. 
 
 Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan, 
 and DnoMio Syracusan. 
 
 Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
 wrong'd. [All gather to see him. 
 
 Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive 
 me. 
 
 Duke. One of these men is Genius to the nther ■ 
 And so of these: Which is the natural man. 
 And which the spirit? Who deciphers them 1 
 
 Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away. 
 
 Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio; pray let me stay 
 
 Ant. S. ^geon, art thou not? or else his ghost? 
 
 Dro. S. 0, my old master, who hath bound him 
 here? 
 
 Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds 
 And gain a husband by his liberty : — 
 Speak, old ^gcon, if thou be'st the man 
 That hadst a wife once called Emilia, 
 That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : 
 0, if thou be'st the same .iEgeon, speak, 
 And speak unto the same ^Emilia! 
 
 > Alteration of features. 
 
 » Furrowed, linea 
 
318 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act \>. 
 
 Mge. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia; 
 If thou art she, tell me where is that son 
 That floated with thee on the fatal raft? 
 
 Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he and I, 
 And the twin Dromio, all were taken up; 
 But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth 
 By force took Dromio and my son from them. 
 And me they left with those of Epidamnum: 
 What then became of them I cannot tell ; 
 I, to this fortune that you see me in. 
 
 Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right ;• 
 These two Antipholus's, these two so like. 
 And these two Dromios, one in semblance, — • 
 Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, — 
 These are the parents to these children. 
 Which accidentally are met together 
 Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first. 
 
 A7if. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse. 
 
 Duke. Stay, stand apart ; I know not which is 
 which. 
 
 Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious 
 lord. 
 
 Dro. E. And I with him. 
 
 Ant. E. Brought to this town with that most 
 famous warrior 
 Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. 
 
 Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day] 
 
 Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 
 
 Adr. And are not you my husband ! 
 
 Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. 
 
 Ajit. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so ; 
 And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 
 Did call me brother : — What I told you then, 
 I hope, I shall have leisure to make good; 
 If this be not a dream, I see, and hear. 
 
 Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. 
 
 Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not. 
 
 Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain, arrested me. 
 
 Ang. I think I did, sir ; I deny it not. 
 
 Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, 
 By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not. 
 
 Dro. E. No, none by me. 
 
 Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received fi-om you, 
 And Dromio my man did bring them me : 
 I see, we still did meet each other's man, 
 And I was ta'en for him, and he for me. 
 And thereupon these Errors are arose. 
 
 Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 
 
 » The morning story is what iEgeon tells the Duke in 
 file ^rst Ecene of this play. 
 
 Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life. 
 Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. 
 Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my 
 
 good cheer. 
 Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains 
 To go with us into the abbey here, 
 And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : — 
 And all that are assembled in this place. 
 That by this sympathized one day's error 
 Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company, 
 And we shall make full satisfaction. — 
 Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail 
 Of you, my sons; nor, till this present hour. 
 My heavy burdens are delivered: — 
 The duke, my husband, and my children both. 
 And you the calendars of their nativity. 
 Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me ; 
 After so long grief, such nativity. 
 
 Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. 
 
 \_Exeunt Duke, Abbess, ^geox. Courtezan, 
 
 Merchant, Angelo, and Attendants. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from 
 
 ship-board? 
 Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou 
 
 embark'd 1 
 Dro. S. Your goods that lay at host, sh:, in the 
 
 Centaur. 
 Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am your master, 
 Dromio : 
 Come, go with us : we'll look to that anon : 
 Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. 
 
 [Exeunt Antipuolus S. and E., Aim., 
 and Luc. 
 Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's 
 house. 
 That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner; 
 She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not my 
 brother : 
 I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth. 
 Will you walk in to see their gossiping] 
 Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder. 
 Dro. E. That's a question : how shall we try it! 
 Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior : tiQ 
 then, lead thou first. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, then thus : 
 We came into the world, like brother and brother 
 And now let's go hand in hand, not one befor* 
 another. [Exeui^ 
 
 L 
 
'A.E Chatiii.i A Bit!:' 
 
 ILii®^ .[fflA(D[g[ITG=a, 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTEb. 
 
 DcKCAH-, King q/" Scotland. 
 
 Malcolm, ) , . c 
 r. > nis cions. 
 
 BANauo"' i ^^"^'"^^^ '^/^^^ King's Army 
 
 Macduff, 
 
 Lenox, 
 
 RossE, 
 
 Menteth, 
 Angus, 
 Catiiness, _ 
 
 Fleance, Son to Eanquo. 
 Siwaub, Earl of Northumberland, General of the 
 English Forces. 
 
 SCENE, in the End of the Fourth Act, lies in 
 
 and, chiefly, at 
 
 ^Noblemen 0/ Scotland. 
 
 Young SiWARi), his Son. 
 
 Sexton, a?i Ofjicer attending on Macocth. 
 
 Son to Maedufti 
 
 An English Doctor. A Scotch Boctor. 
 
 A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. 
 
 Ladx Macbeth. 
 
 Ladi Macduff. 
 
 Gejttlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Hecate, and three Witches. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murdc.era 
 
 Attendants, and Messengers. 
 The Ghost of Banquo, and several other Appari 
 
 tions. 
 
 England; through the rest of the Play, in Scotlanil 
 Macbeth's Castle. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— An open Place. 
 
 Thitnder and lightning. Enter three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again 
 (n thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 
 
 2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's' done, 
 When the battle's lost and won. 
 
 3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 
 
 1 Witch. Where the place'? 
 
 2 Witch. Upon the heath : 
 
 3 Witch- There to meet with Macbeth. 
 1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! 
 
 All. Paddock calls : — Anon. — 
 i air is foul, and foul is fair: 
 Hover through ihe fog and filthy air. 
 
 [Witches vanish. 
 
 SCENE IL — A Camp near Forres. 
 alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcoi,m> 
 
 DoNALBAiN, Lenox, with Attendants, meeting 
 
 a bleeding Soldier. 
 
 Dun. What bloody man is that ? He can report. 
 As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
 The newest state. 
 
 Mai. This is the sergeant. 
 
 Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
 ■ Tumult. 
 
 'Gainst my captivity : — Hail, brave fnend ! 
 Say to the king the knowledge of the broil. 
 As thou didst leave it. 
 
 Sold. Doubtfully it stood ; 
 
 As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, 
 And choke their art. The merciless MacdonwaK) 
 (Worthy to be a rebel ; for, to that. 
 The multiplying villanies of nature 
 Do swarm upon him) from the western isles 
 Of Kernes and Gailowglasses was supplied;'* 
 And fortune on his damned quarrel smiling, 
 Show'd like a rebel's whore : But all's too weak : 
 For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,) 
 Disdaining fortune, with his brandish 'd steel, 
 Which smok'd with bloody execution, 
 Like valor's minion, 
 
 Carv'd out his passage, till he faced the slave; 
 And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, 
 Till he unscam'd him from the nave to the chapi^ 
 And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 
 
 Dun. O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman ! 
 
 Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection, 
 Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break 
 So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to conisi 
 Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: 
 No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd, 
 
 » i. e. Supplied with light and heavy armed troops. 
 
 319 
 
820 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act L 
 
 Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels; 
 But the Norway an lord, surveying vantage, 
 With furbish'd arms, and nevi^ supplies of men, 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 
 Dun. Dismay'd not this 
 
 Ou- captains, Macbeth and Banquol 
 
 Sold. Yes; 
 
 As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion. 
 If I say sooth,' I must report they were 
 As cannons overcharged with double cracks ; 
 So they 
 
 Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: 
 Excep', they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
 Or memorize another Golgotha, 
 
 I cannot tell; 
 
 But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 
 
 Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy 
 wounds; 
 They smack of honor both: — Go, get him sur- 
 geons. [^Exit Soldier, attended. 
 
 Enter Rosse. 
 
 Who comes here? 
 
 Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. 
 
 Len. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So 
 should he look. 
 That seems to speak things strange. 
 
 Rosse. God save the king ; 
 
 Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane "? 
 
 Rosse. From Fife, great king. 
 Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, 
 And fan our people cold. 
 Norway himself, with terrible numbers, 
 Assisted by that most disloyal traitor 
 The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict : 
 Till that Bellona's bridegroom,' lapp'd in proof,' 
 Confronted him with self-comparisons, 
 Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, 
 Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude, 
 The victory fell on us; 
 
 Dun. Great happiness! 
 
 Rosse. That now 
 Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ; 
 Nor would we deign him burial of his men. 
 Till he disbursed, at St. Colmes' inch. 
 Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 
 
 Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
 Our bosom interest: — Go, pronounce his death, 
 And with his former title greet Macbeth. 
 
 Rosse. I'll see it done. 
 
 Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath 
 won. [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE m.— A Heath. 
 Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister 1 
 
 2 Witch. Killing swine. 
 
 3 Witch. Sister, where thou? 
 
 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, 
 A.nd mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: — 
 
 Give me, quoth I: 
 Aroint thee,^ witch.' the rump-fed ronyon' cries. 
 Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger : 
 But in a sieve I'll thither sail. 
 And, like a rat without a tail, 
 I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 
 
 8 Truth. * Shakspeare means Mars. 
 
 » Df fended by armor of proof. • Avauut, begone. 
 
 • A scurvy woman fed on offals. 
 
 2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 
 1 Witch. Thou art kind. 
 
 3 Witch. And I another. 
 
 1 Witch. I myself have all the other. 
 And the very ports they blow. 
 
 All the quarters that they know 
 r the shipman's card.' 
 I will drain him dry as hay: 
 Sleep shall, neither night nor day, 
 Hang upon his pent-house lid: 
 He shall live a man forbid:" 
 Weary seven-nights, nine times nine, 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: 
 Though his bark cannot be lost. 
 Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
 Look what I have. 
 
 2 Witch. Show me, show me. 
 
 1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 
 Wreck'd, as homeward he did come. 
 
 \_Dnim ivithin 
 
 3 Witch. A drum, a drum ; 
 Macbeth doth come. 
 
 All. The weird sisters,' hand in hand, 
 Posters of the sea and land. 
 Thus do go about, about; 
 Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine. 
 And thrice again, to make up nine : 
 Peace ! — the charm's wound up. 
 
 Enter Macbeth and BA^auo. 
 
 Mach. So foul and fair a day I have not seeii 
 Ban. How far is't call'd to Fon'cs ] — What ara 
 these. 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire; 
 That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth. 
 And yet are on'tl Live youl or are you aught 
 That man may question 1 You seem to understand 
 
 me. 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 Upon her skinny lips: — You should be women, 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you are so. 
 
 Mach. Speak, if you can: — What are you? 
 
 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane 
 
 of Glamis ! 
 
 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane 
 
 of Cawdor! 
 
 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king 
 
 hereafter. 
 Ban. Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear 
 Things thai do sound so fair ] — I'the name of truth, 
 Are ye fantastical," or that indeed 
 Which outwardly ye show 1 My noble partner 
 You greet with present grace, and great prediction 
 Of noble having,' and of royal hope. 
 That he seems rapt' withal ; to me you speak not: 
 If you can look into the seeds of time. 
 And saj% which grain will grow, and which will not ; 
 Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear. 
 Your favors, nor your hate. 
 
 1 Witch. Hail! 
 
 2 Witch. Hail! 
 
 3 Witch. Hail ! 
 
 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and gi-eater. 
 
 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 
 
 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou b« 
 
 none: 
 So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo ! 
 
 • Compass. » Accursed. ' Prophetic sisters. 
 
 ' Supernatural, spiritual. ' Estate. * Abstracted 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 32] 
 
 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! 
 
 Much. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : 
 By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis: 
 But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
 A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be king, 
 Stands not within the prospect of belief. 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 
 You owe this strange intelligence 1 or why 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greeting 1 — Speak, I charge 
 you. [Witches vanish. 
 
 Ban. The earth hatb bubbles, as the water has, 
 And these arc of them : — W hither are they vanish'd] 
 
 Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal, 
 melted 
 As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid ! 
 
 Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak 
 about 1 
 Or have wc eaten of the insane root. 
 That takes the reason prisoner ] 
 
 Macb. Your children shall be kings. 
 
 Ban. You shall be lung. 
 
 Macb. And thane of Cawdor too ; went it not so 1 
 
 Ban. To the self-same tune and words. Who's 
 here 1 
 
 EnterTlossj^ cmc? Angus. 
 
 Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, 
 The news of thy success : and when he reads 
 Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
 His wonders and his praises do contend. 
 Which should be thine, or his : Silenced with that. 
 In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, 
 He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks. 
 Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make. 
 Strange images of death. As thick as tale,' 
 Came post with post; and every one did bear 
 Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 
 And pour'd them down before him. 
 
 Ang. We are sent. 
 
 To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; 
 To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. 
 
 Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honor. 
 He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: 
 In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
 For it is thine. 
 
 Ban. What, can the devil speak true ? 
 
 Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives: Why do you 
 dress me 
 In borrow'd robes'! 
 
 Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet ; 
 
 But under heavy judgment bears that life 
 Wnich he deserves to lose. Whether he was 
 Combined with Norway; or did line the rebel 
 With hidden help and vantage; or that with both 
 He labor'd in his country's wreck, I know not; 
 But treasons capital, confess'd and prov'd, 
 Have overthrown him. 
 
 Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: 
 
 The greatest is behind. — Thanks for your pains. — 
 Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
 When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, 
 Promis'd no less to them 1 
 
 Ban. That, trusted home. 
 
 Might yet enkindle you unto the crown. 
 Besides the tbane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : 
 And oltcntiincs to win us to our harm, 
 Vho instruments of darkness tell us truths; 
 V\in us with honest trifles, to betray us 
 
 » As fast as they could be counted. 
 
 In deepest consequence.— 
 Cousins, a word, I pray you. 
 
 Macb. Two tiuths arc told, 
 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen.* - 
 This supernatural soliciting" 
 Cannot be ill; cannot be good: — If ill. 
 Why hath it given me earnest of success. 
 Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: 
 If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs 
 Against the use of nature? Present fears 
 Are less than horrible imaginings: 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical; 
 Shakes so my single state of man, that function 
 Is smother'd in surmise: and nothing is. 
 But what is not. 
 
 Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. 
 
 Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance 
 may crown me, 
 Without my stir. 
 
 Ba?i. New honors come upon him 
 
 Like our strange garments, cleave^ not to theu 
 
 mould. 
 But with the aid of use. 
 
 Macb. Come what come may ; 
 
 Time and the hour' runs through the roughest day. 
 
 Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 
 
 Macb. Give me your favor : " — my dull brain was 
 wrought 
 With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
 Are register'd where every day I turn 
 The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. — 
 Think upon what hath chanced : and, at more time, 
 The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
 Our free hearts each to other. 
 
 Bun. Very gladly. 
 
 Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends. 
 
 lExeuni 
 
 SCENE IV.— Forres. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Duncan, Maicolm, Donalb a in 
 Lenox, and Attendants. 
 
 Du7i. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are no^ 
 Those in commission yet return'd ? 
 
 Ma/. My liege. 
 
 They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
 With one that saw him die : who did report. 
 That very frankly he confess'd his treasons; 
 Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set fort 
 A deep repentance: nothing in his life 
 Became him, like the leaving it; he died 
 As one that had been studied in his death, 
 To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,' 
 As 'twere a careless trifle. 
 
 DiiJi. There's no art, 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the face; 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built 
 An absolute trust. — O worthiest cousin ! 
 
 Enter Maciiktu, BANauo, Rosse, ayid Angus. 
 
 The sin of my ingratitude even now 
 
 Was heavy on me ; Thou art so far before. 
 
 That switlcst wing of recompense is slow 
 
 To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd 
 
 That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
 
 « Incitcmpnt. 
 
 8 Time and opportunity. 
 
 ' Owued, possessed. 
 
 ' t. e. Which cloaTo nr« 
 • Pardon. 
 
322 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 
 More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
 
 Much. The service anJ the loyalty I owe, 
 In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part 
 Is to receive our duties: and our duties 
 Are to your throne and state, children, and servants ; 
 Which do but what they should, by doing every thing, 
 Safe toward your love and honor. 
 
 Dun. Welcome hither : 
 
 I have begun to plant thee, and will labor 
 To make thee full of growing. — Noble Banquo, 
 That hast no less descrv'd, nor must be known 
 No less to have done so, let me infold thee, 
 And hold thee to my heart. 
 
 Ban. There if I grow, 
 
 I'he harvest is your own. 
 
 Dun. My plenteous joys. 
 
 Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
 In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes. 
 And you whose places are the nearest, know, 
 We will establish our estate upon 
 Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter, 
 The prince of Cumberland: which honor must 
 Not, unaccompanied, invest him only, 
 But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
 On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness, 
 And bind us further to you. 
 
 Macb. The rest is labor, which is not used for you : 
 I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
 The hearing of my wife with your approach ; 
 So, humbly take my leave. 
 
 Dun. My worthy Cawdor! 
 
 Macb. The prince of Cumberland ! — That is a 
 step, [Aside. 
 
 On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap. 
 For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! 
 Let not light see my black and deep desires: 
 The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be. 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [^Exit. 
 
 Dun. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so valiant;' 
 And in his commendations I am fed ; 
 tt is a banquet to me. Let us after him, 
 Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
 It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
 
 Lady M. They met me in the day of success; and 
 I have learned by the perfectest report, they have 
 more in them than mortal knowledge. When I 
 burned in desire to question them further, they 
 made themselves — air, into which they va7ushed. 
 Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came 
 missives^ from the king, ivho all hailed me. Thane 
 of Cawdor; by which title, before, these weird sis- 
 ters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on 
 uftime, with. Hail, king that shalt be! This have 
 I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner 
 of greatness; that thou mightest not lose the dues 
 of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness 
 is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. 
 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be 
 What thou art promised : — Yet do I fear thy nature ; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness. 
 To catch the nearest way : Thou wouldst be great ; 
 h rt not without ambition ; but without 
 
 • Full as valiant as d Bscribed. • Messengers. 
 
 The illness should attend it. What thou wculdsi 
 
 highly, 
 That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false. 
 And yet wouldst wrongly win ; thou'dst have, greal 
 
 Glamis, 
 That which cries. Thus thou must do, if thou have it; 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do, 
 Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither. 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; 
 And chastise with the valor of my tongue 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round,* 
 Which fate and metaphysical ' aid doth seem 
 To have thee crown'd withal. — What is your tidings? 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Attend. The king comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it : 
 
 Is not thy master with him ? who, were't so, 
 Would have inform'd for preparation. 
 
 Attend. So please you, it is true; our thane is 
 coming : 
 One of my fellows had the speed of him ; 
 Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message. 
 
 Lady M. Give him tending 
 
 He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse, 
 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal ° thoughts, unsex me here; 
 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood. 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; ' 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 The effect, and it! Come to my woman's breasts, 
 And take my milk for gall, j'ou murd'ring ministers, 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 You wait on nature's mischief: Come, thick night, 
 And pall ' thee in the dunncst smoke of hell ! 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. 
 
 To cry. Hold, hold.' Great Glamis! worthy 
 
 Cawdor ! 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 This ignorant present, and I feel now 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Macb. My dearest love, 
 
 Duncan comes here to night. 
 
 Ladi/ M. And when goes hence \ 
 
 Macb. To-morrow, — as he purposes. 
 
 Lady M. 0, nevei 
 
 Shall sun that morrow see ! 
 Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men 
 May read strange matters : — To beguile the time, 
 Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye. 
 Your hand, your tongue : look like the innoceni 
 
 flower, 
 But be the serpent under it. He that's cv)ming 
 Must be provided for : and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my despatch ; 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 
 
 Macb. We will speak further. 
 < Diadem. » Supernatural 
 
 • Deadly, murderous. ' Pity. 
 
 » Wrap as in a mantle. 
 
BOENE VII. 
 
 Ludf/ M. 
 i'o alter favor' ever is to fear: 
 Leave all the rest to me. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 32a 
 
 Only look up clear ; 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE YI.—Befo7-e the Castle. 
 
 Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. 
 
 Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, BANauo, 
 Lenox, Macduff, Rossf,, Angus, anc? Attendants. 
 
 Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air 
 Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
 Unto our gentle senses. 
 
 Bern. This guest of summer. 
 
 The tciuplc-haunting martlet, docs approve, 
 Uy his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath 
 Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress. 
 Nor coigne of vantage,' but this bird hath made 
 His pendent bed, and piocreant cradle : Where they 
 Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd the air 
 Is delicate. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Dun. See, see! our honor'd hostess! 
 
 The love that follows us, sometime is our trouble, 
 Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you, 
 How you shall bid God yicld^ us for your pains, 
 And thank us for your trouble. 
 
 Lady M. All our service 
 
 In every point twice done, and then done double, 
 Were poor and single business, to contend 
 Against those honors deep and broad, wherewith 
 Your majesty loads our house: For those of old, 
 And the late dignities heap'd up to them. 
 We rest your hermits. 
 
 Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor? 
 
 We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
 To be his purveyor: but he rides well ; 
 And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him 
 To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess, 
 We are 3'our guest to-night. 
 
 Lady M. Your servants ever 
 
 Have then-s, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt,' 
 To make their audit at your highness' pleasure. 
 Still to return your own. 
 
 Dun. Give me your hand. 
 
 Conduct me to mine host; we love him highly. 
 And shall continue our graces towards him. 
 By your leave, hostess. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— yl Room in the Castle. 
 
 Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the 
 stui^e, a Sewer,* and divers Servants with dishes 
 and service. Then enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 
 'twere well 
 It were done quickly: If the assassination 
 CoulJ trammel up the consequence, and catch. 
 With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 Might be the lie-all and the end-all here, 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
 We'd jump the life to come. — But, in these cases, 
 We still have judgment here; that we but teach 
 Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
 To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 I'o our own lips. He's here in double trust: 
 
 ' r.ook, countenance. • Convenient corner. 
 
 •' I!o\\ iird. 3 Sulijoct to aocomiit. 
 
 * A n officer so sailed from his placing the dishes on the 
 itble. 
 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
 Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
 Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
 Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
 The deep damnation of his taking ofl": 
 And pity, like a naked new-born babe, 
 Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
 Upon the sightless couriers ' of the air. 
 Shall blow the horrid deed in every eyC; 
 That tears shall drown the wind. — I have nC' spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself. 
 And falls on the other. — How now, what news'* 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. He has almost supp'd: Why have you 
 left the chamber 1 
 
 Macb. Hath he ask'd for me? 
 
 Lady M. Know you not, he has 1 
 
 Macb. We will proceed no further in this business : 
 He hath honor'd me of late ; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
 Which would be worn now in their newest glow. 
 Not cast aside so soon. 
 
 Lady M. Was the hope drunk. 
 
 Wherein you dress'd yourself? hati it slept sinca? 
 And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
 At what it did so freely ? From this time. 
 Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
 To be the same in thine own act and valor. 
 As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem; 
 Letting I dare not wait upon / ivould, 
 Like the poor cat i' the adage ? 
 
 Macb. Pr'ythee, peace 
 1 dare do all that may become a man ; t 
 WJbo dares do more, is none. __J 
 
 Lady M. ~ What beast was it then 
 
 That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
 Wlien you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
 And, to be more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, 
 Did then adhere,^ and yet you would make both: 
 They have made themselves, and that their fitnesi 
 
 now 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know 
 How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me: 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face. 
 Have pluck'd my nipple from its boneless gums, 
 And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn, as yon 
 Have done to this. 
 
 Macb. If we should fail, 
 
 Lady M. We faill 
 
 But screw your courage to the sticking place, 
 And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
 (Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
 Soundly invite him.) his two chamberlains 
 Will I with wine and wassel ' so convince," 
 That memory, the warder' of the brain. 
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbeck only : AVhen in swinish sleep 
 Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, 
 What caimot you and I perform upon 
 
 » Winds ; sightless is invisible. 
 
 • In the same sense as cohere. ' IntemperanM 
 
 • Overpower. 1 Senti&eL 
 
324 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act Ij 
 
 The 'unguarclcd Duncan 1 what not put upon 
 His spongy officers ; wlio shall bear the guilt 
 Of our great quell ]' 
 
 Macb. Bring forth men-children only ! 
 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males. Will it not be received,'* 
 When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
 Of his own chamber, and used their very daggers, 
 T hat they have done't ? 
 
 Lady M. Who dares receive it othei 
 
 As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar 
 Upon his death 1 
 
 Macb. I am settled, and bend up 
 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
 Away, and mock the time with fairest show : 
 False face must hide what the false h( art d itl 
 know. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Court within Macbeth's Castle. 
 
 Enter Bavquo and Flsance, and a Servant with 
 a torch before them. 
 
 Ban. How goes the night, boy ? [clock. 
 
 Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the 
 
 Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
 
 Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. 
 
 Ban. Hold, take my sword : — There's husbandry' 
 in heaven, 
 Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too. 
 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
 And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers ! 
 Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature 
 Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword : — 
 
 Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 
 Who's there 1 
 
 Macb. A friend. 
 
 Ban. What, sir, not yet at restl The king's a-bed : 
 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
 Sent forth great largess' to your offices :' 
 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
 By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up° 
 In measureless content. 
 
 Macb. Being unprepared, 
 
 Our will became the servant to defect ; 
 Which else should free have wrought. 
 
 Ban. All's well. 
 
 I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : 
 To you they have show'd some truth. 
 
 Macb. I think not of them : 
 
 Yet when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
 Would spend it in some words upon that business, 
 If you would grant the time. 
 
 Ban. At your kind'st leisui-e. 
 
 Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, — when 
 It shall make honor for you. ['tis, 
 
 Ban. So I lose none, 
 
 In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
 My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
 I shall be counsell'd. 
 
 Macb Good repose, the while. 
 
 Ban. Thanks, sir; The like to you. 
 
 [Exit Banquo and Fleance. 
 
 Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is 
 ready. 
 She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Is this a dagger which I see before me. 
 The handle toward my hand ] Come, let me clutch 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still, [thee: — 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 To feeling as to sight ] or art thou but 
 A dagger of the mind ; a false creation, 
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 
 
 •Murder. « Supposed. a Thrift. « Bounty. 
 
 » The rooms appropriated to servants. • Conclude. 
 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 As this which now I draw. 
 Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going , 
 And such an instrument I was to use. 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 
 Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 
 And on thy blade, and dudgeon,' gouts of blood, 
 Which was not so before. — There's no such thing : 
 It is the bloody business, which informs 
 Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 
 Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, 
 Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
 Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
 Moves like a ghost. — Thou sure and firm-set earth, 
 Hear not my steps, whicli way they walk, for fear 
 Thy very stones prate of my wherc-about, 
 And take the present horror from the time, 
 Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives ; 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 
 
 [A bell rings. 
 I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
 Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
 That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IL— The same. 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 Lady M. That which hath made them drunkj 
 hath made me bold : 
 What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire : — 
 
 Hark ! — Peace ! 
 It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 
 Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it 
 The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
 Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'a 
 
 their possets, 
 That death and nature do contend about them. 
 Whether they live or die. 
 
 Macb. [Within.'] Who's there ? — what, ho ! 
 
 Lady M. Alack! I am afraid they have awaked, 
 
 And 'tis not done: — the attempt, and not the deed, 
 
 Confounds us : — Hark ! — I laid their daggers ready, 
 
 He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
 
 My father as he slept, I had done't. — My husband ? 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. I have done the deed : — Didst thou not 
 
 hear a noise ? 
 Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets 
 Did not you speak 1 [cry 
 
 Macb. When ? 
 
 Lady M. Now. 
 
 Macb. As I descended 1 
 
 Lady M. Ay. 
 
 • Haft, handla. « Drops. 
 
soENE m. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 825 
 
 Mach. Hark! — 
 Who lies i'the second chamber? 
 
 Lady M. Donalbain. 
 
 Macb. This is a sorry sight. 
 
 [Lookinrj on Ms hands. 
 
 Lady M. A foolish thought; to say a sorry sight. 
 
 Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one 
 cried, mtirder! 
 That they did wake each other ; I stood and heard 
 
 them: 
 But they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
 Again to sleep. 
 
 Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 
 
 3facb. One cried, God bless vs .' and Amen, the 
 other : 
 As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands 
 Listening their fear. I could not say, amen, 
 When they did say, God bless us. 
 
 Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, 
 amen? 
 I had most need of blessing, and amen 
 Stuck in my throat. 
 
 Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 
 
 After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
 
 Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no 
 more ! 
 Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; 
 Sleep, that Jcnits vp the ravell'd sleave^ of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast; — 
 
 Lady M. What do you mean ? 
 
 Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the house: 
 Glamis hath murderd sleep; and therefore Cawdor 
 Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more ! 
 
 Lady M. Who was it that thus cried? Why, 
 worthy thane, 
 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 So brainsickly of things : — Go, get some water. 
 And wash this filthy witness frOm your hand. — 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
 They must lie there ; Go, carry them ; and smear 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 
 Macb. I'll go no more : 
 
 I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
 Look on't again, I dare not. 
 
 Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 
 
 Give me the daggers : The sleeping and the dead 
 Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood. 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal. 
 For it must seem their guilt. 
 
 [Exit. Knocking within. 
 
 Macb. Whence is that knocking ? 
 
 How is't with me, when every noise appals me ? 
 What hands are here ? Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes ! 
 yfi.l all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my band? No: thismy hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine,' 
 Making the green— -one rod. 
 
 Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. My hands arc of your color; but I 
 shame [knocking 
 
 To wear a heart so white. [Knochinrj.'] I hear a 
 At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber : 
 A little water clears us of this deed : 
 How easy is it, then ! Your constancy 
 Hath left you unattended. — [Knocking.'] Ilark ! 
 
 more knocking: 
 Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us. 
 And show us to be watchers: — Be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 • Slenve is unwrought silk. 
 
 • To incarnadine, is to sluin of a Hcsh color 
 
 22 
 
 Macb. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know 
 
 myself. [Knoclcing. 
 
 Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou 
 
 couldst ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— 77;e Same. 
 Enter a Porter. [Knocl-ing within. 
 
 Porter. Here's a knocking, indeed ! If a man were 
 porter of hell-gate, he should have old^ turning the 
 key. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock : Who's 
 there? i'the name of Belzebub? Here's a farmer, 
 that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty : 
 Come in time; have napkins^ enough about you-, 
 here you'll sweat for't. [Knocking.'] Knock, knock: 
 Who's there, i'the other devil's name ? — 'Faith, here's 
 an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales 
 against either scale ; who committed treason enough 
 for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to Heaven: 
 0, come in, equivocator. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, 
 knock: Who's there? 'Faith, hero's an English tailor 
 come hither, for stealing out of a French hose : Come 
 in, tailor ; here you may roast your goose. [Knock~ 
 ing.] Knock, knock : Never at quiet ! What are you ? 
 But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter 
 it no further ; I had thought to have let in some of all 
 professions, that go the primrose way to the everlast- 
 ing bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon, anon ; I pray you^ 
 remember the porter. [Opens the gate 
 
 Enter Macduff and Lenox. 
 
 Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed. 
 That you do lie so late ? 
 
 Port. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second 
 cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three 
 things. 
 
 Macd. What three things does drink especially 
 provoke ? 
 
 Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.* 
 Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it pro- 
 vokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. 
 Therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivo- 
 cator with lechery : it makes him, and it mars him ; 
 it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, 
 and disheartens him ; makes him stand to, and not 
 stand to : in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, 
 and, giving him the lie, leaves him. 
 
 Macd. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last night. 
 
 Port. That it did, sir, i'the very throat o'me : 
 But I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being 
 too strong for him, though he took up my legs some- 
 time, yet I made a shift to cast him. 
 
 Macd. Is thy master stirring ? — 
 Our knocking hath awaked him ; here he comes. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Len. Good-morrow, noble sir ! 
 Macb. Good-morrow, both* 
 
 Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ? 
 Macb. Not yet 
 
 Macd. He did command me to call timely on himj 
 
 I have almost slipp'd the hour. 
 
 Macb. I'll bring you to hint, 
 
 Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you; 
 
 But yet 'tis one. 
 
 Macb. The labor we delight in physics' pain. 
 
 This is the door. 
 
 3Iacd. I'll make so bold to call. 
 
 For 'tis my limited service.* [Exit Macddf* 
 
 Len, Goes the king 
 
 From hence to-day ? 
 
 3facb. He does : — he did appoint it sOk 
 
 Len. The night has been unruly : Whore we lay 
 
 Our cliiinncys were blown down; and, as they say 
 
 Lamontings heard i'the air; strange screams of 
 death ; 
 
 » Frequent. • Handkerchiefs. 
 
 « »'. e. Affords a cordial to it. » Appointed scrrUja 
 
326 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act III. Scene 111 
 
 And prophesying, with accents terrible, 
 
 Of dire combustion, and confused events, 
 
 Xew hatcli'd to the woeful time. Tlie obscure bird 
 
 Clamor'd the hvelong niglit: some say, the earth 
 
 Was feverous and did siialce. 
 
 Macb. 'Tvvas a rough night. 
 
 Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
 A. fellow to it. 
 
 Re-enter Macduff. 
 
 Mofd. horror \ horror ! horror ! Tongue, nor 
 heart. 
 Cannot conceive nor name thee ! 
 
 Macb. Len. What's the matter? 
 
 Macd. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! 
 Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
 The life o' the building. 
 
 Macb. What is't you say 1 the life ] 
 
 Len. Mean you his majesty 1 
 
 Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your 
 sight 
 With a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ; 
 See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! awake ! 
 [^Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox. 
 Ring the alarum-bell : — Murder, and treason ! 
 Banquo, and Donaibain! Malcolm! awake! 
 Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit. 
 And look on death itself! Up, up, and see 
 The great doom's image ! — Malcolm ! Banquo! 
 As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites. 
 To countenance this horror. [ZJe// rings. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. What's the business, 
 
 That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
 The sleepers of the house 1 speak, speak. — 
 
 Macd. 0, gentle lady, 
 
 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: 
 The repetition, in a woman's ear. 
 Would murder as it fell. — O Banquo! Banquo! 
 
 Enter BAwauo. 
 
 Our royal master's murder'd ! 
 
 Lady M. Woe, alas ! 
 
 What, in our house 1 
 
 Ban. Too cruel, any where. 
 
 Dear Duff, I pi-'ythee contradict thyself, 
 And say, it is not so. 
 
 Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. 
 
 Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
 I had liv'd a blessed time ; for, from this instant. 
 There's nothing serious in mortality: 
 All is but toys: renown, and grace is dead: 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 Is left this vault to brag of. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 
 
 Don. What is amiss 1 
 
 Macb. You are, and do not know it : 
 
 The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
 Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 
 
 Macd. Your royal father's murder'd. 
 
 Mai. O ! by whom ? 
 
 Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had 
 done't : 
 Their hands and faces were ill badg'd with blood. 
 So were their daggers, vtMch, unwiped, we found 
 Uoon thoir pillows; 
 
 They stared, and were distracted; no man's life 
 Was to be trusted with them. 
 
 Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, 
 That I did kill them. 
 
 Macd. Wherefore did you so ? 
 
 Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and 
 furious. 
 Loyal and neutral, in a moment T No man: 
 The expedition of my violent love 
 Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan, 
 His silver skin laced with his golden blood ; 
 And his gash'd stabs look'd like abroach in nature, 
 For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderorn 
 Steep'd in the colors of their trade, their daggei s 
 Unmannerly breech'd with gore : * who could re- 
 
 frain. 
 That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
 Courage to make his love known] 
 
 Lady M. Help me hence, ho ! 
 
 Macd. Look to the lady. 
 
 Mai. Why do we hold our tongues, 
 
 That most may claim this argument for ours] 
 
 Don. What should be spoken here. 
 Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole. 
 May rush and seize us] Let's away; our tears 
 Arc not yet brew'd. 
 
 Mai. Nor our strong sorrow on 
 
 The foot of motion. 
 
 Ban. Look to the lady: — 
 
 \_Lady Macbeth is carried ouU 
 And when we have our naked frailties hid. 
 That suffer in exposure, let us meet. 
 And question this most bloody piece of work. 
 To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us. 
 In the great hand of God I stand ; and, thence, 
 Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
 Of treasonous malice. 
 
 Macb. And so do I. 
 
 All. So all. 
 
 Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness. 
 And meet i' the hall together. 
 
 All. Well contented. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Mal. and Don. 
 
 Mai. What will you do ] Let's not consort with 
 them : 
 To show an unfelt sorrow, is an office 
 Which the false man does easy : I'll to England. 
 
 Don. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune 
 Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
 There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood, 
 The nearer bloody. 
 
 Mal. This murderous shaft that's shot, 
 
 Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way 
 Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse ; 
 And let us net be dainty of leave taking. 
 But shift away : there's wan-ant in that theft. 
 Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. 
 
 \Exeunt.. 
 
 SCENE [Y.— Without the Castle 
 
 Enter Rosse and an Old Man. 
 OldM. Threescore and ten I can remember well : 
 Within the volume of which time, I have seen 
 Hours dreadful, and things str.ange; but this sore 
 
 night 
 Hath trifled former knowings. 
 
 Rosse. Ah good father, 
 
 Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man's art, 
 
 * Covered with blood to their hilts. 
 
Aci' III. Scene I. 
 
 MACBETH 
 
 S2- 
 
 Tlircatcn his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, 
 And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: 
 Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame, 
 That darkness docs the face of earth intomb. 
 When living light should kiss it] 
 
 Old M. 'Tis unnatural. 
 
 Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last 
 A falcon, towering in her pride of place, 
 Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kill'd. 
 Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most 
 strange and certain,) 
 Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
 Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, 
 Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make 
 War with mankind. 
 
 Old M. 'Tis said, they eat each other. 
 Rosse. They did so ; to the amazement of mine 
 eyes, 
 That look'd upon 't. Here comes the good Mac- 
 duff; 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 
 How goes the world, sir, now 1 
 
 Macd. Why, see you not ? 
 
 Rosse. Is't known who did this more than bloody 
 
 deed 1 
 Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. 
 
 Rosse. Alas, the day J 
 
 What good could they pretend 1 ' 
 
 Mctcd. They were suborn'd 
 
 Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons. 
 Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon ihern 
 Suspicion of the deed. 
 
 Rosse. 'Gainst nature still ; 
 
 Thriftless ambition, that wilt raven up 
 Thine own life's means ! — Then 'tis most like 
 The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 
 
 Macd. He is already named ; and gone to Sionei 
 To be invested. 
 
 Rosse. Where is Duncan's body ' 
 
 Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill; 
 The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, 
 And guardian of their bones. 
 
 Rosse. Will you to Scone 1 
 
 Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife. 
 
 Rosse. Well, I will thither. 
 
 Macd. Well, may you see things well don* 
 there ; — adieu ! — 
 Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 
 
 Rosse. Father, farewell. 
 
 Old M. God's benison go with you : and with 
 those 
 That would make good of bad, and friends of foes ! 
 
 \Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Forres. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter BANauo. 
 
 Ban. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, 
 all, 
 A? the weird women promis'd; and, I fear 
 Thou ])lay'dst most foully for't : yet it was said, 
 [t should not stand in thy posterity ; 
 But that myself should be the root, and father 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
 (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) 
 Why, by the verities on thee made good. 
 May they not be my oracles as well. 
 And set me up in hope] But, hush; no more. 
 
 Senet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as King; Lady 
 Macbf.th, as Queen; Lenox, Rosse, Lords, 
 Ladies, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. Here's our chief guest. 
 
 Lr/dt/ M. If he had been forgotten, 
 
 [t had been as a gap in our great feast. 
 And all things unbecoming. 
 
 Mad). To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, 
 And I'll request your presence. 
 
 Bun. Let your highness 
 
 Command upon me; to the wliich, my duties 
 .\rc with a most indissoluble tie 
 For ever knit. 
 
 Macb. Ride you this afternoon ] 
 
 Ban. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. We should have else desired your good 
 advice 
 (Which still hath been both grave and prosperous) 
 In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. 
 Is't far you ridel 
 
 Han As fiir, my lord, as will fill up the time 
 Twixt this and supjjeT: go not my horse the better, 
 
 I must become a borrower of the night, 
 For a dark hour or twain. 
 
 Macb. Fail not our feast. 
 
 Ba7i. My lord, I will not. 
 
 Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
 In England, and in Ireland; not confessing 
 Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
 With strange invention: But of that to-morrow; 
 When therewithal, we shall have cause of state. 
 Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : Adieu, 
 Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you ? 
 
 Ban. Ay, my good lord : our time does call upon 
 us. 
 
 Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot ; 
 And so I do commend you to their backs. 
 
 Farewell. \_Exit Ban^tjo 
 
 Let every man be master of his time 
 Till seven at night; to make society 
 The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
 Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with you. 
 [Exeunt Lar/y Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, Sf-c, 
 Sirrah, a word: Attend those men our pleasure? 
 
 Atten. They are, my lord, without the palace gato. 
 
 Macb. Bring them before us. — [Exit Atten. 
 
 To be thus, is nothing; 
 But to be safely thus: — Our fears in Banquo 
 Stick deep; and in his royalty'* of nature 
 Reigns that, which would be fcar'd : 'Tis much he 
 
 dares; 
 And to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
 He hath a wisdom (hat doth guide his valor 
 To act in safety. There is none, but he 
 Whose being I do fear: and under him, 
 My genius is rebuked; as, it is said, 
 Mark Antony's was by Ca;sar. He chid the sistersi 
 When first they put the name of King upon me, 
 And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet-like, 
 • Intend to thcmEelveH. < Nobl><noB» 
 
S2H 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act 11 L 
 
 They hail'd him father to a line of kings : 
 [Jpon my head they placed a fruitless crown, 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
 Tlience to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand. 
 No son of mine succeeding. If it be so, 
 For Banquo's issue have I filed ^ my mind; 
 For tliem the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; 
 Put rancors in the vessel of my peace 
 Only for them; and mine eternal jewel 
 Given to the common enemy of man. 
 To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! 
 Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, 
 
 Aud champion me to the utterance!" Who's 
 
 there 1 — 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with Two Murderers. 
 
 Now to the door, and stay there till we call. 
 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 Was it not yesterday wc spoke together] 
 
 1 Mur. It was, so please yotir highness. 
 
 Macb. Well then, now 
 
 Have you consider'd of my speeches 1 Know, 
 That it was he, in the times past, which held you 
 So under fortune; which, you thought, had been 
 Our innocent self: this I made good to you 
 In our last conference ; pass'd in probation' with you. 
 How you were borne in hand; how cross'd; the 
 
 instruments; 
 Who wrought with them ; and all things else, that 
 
 might. 
 To half a soul, and a notion craz'd, 
 Say, Thus did Banquo. 
 
 1 Mur. You made it known to us. 
 
 Much. I did so ; and went further, which is now 
 Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
 Your patience so predominant in your nature. 
 That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd, 
 To pray for that good man, and for his issue. 
 Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave. 
 And beggar'd yours for ever 1 
 
 1 Mur. We are men, ray liege. 
 Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; 
 
 As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, 
 
 curs, 
 Shoughs,' water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are cleped^ 
 All by the name of dogs: the valued file 
 Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle. 
 The house-keeper, the hunter, every one 
 According to the gift which bounteous nature 
 Hath in him clos'd ; whereby he does receive 
 Particular addition,'' from the bill 
 That writes them all alike : And so of men. 
 Now, if you have a station in the file. 
 And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it ; 
 And I will yut that business in your bosoms, 
 Whose execution takes your enemy oflf; 
 Grapples you to the heart and love of us, 
 Who wear our health but sickly in his life. 
 Which in his death were perfect. 
 
 2 Mur. I am one, my liege, 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
 Have so incens'd that I am reckless' what 
 
 I do, to spite the world. 
 
 1 Mur. And I another, 
 
 So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, 
 That I would set my life on any chance, 
 Vo mend it, or be rid on't. 
 
 '' For defiled. 
 
 • Proved. 
 
 » X'tle, description. 
 
 « Challenge me to extremities. 
 •Wolf-dogs. 'Called. 
 
 * Careless. 
 
 Macb. Both of y m 
 
 Know, Banquo was yava enemy. 
 
 2 Mur. True, my lord 
 
 Macb. So is he mine : and in such bloody distance^ 
 That every minute of his being thrusts 
 Against my near'st of life : And though I could 
 With bare-faced power sweep him from my sighti 
 And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not, 
 For ' certain friends that are both his and mine, 
 Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
 Whom I myself struck down : and thence it is, 
 That I to your assistance do make love; 
 Masking the business from the common eye. 
 For sundry weighty reasons. 
 
 2 Mur. We shall, my lord 
 
 Perform what yoa command us. 
 
 1 Mur. Though our lives — — 
 Macb. Your spirits sliine through you. Within 
 
 this hour, at most, 
 I will advise you where to plant yourselves, 
 Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'the time. 
 The moment on't; for't must be done to-night. 
 And something from the palace; always thought. 
 That I require a clearness: And with him, 
 (To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,) 
 Flcance his son, that keeps him company, 
 Whose absence is no less material to me 
 Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
 Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart) 
 I'll come to you anon. 
 
 2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord 
 Macb. I'll call upon you straight; abide within 
 
 It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight. 
 
 If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exeuni 
 
 SCENE ll^-Another Room. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant 
 
 Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ? 
 Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 
 Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his 
 leisure 
 For a few words. 
 
 Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit- 
 
 Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent 
 
 Where our desire is got without content: 
 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy. 
 Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 How now, my lord 1 why do you keep alone. 
 Of sorriest" fancies your companions making? 
 Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died 
 With them they think on ] Things without remedy, 
 Should be without regard: what's done, is done. 
 
 Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it, 
 She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice 
 Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
 But let 
 
 The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer. 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams. 
 That shake us nightly : Better be v^ ith the dead, 
 Whom we, to gain our place, have sent lo peace, 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 In restless ecstasy.'' Duncan is in his grave; 
 ■ After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; — - 
 Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison 
 
 » Because of. • Most melancholy. KgotiK 
 
6CENE IV 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 329 
 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing'. 
 Can touch him further! 
 
 Lady M. Come on; 
 Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; 
 Be bright and jovial 'mong yonr guests to-night. 
 
 Macb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: 
 Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; 
 Present him eminence," both with eye and tongue : 
 Unsafe the while, that w€ 
 
 Must lave our honors in these flattering streams; 
 And make our faces vizards to our hearts, 
 Disguising what they are. 
 
 Ladi/ M. You must leave this. 
 
 Macb. 0, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! 
 Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 
 
 Ladu M. But in them nature's copy's notetemc.^ 
 
 Macb. There's comfort yet ; they are assailable ; 
 Then be thou jocund: Ere the bat hath flown 
 His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's summons. 
 The shard-borne beetle,' with his drowsy hums, 
 Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
 A deed of dreadful note. 
 
 Ladi/ M. What's to be done ? 
 
 Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest 
 chuck, 
 i'ill thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling^ night, 
 Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; 
 And, with thy bloody and invisible hand. 
 Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond 
 Which keeps me pale! — Light thickens; and the crow 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood; 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
 Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. 
 Thou marvcll'st at my words; but hold thee still; 
 Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill : 
 So, pr'ythee, go with me. [Exeuiit. 
 
 SCENE HI.— ^ Park or Lawn, with a Gate 
 leading to the Palace. 
 
 Enter Three Murderers. 
 
 1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us? 
 
 3 Mar. Macbeth. 
 
 2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust: since he de- 
 
 livers 
 Our ofnces, and what we have to do. 
 To the direction just. 
 
 1 Mur. Then stand with us. 
 
 The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: 
 Now spurs the lated traveller apace, 
 To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches 
 The subject of our watcli. 
 
 3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horses. 
 Ban. [^Within.'] Give us a light there, ho! 
 
 2 Mur. Then it is he; the rest 
 That are within the note of expectation, 
 Already are i'the court. 
 
 1 Mur. His horses go about. 
 
 3 Mur. Almost a mile : but he does usually. 
 Bo all men do, from hence to the palace gate 
 M.ake it their walk. 
 
 Enter BAxauo and Fleance, a Servant with a 
 torch preceding them. 
 
 2 Mur. A light! a light! 
 
 3 Mur. 'Tis he. 
 
 \ Mur. Staml to't. 
 
 • Do him the highest honors. 
 
 • i. e. The copy, the lease, by which they hold their lives, 
 l( not eternal. 
 
 • The beetle borae in the aix by its shards or Boaly wings. 
 » DUndins. 
 
 Ban. It will bo .din to-night. 
 1 Mur. Let it rome down 
 
 \^Assaults BAtrauo. 
 Ban. O, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly 
 Thou mayst revenge. O slave ! 
 
 ^Dies. Fleance and Servant escape. 
 3 Mur. Who did strike out the light? 
 
 1 Mur. Was't not the way t 
 3 Mur. There's but one down ; the son has fled> 
 
 2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair. 
 
 1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much k 
 done. [Exiuai4, 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Room of State in the Palact. 
 
 A Banquet prepared. Enter Mac b eth. Lady Mao- 
 BETH, RossE, Lenox, Lords, and Attendanta. 
 
 Macb. You know your own degi-ees, sit down 
 at first 
 And last, the hearty welcome. 
 
 Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 
 
 Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, 
 And play the humble host. 
 Our hostess keeps her state;' but, in best time, 
 We will require her welcome. 
 
 Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our 
 friends ; 
 For my heart speaks, they are welcome. 
 
 Enter First Murderer, to the door. 
 
 Macb. See, they encounter thee with their 
 
 hearts' thanks: 
 
 Both sides are even: Here I'll sit i'the midst; 
 Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure 
 The table round. — There's blood upon thy face. 
 
 Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 
 
 Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. 
 Is he despatch'd ] 
 
 Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for him. 
 
 Macb. Thou art the best o'the cut-throats : Yet 
 he's good. 
 That did the like for Fleance; if thou didst it, 
 Thou art the nonpareil. 
 
 Mur. Most royal sir, 
 
 Fleance is 'scaped. 
 
 Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else been 
 perfect; 
 Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
 As broad, and general, as the casing air : 
 But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in 
 To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? 
 
 Mur. Ay, my good lord, safe in a ditch he bides, 
 With twenty trenched gashes on his head; 
 The least a death to nature. 
 
 Macb. Thanks for that: 
 
 There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's fled, 
 
 Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 
 
 No teeth for the present. — Get thee gone; to-nior« 
 
 row 
 We'll hear ourselves again. [Exit Murderer. 
 
 Lady M. My royal lord. 
 
 You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold. 
 That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 
 'Tis given with welcome; To feed, were best at 
 
 home ; 
 From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ; 
 Meeting were bare without it. 
 
 Macb. Sweet remembrancer?— 
 
 Now good digestion wait on appetite, 
 And health on both! 
 
 * Ilcr chair of state 
 
B30 
 
 Len. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act III. Scene I"V 
 
 "1 
 
 May it pltase your highness sif? | 
 [The Ghost o/B.vNauo rises, and sits in ' 
 M\cnY.TH's place. 
 Macb. Here had we now our country's honor 
 roofd, 
 Were the graced person of our Banquo present; 
 Who may I rather challenge for unkindness, 
 Than pity for mischance ! 
 
 Rosse. His absence, sir, 
 
 Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your 
 
 highness 
 To grace us with your royal company ] 
 Macb. The table's full. 
 
 Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir. 
 
 Mucb. Where 1 
 Len. Here, my lord. What is't that 
 
 moves your highness ? 
 Macb. Which of you have done this] 
 Lords. What, my good lord 1 
 
 Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it: never shake 
 Thy gory locks at me. 
 
 Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. 
 Ladi/ M. Sit, worthy friends : — my lord is often 
 thus. 
 And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep seat ; 
 T!ie fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
 He will again be well : If much you note him, 
 You shall offend him, and extend his passion; 
 Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a manl 
 
 Much. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 
 Lady M. O proper stuff! 
 
 This is the very painting of your fear : 
 This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, 
 Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws,' and starts, 
 (Impostors to true fear,) would well become 
 A woman's story, at a winter's fire, 
 Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself! 
 Why do you make such faces 1 When all's done, 
 You look but on a stool. 
 
 Macb. Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! 
 
 how say youl 
 
 Why, what care 1 1 If thou canst nod, speak too, — 
 If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
 Those that we bury, back, our monuments 
 Shall be the maws" of kites. [Ghost disappears. 
 Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly 1 
 
 Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 
 Lady M. Fye, for shame ! 
 
 Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden 
 time, 
 Eie human statute purged the gentle weal; 
 Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
 Too terrible for the ear : the times have been. 
 That, when the brains were out, the man would die, 
 And there an end: but now, they rise again, 
 M'ith twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
 And push us from our stools : This is more strange 
 Than such a murder is. 
 
 Lady M. My worthy lord, 
 
 Your noble friends do lack you. 
 
 Macb. I Jo forget :— 
 
 Do not muse ' at me, my most worthy friends ; 
 I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
 To thirae that know me. Come, love and health 
 to all; 
 
 Then I'll sit down : Give mo some wine, fill 
 
 full : 
 
 I drink to the general joy of the whole table, 
 « Sudden gusta. » Wonder. 
 
 Ghost rises. 
 
 And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss 
 Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst. 
 And all to all.' 
 
 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 
 
 Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight ! Let the earth 
 hide thee ! 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with ! 
 
 Lady M. Think of this, good pcenii 
 
 But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other; 
 Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
 
 Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear. 
 The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger. 
 Take any shape but that, and m.y firm nervcB 
 Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again. 
 And dare me to the desert with thy sword; 
 If trembling I inhibit' thee, protest me 
 The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
 
 [Ghost disappears 
 Unreal mockery, hence! — Why so; — being gone, 
 I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. 
 
 Lady M. You have displaced the mirth, broke the 
 good meeting, 
 With most admired disorder. 
 
 Macb. Can such things be, 
 
 Ard overcome' us like a summer's cloud, 
 W ithout our special wonder 1 You make me strange 
 Even to the disposition that I owe," 
 When now I think you can behold such sights. 
 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
 When mine are blanch'd with fear. 
 
 Rosse. What sights, my lord? 
 
 Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse 
 and worse : 
 Question enrages him: at once, good night: — 
 Stand not upon the order of your going, 
 But go at once. 
 
 Len. Good night, and better health 
 
 Attend his majesty ! 
 
 Lady M. A kind good night to all ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lords and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will 
 
 have blood: 
 
 Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; 
 
 Augurs, and understood relations, have 
 
 By mugot-pies,' and choughs, and rooks, brought 
 
 forth 
 The secret' st man of blood. — What is the night? 
 Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which 
 
 is which. 
 Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies hia 
 person, 
 At our great bidding 1 
 
 Lady M. Did you send to him, sir? 
 
 Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send : 
 There's not a one of them, but in his house 
 I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
 (Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters: 
 More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know. 
 By the worst means, the worst : for mine own goodi 
 All causes shall give way; I am in blood 
 Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more. 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er ; 
 Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
 Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd." 
 
 « i. e. All good -wishes to all. ' Forbid. » Pass ote*. 
 * PossesB. * Magpies. > Examined nicely- 
 
A.CT tV. Scene 1. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 331 
 
 Ladu M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 
 
 Macb. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and 
 self-abuse 
 Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use: — 
 We are yet but young in deed. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE N.—The Heath. 
 
 Thunder. Enter Hecate, meeting the Three 
 Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate 1 you look an- 
 gerly. 
 
 Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are. 
 Saucy, and overbold T How did you dare 
 To trade and traffic with Macbeth, 
 In riddles and aflairs of death ; 
 And I, the mistress of your charms, 
 The close contriver of all harms. 
 Was never call'd to bear my part. 
 Or show the glory of our art 1 
 And, which is worse, all you have done 
 Hath been but for a wayward son, 
 Spiteful, and wrathful ; who, as others do. 
 Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
 But make amends now : Get you gone, 
 And at the pit of Acheron, 
 Meet me i'the morning; thither he 
 Will come to know his destiny. 
 Your vessels, and your spells, provide, 
 Your charms, and every thing beside: 
 I am for the air: this night I'll spend 
 Unto a dismal-fatal end. 
 Great business must be wrought ere noon; 
 Upon the corner of the moon 
 There hangs a vaporous drop profound ;' 
 I'll catch it ere it come to ground: 
 And that distill'd by magic slights, 
 S'hall raise such artificial sprites, 
 As, by the strength of their illusion. 
 Shall draw him on to his confusion: 
 He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
 His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear : 
 And, you all know, security 
 Is mortal's chiefest enemy. 
 
 Song. [Within.'] Come away, come away, SfC. 
 Hark, I am call'd : my little spirit, see, 
 Sils in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 
 
 . Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be 
 back again. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Forres. A Roomin the Palace. 
 
 Enter Lenox and another Lord. 
 Xjen My former speeches have but hit your 
 thoughts, 
 
 Which can interpret further: only, I say, 
 Thuigs have been strangely borne: The gracioui 
 
 Duncan 
 Was pitied of Macbeth : — marry, he was dead : — 
 And the right-valiant Banrjuo walk'd too late; 
 Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleancekill'd 
 For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. 
 Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
 It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, 
 To kill their gracious father? damned lact '. 
 How it did grieve Macbeth ! did he not straight, 
 In pious rage, the two delinquents tear. 
 That were the slaves of drink, and thralls ofsleepi 
 Was not that nobly done] Ay, and wisely too; 
 For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive. 
 To hear the men deny it. So that, I say. 
 He has borne all things well : and I do think, 
 That, had he Duncan's sons under his key, 
 (As, an't please heaven, he shall not,) they should find 
 What 'twere to kill a fother; so sliould Fleance. 
 But, peace ! — for from broad words, and 'cause ha 
 
 fail'd 
 His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, 
 Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell 
 Where he bestows himself] 
 
 Lord. The son of Duncan 
 
 From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
 Lives in the English court; and is receiv'd 
 Of the most pious Edward with such giace. 
 That the malevolence of fortune nothing 
 Takes from his high respect : Thither Macduff 
 Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid 
 To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward ; 
 That, by the help of these, (with Him above 
 To ratify the work,) we may again 
 Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ; 
 Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives ; 
 Do faithful homage and receive free honors,* 
 All which we pme for now: And this report 
 Hath so exasperate the king, that he 
 Prepares for some attempt of war. 
 
 Len. Sent he to Macduff] 
 
 Lord. He did : and with an absolute. Sir, not ij 
 The cloudy messenger turns me his back, 
 And hums; as who should say. You'll rue the time 
 That clogs me with this answer. 
 
 Len. And that well migtiJ 
 
 Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
 His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
 Fly to the court of England, and unfold 
 His message ere he come: That a swift blessing 
 May soon return to this our suffering country 
 Under a hand accurs'd ! 
 
 Lord. My prayers with him ! 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 aCENE I.— ^ dark Cave. In the middle, a 
 Cauldron boiling. 
 
 Thunder. Enter the Three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 
 2 Witch. Thrice ; and once the hedge-pig whined. 
 
 3 Witch. Harper cries : — 'Tis time, 'tis time 
 
 * ». «. A drop that has deep or hidden qualities. 
 
 1 Witch. Round about the cauldron got 
 
 In the poison'd entrails throw. 
 
 Toad, that under coldest stone, 
 Days and nights hast thirty-one 
 Swcltcr'd venom sleeping got. 
 Boil thou first i'the charmed pot ! 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire, bum; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 * Honors freely bestowed. 
 
3^2 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 2 Wicch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
 In the cauldron boil and bake : 
 Eye of newt, and toe of frog. 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 
 Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, 
 Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 
 For a charm of powerful trouble. 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wdf ; 
 Witches' mummy ; maw, and gulf,' 
 Of the ravin'd'' salt-sea shark; 
 Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark; 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew ; 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 
 Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips ; 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe, 
 Ditch-deliver'd by a drab. 
 Make the gruel thick and slab: 
 Add thereto a tiger's chaudron. 
 For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood. 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 
 
 Enter Hecate. 
 
 Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains ; 
 And every one shall share i'the gains. 
 And now about the cauldron sing. 
 Like elves and fairies in a ring, 
 F.nchanting all that you put in. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Black spirits and white, 
 
 Blue spirits and grey,- 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
 
 You that mingle may. 
 
 2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
 Something wicked this way comes: 
 Open locks, whoever knocks. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight 
 hags 1 
 What is't you do 1 
 
 All. A deed without a name. 
 
 Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
 (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : 
 'riiough you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up; 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd,' and trees blown 
 
 down ; 
 Though castles topple' on their warders' heads ; 
 Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure 
 Of nature's germins'' tumble all together, 
 Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
 To what I ask you. 
 
 1 Witch. Speak. 
 
 2 Witch. Demand. 
 
 3 Witch. We'll answer. 
 ) Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our 
 
 mouths. 
 
 Or ffoi.i our masters'7 
 
 » The throat. « Kavenous. 
 
 ' Laid fiat by wind or rain. • T'umble. 
 
 • See-ds which have begun to ^rout. 
 
 Macb. Call them, let me see them 
 
 1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
 
 Her nine farrow; grease, that's sweaten 
 
 From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
 
 Into the flame. 
 
 All. Come, high or low ; 
 
 'I'hyself, and office, deftly' show. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises, 
 
 Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, 
 
 1 Witch. He knows thy thought; 
 
 Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 
 
 App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! bewai* 
 Macduff; 
 Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me: — Enough. 
 
 IDesceiids. 
 Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution 
 thanks ; 
 Thou hast harp'd^ my fear aright: — But one word 
 more. — 
 1 Witch. He will not be commanded: Here's 
 another, 
 More potent than the first. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises. 
 
 App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! — 
 
 Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. 
 
 App. Be bloody, bold, 
 
 And resolute : laugh to scorn the power of man. 
 For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth. 
 
 [^Descends. 
 
 Macb. Then live, Macduff: What need I fear 
 of thee] 
 But yet I'll make assurance double sure. 
 And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies. 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this, 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, 
 ivith a tree in his hand, rises. 
 
 That rises like the issue of a king ; 
 
 And wears upon his baby brow the round 
 
 And top of sovereignty 1 
 
 All. Listen, but speak not. 
 
 App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care 
 Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
 Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 
 Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him. [^Descends. 
 
 Macb. That will never be : 
 
 Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root] sweet bodements! good! 
 Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood 
 Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth 
 Shall live the lease of nature, pay liis breath 
 To time and mortal custom. — Yet my heart 
 Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, (if your art 
 Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom] 
 
 All. Seek to know no more. 
 
 Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this, 
 And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know :— 
 Why sinks that cauldron] and what noise is this? 
 
 [^Hautboys. 
 
 1 mVcA.Show! 2 WtVcA. Show! 3 Wt^cA.Showl 
 
 All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 
 Come like shadows, so depart. 
 
 « Adroitly. 
 
 1 Touched on a passioi: as a harper toaibes a itria^. 
 
SCLNE II. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 '6o.S 
 
 Eight Kin^s appear, and pass over i/ie stage in 
 
 order,- the last luitk a glass in his hand; Ban- 
 
 Q.VO following. 
 
 Macb. Thou aii ;oo like the spirit of Banquo; 
 down! 
 Thy crown t'oes sear mine eye-balls: — And thy 
 
 hair, 
 Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first: — 
 A third is like the former: — Filthy hags! 
 ".Vhy do you show me this? — A fourth? — Start, 
 
 lyes . 
 ^V \j:\ will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? 
 Another yet? — A seventh? — I'll sec no more: — 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass. 
 Which shows me many more: and some I see, 
 That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry : 
 Horrible sight! — Ay, now, I see, 'tis true; 
 For the biood-boltcr'd"' Banquo smiles upon me, 
 And point' at them for his. — 'What, is this so? 
 
 1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : — But why 
 Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? — 
 Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, 
 And show the best of our delights; 
 I'll charm the air to give a sound, 
 While you perform vour antique round: 
 That this great king may kindly say, 
 Our duties did his welcome pay. 
 
 [Mwsic. The Witches dance, and vanish. 
 
 Macb. Where are they? Gone? — Let this per- 
 nicious hour 
 Stand aye accursed in the calendar! — 
 Come in, without there ! 
 
 Enter Lestox. 
 
 Len. What's your grace's will ? 
 
 Macb. Saw you the weird sisters? 
 
 Len. No, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Came they not by you? 
 
 Len. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ; 
 And damn'd, all those that trust them! — I did hear 
 The galloping of horse : Who was't came by? 
 
 Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you 
 word, 
 MacdufT is fled to England. 
 
 Macb. Fled to England? 
 
 Len. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st* my dread exploits: 
 The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, 
 Unless the deed go with it : From this moment, 
 The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
 The firstlings of my hand. And even now 
 To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and 
 
 done : 
 The castle of Macduff I will surprise; 
 Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o'the sword 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 That trace his line. No boasting like a fool; 
 This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool: 
 But no more sights ! — Where are these gentlemen ? 
 Come, bring me where they are. [^Exeiait. 
 
 SCENE II.— Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbuff, her Son, and Rosse. 
 
 L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the 
 
 land? 
 Ros.'te. You must have patience, madam. 
 
 •Besmeared with blood. 
 
 « 'Teventest, bj taking away the opportunity. 
 
 L. Macd. He had none 
 
 His flight was madness: When our actions do not, 
 Our fears do make us traitors. 
 
 Rosse. You know not. 
 
 Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. 
 
 L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave his 
 babes, 
 His mansion, and his titles, in a place 
 From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; 
 He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren, 
 The most diminutive of birds, will fight. 
 Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
 All is the fear, and nothing is the love ; 
 As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
 So runs against all reason. 
 
 Rosse. My dearest coz, 
 
 I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband, 
 He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
 The fits o'the season. I dare not speak much further. 
 But cruel are the times, when we are traitors. 
 And do not know ourselves ; when we hold rumor 
 From what we fear, yet know not what we fear; 
 But float upon a wild and violent sea. 
 Each way, and move. — I take my leave of you; 
 Shall not he long but I'll be here again : 
 Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
 To what they were before. — My pretty cousin, 
 Blessing upon you ! 
 
 L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. 
 Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, 
 It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort: 
 I take my leave at once. \^Exit Rosse. 
 
 L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead ; 
 
 And what will you do now? How will you live! 
 So?i. As birds do, mother. 
 L. Macd. What, with worms and flies 1 
 
 Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do they. 
 L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net. 
 nor lime. 
 The pit-fall, nor the gin. 
 
 Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they 
 are not set for. 
 My father is not dead, for all your saying. 
 
 L. Macd. Yes, he is dead ; how wilt thou do foi 
 
 a father ? 
 Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ? 
 L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any mar- 
 Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. [kct. 
 L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit ; and 
 With wit enough for thee. [yet, i'fiith, 
 
 Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? 
 L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 
 Sun. What is a traitor ? 
 L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 
 So7i. And be all traitors, that do so ? 
 L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor, and 
 
 must be hanged. 
 Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear 
 L. Macd. Every one. [and lie t 
 
 Son. Who must hang them ? 
 L. Macd. Why, the honest men. 
 <Sbn. Then the liars and swearers are fools : for 
 there are liars and swearers enough to beat tho 
 honest men, and hang up them. 
 
 L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey ! 
 But how wilt thou do for a father ? 
 
 Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him : if yoB 
 would not, it were a good sign that I should quick 
 ly have a new father. 
 
 L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st 
 
334 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Bless you, fair dame! Iamnottoyoukno^vn, 
 Though in your state of honor I am perfect.' 
 I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly : 
 If you will take a homely man's advice, 
 Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones. 
 To frigh*-, you thus, methinks, I am too savage ; 
 To do worse to you, were fell cruelty, [you ! 
 
 Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preser^'e 
 I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 L. Macd. Whither should I fly ? 
 
 I have done no harm. But I remember now 
 I am in this earthly world ; where, to do harm, 
 Is often laudable : to do good, sometimes, 
 Accounted dangerous folly : Why, then, alas ! 
 Do I put up that womanly defence, [faces t 
 
 To say, I have done no harm 1 What are these 
 
 Enter Murderers. 
 
 Mur. Where is your husband ? 
 
 L. Macd. I hope, in no place so uusanctified, 
 Where such as thou mayst find him. 
 
 Mur. He's a traitor. 
 
 Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain. 
 
 Mur. What, you egg ? [Stabbing him. 
 
 Young fry of treachery I 
 
 Son. He has killed me, mother ; 
 
 Run away, I pray you. [Dies. 
 
 [Exit Lady Macduff, crying Murder, 
 and pursued by the Murderers. 
 
 SCENE III. — England. ARoominthe'Kmg'sPalace. 
 Enter MALCOLM and Macduff. 
 
 Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and 
 Weep our sad bosoms empty. [there 
 
 Macd. Let us rather 
 
 Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men. 
 Bestride our downfall'n birthdom : Each new morn. 
 New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows 
 Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
 As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
 Like syllable of dolor. 
 
 Mai. What I believe, I'll wail ; 
 
 What know, believe ; and, what I can redress. 
 As I shall find the time to friend," I will. 
 What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 
 This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues. 
 Was once thought honest : you have lov'd him well ; 
 He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young ; but 
 
 something 
 You may deserve of him through me ; and wisdom 
 To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb, 
 To appease an angry god. 
 
 Macd. I am not treacherous. 
 
 Mai. But Macbeth is. 
 
 A good and virtuous nature may recoil, 
 In an imperial charge.' But crave your pardon ; 
 That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose : 
 Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
 Though all things foul would bear the brows of grace. 
 Yet grace must still look so. 
 
 Macd. I have lost my hopes, [doubts. 
 
 Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my 
 Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, 
 (Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,) 
 Without leave-taking ? — I pray you, 
 Let not my jealousies be your dishonors, 
 But mine owm safeties : — You may be rightly just, 
 Whatever I shall think. 
 
 » I am perfectly acquainted with your rank. • Befriend. 
 •> I. e. A good mind may recede from goodness in the ex- 
 •cution of a royal commission. 
 
 Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country . 
 
 Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, 
 For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou th« 
 
 vnrongs. 
 Thy title is afieer'd !' — Fare thee well, lord : 
 I would not be the villain that thou think'st 
 For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, 
 And the rich East to boot. 
 
 Mai. Be not offended : 
 
 I speak not as in an absolute fear of you. 
 I think our country sinks beneath the yoke ; 
 It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash 
 Is added to her wounds : I think, withal. 
 There would be hands uplifted in my right ; 
 And here from gracious England, have I offer 
 Of goodly thousands : But, for all this, 
 When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
 Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
 Shall have more vices than it had before ; 
 More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever. 
 By him that shall succeed. 
 
 Macd. What should he be 1 
 
 Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
 All the particulars of vice so grafted, 
 That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
 Will seem as pure as snow ; and the poor state 
 Esteem him as a lamb, being compared 
 With my confincless harms. 
 
 Macd. Not in the legions 
 
 Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd 
 In evils, to top Macbeth. 
 
 Mai. I grant him bloody. 
 
 Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful. 
 Sudden,' malicious, smacking of every sin 
 That has a name. But there's no bottom, none, 
 In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daughters; 
 Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up 
 The cistern of my lust ; and my desire 
 All continent impediments would o'er-bear. 
 That did oppose my will : Better Macbeth, 
 Than such a one to reign. 
 
 Macd. Boundless intemperance 
 
 In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been 
 The untimely emptying of the happy throne, 
 And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
 To take upon you what is yours : you may 
 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
 And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink. 
 We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be 
 That vulture in you, to devour so many 
 As will to greatness dedicate themselves. 
 Finding it so inclin'd. 
 
 Mai. With this, there growss 
 
 In my most ill-compos'd affection, such 
 A stanchless avarice, that, were I king, 
 I should cut off the nobles for their lands ; 
 Desire his jewels, and this other's house : 
 And my more-having would be as a sauce 
 To make me hunger more ; that I should forge 
 Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal, 
 Destroying them for wealth. 
 
 Macd. This avarice 
 
 Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root 
 Than summer-seeding lust : and it hath been 
 The sword of our slain kings : Yet do not fear ; 
 Scotland hath foysons* to fill up your will, 
 Of your mere own : All these are portable," 
 With other graces weigh'd. 
 
 » Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication, 
 •Passionate. 'Plenty. « May be endured 
 
Scene III. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 835 
 
 Mai. Cut I have nozje : The king-becoming 
 4s justice, verity, temperance, stableness, [graces. 
 Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, 
 Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
 I have no relish of them ; but abound 
 In the division of each several crime, 
 Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 
 Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell. 
 Uproar the universal peace, confound 
 All unity on earth. 
 
 Macd. O Scotland ! Scotland ! 
 
 MaL If such a one be fit to govern, speak ; 
 I wn as I have spoken. 
 
 i\Iacd. Fit to govern! 
 
 IS J, ncit to live. — O nation miserable, 
 With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd. 
 When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again 1 
 Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
 By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, 
 And does blaspheme his breed 1 — Thy royal fother 
 Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee, 
 Oftner upon her knees than on her feet. 
 Died every day she lived. Fare thee well ! 
 These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself. 
 Have banish'd me from Scotland. — 0, my breast. 
 Thy hope ends here! 
 
 Mai. Macduir, this noble passion. 
 
 Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
 Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts 
 To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Macbeth 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me 
 From over-credulous haste:' But God above 
 Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
 I put myself to thj' direction, and 
 Unspeak mine own detraction : here abjure 
 The taints and blames I laid upon myself. 
 For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
 Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; 
 Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ; 
 At no time broke my faith ; would not betray 
 The devil to his fellow; and delight 
 No less in truth than life : my first false speaking 
 Was this upon myself: What I am truly, 
 Is thine, and my poor country's, to command: 
 Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, 
 Old Sivvard, with ten thousand warlike men, 
 All ready at a point, was setting forth : 
 Now we'll together ; and the chance of goodness, 
 Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent? 
 Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at 
 onc6 
 'Tis haul to reconcile. 
 
 E7iter a Doctor. 
 
 Mai. Well; more anon. — Comes the king forth, 
 I pray you 1 
 
 Do t. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls 
 I'hat stay his cure: their malady convinces* 
 The great assay of art; but, at his touch. 
 Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, 
 Tkcy presently amend. 
 
 Mai. I thank you, doctor. 
 
 [Exit Doctor. 
 
 Macd. What's the disease he means? 
 
 Mai. 
 
 'Tis call'd the evil: 
 
 A most miraculous work in this good king ; 
 W liich often, since my here-remain in England, 
 I have seen him do. Mow he solicits heaven, 
 
 • Orer-hasty credulitj 
 
 * Overpowers, subdues. 
 
 Himself best knows; but strangely visited people. 
 
 All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye. 
 
 The mere despair of surgery, he cures; 
 
 Hanging a golden stamp' about their necks, 
 
 Put on witl: holy prayer: and 'tis spoken, 
 
 To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
 
 The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, 
 
 He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy ; 
 
 And sundry blessings hang about his throne. 
 
 That speak him full of grace. 
 
 Enter Rosse. 
 
 Macd. See, who comes heio 1 
 
 Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 
 
 Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
 
 Mai. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove 
 The means that make us strangers ! 
 
 Rosse. Sir, Amen. 
 
 Macd. Stands Scotland where it did 1 
 
 Rosse. Alas, poor country ; 
 
 Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
 Be call'd our mother, but our grave : where nothing, 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; 
 Where sighs and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, 
 Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems 
 A modern ecstasy f the dead man's knell 
 Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's lives 
 Expire before the flowers in their caps. 
 Dying, or ere they sicken. 
 
 Macd. 0, relation, 
 
 Too nice, and yet too true ! 
 
 Mai. What is the newest grief? 
 
 Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker, 
 Each minute teems a new one. 
 
 Macd. How does my wife T 
 
 Rosse. Why, well. 
 
 Macd. And all my children 1 
 
 Rosse. Well too. 
 
 Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace 1 
 
 Rosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I did 
 leave them. 
 
 Macd^ Be not a niggard of your speech ; How 
 goes it 1 
 
 Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, 
 Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor 
 Of many worthy fellov\s that were out: 
 Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
 For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : 
 Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland 
 Would create soldiers, make our women fight, 
 To doff their dire distresses. 
 
 Mai. Be it their comfort, 
 
 We are coming thither: gracious England hath 
 Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men: 
 An older, and a better soldier none 
 That Christendom gives out. 
 
 Rosse. Would I could answer 
 
 This comfort with the like ! But I have words 
 That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
 Where hearing should not latch' them. 
 
 Macd. What concern theyl 
 
 The general cause"? or is it a fee-grief,' 
 Due to some single breast ? 
 
 Rosse. No mind that's honest, 
 
 But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
 Pertains to you alone. 
 
 Macd. If it be mhie. 
 
 Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 
 
 • The coin called an angel. « Common distress of minil 
 1 Put off. ■ Catcb. * A grief that has a singl* owiie* 
 
836 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act "V 
 
 Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, 
 Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound, 
 That ever yet they heard. 
 Macd. Humph ! I guess at it. 
 
 Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and babes, 
 Savagrsly slaughter'd ! to relate the manner, 
 Were, on the quarry' of these murder'd deer. 
 To add the death of you. 
 
 Mai. Merciful heaven! — 
 
 What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; 
 Give sorrow words ; the grief that does not speak, 
 Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. 
 
 Macd. My children, tool 
 
 Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 
 
 That could be found. 
 
 3Tcu:d. And I must be from thence ! 
 
 My wife kill'd too] 
 
 Rosse. I have said. 
 
 Mai. Be comforted : 
 
 Let's make us med'cLnes of our great revenge, 
 To cure this deadly grief. 
 
 Macd. He has no children. — All my pretty ones 1 
 Did you say,ain— O, hell-kite !— All? 
 What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, 
 At one fell swoop] 
 
 Mai. Dispute it like a man. 
 Macd. I shall do so; 
 
 But I must also feel it as a man : 
 I cannot but remember such things were. 
 That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, 
 And would not take their part] Sinful Macduff, 
 They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am. 
 Not for their own demerits, but for mine, 
 Fell slaughteron their souls: Heaven rest them now' 
 Mai. Be this the whetsone of your sword: let griel 
 Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 
 Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, 
 
 And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle 
 
 heaven. 
 Cut short all intermission ; front to front, 
 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; 
 Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape. 
 Heaven forgive him too! 
 
 Mai. This tune goes manly. 
 
 Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ; 
 Our lack is notbing but our leave : Macbeth 
 Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
 Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you 
 
 may ; 
 The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 8CENE L — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentle- 
 woman. 
 
 Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but 
 can perceive no truth in your report. When was 
 it she last walked] 
 
 Ge?it. Since his majesty went into the field, I have 
 seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown 
 upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold 
 it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again 
 return to bed: yet all this while in a most fast sleep. 
 
 Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive 
 at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of 
 watcliing. — In this slumbry agitation, besides her 
 walking, and other actual performances, what, at 
 any time, have you heard her say ] 
 
 Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. 
 
 Doct. You may, to rae; and 'tis most meet you 
 should. 
 
 Ge7it. Neither to you, nor any one; having no 
 witness to confirm my speech. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, with a Taper 
 
 Lc you, here she comes ! This is her very guise : 
 and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her ; stand 
 close. 
 
 Doct. How came she by that light ] 
 
 Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by 
 her continually ; 'tis her command. 
 
 Doct. You see, her eyes are open. 
 
 Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. 
 
 Doct. What is it she does now] Look, how she 
 ubs her hands. 
 
 Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to 
 geera thus washing her hands ; I have known her 
 «intinue in this a quarter of an hour. 
 1 The game after it is kille4. 
 
 Lady M. Yet here's a spot. 
 Doct. Hark, she speaks : I will set down what 
 comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the 
 more strongly. 
 
 Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say! One; 
 
 Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell ia 
 
 murky !^ — Fye, my lord, fye ! a soldier, and afear'd] 
 What need we fear who knows it, when none can 
 call our power to account] — Yet who would have 
 thought the old man to have had so much blood in 
 him] 
 
 Doct. Do you mark that ] 
 
 Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; Where 
 
 is she now] What, will these hands ne'er be 
 
 clean] — No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that: 
 you mar all with this starting. 
 
 Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you 
 should not. 
 
 Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am 
 sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. 
 
 Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all 
 the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
 hand. Oh! oh! oh! 
 
 Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heai-t is sorely 
 charged. 
 
 Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, 
 for the dignity of the whole body. 
 
 Doct. Well, well, well,— 
 
 Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. 
 
 Docf. This disease is beyond my practice : Yet i 
 have known those which have walked in their sleep, 
 who have died holily in their beds. 
 
 Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night- 
 gown; look not so pale: I tell you yet again. Ban- 
 quo's buried ; he cannot come out of his grave. 
 
 Doct. Even so] 
 
 Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking al 
 
 • Dark. 
 

 Scene III. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 33? 
 
 the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your 
 hand: What's done, cannot be undone : To bed, to 
 bed, to bed. [Exit Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Dod. Will she go now to bed ? 
 
 Ge7it. Directly. 
 
 Duct. Foul whisperings are abroad ; Unnatural 
 deeds 
 Do breed unnatural troubles : Infected minds 
 To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
 More needs she the divine, than the physician. — 
 God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; 
 Remove from her the means of all annoyance. 
 And still keep eyes upon her : — So, good-night : 
 My mind she has mated,' and amaz'd my sight : 
 I think, but dare not speak. 
 
 Gent. Good-night, good doctor. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The Country near Dunsinane. 
 
 Enter, with Di-uni and Colors, Menteth, Cath- 
 NESs, Lenox, Angus, and Soldiers. 
 
 Ment. The English power is near, led on by 
 Malcolm, 
 His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. 
 Revenges burn in them : for their dear causes 
 Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm. 
 Excite the mortified man.' 
 
 Ani. 
 
 Near Birnam wood 
 
 Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. 
 Caih. WhoknowsifDonalbainbe with his brother'! 
 
 Lcn. For certain, sir, he is not; I have a file 
 Of all the gentry ; there is Siward's son. 
 And many unrough' youths that even now 
 Protest their first of manhood. 
 
 Ment. What does the tyrant] 
 
 Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies : 
 Some say, he's mad ; others, that lesser hate him. 
 Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain. 
 He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause 
 Within the belt of rule. 
 
 Ang. Now does he feel 
 
 His secret murders sticking on his hands ; 
 Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; 
 Those he commands, move only in command. 
 Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 
 Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
 Upon a dwarfish thief. 
 
 Ment. Who then shall blame 
 
 His pester'd senses to recoil and start, 
 When all that is within him does condemn 
 Itself, for being there 1 
 
 Cath. Well, march we on. 
 
 To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd: 
 Meev we the medecin* of the sickly weal ; 
 And with him pour we, in our countiy's purge. 
 Each drop of us. 
 
 Len. Or so much as it needs, 
 
 Tu dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. 
 Maks we our march towards Birnam. 
 
 [Exeunt, marching. 
 
 SCENE III. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. Bring mc no more reports; let them fly all; 
 Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
 
 cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm 1 
 Was he not born of woman ] The spirits that know 
 Ml mortal consequents, pronounced me thus: 
 
 » Coiifoundod. * A relijiious ; an ascetic. 
 
 • Unbearded. • The physician. 
 
 Fearnot, Macbeth; no7nan,thafs bom of woman. 
 
 Shall e'er have power on time. Then fly, falsa 
 
 thanes. 
 And mingle with the English epicures: 
 The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear. 
 Shall never sagg^ with doubt, nor shake with fear. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon ! 
 Where gott'st thoo that goose look 1 
 
 Serv. There is ten thousand 
 
 Macb. Geese, villain ] 
 
 Serv. Soldiers, sir. 
 
 Macb. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy feaT, 
 Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patclil' 
 Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
 Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whcy-face ? 
 
 Serv. The English force, so please you. 
 
 Macb. Take thy face hence. — Seyton! — I am 
 sick at heart, 
 When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push 
 Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
 I have liv'd long enough : my May of life 
 Is fall'n into the sear,' the yellow leaf: 
 And that which should accompany old age. 
 As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have; but, in their stead, 
 Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. 
 Seyton ! 
 
 E7iter Setton. 
 
 Sey. What is your gracious pleasure 1 
 
 Macb. What news more 1 
 
 Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was re- 
 ported. 
 
 Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh b« 
 hack'd. 
 Give me rny armor. 
 
 Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. 
 
 Macb. I'll put it on. 
 Send out more horses, skirr' the country round •, 
 Hang those that talk of fear. — Give me mine ar- 
 mor. — 
 How docs your patient, doctor ' 
 
 Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 Macb. Cure her of that : 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
 And with some sweet, oblivious antidote. 
 Cleanse the stufT'd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
 Which weighs upon the heart? 
 
 Doct. Therein the patieul 
 
 Must minister to himself. 
 
 Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of 
 it.— 
 Come, put mine armor on ; give me my staff. — 
 Seyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me:— 
 Come, sir, despatch : — If thou couldst, doctor, cast 
 The water of my land, find her disease. 
 And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
 I would applaud thee to the very echo. 
 That should applaud again. — PuU't ofl", I say.— 
 What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, 
 Would scour these English hence! — Hearest tbi i 
 of themi 
 
 'Sink. 
 
 » An appellation of contempt. 
 
 • Base fellow. 
 ' Dry. » Snoiu 
 
S38 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Dod. Ay, my good lord ; your royal preparation 
 Makes us hear sometliing. 
 
 Macb. Bring it after me. 
 
 I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
 
 Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. \_Exit. 
 
 Dod. Were I from Dunsinune away and clear. 
 Profit again should hardly draw me here. \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Country ?iear Dunsinane. A Wood 
 in view. 
 
 Enter, with. Drum mid Colors, Malcolm, old 
 
 SiwARi) and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, 
 
 Cathness, Axgus, Lenox, RossE,a?ic? Soldiers, 
 
 marching. 
 
 Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand 
 That chambers will be safe. 
 
 Ment. We doubt it nothing. 
 
 Siw. What wood is this before usl 
 
 Ment. The wood of Birnam. 
 
 Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough. 
 And bear't before him ; thereby shall we shadow 
 The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
 Err in report of us. 
 
 Sold. It shall be done. 
 
 Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant 
 Keeps still in Dunsiniine, and will endure 
 Our setting down before't. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis his main hope : 
 
 For where there is advantage to be given, 
 Both more and less' have given him the revolt; 
 And none serve with him but constrained things, 
 Whose hearts are absent too. 
 
 Macd. Let our just censures 
 
 Attend the true event, and put we on 
 Industrious soldiership. 
 
 Siw. The time approaches, 
 
 That will with due decision make us know 
 What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
 Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ; 
 But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: 
 Towards which, advance the war. 
 
 lExeunt, marching. 
 
 SCENE v.— Dunsinane. Within the Castle. 
 
 Enter, with Drums and Colors, Macbeth, Set- 
 ton, and Soldiers. 
 
 Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward 
 walls ; 
 The cry is still. They come: Our castle's strength 
 Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie, 
 Till famine, and the ague, eat them up: 
 Were they not forced with those that should be ours. 
 We might have met them darcful, beard to beard, 
 And beat them backward home. What is that noisel 
 \^A cry within of women. 
 
 Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
 The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
 To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell * of hair 
 Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir 
 As life were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; 
 Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts. 
 Cannot once start me. — Wherefore was that cryl 
 
 Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 
 
 Macb. She should have died hereafter; 
 There would have been a time for such a word, — 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
 
 ■ t « Greater and less. * Skin. 
 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle • 
 Life's but a walking shadow : a poor player. 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Thou com'st to use thy tongue ; thy story quickl) 
 
 Mess. Gracious my lord, 
 I shall report that which I say I saw, 
 But know not how to do it. 
 
 Macb. Well, say, sir. 
 
 3Tess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
 The wood began to move. 
 
 Macb. Liar, and slave ! 
 
 [^Striking him 
 
 Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so 
 Within this three mile may you see it coming; 
 I say, a moving grove. 
 
 Macb. If thou speak'st false, 
 
 Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 
 Till famine cling ' thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
 I care not if thou dost for me as much. — 
 I pull in resolution ; and begin 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend. 
 That lies like truth: Fear not till Birnam wood 
 Do come to Dunsinane,- — and now a wood 
 Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out. 
 If this which he avouches, does appear. 
 There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. 
 I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 
 And wish the estate of the world were now undone.—- 
 Ring the alarum bell : — Blow wind ! come, wrack ! 
 At least we'll die with harness on our back. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^ Plain before the Castle. 
 
 Enter, with Drums and Colors, Malcolm, oJa 
 
 SiWAiin, Macduff, Sfc, and their Army, with 
 
 Boughs. 
 
 Mai. Now near enough ; your leavy screens throw 
 down. 
 And show like those you are : — You, worthy uncle, 
 Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble sen. 
 Lead our first battle ; worthy Macduff, and we, 
 Shall take upon us what else remains to do. 
 According to our order. 
 
 Siw. Fare you well. — 
 
 Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, 
 Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. 
 
 Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give theris 
 all breath, 
 Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 
 [Exeunt. Alarums continued. 
 
 SCENE YIL— Another Part of the Plain. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly. 
 But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — What's he^ 
 That was not born of woman ? Such a one 
 Am I to fear, or none. 
 
 Enter young Siwahi>- 
 Yo. Siw. What is thy name 1 
 Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear It. 
 
 Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a hotter 
 name 
 Than any is in hell. 
 
 « Shr vel. 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 xM AC BETH 
 
 339 
 
 Macb. My name's Macbeth. 
 
 Ya.Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce 
 a title 
 More hateful to mine ear. 
 
 Macb. No, nor more fearful. 
 
 Yo. Siiu, Thou liest, abhorred tyrant ; with my 
 sword 
 f'il Drove the lie thou speak'st. 
 
 [They Jxght, and young Si ward is slain. 
 Macb. Thou wast born of woman. — 
 
 But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 
 Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Macduff. 
 
 Mucd. That way the noise is: — Tyrant, show 
 tliy face: 
 If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine. 
 My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. 
 I cannot strike at wretched kernes,* whose arms 
 Are hired to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth, 
 Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, 
 I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldstbe; 
 By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
 Seems bruited :■" I^ct me find him, fortune ! 
 And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum. 
 
 Enter Malcolsi and old Siwakd. 
 
 Siw. This way, my lord; — the castle's gently 
 render'd : 
 The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; 
 The noble thanes do bravely in the war; 
 The day almost it'-elf professes yours. 
 And little is to do. 
 
 Mai We have met with foes 
 
 That strike beside vs 
 
 Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarum, 
 lie-enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die 
 On mine own sword 1 whiles I see lives, the gashes 
 Do better upon them. 
 
 Re-enter Macduff. 
 
 Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. 
 
 Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee : 
 But get thee back, my soul is too much charged 
 With blood of thine already. 
 
 Macd. I have no words. 
 
 My voice is in my sword ; thou bloodier villain 
 Than terms can give thee out! [Tltey jight. 
 
 Macb. Thou losest labor: 
 
 As easy raayst thou the intrenchant air' 
 With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: 
 Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; 
 I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
 To one of woman born. 
 
 Macd. Despair thy charm ; 
 
 .\nd let the angel, whom thou still hast scrv'd. 
 Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
 Untimely ripp'd. 
 
 Much. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, 
 For it hath cow'd my better part of man ! 
 And he these juggling fiends no more bcliev'd, 
 I'hat ])alt(rr' with us ii. a double sense; 
 That keep the word of promise to our ear. 
 And break it to our hope. — I'll not fight with thee. 
 
 Macd. Then yield thee, coward. 
 
 And live to be the show and gaze o'the time. 
 
 We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 
 
 « Koot-soldlors. 1 Reported with clamor. 
 
 ' The air which cannot he cut. » Shuffle. 
 
 Painted upon a pole ; and underwrit, 
 Here may you see the tyrant. 
 
 Macb. ' I'll not yield, 
 
 To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
 And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
 And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born. 
 Yet I will try the last : Before my body 
 I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff; 
 And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold^enoiigh 
 
 [Exeunt, Jighting 
 
 Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with Drum and Co- 
 lors, Malcolm, old Siwaud, Rossd, Lekox. 
 Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers. 
 
 Mai, I would, the friends we miss were safe ar- 
 rived. 
 
 Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, 
 So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 
 
 Mul. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. 
 
 Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: 
 He only liv'd but till he was a man ; 
 The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd 
 In the unshrinking station where he fought. 
 But like a man he died. 
 
 Siw. Then he is dead? 
 
 Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field : your causo 
 of sorrow 
 Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then 
 It hath no end. 
 
 Siw. Had he his hurts before 1 
 
 Rosse. Ay, on the front. 
 
 Siw. Why then, God's soldier be he ! 
 
 Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
 I would not wish them to a fairer death: 
 And so his knell is knoll'd. 
 
 3Ial. He's worth more sorrow, 
 
 And that I'll spend for him. 
 
 Siw. He's worth no more ; 
 
 They say he parted well, and paid his score : 
 So God be with him. — Here comes newer comfort. 
 
 Re-enter Macdvvt, loith Macbeth's Head on a 
 Pole. 
 
 Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, 
 where stands 
 The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : 
 I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
 That speak my salutation in their minds ; 
 Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, — 
 Hail, king of Scotland ! 
 
 All. King of Scotland, hail ! [Flourish. 
 
 Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of time, 
 Before we reckon with your several Icves, 
 And make us even with you. Sly thanes and 
 
 kinsmen. 
 Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
 In such an honor named. What's more to do, 
 Which would be planted newly with the time, — 
 As calling home our exiled fi-iends abroad. 
 That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ; 
 Producing forth the cruel ministers 
 Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen ; 
 Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands 
 Took off her life : — This, and what needful else 
 That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
 We will perform in measure, time, and place : 
 So thanks to all at once and to each one, 
 Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt 
 
KING JOHN. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Kino Joh!^. 
 
 Phince Henkt, his Son,- afterwards K. Henry HI. 
 
 AriTHun, Duke of Bretagne, Son of Gef&ey, late 
 Duke of Bretagne, the elder Brother of K. John. 
 
 William Mareshall, £c?-/ 0/ Pembroke. 
 
 Geffaj* Fitz-Peteii, jEar/ o/Essex, Chief Jus- 
 ticiar}/ of England. 
 
 William LoNGSWonn, 2?ar/ q/" Salisbury. 
 
 Robert Bigot, Earl 0/ Norfolk. 
 
 Hubert de Burgh, Chamberlain to the King. 
 
 Robert Faulconbridge, iSono/'Str Robert Faul- 
 conbridgc. 
 
 Philip Faulcoxbuidge, his Half-Brother, Bas- 
 tard Son to King Richard the First. 
 
 James Gurnet, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge. 
 
 Peter q/" Pomfret, a PropAe/. 
 
 Philip, King of France. 
 
 Lewis, the Dauphin. 
 
 Archduke of Austria. 
 
 Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope^s Legate. 
 
 Melun, a French Lord. 
 
 CaATiLi.oN, Ambassador from Fvance to K. John 
 
 Elinor, the Widow of King Henry II. and Mo- 
 ther of King John. 
 
 Constance, Mother to Arthur. 
 
 Blanch, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, 
 a7id Niece to King John. 
 
 Lady Faulconbridge, Mother to the Bastard, 
 and Robert Faulconbridge. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, He- 
 ralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE — Sometimes in England, atid sometimes m France. 
 
 ACTT 
 
 SCENE I.— Northampton. A Room of State m 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, 
 Essex, SALisHUiir,a«c?o//<e;-s, with Chatillon. 
 
 K. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would 
 
 France with usl 
 Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of 
 France, 
 !n my behavior,' to the majesty. 
 The borrow'd majesty of England here. 
 
 Eli. A strange beginning; — borrow'd majesty! 
 K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the em- 
 bassy. 
 Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf 
 Of Ihy deceased brother Geffrey's son, 
 Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
 To this fair island, and the territories ; 
 To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine: 
 Desiring thee to lay aside the sword. 
 Which sways usurpingly these several titles ; 
 And put the same into young Arthur's hand, 
 Thy r.ephevs', and right royal sovereign. 
 
 K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this? 
 Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody 
 war. 
 To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. 
 K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood 
 for blood, 
 Uontrolment for controlment : so answer France. 
 Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my 
 The furthest limit of my embassy. [^mouth, 
 
 « In the manner I now do. 
 340 
 
 K. John. Bear mme to him, and so depart ia 
 peace : 
 Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; 
 For ere thou canst report I will be there, 
 The thunder of my cannon shall be heard . 
 So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath. 
 And sullen presage of your own decay. — 
 An honorable conduct let him have . — 
 Pembroke, look to't : Farewell, Chatillon. 
 
 [Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke 
 
 Eli. What now, my son ? have I not ever said, 
 How that ambitious Constance would not cease, 
 Till she had kindled France, and all the world. 
 Upon the right and party of her son 1 
 This might have been prevented, and made whole. 
 With very easy arguments of love ; 
 Which now the manage'^ of two Idngdoms must 
 With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. [for us. 
 
 K. John. Our strong possession, and our right, 
 
 Eli. Your strong possession, much more than 
 your right ; 
 Or else it must go wrong with you, and me . 
 So much my conscience whispers in your ear 
 Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. 
 
 Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who whis- 
 pers Essex. 
 Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy, 
 Come from the country to be judged by you. 
 That e'er I heard : Shall I produce the men 7 
 
 K. John. Let them approach, — [Exit Sheriff 
 Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay 
 • Conduct, administration. 
 
^CT I. Scene 1. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 3-11 
 
 lie-enter SlierifT, wilh Robert Faulconbridge, 
 and Philip, his bastard Brother. 
 
 This expedition's charge. — What men are you 1 
 
 Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, 
 Born in Northamptonshire ; and eldest son, 
 As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge ; 
 A soldier, by the honor-giving hand 
 Of CcEur-de-lion knighted in the field. 
 
 K. John. What art thou 1 [bridge. 
 
 Ilob. The son and heir to that same Faulcon- 
 
 A'. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir 1 
 You came not of one mother, then, it seems. 
 
 Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king, 
 That is well known ; and, as I think, one father : 
 but, for the certain knowledge of that truth, 
 I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother ; 
 Of tliat I doubt, as all men's children may. [mother. 
 
 Ell. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame thy 
 And wound her honor with this diffidence. 
 
 Bast. I, madam 1 no, I have no reason for it ; 
 That is my brother's plea, and none of mine ; 
 The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
 At least from fair five hundred pound a year : 
 Heaven guard my mother's honor, and my land ! 
 
 K, John. A good blunt fellow : — Why, being 
 younger born, 
 Uoth he lay claim to thine inheritance 1 
 
 Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
 But once he slander'd me with bastardy : 
 But whe'r I be as true-begot, or no, 
 That still I lay upon my mother's head ; 
 But, that I am as well begot, my liege, 
 (Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me !) 
 Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. 
 If old sir Robert did beget us both. 
 And were our father, and this son like him ; — 
 
 old sir Robert, father, on my knee, 
 
 1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee, [us here! 
 
 K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent 
 
 Eli. He hath a trick' of Coeur-de-lion's face. 
 The accent of his tongue affecteth him : 
 Do you not read some tokens of my son 
 In the large composition of this man ? 
 
 K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts. 
 
 And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, 
 
 What doth move you to claim your brother's land 1 
 
 Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father: 
 With that half-face would he have all my land : 
 A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year ! 
 
 Rob. My gracious liege,when that my father liv'd, 
 Your brother did employ my father much ; 
 
 Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land ; 
 Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. 
 
 Rob. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy 
 To Germany, there, with the emperor, 
 To treat of high afl'airs touching that time : 
 The advantage of his absence took the king. 
 And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; 
 Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak ; 
 But truth is truth ; large length of seas and shores 
 Between my father and my mother lay, 
 (As I have heard my father speak himself,) 
 When this same lusty gentleman was got 
 Upon his death-bed he l)y will beiiucath'd 
 His lands to me; and took it, on his death, 
 'J'hat this my mother's son, was none of his ; 
 And, if he were, he came into the world 
 Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
 
 * Trace, outline. 
 
 23 
 
 Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
 My father's land, as was my father's will. 
 
 K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate ; 
 Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him ; 
 And, if she did play false, the fault was hers ; 
 Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands 
 That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother. 
 Who, as you say, took pains to get hit son, 
 Had of your father claim'd this son for his ] Qiim; 
 In sooth, good friend, your father might have kep4 
 This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world ; 
 In sooth he might : then, if he were my brother's. 
 My brother might not claim him ; nor your father, 
 Being none of him, refuse him : This concludes,- - 
 My mother's son did get your father's heir ; 
 Your father's heir must have your father's land. 
 
 Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force, 
 To dispossess that child which is not his 1 
 
 Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
 Than was his will to tret me, as I think. 
 
 Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon 
 And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land ; [liridge, 
 Or the reputed son of Cceur-de-lion, 
 Lord of thy presence, and no land beside ] 
 
 Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape. 
 And I had his, sir Robert his, like him : 
 And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 
 My arms such eel-skins stuff 'd; my face so thin, 
 That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, [goes ! 
 Lest men should say. Look, where three farthings 
 And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 
 'Would I might never stir from off this placi 
 I'd give it every foot to have this face : 
 I would not be sir Nob in any case. 
 
 Eli. I like thee well ; Wilt thou forsake thy fot 
 Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me ? [tune, 
 I am a soldier, and now bound to France. 
 
 Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take mv 
 clianc* : 
 Your face hath got five hundred pounds a yeai 
 Yet sell your face for five pence, and, 'tis dear.— 
 Madam, I'll follow you until the death. 
 
 Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thithe? 
 
 Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. 
 
 K. John. What is thy name ! 
 
 Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun ; 
 Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 
 
 K. John. From henceforth, bear his name whoso 
 form thou bcar'st : 
 Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great : 
 Arise sir Richard, and Plantagcnet. [hand ; 
 
 Bast. Brother, by my mother's side, give me your 
 My faiher gave me honor, yours gave land : — 
 Now blessed be the hour, by night or day. 
 When I was got, sir Robert was away. 
 
 Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet ! — 
 I am thy grandame, Richard ; call me so. 
 
 Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth : ^Vllat 
 though ] 
 Something about, a little from the right, 
 
 In at the window, or else o'er the hatch : 
 Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night ; 
 
 And have is have, however men do catch : 
 Near or far off, well \\ox\ is still well shot ; 
 And I am I, howe'er I was begot. 
 
 K. John. Go, Faulconbridge ; now liast thou iht 
 
 desire, 
 
 A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. — ■ 
 
 Come, madam, and come, Richard ; we must speed 
 
 For France, for France ; for it is more than need 
 
342 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act Ji 
 
 Bast. Brother, adieu ; good fortune come to thee \ 
 For thou wast got i'the way of lioncsty. 
 
 [^Exeunt all hut the Bastai-d. 
 A foot of honor better than I was ; 
 But many a foot of land the worse. 
 
 Well, now can I make any Joan a lady : 
 
 Good den* Sir Richard, — God-a-niercy, fellow ,- 
 And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter: 
 For new-made honor doth forget men's names ; 
 'Tis too respective, and too sociable, 
 For your conversion. Now your traveUer, — 
 He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess ; 
 And when my knightly stomach is sufficed, 
 Why then I suck my teeth and catechise 
 
 My picked man of countries:' My dear sir, 
 
 (Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,) 
 
 / shall beseech you. — -That is question now ; 
 
 And then conies answer like an ABC-book: — 
 
 O sir, says answer, at your best command ; 
 
 At your employment ,- at your service, sir : 
 
 No, sir, says question, /, sweet sir, at yours : 
 
 And so, ere answer knows what question would, 
 
 (Saving in dialogue of compliment; 
 
 And talkhig of the Alps, and Apennines, 
 
 The Pyrcncan, and the river Po,) 
 
 It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 
 
 But this is worshipful society. 
 
 And fits the mounting spirit, like myself: 
 
 For he is but a bastard to the time. 
 
 That doth not smack of observation 
 
 (And so am I, whether I smack, or no ;) 
 
 And not alone in habit and device, 
 
 Exterior form, outward accoutrement; 
 
 But from the inward motion to deliver 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth : 
 
 Which, though I will not practise to deceive, 
 
 Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ; 
 
 For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. — 
 
 But who comes in such haste, in riding robes ? 
 
 What woman-post is this ] hath she no husband. 
 
 That will take pains to blow a horn before her ] 
 
 Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gdrnet. 
 
 me ! it is my mother : — -How now, good lady ? 
 What brings you here to court so hastily ? 
 
 Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? 
 where is he 1 
 That holds in chase mine honor up and down 1 
 
 Bast. My brother Robert 1 old sir Robert's son 1 
 Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? 
 Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so 1 
 
 Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou unreverend 
 boy. 
 
 Sir Robert's son : Why ecorn'st thou at sir Kobeitl 
 He is sir Robert's son ; and so art thou. 
 
 Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou givf, us leave a 
 Gur. Good leave, good Philip. [while ? 
 
 Bast. Philip? — sparrow! — James, 
 
 There's toys' abroad ; anon I'll tell thee more. 
 
 [Exit GuKNEY. 
 
 Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son ; 
 Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
 Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast ; 
 Sir Robert could do well ; Marry (to confess) 
 Could lie get me ? Sir Robert could not do it , 
 We know his handy-work : — Therefore, good mo- 
 To whom am I beholden for these limbs ? [ther. 
 Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. 
 
 LadyF. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, 
 That forthineown gain shouldstdefend mine honor? 
 What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? 
 
 Bast. Knight, knight, good mother,— Basilisco- 
 like :» 
 What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shouldei". 
 But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ; 
 I have disclaimed sir Robert, and my land ; 
 Legitimation, name, and all is gone : 
 Then, good my mother, let me know my father ; 
 Some proper man, I hope ; Who was it, mother 1 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulcon 
 
 Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil, [bridge'' 
 
 Ijady F. King Richard Cceur-de-lion was thy 
 By long and vehement suit I was seduced [father ; 
 To make room for him in my husband's bed : — 
 Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ', 
 Thou art the issue of my dear offence. 
 Which was so strongly urged, past my defence. 
 
 Bust. Now, by this light, were I to get again. 
 Madam, I would not wish a better father. 
 Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
 And so doth yours ; your fault was not your folly : 
 Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, — 
 Subjected tribute to commanding love, — 
 Against whose fury and unmatched force 
 The lawless lion could not .wage the fight. 
 Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
 He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts. 
 May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother. 
 With all my heart I thank thee for my father : 
 Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well 
 When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. 
 Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin ; 
 
 And they shall say, when Richard me begot, 
 If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin : 
 
 Who says it was, he lies ; I say, 'twas not 
 
 [jBxdMIU, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCJENE I.— France. Before the W«/& o/Angiers. 
 
 Enter, on one side, the Archduke q/" Austria, and 
 Forces ,- on the other Philip, King of France, 
 and Forces ,- Lewis, Constance, Arthuk, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 hew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. — 
 Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, 
 Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, 
 And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
 By this brave duke came early to his grave : 
 And, for amends to his posterity, 
 At our importance,' hither is he come, 
 * Good evening. ' My travelled fop. s importunity. 
 
 To spread his colors, boy, in thy behalf, 
 
 And to rebuke the usui-pation 
 
 Of thy unnatural uncle, English John : 
 
 Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. 
 
 Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death 
 The rather, that you give his offspring life. 
 Shadowing their right under your wings of war: 
 I give you welcome with a powerless hand, 
 But with a heart full of unstain'd love : 
 Welcome before the gntes of Angiers, duke. 
 
 Lew. A noble boy ! who would not do thee right ' 
 
 I Idle reports. 
 
 • A character in an old drama called Soliman and Per 
 seda. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 343 
 
 Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, 
 As seal to this indenture of my love; 
 riiat to my home I will no more return, 
 I'ill Anglers and the right thou hast in France, 
 Foicether with that pale, that white-faced shore, 
 VVliose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides. 
 And coojis from other lands her islanders, 
 Even till that England, hcdg'd in with the main. 
 The walcr-walled bulwark, still secure 
 And confident from foreign purposes. 
 Even till that utmost corner of the west 
 Salute thee for her king; till then, foir boy, 
 Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 
 
 Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's 
 thanks, 
 Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength. 
 To make a more requital to your love. 
 
 Ausi. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift 
 their swords 
 In such a just and charitable war. 
 
 K. Phi. WeW then, to work; our cannon shall 
 be bent 
 Against the brows of this resisting town. 
 Call for our chicfcst men of discipline. 
 To cull the plots of best advantages;' — 
 We'll lay before this town our royal bones. 
 Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood. 
 But we will make it subject to this boy. 
 
 Con.st. Stay for an answer to your embassy. 
 Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood : 
 My lord Chatillon may from England bring 
 That right in ])eace, which here we urge in war; 
 And then we shall repent each drop of blood, 
 That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 
 
 Enter Ciiatillox. 
 
 K. Phi. A wonder, lady! — lo, upon thy wish, 
 Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. — 
 What England says, say briefly, gentle lord. 
 We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. 
 
 Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, 
 And stir them up against a mightier task. 
 England, impatient of your just demands. 
 Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds. 
 Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time 
 To land his legions all as soon as I : 
 His marches are expedient^ to this -town, 
 His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
 With him along is come the mother-queen. 
 An Ate,' stirring him to blood and strife ; 
 With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain; 
 With them a bastard of the king deceas'd: 
 And all the unsettled humors of the land,— 
 Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries. 
 With ladies' llices, and fierce dragons' spleens, — 
 Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
 Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, 
 To make a hazard of new fortunes here, 
 .n brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
 Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er 
 Did never float ujjou the swelling tide, 
 To do ollencc and scath' in Christendom. 
 The interruption of their churlish drums 
 
 [Drums beat. 
 Juts ofTmore circumstance: they are at hand, 
 To parley or to fight; therefore, prepare. 
 
 K. Phi. How much unlook'd foristhis expedition! 
 
 • Best stations to over-awe the town. 
 
 ' rmmoJia; ?, expeditious. » The Goddess of Kevenge. 
 
 • Mischief. 
 
 Aiist. By how much unexpected, by so uiuch 
 We must awake endeavor for defence; 
 For courage mounteth with occasion: 
 Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. 
 
 Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, //(f Bastard, 
 Pembroke, «;?(/ Forces. 
 
 K. John. Peace be to France ; if Fraiice in peace 
 permit 
 Our just and lineal entrance to our own ! 
 If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven. 
 Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do coi-rect 
 Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven. 
 
 K. Phi. Peace be to England: if that war return 
 From France to England, there to live in peace'. 
 England we love: and, for that England's sake, 
 With burden of our armor here \\'e sweat: 
 This toil of ours should be a work of thine; 
 But thou from loving England art so far. 
 That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, 
 Cut off" the sequence of posterity. 
 Outfaced infant state, and done a rape 
 Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
 Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; — 
 These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his- 
 This little abstract doth contain that large, 
 Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time 
 Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. 
 That Geffrey was thy elder brother born. 
 And this his son; England was Geffrey's right 
 And this is Geffrey's: In the name of God, 
 How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, 
 When living blood doth in these temples beat, 
 Which owe ^ the crown that thou o'ermasterest ? 
 
 K. John. From whom hast thou this great com- 
 mission, France, 
 To draw my answer from thy articles'? 
 
 K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirg 
 good thoughts 
 In any breast of strong authority, 
 To look into the blots and stains of right. 
 That judge hath made me guardian to this bov • 
 Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong, 
 And, by whose help, I mean to chistise it. 
 
 K.John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 
 
 K. Phi. Excuse ; it is to beat usurping dowR. 
 
 E/i. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, France? 
 
 Const. Let me make answer ; — thy usurping son 
 
 Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king ; 
 That thou mayst be a queen, and check the world . 
 
 Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true, 
 As thine was to thy husband : and this boy 
 Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, 
 Than thou and John in manners ; being as I'Jte, 
 As rain to water, or devil to his dam. 
 My boy a bastard ! By my soul, I think, 
 His father never was so true begot ; 
 It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother, [father, 
 
 Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy 
 
 Const. There's a good grandam,boy, that would 
 
 Aust. Peace ! [l)lot thee. 
 
 Bast. Hear the crier. 
 
 Aust. What the devil art thou ' 
 
 Bast. One that will jilay the devil, sir, with you 
 An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. 
 You arc the hare of whom the proverb goes. 
 Whose valor plucks dead lions by the beard; 
 I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you rigiit • 
 Sirrah, look to't; i'faith, I will, i'faith. 
 
 ' » A short-writing. • Own. 
 
544 
 
 KING JOHN 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe, 
 That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! 
 
 Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him, 
 As great Alcidcs' shoes upon an ass : — 
 But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back ; 
 Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack. 
 
 A Mb/. What cracker is this same, that deafs our cars 
 Willi this abundance of saperfluous breath? 
 K ^^hl. Lewis, determine what wc shall do 
 
 straight. 
 Lew. Women and fools, break off your confer- 
 King John, this is the very sum of all, — [encc. — 
 England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
 In right of Arthur do I claim of thee : 
 Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms ? 
 
 K.John. My life as soon: — I do defy thee, France. 
 Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ; 
 And, out of my dear love, I'll give thee more 
 Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : 
 Submit thee, boy. 
 
 Eli, Come to thy grandam, child. 
 
 Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child ; 
 Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will 
 Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig : 
 There's a good grandam. 
 
 Arth. Good my mother, peace ! 
 
 I would, that I were low laid in my grave ; 
 I am not worth this coiF that's made for me. [weeps. 
 TLU. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he 
 Const. Now shame upon you,whe'r slie does or no! 
 His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, 
 Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes. 
 Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; 
 Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed 
 To do him justice, and revenge on you. [earth ! 
 Etl. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and 
 Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and 
 earth ! 
 Call not me slanderer ; thou, and thine, usurp 
 The dominations, royalties, and rights, 
 Of this oppressed boy : This is thy eldest son's son, 
 Infortunate in nothing but in thee ; 
 Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; 
 The ranon of the law is laid on him, 
 Being but the second generation 
 Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. 
 K. John. Beldam, have done. 
 Const. I have but this to say, — • 
 
 That he's not only plagued for her sin, 
 But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
 On this removed issue, plagued for her. 
 And with her plague, her sin ; his injury 
 ller injury, — the beadle to her sin ; 
 All punish'd in the person of this child, 
 A nd all for her ; A plague upon her ! 
 
 Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
 A will that bars the title of thy son. 
 
 Const. Ay , who doubts that ? a will ! a wicked will ; 
 A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will ! 
 
 K.Pki. Peace, lady; pause, or be more temperate: 
 It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim* 
 To these ill-tuned repetitions. — 
 Some trumpet summon hither to the walls 
 These men of Anglers ; let us hear them speak, 
 Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the walk. 
 1 Cit. V/ho is it that hath warn 'd us to the walls? 
 K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England. 
 
 •> Bustle. 
 
 • To encourage. 
 
 K. John. England, for itself 
 
 You men of Anglers, and my loving subjects, — 
 
 K. Phi. You loving men of Anglers, Arthur's subi 
 Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle.' [jects, 
 
 K.John. For our advantage ; — Therefore hear ui 
 These flags of France, that are advanced here [first. 
 Before the eye and prospect of your town. 
 Have hither march'd to your endamagement ; 
 The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; 
 And ready mounted are they to spit forth 
 Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : 
 All preparation for a bloody siege, 
 And merciless proceeding by these French, 
 Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates ; 
 And, but for our approach, those sleeping stoneo 
 That as a waist do girdle you about. 
 By the compulsion of their ordinance 
 By this time from their fixed beds of lime 
 Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 
 For bloody power to rush upon your peaee^ 
 But, on the sight of us, your lawful king, — 
 Who painfully with much expedient march. 
 Have brought a countercheck before your gates, 
 To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks,— 
 Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle : 
 And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, 
 To make a shaking fever in your walls. 
 They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, 
 To make a faithless error in your ears : 
 Which trust accordingly, kind citizens. 
 And let us in, your king ; whose labor'd spirits, 
 Forwearied' in this action of swift speed, 
 Crave harborage within your city walls. 
 
 K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to ui 
 Lo, in this right hand, whose protection [both. 
 Is most divinely vow'd upon the right 
 Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet ; 
 Son to the elder brother of this man, 
 And king o'er him, and all that lie enjoys : 
 For "this down-trodden equity, we tread 
 In warlike march these greens before your town , 
 Being no further enemy to you. 
 Than the constraint of hospitable zeal, 
 In the relief of this oppress'd child. 
 Religiously provokes. Be pleased then 
 To pay that duty, which you truly owe. 
 To him that owes' it ; namely, this young prince 
 And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, 
 Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up ; 
 Our cannon's malice vainly shall be spent 
 Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven ; 
 And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire. 
 With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd 
 We will bear home that lusty blood again. 
 Which here we came to spout against your town 
 And leave your children, wives, and you in peace 
 But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 
 'Tis not the roundure^ of your old-faced walls 
 Can hide you from our messengers of war ; 
 Though all these English, and their discipline, 
 Were harbor'd in their rude circumference. 
 Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord. 
 In that behalf which we have challenged it ? 
 Or shall we give the signal to our rage, 
 And stalk in blood to our possession ? f jects* 
 
 1 Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's sub- 
 For him, and in his right we hold this town. 
 K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and le' 
 me in. 
 
 » Conference. 
 
 • Worn out. 
 
 »Owns. 
 
 » Circle. 
 
h'CENE II 
 
 ivING JOHN 
 
 a4?i 
 
 1 Clt. That can we not: but he that proves the king 
 To him will we prove loyal ; till that time, 
 Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world 
 
 K. John. Doth n&t the crown of England prove 
 And, if not that, I bring you v/itnesses, [the king 1 
 Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed, — 
 Bast. Bastards, and else. 
 K. John. To verify our title with their lives. 
 K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as 
 
 Basf. Some bastards too. [those, 
 
 K. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. 
 1 Cif. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, 
 We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. 
 
 K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those 
 That to their everlasting residence, [souls, 
 
 Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, 
 [ri dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! 
 
 A'. Phi. Amen! Amen! — Mount, chevaliers, to 
 
 arms ! 
 Bail. St. George, — that swinged the dragon, 
 and e'er since, 
 Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, 
 Teach us some fence ! Sirrah, were I at home, 
 At your den, sirrah,[ To AusTniA.Jwith your lioness, 
 I'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
 And make a monster of you. 
 
 Aunt. Pc-ac£ ; no more. 
 
 fif/st. 0, tremble ; for you hear the lion roar. 
 K. John. Up higher to the plain ; where we'll set 
 fortli, 
 lii best appointment, all our regiments. 
 
 Ba.sf. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. 
 K.Phi. It shall be so; — [7b Lewis.] and at the 
 other hill . 
 Command the rest to stan<l. — God and our right! 
 
 lExeunf. 
 
 SCENE n.—rhe same. 
 
 Alarums and Excursions,- then a Retreat. Enter 
 a French Herald, loith Trumpets, to the Gates. 
 
 F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, 
 And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in ; 
 Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made 
 Much work for tears in many an English mother. 
 Whose sons lie scatler'd on the bleeding ground: 
 Many a v\'idow's husband grovelling lies, 
 Coldly embracing the discolor'd earth ; 
 And victory, with little loss, doth play 
 Upon the dancing banners of the French ; 
 Who are at hand, triumphantly dispiay'd. 
 To enter conquerors, and to proclaim 
 Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. 
 
 Enter an English Herald, with Trumpets. 
 
 E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Anglers, ring your 
 bells, 
 KingJohn,your king and England's, doth ajjpioach. 
 Commander of this hot malicious day ! 
 Their armors, that march'd hence so silver-bright. 
 Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; 
 There stuck no plume in any English crest, 
 That is removed by a staff of France ; 
 Our colors do return in those same hands 
 That did display them when wc first march'd forth; 
 And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 
 Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, 
 Died ill the dying slaughtci of their foes : 
 Open your gates, and give the victors way. 
 
 at. Heralds, from offour towers we might behold, 
 Froifl first to last, ^ne onset and rctirt. 
 
 Of both your armies; whose equality 
 
 By our best eyes cannot be censured :' 
 
 Blood hath bought blood, and blows haie ans.ver'd 
 
 blows ; 
 Strength match'd with strength, and power con 
 
 fronted power: 
 Both are alike ; and both alike we like. 
 One must prove gieatest: while they weigh so even. 
 We hold our town for neither; yet for both. 
 
 Enter, at one side, King Johx, with his Power,- 
 Elixgh, Hi.Aycii, and the Bastard; at the other. 
 King Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces. 
 
 K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cas* 
 away 1 
 Say, shall the current of our right run on 'i 
 Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment. 
 Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell 
 With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, 
 Unless thou let his silver water keep 
 A peaceful progress to the ocean. 
 
 K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of 
 blood. 
 In this hot trial, more than we of France ; 
 Rather, lost more : And by this hand I swear. 
 That sways the earth this climate overlooks, — 
 Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, 
 We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we 
 
 bear. 
 Or add a royal number to th^3 dead; 
 Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss. 
 With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 
 
 Bast. Ha, majesty ! how high thy glory towers, 
 When the rich blood of kings is set on fire ! 
 O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; 
 The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; 
 And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men. 
 In undetermin'd differences of kings. — 
 Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? 
 Cry, havoc, kings ! back to the stained field. 
 You equal potents,' fiery kindled spirits! 
 Then let confusion of one part confirm 
 The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death! 
 
 K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admiti 
 
 K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your 
 king ] 
 
 1 Cit. The king of England, when we know the 
 
 ki"?- 
 K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up hia 
 
 right. 
 K. John. In us, that arc our own great deputy. 
 And bear possession of our person here ; 
 Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 
 
 1 Cit. A greater power than we, denies all this; 
 And, till it be undoubted, we do lock 
 Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates: 
 King'd of our fears ; until our fears resolv'd, 
 Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 
 Bast. By heaven, these scroyles° of Angiers flaut 
 
 you, kings ; 
 And stand securely on their battlements. 
 As in a theatre, whence they gape and point 
 At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
 Your royal presences be rul'd by me; 
 Do like the mutines'' of Jerusalem; 
 Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend 
 Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town : 
 By east and west let France and England moun 
 
 * .Tutljjed, determined. 
 
 • Scabby foUowa, 
 
 • Potentates. 
 ' Mutineers 
 
346 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act II. Scene II 
 
 Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths; 
 
 Till their soul-fearing clamors have brawl'd down 
 
 The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : 
 
 I'd play incessantly upon these jades, 
 
 Even till unfenced desolation 
 
 Leive them as naked as the vulgar air. 
 
 That done, dissever your united strengths, 
 
 And part your mingled colors once again; 
 
 Turn face to face, and bloody point to point: 
 
 Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth 
 
 Out of one side her happy minion ; 
 
 To whom in favor she shall give the day. 
 
 And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
 
 How like you this wild counsel, mighty states'! 
 
 Smacks it not something of the policy 1 
 
 K, John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our 
 heads, 
 I like it well ; — Fraqce, shall we knit our powers, 
 And lay this Anglers even with the ground; 
 Then, after, fight who shall be king of it? 
 
 Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, — ■ 
 Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town, — 
 Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery. 
 As we will ours, against these saucy walls : 
 And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, 
 Why, then defy each other; and pell-mell. 
 Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. 
 
 K. Phi. Let it be so: — Say, where will you assault? 
 
 K. John. We from the west will send destruction 
 Into this city's bosom. 
 
 Ausf. I from the north. 
 
 A'. Phi. Our thunder from the south, 
 
 Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 
 
 Bast. O prudent discipline ! From north to south; 
 Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: 
 
 \_Aside. 
 I'll stir them to it: — Come, away, away! 
 
 1 at. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while 
 to stay. 
 And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league ; 
 Win you this city without stroke, or wound ; 
 Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, 
 That here come sacrifices for the field : 
 Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. 
 
 K. John. Speak on, with favor ; we are bent to hear. 
 
 1 Git. That daughter there of Spain, the lady 
 Blanch, 
 Is near to England : Look upon the years 
 Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid: 
 If lusty love should go in quest of beauty. 
 Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? 
 If zealous' love should go in search of virtue, 
 Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? 
 If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch ? 
 Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth. 
 Is the young Dauphin every way complete: 
 If not complete, O say, he is not she ; 
 And she again wants nothing, to name want, 
 \f want it be not, that she is not he : 
 He is the half part of a blessed man. 
 Left to be finished by such as she; 
 And she a fair divided excellence. 
 Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 
 O, two such silver currents, when they johi, 
 Do glorify the banks that bound them in: 
 And two such shores to two such streams made one, 
 Two such controlling hounds, shall you be, kings, 
 To these two princes, if you marry them. 
 sPions. 
 
 This union shall do more than battery can, 
 To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match. 
 With swifter spleen' than powder can enforce. 
 The mouth of passage shall we fiing wide ope. 
 And give you entrance ; but without this match. 
 The sea enraged is not half so deatj 
 Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
 Tvlore free from motion; no, not Death himself 
 In mortal fury half so peremptory. 
 As we to keep this city. 
 
 Bast. Here's a stay. 
 
 That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death 
 Out of his rags ! Here's a large mouth, indeed. 
 That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and 
 And talks familiarly of roaring lions, [seas ; 
 
 As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs ? 
 What cannoneer begot this lusty blood ? 
 He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and 
 He gives the bastinado with his tongue ; [bounce ; 
 Our ears are cudgel'd ; not a word of his, 
 But buffets better than a fist of France : 
 Why, I was never so bethump'd with words, 
 Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad. 
 
 Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match , 
 Give with our niece a dowry large enough : 
 For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 
 Thy now unsured assurance to the crown, 
 That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
 The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. 
 I see a yielding in the looks of France ; 
 Mark, how they whisper : urge them, while their 
 Are capable of this ambition : [souls 
 
 Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath 
 Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, 
 Cool and congeal again to what it was. 
 
 1 at. Why answer not the double majesties 
 This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town 1 
 
 K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for- 
 ward first 
 To speak upon this city : What say you ? 
 
 K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely 
 Can in this book of beauty read, I love, [son, 
 
 Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen : 
 For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers. 
 And all that we upon this side the sea 
 (Except this city now by us besieged) 
 Find liable to our crown and dignity. 
 Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich 
 In titles, honors, and promotions. 
 As she in beauty, education, blood, 
 Holds hand with any princess of the world. 
 
 K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy ? look in the lady's 
 face. 
 
 Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find 
 A wonder, or a wonderous miracle. 
 The shadow of myself form 'd in her eye; 
 Which, being but the shadow of your son, 
 Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow : 
 I do protest, I never iov'd myself. 
 Till now infixed I beheld myself. 
 Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. 
 
 \^Wliispers ivith Bi.anch. 
 
 Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye !— 
 Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! — 
 And quarter'd in her heart ! — he doth espy 
 
 Himself love's traitor : This is pity now. 
 That hang'd, and drawn, and quartci'd, there 
 
 should be. 
 In cuch a love, so vile a lout as hr 
 8 Speed. 
 
 V 
 
A.CT 111. SOENE I. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 347 
 
 BlcMch. My uncle's will, in this respect, is mine : 
 Tf he see aught in you, that makes him Uke, 
 That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, 
 r can with ease translate it to my will ; 
 Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,) 
 I will enforce it easily to my love. 
 Further I will not flatter you, my lord, 
 That all I see in you is worthy love, 
 Than this — that nothing do I see in you, [judge,) 
 (Tho' churlish thoughts themselves should be your 
 That I can find should merit any hate. 
 
 K. John. What say these young ones ? What 
 say you, my niece ? 
 
 Blanch. That she is bound in honor still to do 
 What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. 
 
 K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin ; can you 
 love this lady 1 
 
 Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; 
 For I do love her most unfeignedly. 
 
 K. John. Then I do give Volquessen, Touraine, 
 Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, [Maine, 
 With her to thee ; and this addition more. 
 Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. — 
 Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal. 
 Command thy son and daughter to join hands. 
 
 K. Phi. It likes us well ; — Young princes, close 
 your hands. 
 
 Aust. And your lips too ; for, I am well assured. 
 That I did so, when I was first assured.' 
 
 K. Phi. Now, citizens of Anglers, ope your gates, 
 Let in that amity which you have made : 
 For at Saint Mary's chapel, presently. 
 The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. — 
 Is not the lady Constance in this troop ? — 
 I know, she is not ; for this match, made up, 
 Her presence would have interrupted much: — 
 Where is she and her son 7 tell me, who knows. 
 
 Leiu. She is sad and passionate* at your highness' 
 tent. 
 
 K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have 
 Will give her sadness very little cure. — [made, 
 Brother of England, how may we content 
 This widow lady 1 In her right we came : 
 AVhich we, God knows, have turn'd another way. 
 To our own vantage. 
 
 K. John. We will heal up all ; 
 
 For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, 
 And earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town 
 
 We make him lord of. — 'Call the lady Constance 
 
 Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
 
 To our solemnity : — I trust we shall. 
 
 If not fill up the measure of her will, 
 
 Yet in some measure satisfy her so, 
 
 That we shall stop her exclamation. 
 
 Go we, as well as haste will suffer us. 
 
 To this unlook'd for unprepared pomp. 
 
 [^Exeunt all but the Bastard. — The ( 'itizeiu 
 retire from the Walls. 
 Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composition ' 
 John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole. 
 Hath willingly departed with a part : 
 And France, (whose armor conscience buckled on \ 
 Whom zeal and charity brought to the field, 
 As God's own soldier,) rounded* in the ear 
 With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil ; 
 That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith ; 
 That daily break-vow ; he that wins of all, 
 Of kings, of beggars, old men,young men, maids; - 
 Who having no external thing to lose 
 But the word maid, — cheats the poor maid of that; 
 That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity,' 
 Commodity, the bias of the world ; 
 The world, who of itself is peised' well. 
 Made to run even, upon even ground : 
 Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias 
 This sway of motion, this commodity, 
 Makes it take head from all indifferency, 
 From all direction, purpose, course, intent : 
 And this same bias, this commodity. 
 This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
 Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 
 Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, 
 From a resolv'd and honorable war. 
 To a most base and vile-concluded peace.- 
 And why rail I on this commodity 1 
 But for because he hath not woo'd rae yet : 
 Not that I have the power to clutch' my hand, 
 When his fair angels' would salute my palm 
 But for my hand, as unattempted yet, 
 Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
 Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail. 
 And say, — there is no sin, but to be rich , 
 And being rich, my virtue then shall be, 
 To say, — there is no vice but beggary : 
 Since kings break faith upon commodity, 
 Gain, be my lord ! for I will worship thee ! [^Exit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The French King's Tent. 
 
 Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 
 
 Connt. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace! 
 False blood to false blood join'd ! Gone to be friends! 
 Shall Lewis have Blanch ? and Blanch those pro- 
 vinces] 
 It is not so ; thou hast mis-spoke, misheard ; 
 Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again: 
 It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 'tis so : 
 I trust, I may not trust thee ; for thy word 
 Is but the vain breath of a common man : 
 Believe me, I do not believe thee, man ; 
 I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
 Thou shall be punish'd for thus frighting me. 
 For I am sick, and capable' of fears ; 
 Opprcss'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; 
 \ widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; 
 i woman, naturally born to fears ; 
 
 » Affianced. «MounifuL 'Susceptible. 
 
 And though thou now confess, thou didst but jesi 
 With my vex'd spirits, I cannot take a truce. 
 But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
 What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ? 
 Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 
 What means that hand upon that breast of thine 1 
 Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
 Lilic a proud river peering' o'er his bounds ? 
 Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words 1 
 Then speak again ; not all thy former tale. 
 But this one word ; whether thy tale be true. 
 
 Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them falsi 
 That give you cause to prove my saying true. 
 
 Const. 0, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow 
 Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die; 
 And let belief and life encounter so. 
 As doth the fury of two desperate men. 
 
 ' Conspired. 
 'Clasp. 
 
 » Interest, 
 •Coin. 
 
 • Poised, balanced 
 
 • Appearing. 
 
348 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act in 
 
 Which, in the vei-y meeting, fall, and die. — 
 Lewis many Blanch ! O, boy, then where art thou 1 
 France friend with England! what becomes of me? ■ 
 Fellow, be gone ; I cannot brook thy sight ; 
 This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 
 
 Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done. 
 But spoke the harm that is by others done ? 
 
 Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is. 
 As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 
 
 Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 
 
 Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert 
 grim, 
 Uglr, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb. 
 Full '){ unpleasing blots, and sightless* stains, 
 Lame, foolish, crooked, swarth, prodigious,' 
 Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, 
 I would not care, I then would be content; 
 For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
 Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
 But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy ! 
 Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
 Of nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast. 
 And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, O ! 
 She is corrupted, changed, and won from thee ; 
 She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ; 
 And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
 To tread down fair respect of sovereignty, 
 And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
 France is the bawd to fortune, and king John ; 
 That strumpet fortune, that usurping John : — 
 Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ? 
 Envenom him with words; or get thee gone. 
 And leave those woes alone, which f alone 
 Ain bound to under-bear. 
 
 Sal. Pardon me, madam, 
 
 I may not go without you to the kings. 
 
 Const. Thou mayst, thou shalt, I will not go with 
 thee: 
 I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; 
 For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
 To me, and to the state ^ of my great grief. 
 Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great. 
 That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
 Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 
 
 \_She throws herself on the ground. 
 
 Enterl^i'SG John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, 
 Elinoh, Bastard, Austiua, and Attendants. 
 
 K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed 
 day 
 Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
 To solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
 Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist; 
 Turning, with splendor of his precious eye. 
 The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
 The yearly course, that brings this day about, 
 Shall never see it but a holyday. 
 
 Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! 
 
 [Rising. 
 What hath this day dcserv'd ; what hath it done ; 
 That i; in golden letters should be set, 
 Among the high tides, in the calendar? 
 Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ; 
 This day of shame, oppression, perjury: 
 Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child 
 Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day, 
 Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd: 
 But on this day. let seamen fear no wreck, 
 • Unsightly. » Monstrous. » Dignity. 
 
 No bargains break, that are not this day made ; 
 This day, all things begun come to ill end ; 
 Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 
 
 K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have nocausi 
 To curse the fair proceedings of this day : 
 Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty 1 
 
 Const. You have beguil'd me with a countcrfcil. 
 Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd and tried, 
 Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn ; 
 You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
 But now in arms you strengthen it with yours; 
 The grappling vigor and rough frown of war, 
 Is cold in amity and painted peace. 
 And our oppression hath made up this league : — 
 Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kin go! 
 A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
 Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
 Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset. 
 Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings ! 
 Hear me, O, hear me ! 
 
 Aust. Lady Constance, peace. 
 
 Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war 
 
 Lymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame 
 
 That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou 
 
 coward ; 
 Thou little valiant, great in villany ! 
 Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
 Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
 But when her humorous ladyship is by 
 To teach thee safety ! thou art perjur'd too. 
 And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou, 
 A ramping fool ; to brag, and stamp, and swear. 
 Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave. 
 Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side 1 
 Been sworn my soldier ] bidding me depend 
 Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength' 
 And dost thou now fall over to my foes? 
 Thou wear a lion's hide ! dofifit^ for shame. 
 And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to 
 me ! 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant 
 limbs. 
 
 Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life, 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant 
 limbs. 
 
 K. John. We like not this: thou dost forgetthysiilf 
 
 Enter Pandulph. 
 K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the poj e. 
 Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven ! — 
 To thee, king John, my holy errand is. 
 
 1 Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, 
 And from pope Innocent the legate here. 
 Do, in his name, religiously demand. 
 
 Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
 So wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce. 
 Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
 Of Canterbury, from that holy see? 
 This in our 'foresaid holy father's name, 
 Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 
 
 K. John. What earthly name to interrogatoriea 
 Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 
 Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
 So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous. 
 To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
 Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England 
 Add thus much more, — That no Italian pri^'st 
 Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; 
 • Put it ofl. 
 
SCKNE 1. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Si'd 
 
 But as wc under heaven are supreme head 
 So, under him, that great supremacy, 
 Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
 Without the assistance of a mortal hand : 
 So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart. 
 To him, and his usurp'd authority. 
 
 A' Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in 
 this. 
 
 A', fo/m. Though you, and all the kings of Chris- 
 tendom, 
 Are led so grossly by this meddling priest. 
 Dreading the curse that money may buy out ; 
 And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
 Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, 
 Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself: 
 Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led. 
 This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish; 
 Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose 
 Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. 
 
 Panel. Then, by the lawful power that I have. 
 Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate : 
 And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt 
 From his allegiance to a heretic ; 
 And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
 Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint. 
 That takes away by any secret course 
 Thy hateful life. 
 
 Const. O, lawful let it be. 
 
 That I have room with Rome to curse a while ! 
 Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen. 
 To my keen curses ; for, without my wrong. 
 There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 
 
 Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. 
 
 Const. And for mine too; when law can do no right, 
 f-ct it be lawful that law bar no wrong : 
 Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ; 
 For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law : 
 Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, 
 How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? 
 
 Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, 
 Let go the hand of that arch-heretic ; 
 And raise (he power of France upon his head, 
 Unless he do submit himself to Rome. [hand. 
 
 Ell. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy 
 
 Const. Look to that, devill lest that France repent. 
 And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. 
 
 Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf's skin on his recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these 
 Bi^cause [wrongs, 
 
 Bast. Your breeches best may cany them. 
 
 K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal ? 
 
 Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal ? 
 
 2#?u?. Bethink you, father : for the difference 
 Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
 Or the light loss of England for a friend : 
 Foreg:; the easier. 
 
 Blayich. That's the curse of Rome. 
 
 Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee 
 In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. [here, 
 
 Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her 
 But from her need. [faith. 
 
 Const. O, if thou grant my need. 
 
 Which only lives but by the death of faith, 
 
 That need must needs infer this princijjle, 
 
 That faith would live again by df-ath of need ; 
 0, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up ; 
 Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. [this. 
 
 K.John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to 
 
 Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. 
 
 Aust, Do so, king Philip; hang no more in 
 doubt. 
 
 Bast. Hang nothing but a calfs skin, most sweet 
 lout. 
 
 K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. 
 
 Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee 
 more, 
 If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd ] 
 
 K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person 
 yours. 
 And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. 
 This royal hand and mine are newly knit; 
 And the conjunction of our inward souls 
 Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
 With all religious strength of sacred vows; 
 The latest breath that gave the sound of words. 
 Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amit}', true love. 
 Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves ; 
 And even before this truce, but new before, — 
 No longer than we well could wash our hands, 
 
 To clap this royal bargain up of peace, 
 
 Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd 
 Wiih slaughter's pencil ; where revenge did paint 
 The fearful difference of incensed kings : 
 And shall these hands so lately purged of blood. 
 So newly join'd in love, so strong in both. 
 Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet 1 ^ 
 Play fast and loose with faith 1 so jest with heaven 
 Make such unconstant children of ourselves. 
 As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; 
 Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage bed 
 Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 
 And make a riot on the gentle brow 
 Of true sincerity ? O holy sir. 
 My reverend father, let it not be so : 
 Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
 Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd 
 To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 
 
 Paiid. All form is formless, order ordeitless. 
 Save what is opposite to England's love. 
 Therefore, to arms ! be champion of our church ! 
 Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse 
 A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
 France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, 
 A cased lion by the mortal paw, 
 A fasting tiger safer by the tooth. 
 Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. 
 
 K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but net my faith. 
 
 Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; 
 And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath. 
 Thy tongue against thy tongue. 0, let thy vow 
 First made to heaven, first be to heaven perfbrm'd ; 
 That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
 What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thysellj 
 And may not be performed by thyself; 
 For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, 
 Is not amiss when it is truly done ; 
 And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
 The truth is then most done not doing it : 
 The better act of purposes mistook 
 Is, to mistake again; though indirect, 
 Yet indirection thereby grows direct. 
 And liilsehood, liilsehood cures ; as fire cools fire 
 Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. 
 It is religion, that doth make vows kept; 
 But thou hast sworn against religion; 
 By what thou swearst, against the thing thov 
 
 swear'st ; 
 And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth 
 * Exchange of salutation 
 
850 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act Hi 
 
 Agaii'/I an ofith.: The truth thou art unsure 
 To swear, swear only not to bo forsworn : 
 Else, what a mockery should it be to swear? 
 But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; 
 And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. 
 Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first. 
 Is in thyself rebellion to thyself: 
 And better conquest never canst thou make, 
 Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
 Against those giddy loose suggestions : 
 Upon which better part our prayers come in, 
 If thou vouchsafe them : but, if not, then know. 
 The peril of our curses light on thee ; 
 So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off. 
 But, in despair, die under their black weight. 
 Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! 
 Bast. Will'tnotbe? 
 
 Will not a calf's skin stop that mouth of thine ] 
 Lew. Father, to arms! 
 
 Blanch. Upon thy wedding day 1 
 
 Against the blood that thou hast married 1 
 What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered 
 
 men 1 
 Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, — 
 Clamors of hell, — be measures' to our pomp '' 
 O, husband, hear me ! — 'ah, alack, how new 
 Is husband in my mouth ! — even for that name. 
 Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce. 
 Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 
 Against mine uncle. 
 
 Const. O, upon my knee. 
 
 Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee. 
 Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
 Fore-thought by heaven. 
 
 Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; what motive may 
 Be stronger with thee than the name of wifel 
 Const. That which upholdcth him that thee up- 
 holds. 
 His honor; O, thine honor, Lewis, thine honor! 
 
 Lew. I muse," your majesty doth seem so cold, 
 When such profound respects do pull you on. 
 Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 
 K. Phi. Thou shalt not need:— England, I'll 
 
 fall from thee. 
 Const. fair return of banish'd majesty ! 
 Eli. foul revolt of French inconstancy! 
 K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within 
 
 this hour. 
 Bast. Old Time, the clock-setter, that bald sexton 
 Time, 
 Is it as he will ] well then, France shall rue. 
 Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood ; Fair day, 
 adieu ! 
 Which is the side that I must go withal 1 
 I am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
 And, in their rage, I having hold of both, 
 They whirl asunder, and dismember me. 
 Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win ; 
 Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose; 
 Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
 Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive : 
 Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
 Assured loss before the match be play'd. 
 
 Lew. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies. 
 Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my 
 
 life dies. 
 K John. Cousin, go draw our puissance'' to- 
 gether. — [^Exit Bastard. 
 France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
 » Music for dancinft « Wonder. •■ Force. 
 
 A rage, whose heat hath this conditicm. 
 That nothing can allay, nothing but blood. 
 The blood, and dearest-valued blood of France. 
 K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou 
 thalt turn 
 To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : 
 Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 
 
 K. John. No more than he that threats. — la 
 arms let's hie! \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Plains near Angiers. 
 
 Alarums,- Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with 
 Austria's head. 
 
 Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous 
 hot; 
 Some airy devil hovers in the sky, 
 And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there, 
 While Philip breathes. 
 
 Enter King Jouin^, Autuuu, and Hubert. 
 
 K. John. Hubert, keep this boy: — Philip, make up; 
 My mother is assailed in our tent, 
 And ta'en, I fear. 
 
 Bast. My lord, I rescued her; 
 
 Her highness is in safety, fear you not : 
 But on, my liege : for very little pains 
 Will bring this labor to a happy end. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. 
 
 Alarums; Excursions,- Retreat. Enter King Joan, 
 
 Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and 
 
 Lords. 
 
 K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay 
 behind, [To Elinor. 
 
 So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad : 
 
 [To Arthur, 
 Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
 As dear be to thee as thy father was. 
 
 Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grie£ 
 
 K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard,] away for 
 England; haste before: 
 And ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
 Of hoarding abbots ; angels' imprison'd 
 Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace 
 Must by the hungry now be fed upon : 
 Use our commission in its utmost force. 
 
 Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive ma 
 back. 
 When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
 I leave your highness: — Grandam, I will pray 
 (If ever I remember to be holy) 
 For your fair safety ; so I kiss your hand. 
 
 Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. 
 
 K. John. Coz, farewell. 
 
 [Exit Bastard 
 
 Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word 
 [She takes Arthur aside 
 
 K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentU 
 Hubert, 
 We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh 
 There is a soul, counts thee her creditor. 
 And with advantage means to pay thy love: 
 And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
 Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
 Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — 
 But I will lit it with some better time. 
 By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed 
 To say what good respect I have of thee. 
 
 Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. 
 • Gold coin. 
 
t^CENE IV. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 35j 
 
 K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to 
 say so yet: 
 But thou shalthave; and creep time ne'er so slow, 
 Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
 I had a thing to say,- — hut let it go : 
 Tlu! sun is in the heaven, and the proud da}', 
 Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
 Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,' 
 To give me audience : — If the midnight bell 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; 
 If this same were a church-yard where we stand. 
 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; 
 Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, 
 Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick; 
 (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins. 
 Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
 A passion hateful to my purposes;) 
 Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, 
 Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
 Without a tongue, using conceit' alone. 
 Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
 Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, 
 I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts: 
 But, ah, I will not : — Yet I love thee well ; 
 And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well. 
 
 Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake. 
 Though that my death were adjunct' to my act, 
 By heaven, I'd do't. 
 
 A". John. Do not I know, thou wouldst] 
 
 Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
 On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend, 
 He is a very serpent in my way ; 
 And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
 He lies before me: Dost thou understand me] 
 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 Huh. And I will keep him so, 
 
 That he shall not offend your majesty. 
 
 K.John. Death. 
 
 Hub. My lord 1 
 
 K. John. A grave. 
 
 Hub. He shall not live. 
 
 K. John. Enough. 
 
 I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee; 
 Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee; 
 
 Remember. Madam, fare you well : 
 
 I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. 
 
 Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 
 
 K. John. For England, cousin: 
 
 Hubert shall be your man, attend on you 
 With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE lY.-Tfiesame. The French King's Tent. 
 
 Enter King Puilip, Lewis, Pandulph, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 A'. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
 A whole armado' of convicted* sail 
 Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. 
 
 Vund. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. 
 
 K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run 
 so ill? 
 ^re we not beaten 1 Is not Angiers lost] 
 (Arthur ta'en prisonerl divers dear friends slain 1 
 And bloody England into England gone, 
 O'erbearing interrupt, on, spite of France ] 
 
 * Showy trnunicnts. 
 
 » > i'ltet of war. 
 
 * Conception. 
 
 * Overcome. 
 
 Leio. What he hath won, that hath he fortified 
 So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd. 
 Such temperate order in so fierce a cause 
 Doth want example : Who hath read, or heard, 
 Of any kindred action like to this? 
 
 A'. Phi. Well could I bear that England had thit 
 praise, 
 So we could find some pattern of our sha'ne. 
 
 Enter Constance. 
 
 liOok, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul; 
 
 Holding the eternal spirit, again.st her will. 
 
 In the vile prison of atilicted Ijreath: — 
 
 I pr'ythee, lady, go away with inc. 
 
 Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace ! 
 K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Con- 
 Co?? .s/. No, I defy' all counsel, all redress, [stance! 
 
 But that which ends all counsel, true redress, 
 
 Death, death : — O amiable lovely Death ! 
 
 Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
 
 Arise forth from the couch of lasting night. 
 
 Thou hate and terror to prosperity, 
 
 And I will kiss thy detestable bones; 
 
 And put my eye-balls in thy vanity brows; 
 
 And ring these fingers with thy household worms; 
 
 And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust. 
 
 And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
 
 Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st, 
 
 And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
 
 O, come to me. 
 
 K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. 
 
 Const. No, no, I will not, having breath t€ 
 cry:- • 
 
 that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! 
 Then with a passion would I shake the world; 
 And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy. 
 Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice. 
 Which scorns a modern'' invocation. 
 
 Pand. liady, you utter madness, and not sorrow 
 Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so; 
 
 1 am not mad : this hair I tear, is mine ; 
 
 My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; 
 Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: 
 I am not mad ; I would to heaven, I were! 
 For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: 
 O, if I could, what grief should I forget! — 
 Preach some philosophy to make me mad. 
 And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; 
 For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, 
 My reasonable ])art produces reason 
 How I may be deliver'd of these woes. 
 And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
 If I were mad, I should forget my son: 
 Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he : 
 I ain not mad ; too well, too well I feci 
 The different plague of each calamity. 
 
 K. Phi. Bind up those tresses: O, what love I note 
 In the fair multitude of those her hairs! 
 Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, 
 Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends 
 Do glew themselves in sociable grief; 
 Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, 
 Sticking together in calamity. 
 
 Const. To England, if you will. 
 
 K. Phi. Bind up your hairs 
 
 Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will 
 do it? 
 I tore them from their bonds: and cried aloud, 
 O that these hands could so redeem my son, 
 • Kcfuso. * CommoB 
 
862 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act III. Scene fV 
 
 As they have given these hairs their liberty! 
 
 But now I envy at their liberty, 
 
 And will again commit them to their bonds, 
 
 Because my poor child is a prisoner. 
 
 And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, 
 
 That we shall see and know our friends in heaven ; 
 
 If that be true, I shall see my boy again: 
 
 For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 
 
 To him that did but yesterday suspire,' 
 
 There was not such a gracious' creature born. 
 
 But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. 
 
 And chase the native beauty from his cheek. 
 
 And he will look as hollow as a ghost; 
 
 As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; 
 
 And so lic'll die ; and, rising so again. 
 
 When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 
 
 I shall not know him : therefore never, never 
 
 Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 
 
 Panel. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 
 
 Const. He talks to me that never had a son. 
 
 K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child 
 
 Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
 Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
 Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
 Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
 StuSs out his vacant garments with his form ; 
 Then have I reason to be fond of grief. 
 Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 
 I could give better comfort than you do. — 
 I will not keep this form upon my head, 
 
 [ Tearing off her head-dress. 
 When there is such disorder in my wit. 
 O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
 My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
 My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure. [Exit. 
 
 K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lew. There's nothing in this world can make 
 me joy : 
 Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, 
 Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; 
 And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's 
 
 taste, 
 That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. 
 
 Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, 
 Even in the instant of repair and health, 
 The fit is strongest ; evils that take leave. 
 On their departure most of all show evil : 
 What have you lost, by losing of this day 1 
 
 Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 
 
 Pand. If you had won it, certainly you had. 
 No, no : when fortune means to men most good. 
 She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 
 *Tis strange, to think how much king John hath 
 
 lost 
 In this which he accounts so clearly won : 
 Are not you griev'dthat Arthur is his prisoner! 
 
 Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. 
 
 Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. 
 Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; 
 For even the breath of what I mean to speak 
 
 ^ Breathe. 
 
 ■ Qraoefiil. 
 
 Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, 
 Out of the path which shall directly lead 
 Thy foot to England's throne ; and, therefore, 'iiaik 
 John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be. 
 That, whiles warm life play in that infant's veins 
 The misplaced John should entertain an hour, 
 One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest: 
 A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand, 
 Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd: 
 And he that stands upon a slippery place, 
 Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up: 
 That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall 
 So be it, for it cannot be but so. 
 
 Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur'* 
 fain 
 
 Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch, yoit 
 wife, 
 May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 
 
 Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 
 
 Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this olil 
 world ! 
 John lays you plots; the times conspire with you: 
 For he that steeps his safety in true blood, 
 Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. 
 This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts 
 Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ; 
 That none so small advantage <hall step forth. 
 To check his rpign, but they wi 1 cherish it: 
 No natural exhalation in the sky. 
 No scape of nature, no distemper'd day, 
 No common wind, no customed event. 
 But they will pluck away his natural cause, 
 And call them meteors, prodigies, anu signs. 
 Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven. 
 Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 
 
 Lew. May be, he will not touch young Vrthur'a 
 life. 
 But holds himself safe in his prisonmeni 
 
 Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach. 
 If that young Arthur be not gone already. 
 Even at that news he dies : and then the heart 
 Of all his people shall revolt from him. 
 And kiss the lips of unacquainted change: 
 And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath, 
 Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. 
 Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot; 
 And, 0, what better matter breeds for you, 
 Than I have named !— The bastard Faulconbridge 
 Is now in England, ransacking the church. 
 Offending charity ; If but a dozen French 
 Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
 To train ten thousand English to their side; 
 Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, 
 Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, 
 Go with me to the king: 'Tis wonderful. 
 What may be wrought out of their discontent 
 Now that their souls are topful of offence. 
 For England go ; I will whet on the king. 
 
 Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions; La 
 us go; 
 If you say, ay the k-ng will not say, no. [Ejreuiu 
 
Ant IV. Scene I. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 '6'.,n 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 8CENE 1. — Northampton. A Roominthe Castle, 
 
 Enter Hubert and two Attendants. 
 
 Hub. Heat mc tlicse irons hot: and look thou 
 stand 
 Within the arras :° when I strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : 
 And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
 Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. 
 1 Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the 
 
 deed. 
 Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look 
 to't. — f Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 Voung lad, come forth; I have to say with you. 
 
 Enter AnTHun. 
 
 ArtJi. Good-morrow, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Good-morrow, little prince. 
 
 Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
 'Yo be more prince) as may be. — You arc sad. 
 
 Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
 
 Arth. Mercy on me ! 
 
 Mcthinks, no body should be sad byt I: 
 Yet I remember, when I was in France, 
 Young gentlemen would be as sad as night. 
 Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
 So I were out of prison and kept sheep, 
 I should be merry as the day is long; 
 And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
 My uncle practises more harm to me : 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him: 
 Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ■? 
 No, indeed, is'tnot ; And I would to heaven, 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. If I talk to him, with Lis innocent prate 
 He will awake my mc^cy which lies dead: 
 Therefore, I will be sudden and oespatch. \_Aside. 
 
 Arth. Are you sick, Hubert] you look pale to- 
 day : 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick. 
 That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
 I warrant I love you more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. 
 Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.^ How 
 now, foolish rheum : [Aside. 
 
 Turning dispiteous torture out of door! 
 I must be brief; lest resolution drop 
 (<ut at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. — 
 (^an you not read it? is it not fair writ? 
 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyesi 
 
 Hub Young boy, I must. 
 
 Arth And will you ? 
 
 Hub. And I will. 
 
 Arth Have you the heart? When your head did 
 but arlie, 
 I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
 (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
 And I did never ask it you again : 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
 Still and anon cheerM up the heavy time ; 
 feay ing, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? 
 Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
 
 Tapestry 
 
 Many a poor man's son would have lain still 
 And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you,- 
 But you at your sick service had a prince. 
 Nay, you may think my love was crafty lovt 
 And call it cunning; Do, an if you will: 
 If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, 
 Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eye* 
 These eyes, that never did, nor never shall. 
 So much as frown on you? 
 
 Hub. I have sworn to in 
 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age. would do it . 
 The iron of itself, though heat red-hot. 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tearsv 
 And quench his fiery indignation. 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron 1 
 An if an angel should have come to me, 
 And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's, 
 
 Hub. Come forth. [Stamps 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with Cord, Irons, S(c. 
 
 Do as I bid you do. 
 
 Arth. 0, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes 
 are out, 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
 
 Arth. Alas ! what need you be so boist'rous rough? 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away. 
 And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 Nor look upon the iron angerly: 
 Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 
 Whatever torment you do put me to. 
 
 Hub. Go stand within ; let me alone with him. 
 
 I Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a 
 deed. [Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend; 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart: — 
 Let hitn come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote 
 in yours, 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair. 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense! 
 Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your 
 tongue. 
 
 Arth. Hubert, (he utterance of a brace of tonguei 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: 
 Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
 So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes; 
 Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it. bos. 
 
354 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Arth . No, in good sooth : the fire is dead with 
 grief, 
 Being create for comfort, to be used 
 In undcserv'd extremes :' See else, yourself; 
 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
 And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: 
 Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight. 
 Snatch at his master that doth tan-e^ him on. 
 All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
 Deny their office : only you do lack 
 That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, 
 Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes 
 For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :^ 
 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy. 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. 0, now you lookhke Hubert! all this while 
 You were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu; 
 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
 I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
 Will not offend thee. 
 
 Arth. heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely* in with me ; 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE n— ^ Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King John, crowned; Pembroke, Salis- 
 BuiiT, and other Lords. The King takes his State, 
 
 K. John. Here once again we sit, once again 
 crown'd. 
 And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 
 
 Pern. This once again, but that your highness 
 pleas'd. 
 Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before, 
 And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd oiT; 
 The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; 
 Fresh expectation troubled not the land, 
 With any long'd-for change, or better state. 
 
 Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp. 
 To guard' a title that was rich before, 
 To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the violet. 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
 To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,^ 
 Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 
 
 Peni. But that your royal pleasure must be done, 
 This act is as an ancient tale new told ; 
 And, in the last repeating, troublesome. 
 Being urged at a time unseasonable. 
 
 Sal. In this the antique and well-noted face 
 Of plain old form is much disfigured : 
 And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,' 
 It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about : 
 Startles and frights consideration ; 
 Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 
 For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 
 
 Pern. When workmen strive to do better than well, 
 
 « In cruelty I have not deserved. • Set him on. 
 
 » Owns. « Secretly. 
 
 • Lace. • Decorate. 
 
 They do confound their skill in covetousness :' 
 
 And, oft;entimes, excusing of a fault, 
 
 Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; 
 
 As patches set upon a little breach. 
 
 Discredit more in hiding of the fault, 
 
 Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 
 
 <S'ff/. To this efl(5ct before you were new crov/n'c^ 
 We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your high 
 
 ness 
 To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd; 
 Since all and every part of what we would, 
 Doth make a stand at what your highness wL'!. 
 
 K. John. Some reasons of this double coronstion 
 I have possess'd you with, and think them strong 
 And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) 
 I shall indue you with : Mean time, but ask 
 What you would have reform'd that is not well ; 
 And well shall you perceive, how willingly 
 I will both hear and grant you your requests. 
 
 Pern. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these 
 To sound' the purposes of all their hearts,) 
 Both for myself and them, (but chief of all, 
 Your safety, for the which myself and them 
 Bend their best studies,) heartily request 
 The enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraint 
 Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
 To break into this dangerous argument, — 
 If, what in rest you have, in right you hold. 
 Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend 
 The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up 
 Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
 With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
 The rich advantage of good exercise ? 
 That the time's enemies may not have this 
 To grace occasions, let it be our suit. 
 That you have bid us ask his liberty ; 
 Which for our goods we do no further ask. 
 Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, 
 Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. 
 
 K. John. Let it be so ; I do commit his youth 
 
 Enter Hubert. 
 
 To your direction. — Hubert, what news with youl 
 
 Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed 
 He shovv'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
 The image of a wicked heinous fault 
 Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
 Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; 
 And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done, 
 What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 
 
 Sal. The color of the king doth come and go, 
 Between his purpose and his conscience. 
 Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: 
 His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 
 
 Pern. And, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence 
 The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 
 
 K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong 
 hand : — 
 Good lords, although my will to give is living. 
 The suit which you demand is gone and dead : 
 He tells us, Arthur is deccas'd to-night. 
 
 Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past ure 
 
 Pern. Indeed we heard how near his death he was, 
 Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
 This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. 
 
 K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows oa 
 me? 
 Think you, I bear the shears of destiny 1 
 Have I commandment on the pulse of life? 
 
 ' Desire of excelling. • PuMisa 
 
.-•OKNE II. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 35n 
 
 Sal. It IS apparent foul play; and 'tis shame, 
 That greatness should so grossly offer it: 
 Ro thrive it in your game ! and so farewell. 
 
 I'.'ni. Stay yet, lord Sa!ishury ; I'll go with thee, 
 \. lid fmd the inheritance of this poor child, 
 This little kingdom of a forced grave. 
 That Wood, which ow'd' the breadth of all this isle, 
 'Throe foot of it doth hold : Bad world the while ! 
 This must not be thus borne : this will break out 
 To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. 
 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 
 A. John. They burn in indignation; I repent; 
 riicrc is no turc foundation set on blood ; 
 \e certain life achiev'd by others' death. 
 
 Eiiier a Messenger. 
 
 A fearful eye thou hast: Where is that blood, 
 That I have seen inhabit in those checks? 
 So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 
 Pour down thy weather : — How goes all in France! 
 
 Mess. From France to England. — Never such a 
 power 
 For any foreign preparation. 
 Was levied in the body of a land ! 
 The copy of your speed iu learn'd by them ; 
 For, when you should be told they do prepare. 
 The tidhigs come, that they are all arriv'd. 
 
 K. John. 0, where hath our intelligence been 
 drunk 7 
 Where hath it slept] Where is my mother's care, 
 Tliat such an army could be drawn in France, 
 And she not hear of it 1 
 
 Mess. My liege, her car 
 
 Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died 
 Your noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord. 
 The lady Constance in a frenzy died 
 Three days before : but this from rumor's tongue 
 I idly heard ; if true, or false, I know not. 
 
 K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ; 
 0, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
 My discontented peers! — What! mother dead] 
 How wildly then walks my estate in France ! — 
 Under whose conduct came those powers of France, 
 That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here ] 
 
 Mess. Under the Dauphin. 
 
 Enter the Bastard and Peteh of Pomfret. 
 
 K. John, Thou hast made me giddy 
 
 With these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world 
 To your proceedings] do not seek to stuff 
 My head with more ill news, for it is full. 
 
 Bast. But, if you be afcard to hear the worst. 
 Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. 
 
 K, John. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was amaz'd 
 Under the tide; but now I breathe again 
 "Moft the Hood; and can give audience 
 To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 
 
 Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, 
 Tlie sums I have collected shall express. 
 But, as I travelled hither through the land, 
 I find the people strangel}' fantasied ; 
 Possess'd with rumors, full of idle dreams; 
 Not knowing what they tear, but full of fear: 
 And here's a prophet, that I l)rought with me 
 From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 
 With many hundreds treading on his heels; 
 To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, 
 I'hat, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, 
 '''■■ur highness should deliver up your crown. 
 
 • Owned. 
 
 K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou 
 so] 
 
 Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so 
 K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison him 
 And on that day at noon, whereon, he says, 
 I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd: 
 Deliver him to safety,' and return. 
 For I must use thee. — O my gentle cousin, 
 
 [Exit HuiiKiiT, ',vtfh Peteji. 
 Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd] 
 Bast, The French, my lord ; men's mouths are 
 full of it: 
 Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, 
 (With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,) 
 And others more, going to seek the grave 
 Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-nighl 
 On your suggestion. 
 
 K.John. Gentle kinsman, go, 
 
 And thrust thyself into their companies : 
 I have a way to win their loves again ; 
 Bring them before me. 
 
 Bast. I will seek them out. 
 
 K. John. Nay, but make haste ; the better foot 
 
 before. 
 
 O, let me have no subject enemies, 
 M^hen adverse foreigners affright my towns 
 With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! — 
 Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels ; 
 And fly, like thought, from them to me again. 
 Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentle- 
 man. — 
 Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need 
 Some messenger betwixt me and the peers; 
 And be thou he. 
 
 Mess. With all my heart, my liege. 
 
 [Exit 
 K. John. My mother dead ! 
 
 Re-enter Hubert. 
 
 Huh. My lord, they say, five moons were seei 
 to-night : 
 Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
 The other four, in wond'rous motion. 
 
 K. John. Five moons ] 
 
 Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets 
 
 Do prophecy upon it dangerously ; 
 Young Artlmr's death is common in their mouths : 
 And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
 And whisper one another in the ear ; 
 And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hc^nrer's wrist; 
 Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action. 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
 I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus. 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand. 
 Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
 That were embattled and rank'd in Kent: 
 Another lean unwash'd artificer 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 
 K.John. Why seek'st thou to possess mewilh 
 . these fears ] 
 Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death? 
 Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had mighty caus« 
 To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him 
 « Safe custody. 
 
^56 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Hub. Had none, my lord ! why, did you not pro- 
 voke me? 
 K. John. It is the curse of kings, to bo attended 
 By slaves, that take their humors for a warrant 
 To break within the bloody house of life : 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 To understand a law; to know the meaning 
 Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
 More upon humor than advis'd respect.^ 
 
 Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 
 K.John. 0, when the last account 'twixt heaven 
 and earth 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 Witness against us to damnation! 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, 
 Makes deeds ill done ! Hadest not thou been by, 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd. 
 Quoted,' and ?ign'd, to do a deed of shame, 
 This murder had not come into my mind: 
 But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villany. 
 Apt, liable, to bo employ'd in danger, 
 I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
 And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
 Made it no ronscience to destroy a prince. 
 
 Hub. M} lord, 
 
 'K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or 
 made a pause, 
 When I spake darkly what I purposed; 
 Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face. 
 As bid me tell my tale in express words; 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break 
 
 off. 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me: 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
 And didst in signs again parley with sin : 
 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
 And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 
 The deed, which both our tongues held vile to 
 
 name, — 
 Out of my sight, and never see me morel 
 My nobles leave me ; and my state is braved. 
 Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : 
 Nay in the body of this fleshly land. 
 This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
 Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
 Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. 
 
 Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
 I'll make a peace between your soul and you. 
 Young Arthur is alive : This hand of mine 
 [s yet a maiden and an innocent hand. 
 Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
 Within this bosom never enter'd yet 
 The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought, 
 And you have slander'd nature in my form ; 
 Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, 
 Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
 Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 
 
 K. John, Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the 
 peers. 
 Throw this report on their incensed rage. 
 And make them tame to their obedience ! 
 Forgive the comment that my passion made 
 Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind, 
 And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
 Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
 0, answer not; but to my closet bring 
 The angry lords, with all expedient haste: 
 \ ciJnjure thee but slowly; run more fast. [_Exeunt. 
 » D-jliberate consideration. » Noted, observed. 
 
 SCENE UL— Before the Castle 
 Enter AnxHun, on the Walls. 
 
 Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down; 
 Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! — 
 There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did. 
 This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd mc quite 
 I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it. 
 If I get down, and do r-^t break my limbs, 
 I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : 
 As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. 
 
 [Leaps down 
 O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones: — 
 Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! 
 
 IDies. 
 
 Enter Pembroke, Salisbuht, and Bigot. 
 
 Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's 
 Bury; 
 It is our safety, and we must embrace 
 This gentle offer of the perilous time. 
 
 Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinall 
 
 Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France; 
 Whose private with me,' of the Dauphin's love, 
 Is much more general than these lines import. 
 
 Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. 
 
 Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for 'iwill be 
 Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd' 
 lords ! 
 The king, by me, requests your presence straight. 
 
 Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us; 
 We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
 With our pure honors, nor attend the foot 
 That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks : 
 Return, and tell him so; we know the worst. 
 Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, 
 
 were best. 
 Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. 
 Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; 
 j Therefore, 'twere reason you had manners now. 
 j Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 
 ! Bast. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else. 
 I Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here 1 
 j [Seeing Arthuh. 
 
 I Pern. O death, made proud with pure and prince- 
 1 ly beauty ! 
 
 The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 
 
 <S'«/. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
 Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 
 
 Big. Or when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, 
 Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 
 
 Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ? Have you 
 beheld, 
 Or have you read, or heard? or could you thinks 
 Or do you almost tliink, although you see, 
 That you do see 1 could thought, without this object. 
 Form such another? This is the very top. 
 The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. 
 Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame, 
 The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, 
 That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage. 
 Presented to the tears of soft remorse.^ 
 
 Pern. All murders past do stand excused iji thisi 
 And this, so sole, and so unmatchable, 
 Shall give a hohness, a purity. 
 To the yet-unbegotten sin of time ; 
 * Private account. ' Out of humor. ^ Pity 
 
a'CENE III. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 357 
 
 And prove a de&dly bloodshed but a jes*,, 
 Examplcd by this heinous spectacle. 
 
 Bast It is a damned and a bloody work; 
 The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
 [i that it be the work of any hand. 
 
 Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — 
 We had a kind of light, what would ensue: 
 It is tiic shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
 I'he pracldcc, and the purpose, of the king : — 
 From wnose obedience I forbid my soul, 
 Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life. 
 And breathing to his breathless excellence 
 The incense of a vow, a holy vow ; 
 Never to taste the pleasures of the world. 
 Never to be infected with delight, 
 Nor conversant with case and idleness. 
 Till I have set a glory to this hand. 
 By giving it the worship of revenge. 
 
 Pein. Big. Our souls religiously conSrm thy 
 words. 
 
 Enter Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you : 
 Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you. 
 
 Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death: — 
 Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 
 
 Hub. I am no villain. 
 
 Sal. Must I rob the law? 
 
 [Drawing his swoi'd. 
 
 Bast. Your sword is bright, sir: put it up again. 
 
 Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. 
 
 Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back,I say; 
 By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours: 
 [ would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
 Nor tempt the danger of my true' defence ; 
 Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
 Your worth, your greatness, and nobility, [man 1 
 
 Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a noble- 
 
 Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend 
 My innocent life against an emperor. 
 
 Sal. Thou art a murderer. 
 
 Hub. Do not prove me so ;" 
 
 Yet, I am none : Whose tongue so'er speaks false, 
 Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 
 
 Pern. Cut him to pieces. 
 
 Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 
 
 Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 
 
 Ba^t. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury : 
 If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
 Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
 I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ; 
 Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron. 
 That }'ou shall think the devil is come from hell. 
 
 Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulcon- 
 Second a villain, and a murderer ] [hridge 1 
 
 Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. 
 
 Big. Who kill'd this prince 1 
 
 Hub. 'Tis no', an hour since I left him well : 
 I honor'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep 
 My date of life oat, for his sweet life's loss. 
 
 ' Honest. ' By compelling me to kill you. 
 
 Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of hio eyea, 
 For villany is not without such rheum ;' 
 And he, long traded in it, makes it seem 
 Like rivers of remorse ' and innocency. 
 Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor 
 The uncleanly savors of a slaughter-house. 
 For I am stifled with this smell of sin. 
 
 B^ig. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there. 
 
 Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out 
 
 [Exeunt Lord* 
 
 Bast. Here's a good world! — Knew you of this fair 
 Beyond the infinite and boundless reach [work ' 
 Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death. 
 Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 
 
 Bast. Ha ! I'll tell thee what ; [black ; 
 
 Thou art damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so 
 Thou art more dcep-damn'd than prince Lucifer i 
 There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell 
 As tliou shall be, if thou didst kill this child. 
 
 Hub. Upon my soul, . 
 
 Bast. If thou didst but consent 
 
 To this most cruel act, do but despair. 
 And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
 That ever spider twisted from her womb 
 Will serve to strangle thee : a rush will be 
 A beam to hang thee on ; or wouldst thou drown 
 Put but a little water in a spoon, [thyself. 
 
 And it shall be as all the ocean. 
 
 Enough to stifle such a villain up. 
 
 I do suspect thee very grievously. 
 
 Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought. 
 Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
 Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, 
 Let hell want pains enough to torture me ! 
 I left him well. 
 
 Bast. Go bear him in thine arms. — 
 
 I am amaz'd, methinks ; and lose my way 
 Among the thorns and dangers of this world 
 How easy dost thou take all England up! 
 From forth this morsel of dead royalty, 
 The life, the right, and truth of all this realm 
 Is fled to heaven; and England now is left 
 To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth 
 The unowed^ interest of proud swelling state. 
 Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty, 
 Doth dogged war bristle his angiy crest. 
 And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: 
 Now powers from home, and discontents at homo^ 
 Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits 
 (As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast) 
 The imminent decay of wrested pomp. 
 Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture' can 
 Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, 
 And follow me with speed; I'll to the king: 
 A thousand businesses are brief in hand. 
 And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. 
 
 [Exeun%. 
 
 • Moi.sture. 
 » Unowned. 
 
 « Pity. 
 • Girdle. 
 
 24 
 
358 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 AoT.V 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King John, Pandulph with the Crown, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 A'. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
 The circle of my glory. 
 
 Pand. Take again 
 
 [Giving John the Croivn. 
 From this my hand, as holding of the pope, 
 Your sovereign greatness and authority. 
 
 K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet 
 the French; 
 And from his holiness use all your power 
 To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflamed. 
 Our discontented counties do revolt ; 
 Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
 Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul. 
 To stranger blood, to foreign loyalty. 
 This inundation of distemper'd humoi 
 Rests by you only to be qualified. 
 Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick. 
 That present medicine must be minister'd. 
 Or overthrow incurable ensues. 
 
 Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, 
 Upon your stubborn usage of the pope : 
 But since you arc a gentic convertitc,* 
 My tongue shall hush again this storm of war. 
 And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
 On this Ascension-day, remember well, 
 Upon your oath of service to the pope, 
 Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit. 
 
 K. John. Is this Ascension-day 1 Did not the 
 prophet 
 Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, 
 My crown I should give off] Even so I have: 
 I did suppose it should be on constraint; 
 Rut heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 
 
 Enfe?- the Bastard. 
 
 Bast, All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds 
 out, 
 But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd. 
 Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers : 
 Your nobles will not hear you, but arc gone 
 To ofler service to your enemy ; 
 And wild amazement hurries up and down 
 The little number of your doubtful friends. 
 
 K. John. Would not my lords return to me again. 
 After they heard young Arthur was alive ! 
 
 Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the 
 sb'eets ; 
 An empt/ casket, where the jewel of life 
 By some curst hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 
 
 K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 
 
 Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. 
 But wherefore do you droop] why look you sad] 
 Be great in act, as you have been in thought; 
 La. not the world see fear, and sad distrust, 
 G^rern the motion of a kingly eye: 
 Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
 Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow 
 Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 
 That borrow their behaviors from the great, 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 The dauntless spirit '•'' """^'ution. 
 
 Away; and glister like the god of war, 
 When he intendeth to become the field: 
 Show boldness, and aspiring confidence. 
 What, shall they seek the lion in his den. 
 And fright him there ] and make him tremble theie 
 0, let it not be said ! — Forage, and run 
 To meet displeasure further frcm the doors; 
 And grapple with him, ere he comes so nigh. 
 
 K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with me^ 
 And I have made a happy peace with him ; 
 And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers 
 Led by the Dauphin. 
 
 Bct,st. inglorious league ! 
 
 Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
 Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, 
 Insinuation, parley, and base truce. 
 To arms invasive ] Shall a beardless boy, 
 A cocker'd* silken wanton, brave our fields. 
 And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil. 
 Mocking the air with colors idly spread, 
 And. find no check] Let us, my liege, to arms: 
 Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace^ 
 Or if he do, let it at least be said, 
 They saw we had a purpose of defence. 
 
 A'. John. Have thou the ordering of this presen* 
 time. 
 
 Bast. Away then, with good courage; yet, I know, 
 Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— yl Plain near St. Edmund's Bury. 
 
 Enter, in arms, Lkwis, Salisbury, Melun, 
 Pembroke, Bigot, and Soldiers. 
 
 Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied ou'. 
 And keep it safe for our remembrance: 
 Return the precedent to these lords again ; 
 That, having our fair order written down. 
 Both they, and v/e, perusing o'er these notes^ 
 May know wherefore we took the sacrament, 
 And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 
 
 Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
 And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
 A voluntary zeal, and unurged faith. 
 To your proceedings ; yet, believe mc, prince, 
 I am not glad that such a sore of time 
 Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, 
 And heal the inveterate canker of one wound. 
 By making many : O, it grieves my soul. 
 That I must draw this metal from my side 
 To be a widow-maker; O, and there, 
 Where honorable rescue, and defence, 
 Cries out upon the name of Salisbury: 
 But such is the infection of the time. 
 That, for the health and physic of our rigll, 
 We cannot deal but with the very hand 
 Of stern injustice and confused wrong. — 
 And is't not pity, O my grieved friends ! 
 That we, the sons and children of this isle, 
 Were born to see so sad an hour as this; 
 Wherein we step after a stranger march 
 Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
 Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weej» 
 Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) 
 To grace the gentry of a land remote. 
 And follow unac(iuainted colors here] 
 What here] — O nation, that thou couldst remove 
 ' Fondled. 
 
aCENE ii. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 3oi 
 
 That Neptune's arms, who clippeth' thee about, 
 
 Would bear thee from ti.e knowledge of thyself, 
 
 And grapple thee unto a pagan shore; 
 
 Where these two Christian armies might combine 
 
 The blood of malice in a vein of league, 
 
 And not to spend it so unneighborly ! 
 
 Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this; 
 And great alTections wrestling in thy bosom. 
 Do make an earthquake of nobility. 
 O, what a noble combat hast thou fought, 
 Between compulsion and a brave respect!'' 
 Let me wipe oil' this honorable dew, 
 That silverly doth progress on l!iy cheeks: 
 ]\Iy b.eart hath n;cltcd at a lady's tears, 
 Being an ordinary inundation; 
 But this elTusion of such manly drops, 
 This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, 
 Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd 
 Than had I seen the vanity top of heaven 
 Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. 
 Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 
 And with a great heart heave away this storm: 
 Commend these waters to those baby eyes. 
 That never saw the giant world enraged; 
 Nor met with fortune other than at feasts. 
 Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping. 
 Conic, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep 
 Into the jjurse of rich prosperit}^, 
 As Lewis himself: — so, nobles, shall you all. 
 That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. 
 
 Enter Paxdulph, attended. 
 
 And even there, methinks, an angel spake: 
 Look, where the holy legate comes apace, 
 To give us warrant from the hand of heaven ; 
 And on our actions set the name of right. 
 With holy breath. 
 
 Pand. Hail, noble prince of France! 
 
 The next is this, — king John hath reconciled 
 Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, 
 That so stood out against the holy church. 
 The great metropolis and see of Rome: 
 Therefore thy threat'ning colors now wind up. 
 And tame the savage spirit of wild war: 
 That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, 
 It may lie gently at the foot of peace. 
 And be no further harmful than in show. 
 
 Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back; 
 I am too high-born to be jiropertied,* 
 To be a secondary at control. 
 Or useful serving-man, an instrument. 
 To any sovereign state throughout the world. 
 Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars, 
 Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself. 
 And brought in matter that should feed this fire; 
 And niiw 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
 W'\{\\ that same weak wind vshich enkindled it. 
 Vou taught nn^ how to know the face of right, 
 Acipiainted me with interest to this land. 
 Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart; 
 And come you now to tell me, John hath made 
 His peace with Rome ! What is that peace to mo! 
 I, by the honor of my marriage-bed. 
 After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; 
 .\nd, now it ishaif-con<iuercd must I back. 
 Because that John luitli made his peace with Rome? 
 A 111 [ Rome's slave? What [)enny hath Rome borne, 
 \^■hat men provided, what munition sent, 
 
 « i;mbra/;oth. 
 « Appropriated 
 
 ' Love of country. 
 
 To underprop this action? is't not I, 
 That undergo this charge? who else but I, 
 And such as to my claim are liable, 
 Sweat in this business, and maintain this war'' 
 Have I not heard these islanders shout out. 
 Vive le roy! as I havebank'd their towns? 
 Have I not here the best cards for the game. 
 To win this easy )natch play'd for a crown? 
 And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 
 No, on my soul, it never shall be said. 
 
 Pand. You look but on the outside of this woik 
 Lerv. Outside or inside, I will not return 
 Till my attempt so much be glorified 
 As to my ample hope was promised 
 Before I drew this gallant head of war. 
 And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world. 
 To outlook" conquest, and to win renown 
 Even in the jaws of danger and of death. — ■ 
 
 [^Trumpet soimds 
 What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? 
 
 Enter the Bastard, attended. 
 
 Bast. According to the foir play of the world, 
 Let me have audience; I am sent to speak: — 
 My holy lord of Milan, from the king 
 I come, to learn how you have dealt tor him , 
 And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
 And warrant limited unto my tongue. 
 
 Pand. The Daupliin is too wilt'ul-opposite. 
 And will not temporize with my entreaties; 
 He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms. 
 
 Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath 'vJ, 
 The youth says well: — Now hear our English king 
 For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
 He is prepared ; and reason too, he should* 
 This apish and unmannerly approach. 
 This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel. 
 This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, 
 The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd 
 To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms. 
 From out the circle of his territories. 
 That hand which had the strength, even at your dooi. 
 To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;' 
 To dive like buckets, in concealed wells; 
 To crouch in litter of your stable planks; 
 To lie, like pawns, loek'd up in chests and trunks; 
 To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out 
 In vaults and prisons; and to thrill and shake, 
 Even at the crying of your nation's crow,' 
 Thinking his voice an armed Englishman; 
 Shall that victorious hand be feeblcd here. 
 That in your chambers gave you chastisement? 
 No: Know the gallant monarch is in arms; 
 And like an eagle o'er his aiery^ tow'crs. 
 To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. — 
 And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts. 
 You bloody Ncrocs, ripping up the womb 
 Of your dear mother England, blush lor shame* 
 For your own ladies, and pale-visagcd maids. 
 Like Amazons, come tripping after drums; 
 Their thind)les into armed gauntlets change, 
 Their neelds' to lances, and their gentle hearts 
 To fierce and bloody inclination. 
 
 Leiv. There end thy brave,' and turn thy face 
 in peace; 
 We grant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well 
 We hold our time too precious to be spent 
 With such a brabbler. 
 
 » Face down. 
 
 »The crowing of a cock. 
 
 * Kecdle.s. 
 
 ' Leap over the hatiih 
 » Nest. 
 >Boai)t 
 
3<iO 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Pand. Give me leave to speak. 
 
 Bast. No, I v/ill sprak. 
 
 Lew. We will attend to neither: — 
 
 Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war 
 Plead for our interest, and our being here. 
 
 Basi. Indeed, your drums being beaten, will cry 
 out ; 
 And so shall you, being beaten : Do but start 
 An echo with the clamor of thy drum, 
 And even at hand a drum is ready braced, 
 T'hat shall reverberate all as loud as thme ; 
 Sound but another, and another shall, 
 As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's'^ ear, 
 And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder ; for at hand 
 (Not trusting to this halting legate here, 
 Whom he hath used rather for sport than need) 
 Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
 A bare-ribb'd death, whose oflice is this day 
 To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 
 
 Lew. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. 
 
 Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not 
 doubt. \_Exeu7it. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Field of Batik. 
 Alarums. Enter Ki>o John a/ic? Hubert. 
 K. John. How goes the day with us 1 O, tell me, 
 
 Hubert. 
 Hub. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty 1 
 K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, 
 Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick! 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon- 
 bridge. 
 Desires your majesty to leave the field : 
 And send him word by me, which way you go. 
 
 K. John. Tell him toward Swinstead, to the 
 abbey there. 
 
 Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great supply 
 That was expected by the Dauphin here, 
 Are wreek'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. 
 This news was brought to Richard but even now: 
 The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. 
 
 K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, 
 
 And will not let me welcome this good news. 
 
 Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight : 
 Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [^Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE lY.— Another Part of the same. 
 
 £«^er Salisbury, Pembhoke, Bigot, andothers. 
 
 Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with 
 
 fiiends. 
 Pern. Up once again ; put spirit in the French ; 
 If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 
 
 Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, 
 In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. 
 
 Pern. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left 
 the field. 
 
 Enter Melux wounded, and led by Soldiers. 
 
 Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 
 
 Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. 
 
 Pern. It is the count Melun. 
 
 Sal. Wounded to death. 
 
 Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and 
 sold;' 
 Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, 
 And welcome home again discarded faith. 
 Beek out king John, and fall before his feet; 
 
 • Sky. ' A proverb intimating treachery. 
 
 For, if the French be lords of this loud day, 
 He' means to recompense the pains you take, 
 By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn, 
 And I with him, and many more with me, 
 Upon the altar at St. Edmund's Bury; 
 Even on that altar, where we swore to you 
 Dear amity and everlasting love. 
 
 Sal. May this he possible 1 may this he true ? 
 
 Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view 
 Retaining but a quantity of life ; 
 Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
 Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire V 
 What in the world should make me now deceive^ 
 Since I must lose the use of all deceit? 
 Why should I then be false ; since it is true 
 That I must die here, and live hence by truth 1 
 I say again, if Lewis do win the day,. 
 He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours 
 Behold another day break in the east ; 
 But even this night, — whose black contagious breatt 
 Already smokes about the burning crest 
 Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, — 
 Even this ill night your breathing shall expire ; 
 Paying the fine of rated treachery. 
 Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, 
 If Lewis by your assistance win the day. 
 Commsnd me to one Hubert, with your king; 
 The love of him, — and this respect besides. 
 For that my grandsire was an Englishman, — 
 Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
 In lieu whereof, I pray you bear me hence 
 From forth the noise and rumor of the field ; 
 Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts 
 In peace, and part this body and my soul 
 With contemplation and devout desires. 
 
 Sal. We do believe thee. — And beshrew my soul 
 But I do love the favor and the form 
 Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
 We will untread the .iteps of this our flight; 
 And, like a bated and retired flood. 
 Leaving our rankness and iiTCgular course, 
 Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'dj 
 And calmly run on in obedience. 
 
 Even to our ocean, to our great king John. 
 
 My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; 
 
 For I do see the cruel pangs of death 
 
 Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends ! Nev» 
 
 flight: 
 And happy newness,* tha\. intends old right. 
 
 [Exeunt, leading oj^ Melun. 
 
 SCENE Y.—The French Camp. 
 Eiiter Lewis and his Train. 
 
 Lew. The sun of heaven, njcthought, was loth to 
 
 set ; 
 But stay'd and made the western welkin blush. 
 When the English measur'd backward their own 
 
 ground. 
 In faint retire : O, bravely came we off. 
 When with a volley of our needless shot. 
 After such bloody toil we bid good night \ 
 And wound our tatter'd colors clearly up, 
 Last in the field, and almost lords of it ! 
 
 E?iter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin 1 
 
 Lew. Here: — What news! 
 
 Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English lords, 
 
 By his persuasion, are again fall'n off: 
 
 9 Iiewis. * In allusion to the images made by witcnea 
 ' Innovation. 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 561 
 
 And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, 
 Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. 
 
 Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! — Beshrew thy very 
 heart ! 
 I did not think to be so sad to-night. 
 As this hath made me. — Who was he, that said. 
 King John did fly, an hour or two before 
 The stumbling night did part our weary powers 1 
 
 Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. 
 
 Lew. Well; keep good quarter, and good care 
 to-night ; 
 The day shall not be up so soon as I, 
 To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — An open Place in the ISeighbor- 
 hood of Swinstcad- Abbey. 
 
 Enter the Bastard and HuBF.nx ineeting. 
 
 Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, 
 or I shoot. 
 
 Basf. A friend : — What art thou 1 
 
 Hub. Of the part of England. 
 
 Bast. Whither dost thou go ] 
 
 Hub. What's that to thcel Why may not I demand 
 Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine] 
 
 Bast. Hubert, I think. 
 
 Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: 
 
 I will, upon all hazards, well believe 
 Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well: 
 Who art thou 1 
 
 Bast. Who thou Vv-ilt: an if thou please, 
 
 Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think 
 I come one way of the Plantagcnets. 
 
 Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless 
 night. 
 Have done me shame :• — ^Brave soldier, pardon me, 
 That any accent, breaking from thy tongue. 
 Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 
 
 Bast. Come, come; sans^ compliment, what news 
 abroad 1 
 
 Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, 
 To find you out. 
 
 Bast. Brief, then ; and what's the news 1 
 
 Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night. 
 Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 
 
 Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news ; 
 I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. 
 
 Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
 I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
 To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might 
 The better arm you to the sudden time. 
 Than if you had at leisure knovvii of this. 
 
 Bast, How did he take it 1 who did taste to him 1 
 
 Hub. A monk, I tell you : a resolved villain, 
 Whost bowels suddenly burst out: the king 
 STet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. 
 
 Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? 
 
 Hub. Why, know you notl the lords are all 
 come back, 
 A nd brought prince Henry in their company ; 
 At whose request the king has pardon'd them. 
 And they are all about his majesty. 
 
 Bust. Withhold thine indignation, mighty hea- 
 ven ! 
 
 And tempt us not to bear above our power ! 
 
 I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night. 
 Passing these flats, are taken by tlie fide. 
 These Lincoln washes have devoured them ; 
 Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped. 
 
 » Without 
 
 Away, before! conduct me to the king; 
 
 I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come. [Exetmt 
 
 SCENE Nil.— The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey 
 Enter Prince Heniit, SALisitunT,«??c?BiGOT. 
 
 P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood 
 Is touch'd conuptibly ; and his pure brain 
 (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling* 
 
 house) 
 Doth by the idle comments that it makes, 
 Foretell the ending of mortality. 
 
 Enter Pembroke. 
 
 Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; and Uc!(J« 
 belief. 
 That, being brought into the open air. 
 It would allay the burning quality 
 Of that fell poison which assailcth him. 
 
 P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard 
 here. — 
 Doth he still ragel [Exit Bigot. 
 
 Pern. He is more patient 
 
 Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 
 
 P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes, 
 In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
 Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
 Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
 Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounJa 
 With many legions of strange fantasies ; 
 Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
 Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death 
 
 should sing. 
 
 I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan. 
 Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; 
 And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings 
 His soul and body to their lasting rest. 
 
 Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you a re born 
 To set a form upon that indigest 
 Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 
 
 2?e-era/er Bigot aiid Attendants, who bring in KiNa 
 John in a Chair. 
 
 K. John. Ay, many, now my soul hath elbow 
 room ; 
 It would not out at windows, nor at doors. 
 There is so hot a summer in my bosom. 
 That all my bowels crumble up to dust: 
 I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
 Upon a parchment ; and against this fire 
 Do I shrink up. 
 
 P. Hen. How fares youi majesty ? 
 
 K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare; — dead, forsool^ 
 cast off; 
 And none of you will bid the winter come, 
 To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
 Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
 To make his bleak winds kiss mj' parched lips. 
 And comfort me with cold: — I do not ask you much, 
 I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait' 
 And so ingratcful, you deny me that. 
 
 P. Hen.O, that there were some virtue in my tcar^ 
 That might relieve you ! 
 
 K. John. The salt in them is hot. — 
 Within me is a hell; and there the poison 
 Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize 
 On unrepricvable condemned blood. 
 
 * N&rrow. avaricious. 
 
i&i 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act V. Scene VII 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
 And spleen of speed to see your majesty. 
 
 K, John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: 
 The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ; 
 And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, 
 Are turned to one thread, one little hair: 
 My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
 Which holds but till thy news be uttered; 
 And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod. 
 And module' of confounded royalty. 
 
 Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward ; 
 Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him: 
 For, in a night, the best part of my power. 
 As I upon advantage did remove. 
 Were in the washes, all unwarily. 
 Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King dies. 
 
 Sffl/. You breathe these dead news in as dead an 
 ear. — 
 My liege ! my lord ! — But now a king, — now thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
 What surety of the world, what hope, what stay. 
 When this was now u king, and now is clay ! 
 
 Bast. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind, 
 To do the office for thee of revenge; 
 And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, 
 
 As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 
 
 Now, now, you stars, that move in your right 
 
 spheres, 
 Where be your powers] Show now your mended 
 
 faiths ; 
 And instantly return with me again. 
 To push destruction, and perpetual shame. 
 Out of the weak door of our fainting land: 
 Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought ; 
 The Dauphin rages at our very heels. 
 
 Sal. It seems you know not then so much as we : 
 The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, 
 ♦Mod si. 
 
 Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin 
 And brings from him such ofTers of our peace 
 As we with honor and respect may take, 
 With purpose presently to leave this war. 
 
 Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees 
 Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 
 
 Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 
 For many carriages he hath despatch'd 
 To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel 
 To the disposing of the cardinal : 
 With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, 
 If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
 To consummate this business happily. 
 
 Bast. Let it be so : — And you, my noble prince 
 With other princes that may best be spared. 
 Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 
 
 P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd 
 For so he will'd it. 
 
 Bast. Thither shall it then. 
 
 And happily may your sweet self put on 
 The lineal state and glory of the land I 
 To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
 I do bequeath my faithful services 
 And true subjection everlastingly. 
 
 Sal. And the like tender of our love we make. 
 To rest without a spot for evermore. 
 
 P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you 
 thanks. 
 And knows not how to do it, but with tears. 
 
 Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, 
 Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — 
 This England never did (nor never shall) 
 Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. 
 But when it first did help to wound itself. 
 Now these her princes are come home again. 
 Come the three corners of the world in arms. 
 And we shall shock them : Nought shall make ui 
 
 rue. 
 If England to itself do rest but true. lExeuiU 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED, 
 
 King Richabd the Second. 
 Edmund ofLanglet, Z)wA"eoy York; ) Uncles to 
 John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; ^ the King. 
 Hsynr, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, 
 Son to John of Gaunt; afterwards K. Henry IV. 
 Duke of Aumerle, Son to the Duke of York. 
 Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 
 Duke of Surrey. 
 
 Eari, of Salisbury. Earl Berkeley. 
 Bushy, ^ 
 
 Bagot, > Creatures to King Richard. 
 Green, ) 
 
 Earl of Northumberland. 
 Henry Percy, his Son. 
 
 SCENE, dispersedly 
 
 Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. 
 
 Lord Fitzwateh. 
 
 Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of WESTMiNSTEik 
 
 Lord Marshal ; and another Lord. 
 
 Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop. 
 
 Captain of a Band of Welshmen. 
 
 Queen to King Richard. 
 Duchess of Glosteh. 
 Duchess of York. 
 
 Lady, attending on the Queen, 
 
 Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners^ 
 Keeper, Messenger, Givom, and other Attendants, 
 in England and Wales. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Richard, attended: John of Gaunt, 
 and other Nobles, with him. 
 
 K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honor'd Lan- 
 caster, 
 Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,' 
 Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son ; 
 Here to make good the boisterous late appeal. 
 Which then our leisure would not let us hear. 
 Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray 1 
 Gaunt. I have, my liege. 
 A'. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded 
 him, 
 If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; 
 Or worthily as a good subject should, 
 On some known ground of treachery in him? 
 Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu- 
 ment, — 
 On some apparent danger seen in him, 
 Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. 
 K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; focc 
 to face. 
 And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
 The accuser, and the accused, freely speak : 
 
 [Exeunt some Attendants. 
 •Bond. 
 
 High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire. 
 In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke and 
 Norfolk. 
 
 Boling. May many years of happy days befall 
 My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege ! 
 
 Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; 
 Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, 
 Add an immortal title to your crown ! 
 
 K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but flat 
 ters us. 
 As well appearcth by the cause you come ; 
 Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. 
 Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
 Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray 1 
 
 Boling. First, (heaven be the record to mj 
 speech !) 
 In the devotion of a subject's love, 
 Tendering the precious safety of my prince 
 And free from other misbegotten hate. 
 Come I appellant to this princely presence — - 
 Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, 
 And mark my greeting well ; for what I spea^, 
 My body shall make good upon this earth, 
 
 363 
 
364 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
 Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; 
 Too good to be so, and too bad to hve : 
 Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, 
 The ugher seem tlie clouds that in it fly. 
 Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
 With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat ; 
 And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, 
 What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may 
 
 prove. 
 Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal : 
 ris not the trial of a woman's war. 
 The bitter clamor of two eager tongues. 
 Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : 
 The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this. 
 Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, 
 As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say : 
 First, the fail reverence of your highness curbs me 
 From giving reins and spurs to my free speech: 
 Which else would post, until it had return'd 
 These terms of treason doubled down his throat. 
 Setting aside his high blood's royalty. 
 And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
 I do defy him, and I spit at him ; 
 Call him — a slanderous coward, and a villain: 
 Which to maintain, I would allow him odds, 
 And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot 
 Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
 3r any other ground inhabitable,^ 
 Whc-rever Englishman durst set his foot. 
 Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, — 
 By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 
 
 Holing. Pale trembling coward, there I throw 
 
 my gage, 
 Disclaiming here the kindred of a king, 
 And lay aside my high blood's royalty, — ' 
 Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except, 
 tf guilty dread hath left thee so much strength. 
 As to take up mine honor's pawn, then stoop; 
 By that, and all the rights of knighthood else. 
 Will I make good against thee, arm to arm. 
 What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. 
 
 Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear. 
 Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, 
 I'll answer thee in any fair degree. 
 Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : 
 And, when I mount, alive may I not light, 
 If I be traitor, or unjustly fight ! 
 
 K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
 
 charge 1 
 It must be great, that can inherit us 
 So much as of a thought of ill in him. 
 
 Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove 
 
 it true; — 
 That Mowbray hath rcceiv'd eight thousand nobles, 
 In name oflendings for your highness' soldiers; 
 The which he hath detain'd for vile employments. 
 Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. 
 Besides I say, and will in battle prove, — 
 Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge 
 That ever was survey 'd by English eye, — 
 That all the treasons, for these eighteen years 
 Complotted and contrived in this land. 
 Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. 
 Further I say, — and further will maintain 
 Upon his bad life, to make all this good, — 
 That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death ; 
 Suggest his soon-believing adversaries ; 
 Aud, consequently, like a tiaitor coward, 
 ' Uninhabitable. 
 
 Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams ol 
 
 blood: 
 Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries. 
 Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
 To me, for justice, and rough chastisement: 
 And, by the glorious worth of my descent. 
 This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 
 
 K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars! — 
 Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this 1 
 
 Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, 
 And bid his ears a little while be deaf. 
 Till I have told this slander of his blood. 
 How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. 
 
 K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and 
 ears : 
 Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
 (As he is but my father's brother's son,) 
 Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, 
 Such neighbor nearness to our sacred blood 
 Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
 The unstooping firmness of my upright soul ; 
 He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; 
 Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. 
 
 Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, 
 Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest ! 
 Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, 
 Disburs'd I duly to his nighness' soldiers : 
 The other part reserv'd I by consent; 
 For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, 
 Upon remainder of a dear account, 
 S'.nce last I went to France to fetch his queen : 
 
 7<row sv^allow down that lie. For Gloster'a 
 
 death, — 
 I slew him not ; but to my own disgrace. 
 Neglected my sworn duty in that case.— 
 For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, 
 ' 'I'hc honorable father to mv foe. 
 Once did I lay in ambush for your life, 
 x\ trespass that doth vex my grieved soul. 
 But, ere I last rcceiv'd the sacrament, 
 I did confess it ; and exactly begg'd 
 Your grace's pardon, anu. I nope, I had it. 
 l^his is my fault : As for the rest appeal'd, 
 It issues from the lancor of a villain, 
 A recreant and most degenerate traitor ; 
 Which in myself I boldly will defend ; 
 And interchangeably hurl down my gage 
 Upon this overweening traitor's foot, 
 To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
 Even in the best blood chamber'din his bosom: 
 In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 
 Your highness to assign our trial day. 
 
 K. Rick. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd bj 
 me; 
 Let's purge this choler without letting blood : 
 This we prescribe, though no physician; 
 Deep malice makes too deep incision : 
 Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed; 
 Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. — 
 Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
 We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. 
 
 Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age. 
 Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. 
 
 K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 
 
 Gaunt. When, Harry 1 when 1 
 
 Obedience bids, I should not bid again. 
 
 K, Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there 
 is no boot.' 
 
 Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy fo(rf 
 * No advantage ia delay. 
 
SCENK II 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 3G5 
 
 My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
 The one my duty owes; but my fair name, 
 (Despite of death, that hvcs upon my grave,) 
 To dark dishonor's use thou shalt not have. 
 I am disgraced, impeach'd, and baffled here ; 
 Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; 
 The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood 
 Which breath'd this poison. 
 
 K. Rich. Rage must be withstood ; 
 
 Give me his gage : — Lions make leopards tame. 
 
 Nor. Yea but not change their spots : take but 
 my shame. 
 And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, 
 The purest treasure mortal times afford. 
 Is — spotless reputation; that away, 
 Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. 
 A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
 Is — a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
 Mine honor is my life ; both grow in one ; 
 Take honor from me, and my life is done: 
 Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try ; 
 In that I live, and for that will I die. 
 
 K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you 
 begin. 
 
 Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin! 
 Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight] 
 C)r with pale beggar-fear iTnpeach my height 
 Before this out-dared dastard 1 Ere my tongue 
 Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong, 
 Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
 The slavish motive of recanting fear; 
 And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace. 
 Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray's 
 face. [Exit Gaunt. 
 
 K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command: 
 Which since we cannot do to make you fi-iends, 
 Be ready as your lives shall answer it. 
 At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day; 
 There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
 The swelling dilTerence of your settled hate; 
 Since we cannot atone* you, we shall see 
 Justice design' the victor's chivalry. — 
 Marshal, command our officers at arms 
 Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— T//e same. A Room in the Duke 
 0/ Lancaster's Palace. 
 
 Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Glosteh. 
 
 Gaunt. Alas ! the part I had in Gloster's blood 
 DotL more solicit me, than your exclaims. 
 To stir against the butchers of his life. 
 But since correction lieth in those hands, 
 Which made the fault that we cannot correct, 
 Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
 Who, when he sees the hours ripe on earth. 
 Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 
 
 Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? 
 Hath love in thy old blood no living fire 1 
 Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, 
 Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, 
 Or seven fair branches springing from one root: 
 Some of those seven arc dried by nature's course, 
 Some of those branches by the destinies cut: 
 But, Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, — 
 One phial full of Edward's sacred blood. 
 One flourishing branch of his most royal root, — 
 Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; 
 s hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, 
 
 * Reconoilo. 
 
 » Show. 
 
 By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. 
 Ah,Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb, 
 That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee. 
 Made him a man ; and tho' thou liv'st, and breath'st, 
 Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 
 In some large measure to thy father's death, 
 In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, 
 Who was the model of thy father's life. 
 Call it not patience. Gaunt, it is despair : 
 In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 
 Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, 
 Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee : 
 That which in mean men we entitle — patience, 
 Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
 What shall I say 1 to safeguard thine owm life, 
 The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death. 
 
 Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel ; for heaven's sub- 
 His deputy anointed in his sight, [stitute, 
 
 Hath caus'd his death: the which, if wrongfully, 
 Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift 
 An angry arm against his minister. 
 
 Duch. Where then, alas ! may I complain myself! 
 
 Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and 
 defence. 
 
 Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt 
 Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
 Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: 
 O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's speai. 
 That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! 
 Or, if misfortune miss the first career, 
 Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom. 
 That they may break his foaming courser's back. 
 And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
 A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford ! 
 Farewell, old Gaunt ; thy sometime brother's wife, 
 With her companion grief must end her life. 
 
 Gaunt. Sister, farewell : I must to Coventry : 
 As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! 
 
 Duch. Yet one word more ; — Grief boundeli 
 where it falls. 
 Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : 
 I take my leave before I have begun ; 
 For sorrow ends not when it gcemeth done. 
 Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
 Lo, this is all: — Nay, yet depart not so: 
 Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 
 I shall remember more. Bid him — O, what 1 — 
 With all good speed at Plashy" visit me. 
 Alack, and what shall good old York there see. 
 But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls. 
 Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? 
 And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans 1 
 Therefore commend me ; let him not come there, 
 To seek out sorrow that dwells every where : 
 Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ; 
 The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. 
 
 [Exeuni 
 
 SCENE III. — Gosford Green, near Coventry. 
 Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c., attending 
 Enter the Lord Marshal and Aumerle. 
 Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereforc^ 
 
 arm'd 1 
 Aum. Yea, at all points : and longs to enter in. 
 Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, 
 Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 
 Aum. Why, then the champions are prepared aiiiJ 
 stay 
 For nothing but his majesty's approach. 
 * ner house in Essex. 
 
?66 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Flourish of Trumpets. Enter King Richaiid, 
 who takes his seat on his throne,- Gaunt, and 
 several Noblemen, who take their places. A 
 trumpet is sounded, and answered by another 
 trumpet ivithin. Then enter Norfolk, in ar- 
 mor, preceded by a Herald. 
 K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
 The cause of his arrival here in arms: 
 Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed 
 To swear him in the justice of his cause. 
 
 Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who 
 thou art. 
 And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms: 
 Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quar- 
 rel: 
 Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath ; 
 And so defend thee heaven, and thy valor ! 
 
 Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of 
 Norfolk; 
 Who hither come engaged by my oath, 
 (Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate !) 
 Both to defend my loyalty and truth. 
 To God, my king, and my succeeding issue, 
 Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me: 
 And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm, 
 To prove him, in defending of myself, 
 A traitor to my God, my king, and me : 
 And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 
 
 [i/e takes his seat. 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter BoLiNSBnoKE, in ar- 
 mor, preceded, by a Herald. 
 
 K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, 
 Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 
 Thus plated in habiliments of war ; 
 And formally according to our law 
 Depose him in the justice of his cause. 
 
 Mar. What is thy namel and wherefore com'st 
 thou hither, 
 Before king Richard, in his royal lists 1 
 Against whom comestthou? and what's thy quarrel? 
 Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 
 
 Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms. 
 To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valor, 
 In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, 
 That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous. 
 To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me : 
 And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 
 
 Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold, 
 Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists ; 
 Except the marshal, and such officers 
 Appointed to direct these fair designs. 
 
 Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 
 hand. 
 And bow my knee before his majesty: 
 For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men 
 That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; 
 Then let us take a ceremonious leave. 
 And loving farewell of our several friends. 
 
 Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your high- 
 ness. 
 And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. 
 
 K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our 
 arms. 
 Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, 
 So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
 Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed, 
 Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 
 
 Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
 
 For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear; 
 As confident, as is the falcor's flight 
 
 Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. 
 
 My loving lord, [To Lord Marshal,] I take mj 
 
 leave of you ; — 
 Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle ; — 
 Not sick, although I have to do with death; 
 But lusty, young, and chcerly drawing breath.^— 
 Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 
 The daintiest last, to make the end most eweet: 
 O thou, the earthly author of my blood, — 
 
 [7b Gxvw 
 Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate. 
 Doth with a two-fold vigor lifl me up 
 To reach at victory above my head, — 
 Add proof unto mine ariror with thy prayers; 
 And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, 
 That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat. 
 And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, 
 Even in the lusty 'havior of his son. 
 
 Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee 
 prosperous ! 
 Be swift like lightning in the execution : 
 And let thy blows, doubly redoubled. 
 Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
 Of thy adverse, pernicious enemy : 
 Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and hve 
 
 Boling. Mine innoccncy, and saint George to 
 thrive ! [He takes his seat. 
 
 Nor. [^Risifig.^ However heaven, or fortune, cast 
 my lot. 
 There lives or dies, true to king Richard's thione, 
 A loyal, just, and upright gentleman: 
 Never did captive with a freer heart 
 Cast olf his chains of bondage, and embrace 
 His golden uncontroH'd enfranchisement. 
 More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
 This feast of battle with mine adversary. — 
 Most mighty liege, — and my companion peers, — 
 Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : 
 As gentle and as jocund, as to jest. 
 Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast. 
 
 K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy 
 
 Virtue with valor couched in thine eye. 
 
 Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 
 [TAe Kino and the Lords return to their seats. 
 
 Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 
 
 Boling. [Rising.'] Strong as a tower in hope, I 
 cry — amen. 
 
 Mar. Go bear this lance, [To an Officer.] to 
 Thomas duke of Norfolk. 
 
 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself. 
 On pain to be found false and recreant. 
 
 To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
 A traitor to his God, his king, and him. 
 And dares him to set forward to the fight. 
 
 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke 
 
 of Norfolk, 
 On pain to be found false and recreant. 
 Both to defend himself, and to approve 
 Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal ; 
 Courageously, and with a free desire, 
 Attending but the signal to begin. 
 
 Mar. Sound trumpets; and set forward, com 
 
 batants. [A charge soujided 
 
 Stay, the king hath thrown liis warder'' dowc. 
 ' Traricheoa. 
 
bCE.^E ill. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 36? 
 
 K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their 
 spears, 
 And both return back to their chairs again :- - 
 Withdraw with us: — and let the trumpets sound, 
 While we return these dukes what we decree. — • 
 
 \^A long Jlourish. 
 Draw near, [7b the comhatants. 
 
 And list, what with our council we have done. 
 For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 
 With that dear blood which it hath ibstcred ; 
 And lor our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
 Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbors' swords; 
 [And for we think the caglc-wingcd pride 
 Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts 
 With rival-hating envy, sot you on 
 I'o wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 
 Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;] 
 Which so rous'd up, with boisterous untuned drums, 
 V/ith harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray. 
 And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, 
 Might from our quiet conlines fright fair peace. 
 And make us wade even in our kindred's blood; — 
 Therefore we banish you our territories: — 
 You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death, 
 Till twice five summers have cnrich'd our fields. 
 Shall not regreet our fair dominions, 
 But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 
 
 Baling. Your will be done : This must my com- 
 fort be, 
 
 That sun that warms you here, shall shine on me ; 
 And those his golden beams, to you here lent. 
 Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. 
 
 K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom. 
 Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: 
 riie fly-slow hours shall not determinate 
 The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; — 
 
 The hopeless word of never to return, 
 
 Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 
 
 liur. A hcav}' sentence, my most sovereign liege, 
 And all unlook'd for trom your highness' mouth: 
 A dearer merit, not so deep a-maim 
 As to be cast forth in the common air, 
 Have I deserved at your highness' hand. 
 The language I have learn'd these forty years. 
 My native English, now must I forego. 
 And now my tongue's use is to me no more. 
 Than an unstringed viol or a harp; 
 Or, like a cunning instrument cased up. 
 Or, being open, put into his hands 
 That knows no touch to tune the harmony. 
 Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, 
 Doubly portculiis'd, with my teeth, and lips; 
 And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
 .3 made my gaoler to attend on me. 
 I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 
 I'oo far in years to be a pupil now ; 
 What is thy sentence, then, but speec'aless death. 
 Which robs my tongue from breathing native 
 oreathi 
 
 K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate ; 
 After our sentence, plaining comes too late. 
 
 Nur. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, 
 To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 
 
 \_Refiri/ig. 
 
 K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
 Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; 
 6wca.> by the duty that you owe to heaven, 
 (Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) 
 To keep tiie oath that we administer: — 
 Vou neveT shall, (so lielp you truth and heaven !) 
 
 Embrace each other's love m banishment; 
 
 Nor never look upon each other's face; 
 
 Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 
 
 This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; 
 
 Nor never by advised purpose meet. 
 
 To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 
 
 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 
 
 Baling. I swear. 
 
 Nar. And I, to keep all this. 
 
 Baling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ^— 
 By this time, had the king permitted us. 
 One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 
 Banish'd this trail sepulchre of our llesh. 
 As now our flesh is banish'd from this land : 
 Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm: 
 Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
 The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 
 
 Nar. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, 
 My name be blotted from the book of life, 
 And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! 
 But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know; 
 And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. — 
 Farewell, my liege : — Now no way can I stray; 
 Save back to England, all the world's my way. [^Exit^ 
 
 K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eye« 
 I see thy grieved heart; thy sad aspect 
 Hath from the number of his banish'd years 
 Pluck'd four away: — Six frozen winters spent, 
 Return [7'o Bolixg.] with welcome home from 
 banishment. 
 
 Baling. How long a time lies in one little word! 
 Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, 
 End in a word; such is the breath of kings. 
 
 Gauni. I thank my liege, that in regard of me. 
 He shortens four years of my son's exile : 
 But little vantage shall I reap thereby; 
 For, ere the six years that he hath to spend. 
 Can change their moons, and bring their times about, 
 My oil-dried lamp, and timc-bewasted light. 
 Shall be extinct with age and endless night 
 My inch of taper will be burnt and done. 
 And blindfold death not let me see my son. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. 
 
 Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou cans* 
 give : 
 Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, 
 And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow : 
 Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 
 But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; 
 Thy word is current with him for my death; 
 But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 
 
 K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice; 
 Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave ;' 
 Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower 1 
 
 Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in diges- 
 tion sour. 
 You urged me as a judge; but I had rather, 
 You v.ould have bid me argue like a father: — 
 O, had it been a stranger, not my child, 
 To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: 
 A partial slander' sought I to avoid, 
 And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 
 Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say, 
 I was too strict to make mine own away ; 
 But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, 
 Against my will to do myself this wrong. 
 
 A'. Rich. Cousin, farewell: — and, uncle, bid him s<]s 
 Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt K. RiciiAiin and Train 
 
 • Ilad a part or share. » Reproach of partiality. 
 
B68 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act T. Scene IV. 
 
 ^um. Cousin, faiewell: what presence must not 
 know, 
 From where you do remain let paper sliow. 
 
 Ma?'. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride, 
 As far as land will let me, by your side. 
 
 Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy 
 words, 
 That thou rcturn'st no greeting to thy fi-iends ? 
 
 BuUng. I have too few to take my leave of you, 
 When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
 To breathe the abundant dolor of the heart. 
 
 Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 
 
 Holing. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 
 
 Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly 
 gone. 
 
 Baling. To men in joy : but grief makes one hour 
 ten. 
 
 Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. 
 
 Baling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so. 
 Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 
 
 Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
 Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
 The precious jewel of thy home-return. 
 
 Baling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
 Will but remember me what a deal of world 
 I wander from the jewels that I love. 
 Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
 To foreign passages, and in the end, 
 Having my freedom, boast of nothing else, 
 But that I was a journeyman to grief! 
 
 Gau7it. All places that the eye of heaven visits, 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens : 
 Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
 There is no virtue like necessity. 
 Think not, the king did banish thee ; 
 But thou, the king : Woe doth the heavier sit, 
 Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
 Go, say — I sent thee forth to purchase honor, 
 And not — the king exil'd thee: or suppose, 
 Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, 
 And thou art flying to a fresher clime. 
 Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
 To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st: 
 Suppose the singing birds, musicians; 
 The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence' 
 
 strew'd ; 
 The flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps no more 
 Than a delightful measure or a dance : 
 For gnarling'^ sorrow hath less power to bite 
 The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. 
 
 Baling. O, who can hold a fne in his hand, 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus] 
 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, 
 By bare imagination of a feast! 
 Or wallow naked in December snow. 
 By thinlcing on ilxntastic summer's heat? 
 O, no, the apprehension of the good, 
 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
 Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, 
 Than wh;n it bites, but lanccth not the sore. 
 
 Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll brmg thee on 
 thy way: 
 Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 
 
 Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell ; sweet 
 soil, adieu! 
 My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 
 
 Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, 
 
 Tho igh banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 ' Presence chamber at court. » Growling. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Ty^e Same. A Room in the KingV 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter Kino Riciiaiid, Bagot, and Green; Ac 
 MEiiLE following. 
 
 K. Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle, 
 How far brought you high Hereford on his way? 
 
 Aum. I brought high Ilerciljrd, if you call him so, 
 But to the next high way, and tlrere I left him. 
 
 K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting teara 
 were shed? 
 
 Aum. 'Faith, none by me: except the north-easf 
 wind. 
 Which then blew bitterly against our faces. 
 Awaked the sleeping rheum ; and so, by chance, 
 Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 
 
 K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted 
 with him? 
 
 Aum. Farewell : 
 And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
 Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
 To counterfeit oppression of such grief, 
 That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
 Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd 
 
 hours. 
 And added years to his short banishment, 
 He should have had a volume of farewells; 
 But since it would not, he had none of me. 
 
 K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubi, 
 When time shall call him home from banishment, 
 Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
 Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
 Obscrv'd his courtship to the common people* 
 How he did seem to dive into their hearts, 
 With humble and familiar courtesy; 
 What reverence he did throw away on slaves, 
 Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles. 
 And patient underbearing of his fortune, 
 As 'twere to banish their aflects with him. 
 Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ; 
 A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well, 
 And had the tribute of his supple knee, 
 With — Thayiks, my countrymen, my loving 
 
 friends; 
 As were our England in reversion his. 
 And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 
 
 Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these 
 thoughts. 
 Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ; — 
 Expedient manage must be made, my liege; 
 Ere further leisure yield them further means, 
 For their advantage, and your highness' loss. 
 
 K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war, 
 And, for^ our coflcrs — with too great a court, 
 And liberal largess — are grown somewhat light, 
 We are enforced to farm our royal realm ; 
 The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
 For our affairs in hand: If that come short. 
 Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters 
 Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich 
 They shall subscribe them for laige sums of gold, 
 And send them after to supply our wants ; 
 For we will make for Ireland presently. 
 
 Enter Busux. 
 Bushy, what news? 
 
 Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous fick, n^ 
 lord ; 
 Suddenly taken ; and hath sent post haste. 
 To entreat your majesty to visit hiiji- 
 3 Because. 
 
iltT 11. Scene I. 
 
 Ki^G RICHARD II. 
 
 36U 
 
 h. Rick. Where lies he? 
 Bushy. At Ely-house. 
 
 K. Rich, Now put it, heaven, in his piV «cian's 
 mind. 
 To I'elp him to his grave immediately 1 
 
 The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
 To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. — 
 Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him : 
 Pray heaven, we may make haste, and come too 
 late ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in Ely-Jwuse. 
 
 Gauxt on a Couch; the Duke of Youk, and 
 others, standing hy him. 
 Gaunt. Will the king come ? that I may breathe 
 my last 
 In wholesome counsel to his unstay'd youth. 
 
 York. Vex not j'ourself, nor strive not with your 
 breath ; 
 For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 
 
 Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying 
 men 
 Enforce attention, like deep harmony : 
 Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in 
 
 vain : 
 For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in 
 
 pain. 
 He, that no more must say, is listen'd more 
 
 Than they whom youth and ease have taught to 
 glose;* 
 More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before : 
 
 The setting sun, and music at the close, 
 .\s the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; 
 Writ in remembrance, more than things long past : 
 Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, 
 My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his car. 
 
 York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering 
 sounds, 
 As, praises of his state: then, there arc found 
 Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound 
 'I'he open ear of youth doth always listen : 
 Report of fashions in proud Italy; 
 \^'hosc manners still our tardy apish nation 
 Limps after, in base imitation. 
 Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 
 (So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) 
 That is not quickly buzz'd into his cars? 
 Then all too late comes counsel to be heard 
 \^'here will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
 Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; 
 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou 
 lose. 
 Gau7if. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd ; 
 And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : 
 His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last: 
 For violent fires soon burn out themselves : 
 Small showers last long, but sudden storms are 
 
 short ; 
 He tires lietimes, that spurs too fast betimes; 
 With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder: 
 Lil-ht vanity, insatiate cormorant, 
 Consumirig means, soon preys upon itself. 
 'J'his royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, 
 This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This other Eden, demi-paradise; 
 Tliis fortress, built by nature for herself. 
 Against infection, and the hand of war; 
 riiis happy breed of men, this little world; 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 • Flatter. 
 
 Or, as a moat defensive to a house, 
 
 Against the envy of less happier lands; 
 
 This blessed plot, this earth, tliis realm, this Eag« 
 
 land, 
 This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
 Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, 
 Renov\'ned for their deeds as far from home, 
 (For Christian service, and true chivalry,) 
 As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, 
 Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son: 
 This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, 
 Dear for her reputation through the world. 
 Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it) 
 Like to a tenement or pelting' farm: 
 England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
 \^ hose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
 Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
 With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds; 
 That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
 Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: 
 O, would the scandal vanish with my life. 
 How happy then were my ensuing death ! 
 
 Enter King Richauh, and Queen; Aubierlh, 
 BusHT, Gheen, Bagot, Ross, and Wil« 
 
 LOUGHBT. 
 
 York. The king is come : deal mildly with his 
 j'outh ; 
 For young hot colts, being raged, do rage the more. 
 Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? 
 K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with 
 
 aged Gaunt? 
 Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition ! 
 Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt" in being old : 
 Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; 
 And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt ? 
 For sleeping England long time have I watch'd ; 
 Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt : 
 The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, 
 Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks; 
 And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt; 
 Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave. 
 Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 
 K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their 
 
 names ? 
 Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: 
 Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
 I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. 
 
 K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those 
 
 that live? 
 Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that die. 
 K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st — thou flat- 
 
 ter'st me. 
 Gaunt. Oh ! no; thou diest, though I the sicker 
 
 be. 
 K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see the« 
 
 ill. 
 Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I 8e# 
 thee ill ; 
 III in myself to soe, and in thee seeing ill, 
 • PaltiT. • Lean. thin. 
 
870 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Tliy death -bed is no lesser than the land, 
 Wherein thou licst in reputation sick: 
 And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
 Coinmit'st thy anointed body to the cure 
 Of '.hose physicians that first wounded thee : 
 A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 
 Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; 
 And yet, incaged in so small a verge. 
 The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
 O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye. 
 Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons. 
 From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame; 
 Deposing thee before thou wcrt posscss'd. 
 Which art posscss'd now to depose thyself. 
 Why, cousin, wcrt thou regent of the world, 
 It were a shame to let this land by lease: 
 But, for thy world, enjoying but this land, 
 Is it not more than shame, to shame it so? 
 Landlord of England art thou now, not kii.g: 
 Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; 
 
 And thou 
 
 K. Rich. a lunatic lean-witted fool. 
 
 Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
 Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 
 Make pale our cheek ; chasing the royal blood. 
 With fury, from his native residence. 
 Now by my scat's right royal majesty, 
 Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son. 
 This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head. 
 Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. 
 Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son. 
 For that I was his fother Edward's son ; 
 That blood already, like the ])clican, 
 Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd: 
 My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, 
 (Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls !) 
 May be a precedent and witness good. 
 That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: 
 Join with the present sickness that I have ; 
 And thy unkindncss be like crooked age. 
 To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. 
 Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! — 
 These words hereafter thy tormentors be, — 
 Convey me to my bed, then to my gi-ave : 
 Love they to live, that love and honor have. 
 
 [Exit, borne out by his Attendants. 
 K. Rich. And let them die that age and sullens 
 have; 
 For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 
 
 York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words 
 To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
 He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
 As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. 
 
 iC.jRtcA. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, 
 so his : 
 As their.s, so mine ; and all be as it is. 
 Enter Notitiiumheuland. 
 North. My liege, old Gaunt commends hiui to 
 
 yDur rnajestj^ 
 K. Rich. What says he nowl 
 North. Nay, nothing; all is said: 
 
 His tongue is now a stringless instrument; 
 Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 
 
 York. Be York the nextthat must be bankrupt so! 
 Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 
 
 K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; 
 His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be : 
 
 So much for that. Now for our Irish wars : 
 
 We must supplant those rough rug-headed kernes ;■" 
 '' Iriah soldiers. 
 
 Which live like venom, where no venom else. 
 But only they, hath privilege to live. 
 And for these great affairs do as;k some c'narge, 
 Towards our assistance, we do seize to us 
 The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables. 
 Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stond posscss'd. 
 York. How long shall I be patient ! Ah, how 
 long 
 Shall tender duty make me sufTer wrong ! 
 Not Glostcr's death, nor Hereford's banishment, 
 Not Gaunt's rebukes, norEngland's private wrongly 
 Nor the pi-evention of poor Bolingbroke 
 About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, 
 Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, 
 Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. — 
 I am the last of noble Edward's sons. 
 Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first, 
 In war, was never lion raged more fierce. 
 In peace was never gentle lamb more mild. 
 Than was that young and princely gentleman . 
 His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 
 Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ; 
 But, when he frown'd, it was against the French 
 And not against his friends : his noble hand 
 Did win what he did spend, and spent not that 
 Which his triumphant father's hand had won : 
 His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood. 
 But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
 O, Richard ! York is too far gone with ^rief. 
 Or else he never would compare between. 
 K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter 1 
 York. O, my liega 
 
 Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, plcas'd 
 Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
 Seek you to seize, and gripe into your lunds. 
 The royalties and rights ofbanish'd Hereford! 
 Is not Gaunt dead 1 and doth not Hereford live "; 
 Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true'' 
 Did not the one deserve to have an heir? 
 Is not his heir a well-deserving son ? 
 Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time 
 His charters and his customary rights; 
 Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ; 
 Be not thyself, for how ai-t thou a king, 
 But by fair sequence and succession? 
 Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true !) 
 If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights. 
 Call in the letters patent that he hath 
 By his attovnies-gcneral to sue 
 His livery,' and deny his offer'd homage, 
 You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, 
 You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts. 
 And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 
 Which honor and allegiance cannot think. 
 
 K. Rich. Think what you will ; we seize inta 
 our hands 
 His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. 
 
 York. I'll not be by the while : My liege, farewell 
 What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; 
 But by bad courses may be understood, 
 That their events can never fall out good. [ExtU 
 K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire 
 straight ; 
 Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, 
 To see this business : To-morrow next 
 We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow; 
 And we create, in absence of ourself. 
 Our uncle York lord governor of England, 
 For he is just and always lov'd us well. — 
 ' Claim possession ; a law term. 
 
Scene II 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 371 
 
 l^omc on, o IT queen : to-morrow must we part ; 
 Be merry, for our time of stay is short. IFiourish. 
 [Ejceunt King, Queen, Bushy, Aumerle, 
 GiiKEN, and Bagot. 
 Norih. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. 
 Ross. And living too; for now his son is dulce. 
 Wi/lo. Barely in title, not in revenue. 
 AWA. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 
 lioss. My heart is great ; but it must break with 
 silence, 
 Ere't bo disburdcn'd with a liberal tongue. 
 
 Kvrth. Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er 
 sj)eak more. 
 That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm ! 
 Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke 
 of Hereford 1 
 fl it be so, out with it boldly, man; 
 Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. 
 Koss. IN'o good at all, that I can do for him; 
 Unless you call it good to pity him, 
 Bereft and gclded'of his patrimony. 
 
 North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such 
 wrongs are borne. 
 In him a royal prince, and many more 
 Of noble blood in this declining land. 
 The king is not himself, but basely led 
 By flatterers ; and what they will inform, 
 Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, 
 That will the king severely prosecute 
 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 
 Ross. The commons hath he pill'd'' with grievous 
 taxes. 
 And lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fined 
 For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 
 Wil/o. And daily new exactions arc devis'd; 
 As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what : 
 But what, o" God's name, doth become of this ] 
 Nurlh. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he 
 hath not. 
 But basely yielded upon compromise 
 That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows : 
 More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. 
 Ross. 1'he earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in 
 
 farm. 
 Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken 
 
 man. 
 Norih. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over 
 
 him. 
 Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars. 
 His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, 
 But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 
 
 Norih. His noble kinsman: most degenerate 
 king! 
 But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing. 
 Vet seek no shelter to avoid the storm : 
 Wc SCO the wind sit sore upon our sails, 
 And y&, we strike not, but securely perish." 
 
 Ross. We sec the very wreck that we must suffer ; 
 l\.nd unavoidcd is the danger now, 
 ^or suffering so the causes of our wreck. 
 
 North. Not so ; even through the hollow eyes of 
 death, 
 I spy life peering ; but I dare not say 
 How near the tidings of our comfort is. 
 
 ]Villo. Nay, let us share thy luoughts, as thou 
 
 dost ours. 
 Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland : 
 We three are but thyself; and, speaking so. 
 Thy words arc but as thoughts ; therefore be bold. 
 il)ei>iiii,'J. "t'illafjcj 'I'trisUbyeouliJcnce in our security 
 
 North. Then thus: — I have from Port leBlant 
 a bay 
 In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence, 
 That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, 
 [The son of Richard earl of Arundel,] 
 That late broke from the duke of Exeter, 
 His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, 
 Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, 
 Sir John Norbcry, sir Robert Waterton, andFranciJ 
 
 Quoint, 
 
 All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, 
 With eight tall- ships, three thousand men of war, 
 Are making hither with all due expedience,^ 
 And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : 
 Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay 
 The first departing of the king for Ireland. 
 If then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke, 
 Imp ' out our drooping country's broken wing, 
 Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown. 
 Wipe oil" the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt.' 
 And make high majesty look like itself. 
 Away, with mc, in post to Ravenspurg : 
 But if you faint, as ll'aring to do so. 
 Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. 
 
 Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them 
 
 that fear. 
 Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.— The same. A Room in the Palace- 
 Enter Queen, Busiit, and Bagot. 
 
 Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: 
 You promis'd when you parted with the king. 
 To lay aside life-harming heaviness. 
 And entertain a cheerful disposition. 
 
 Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please 
 
 myself, 
 I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause 
 Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, 
 Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
 As my sweet Richard : Yet, again, mcthinks. 
 Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb. 
 Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul 
 With nothing trembles : at something it grieves. 
 More than with parting from my lord the king. 
 Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twentT 
 
 shadows. 
 Which show like grief itself, but are not so> 
 For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, 
 Divides one thing entire to many objects ; 
 Like perspectives,*^ which, rightly gaz'd upon, 
 Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry. 
 Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty, 
 Looknig awry upon your lord's departure, 
 Finds shapes of grief, more than himseir(:> wtii; 
 Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but sLadow* 
 Of what it is not. 'J'hcn, thrice-gracious queen, 
 More than your lord's departure weep not; moiB 
 
 not seen : 
 Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye. 
 Which, for thing* true, vvce[)s things imaginary. 
 Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul 
 Persuades me, it is otherwise : Howc'cr it be, 
 I cannot but be sad ; so heavy sad, 
 As, — though, in thinking, oi: no thought I think, — 
 Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 
 
 a Stout. 
 
 « Supply with new feathers. 
 
 • Pictures. 
 
 ' Kxpedition. 
 • Gildiatr 
 
572 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Husny 'Tis nothing but conceit,' my gracious 
 lady. 
 
 Queen, 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriyed 
 From some fore-father grief; mine is not so; 
 For nothing hath begot my something grief; 
 Or something hath the nothing that I grieve • 
 'Tis in reversion inat I do possess ; 
 But what it is, that is not yet knoven; what 
 I cannot name ; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.* 
 
 Enter Greew. 
 
 Gi-een, Heaven save your majesty ! — and well 
 met, gentlemen: — 
 [ hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 
 
 Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, 
 he is. 
 For his designs cravci haste, his haste good hope; 
 Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd 1 
 
 Green. That he, our hope, might have retired 
 his power. 
 And driven into despair an enemy's hope. 
 Who strongly hath set footing in this land: 
 The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, 
 .\.nd with upliited arms is safe arriv'd 
 At Ravenspurg. 
 
 Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! 
 
 Green. 0, madam, 'tis too true: and that is 
 worse, — 
 The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry 
 
 Percy, 
 The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
 With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 
 
 Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd North- 
 umberland, 
 And all the rest of the revolting faction 
 Traitors 1 
 
 Green. We have : whereon the earl of Worces- 
 ter 
 Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship. 
 And all the household servants fled with him 
 To Bolingbroke. 
 
 Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my 
 woe. 
 And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: 
 Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy ; 
 And I, a gasping new-dclivcr'd mother. 
 Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 
 
 Bushy. Despair not, madam. 
 
 Queen. Who shall hinder me? 
 
 I will despair, and be at enmity 
 With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, 
 A parasite, a keeper-back of death. 
 Who gently would dissolve the bands of life. 
 Which false hope lingers in extremity. 
 
 Enter Yoiik. 
 
 Green. Here comes the duke of York. 
 
 Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck ; 
 0, full of careful business are his looks ! — 
 Uncle, 
 For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. 
 
 York. Should I do so, I should belie my 
 thoughts : 
 Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, 
 Where nothing lives but crosses, care and grief, 
 your husband he is gone to save far off. 
 Whilst others come to make him lose at home : 
 Here am I left to underprop his land, 
 
 Who, weak with age, cannot support myself; 
 Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; 
 Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. My lord, your son was gone before 
 came. 
 
 York. He was ] — Why, so ! — go all which waj 
 it will !— 
 The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, 
 And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. — 
 Sirrah, 
 
 Get thee to Flashy, to my sister Gloster; 
 Bid her send nie presently a thousand pound: — 
 Hold, take my ring. 
 
 Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship 
 To-day, as I came by, I called there; 
 But I shall grieve you to report the rest. 
 
 York. What is it, knave 1 
 
 Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 
 
 York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
 Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! 
 I know not what to do: — I would to God, 
 (So my untruth' had not provoked him to it,) 
 The king had cut off my head with my brother's. 
 What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland? — 
 How shall we do for money for these wars ? 
 Come, sister, — cousin, I would say, pray, pardon 
 
 me. — 
 Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, pro- 
 vide some carts. 
 And bring away the armor that is there. 
 
 [Exit Servant 
 Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I \no\v 
 How, or which way, to order these affairs. 
 Thus thrust disorderly into my hands. 
 Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ; 
 The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath 
 And duty bids defend; the other again. 
 Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd; 
 Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
 Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll 
 Dispose of you: — Go, muster up your men, 
 And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. 
 I should to Flashy too, — 
 But time will not permit: — All is uneven. 
 And every thing is left at six and seven. 
 
 [Exeunt York and Quees. 
 
 Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to 
 Ireland, 
 But none returns. For us to levy power, 
 Froportionable to the enemy. 
 Is all impossible. 
 
 Green. Besides, our nearness to the king ii 
 love, 
 Is near the hate of those love not the king. 
 
 ' Fanciful conception. 
 
 • Know. 
 
 Bagot. And that's the wavering commons : 
 
 fo: 
 
 their love 
 
 Lies in their purses ; and whoso empties them. 
 By so much fills their heart with deadly hate. 
 Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- 
 
 demn'd. 
 Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we. 
 Because we ever have been near the king. 
 
 Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol 
 castle ; 
 The .arl of Wiltshire is already there. 
 
 Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office 
 
 » DlBloyalty. 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 S73 
 
 The hateful commons will perform for us; 
 Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. — 
 Will you go along with us 1 
 
 Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland to his majesty, 
 farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, 
 W^e three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. 
 
 Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bo- 
 lingbroke. 
 
 Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes 
 Is — nuniuering sands, and drinking oceans dry; 
 Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 
 
 Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and 
 ever. 
 
 Green. Well, we may meet again. 
 
 Bas;ot. I fear me, never. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Wilds in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Enter Bolingbrokf, and NoRxnuMBEnLAND, 
 
 with Forces. 
 
 Bating. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? 
 
 North. Believe me, noble lord, 
 I am a stranger here in Glostershire. 
 These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways. 
 Draw out our miles and make them wearisome : 
 And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar. 
 Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
 But, I bethink me, what a weary way 
 From Kavenspurg to Cotswold will be found 
 In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company; 
 Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
 The tcdiousness and process of my travel : 
 But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have 
 The present benefit which I possess : 
 And hope to joy, is little less in joy. 
 Than hope cnjoy'd: by this the weary lords 
 8hall make their way seem short; as mine hath 
 
 done 
 By sight of what I have, your noble company. 
 
 Boling. Of much less value is my company. 
 Than your good words. But who comes here? 
 
 Enter Hahut Pehct. 
 
 North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
 Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. 
 Harry, how fares your uncle"? 
 
 Percy. I had thought, my lord, to nave learn'd 
 
 his health of you. 
 Nwth. Why, is he not with the queen 1 
 Percy. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook the 
 court. 
 Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd 
 The household of the king. 
 
 North. What was his reason 1 
 
 He was not so resolv'd when last we spake to- 
 gether. 
 Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed 
 traitor. 
 But he, my lord, is gone to Ravcnspurg, 
 To offer service to the duke of Hereford; 
 And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover 
 What power the duke of York had levied there; 
 Then with direction to repair to Ravcnspurg. 
 North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, 
 
 boyi 
 Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot, 
 Which ne'er I did romomber: to my knowledge, 
 I never in my life did look on him. 
 
 North. Then learn to know him now; this is 
 the duke. 
 
 25 
 
 Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my 
 service, 
 Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; 
 Which elder days shall ripen and confirm 
 To more approved service and desert. 
 
 Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, 
 I count myself in nothing else so happy. 
 As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; 
 And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, 
 It shall be still thy true love's recompense: 
 My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals 
 it. 
 
 North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir 
 Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? 
 
 Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of 
 trees, 
 Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard : 
 And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Sey 
 
 mour: 
 None else of name, and noble estimate. 
 
 Enter Ross and Willoughbt. 
 
 North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil- 
 loughby, 
 Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 
 
 Boling. Welcome, my lords : I wot.' your love 
 pursues 
 A banish'd traitor; all my treasury 
 Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, 
 Shall be your love and labor's recompense. 
 
 iwss. Your presence makes us rich, most noble 
 
 lord. 
 Willo. And far surmounts our labor to attain it. 
 Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of tho 
 poor; 
 Which till my infant fortune comes to years. 
 Stands for my bounty. But who comes here' 
 
 Enter Behklet. 
 
 North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 
 
 Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to 
 you. 
 
 Boling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster ; 
 And I am come to seek that name in England; 
 And I must find that title in your tongue, 
 Before I make reply to aught you say. 
 
 Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my 
 meaning. 
 To raze one title of your honor out : 
 To you, my lord, I come (what lord you will) 
 From the most glorious regent of this land. 
 The duke of York ; to know, what pricks you on 
 To take advantage of the absent time,'' 
 And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 
 
 Enter Youk, attended. 
 
 Baling. I shall not needs transport my wcrds 
 by you. 
 Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle! 
 
 ^Kneels. 
 York. Show mc thy humble heart, and not thy 
 knee. 
 Whose duty is dcceivabic and false. 
 Boling. My gracious uncle ! 
 York. Tut, tut ! 
 (Jracc me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle: 
 I am no traitor's uncle; and tliat word — grace, 
 In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. 
 Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 
 « Know » Time of the king'n absence. 
 
S74 
 
 r^ING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground? 
 But then more why; — Why have they dared to 
 
 . march 
 So many miles upon her peaceful bosom; 
 Frighting her pale-faced villages with war, 
 And ostentation of despised arms ] 
 Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence? 
 Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, 
 And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
 Were I but now the lord of such hot youth. 
 As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself. 
 Rescued the black prince, that young Mars of men, 
 From forth the ranks of many thousand French; 
 O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, 
 Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, 
 And minister correction to thy fault! 
 
 Buling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; 
 On what condition stands it, and wherein 1 
 
 York. Even in condition of the worst degree, — 
 In gross rebellion, and detested treason : 
 Thou art a banisli'd man, and here art come, 
 Before the expiration of thy time, 
 In braving arms against thy sovereign. 
 
 Baling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here- 
 ford ; 
 But as I come, I come for Lancaster. 
 And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace. 
 Look on my wrongs with an indillerent' eye: 
 You are my father, for, methinks, in you 
 I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father! 
 Will you permit that I shall stand condcmn'd 
 A wandering vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
 Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
 To upstart unthrifls? Wherefore was I born'' 
 If that my cousin king be king of England, 
 It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. 
 You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman; 
 Had you first died, and he had been thus trod down, 
 He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, 
 To rouse his wrongs,' and chase them to the bay. 
 I am denied to sue my livery ' here, 
 And yet my letters-patent give me leave : 
 My lather's goods are all distrain'd and sold; 
 And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
 What would you have me do! I am a subject, 
 And challenge law: Attornies are denied me; 
 And therefore personally I lay my claim 
 To my inheritance of free descent. 
 North. The noble duke hath been too much abused. 
 
 Ross. It stands your grace upon,'' to do him right. 
 
 Willo. Base men by his endowments are made 
 great. 
 
 York. My lords of England, let me tell you this, — 
 I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, 
 And labor'd all I could to do him right: 
 But in this kind to come, in braving arms. 
 Be his own carver, and cut out his v^'ay, 
 To find out right with wrong, — it may not be; 
 
 And you, that do abet him in this kind, 
 Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 
 
 North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming ij 
 But for his own: and, for the right of thit. 
 We all have strongly sworn to give him aid ; 
 And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. 
 
 York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms 
 I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
 Because my power is weak, and all ill left: 
 But, if I could, by him that gave me life, 
 I would attach you all, and make you sloop 
 Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ; 
 But, since I cannot, be it known to you, 
 I do remain as neuter. So fare you well ; — 
 Unless you please to enter in the castle, 
 And there repose you for this night. 
 
 BoUng. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. 
 But we must win your grace, to go with us 
 To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held 
 By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, 
 The caterpillars of the commonwealth, 
 Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. 
 
 York. It may be, I will go with you : — but yet 
 I'll pause; 
 For I am loath to break our country's laws. 
 Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are; 
 Things past redress, are now with me past care. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Camp in Wales. 
 
 Enter Salisburt, and a Captain. 
 
 Capt. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, 
 And hardly kept our countrymen together. 
 And yet we hear no tidings from the king: 
 Therefore we will disperse ourselves: forewell. 
 
 Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman; 
 The king reposeth all his confidence 
 In thee. 
 
 Capf. 'Tis thought the king is dead ; we will 
 not stay. 
 The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, 
 And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; 
 The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth, 
 And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change) 
 Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, — 
 The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy, 
 The other, to enjoy by rage and war: 
 These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. — 
 Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled, 
 As well assured, Richard their king is dead. [Exit, 
 
 Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind, 
 I see thy glory, like a shooting star, 
 Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! 
 Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
 Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: 
 Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ; 
 And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. 
 E«/er BoLiNoiinoKE, YonK.NonTiiuMnEKLAXi), 
 Pkrcy, Willoughbt, Ross: Officers behind 
 with Bushy and Gnv.v.s, prisoners. 
 Baling. Bring forth these men. — 
 3 Impartial. * The persons who wrong him. 
 
 • Possession of my lan'l, &c. s It is your interest. 
 
 Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls 
 (Since presently your souls must part your bodteaj 
 With too much urging your pernicious live.s, 
 For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your blood 
 From off my hands, here in the view of men, 
 I will unfold some causes of your d«ath. 
 You have misled a prince, a royal Lnp, 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 37a 
 
 A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
 By you uiihappicd and tlisfigur'd clean.' 
 You have, in manner, with your sinful hours. 
 Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; 
 Broke the possession of a royal bed, 
 And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
 With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. 
 Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ; 
 Near to the king in blood; and near in love. 
 Till you did make him misinterpret me,' — 
 Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, 
 And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, 
 Eating the bitter bread of banisliment: 
 Whilst you have fed upon my scignories, 
 Dispark'd my parks, and fcU'd my forest woods; 
 From my own windows torn my household coat, 
 Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, — 
 Save men's opinions, and my living blood, — 
 To show the world I am a gentleman. 
 This, and much more, much more than twice all this, 
 Condemns you to the death: — See them deliver'd 
 
 over 
 To execution and the hand of death. 
 
 BusJiy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, 
 Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell. 
 
 Green. My comfort is, — that heaven will take 
 our souls. 
 And j.laguc injustice with the pains of hell. 
 
 Bu/ing. My lord Northumberland, see them de- 
 spatch'd. 
 
 [Exeunt NonTHUMBERLAND and others, 
 with Prisoners. 
 Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; 
 For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated: 
 Tell her, I send to her my kind commends; 
 Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 
 
 York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd 
 With letters of your love to her at large. 
 
 Baling. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords 
 away ; 
 To fight with Glendower and his complices; 
 Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \l.—The Coast 0/ Wales. A Castle in 
 
 view, 
 flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter King 
 Richard, Bishop of Cahlisle, AcMEnLE,6!?2^ 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 A'. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand] 
 Aunt. Yea, my lord: How brooks your grace 
 the air, 
 After late tossing on the breaking seasl 
 
 A". Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy, 
 
 To stand upon my kingdom once again. 
 
 Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand. 
 Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : 
 As a long parted mother with her child 
 Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; 
 So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, 
 And do lliee favor with my royal han<ls. 
 Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth. 
 Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense, 
 But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, 
 And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way; 
 Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, 
 U'hich with usurping steps do trample thee. 
 Yiild stinging nellies to mine enemies: 
 And when thev from thy bosom pluck a flower, 
 Uuard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder; 
 ■> Completely. 
 
 Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
 
 Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. 
 
 Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords; 
 This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones 
 Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king, 
 Shall falter under Ibul rebellious arms. 
 
 Ca?: Fear not, my lord ; that Power, that madfl 
 you king, 
 Hath power to keep 3'ou king, in spite of all. 
 The means that heaven yields must be embraced, 
 And not neglected; else, if heaven would, 
 And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse; 
 The proffer'd means of succor and redress. 
 
 Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too reir isat 
 Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security. 
 Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends 
 
 K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou 
 not. 
 That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
 Behind the globe, and lights the lower world. 
 Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, 
 In murders, and in outrage, bloody here ; 
 But when, from under this terrestrial ball, 
 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines. 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
 Then murders, treasons, and detested sins. 
 The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their back^ 
 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? 
 So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,- 
 W^ho all this while hath revell'd in the night, 
 Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,- 
 Shall see us rising in our throne the east, 
 His treasons will sit blushing in his face. 
 Not able to endure the sight of day. 
 But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. 
 Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
 Can wash the balm from an anointed king 
 The breath of worldly men cannot depose 
 The deputy elected by the Lord: 
 For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, 
 To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
 God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 
 A glorious angel : then, if angels fight. 
 Weak men must fall ; for heaven still guards fhb 
 right. 
 
 Enter Salisburt. 
 
 Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power'? 
 
 Sal. Nor near, nor further olf, my gracious lord, 
 Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue, 
 And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
 One day too late, I fear, my noble lord, 
 Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: 
 O, call back yesterday, bid time return. 
 And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! 
 To-day, to-day, unhappy day too late, 
 O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state* 
 For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. 
 Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. 
 
 Aunt. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace 
 so pale? 
 
 K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand 
 men 
 
 Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; 
 And till so much blood thither come again. 
 
 Have I not reason to look j)ale and dead ' 
 All souls that will be sale fly from my side ; 
 For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 
 
 Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you aio 
 
 K. Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not kinji ^ 
 
a76 
 
 KING RICHARD 11. 
 
 A.'T in 
 
 Awake, thou s!ug<jarJ majesty ! thou sleep'st. 
 Is not the kiiia's name forty thousand names? 
 Ann, arm, my name, a puny subject strikes 
 At fhy great glory.— Look not to the ground, 
 Ye favorites of a king; Are we not highl 
 High be our thoughts; I know my uncle York 
 Haih fjo-wer enough to serve our ttirn. Bat who 
 Comes here! 
 
 Enter Schoof- 
 
 Scroop. More health and happiness betide my 
 hege, 
 Tlian can my care-tuned tongue deliver him. 
 
 K. Rich. Mine ear is open and my heart pre- 
 pared ; 
 The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. 
 Say, is my kingdom lost] why, 'twas my care; 
 And what loss is it, to l>e rid of care] 
 Strives Bolingbroke to l)c as great as we? 
 Greater he shall not be ; if be serve God. 
 We'll serve him too, and Itc his fellmv so: 
 Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend; 
 They break their faith to God, as well as us: 
 Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay ; 
 The worst is — death, and deatli will have his day. 
 
 Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd 
 To bear the tidings of calamity. 
 Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
 Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
 As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears; 
 So high aliove his linnts swells the rage 
 Gf Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 
 M'ith hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. 
 White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless 
 
 scalps 
 Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, 
 Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints 
 In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown: 
 Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 
 Of double-fatal yew against thy state ; 
 Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills 
 Against thy scat; both young and old rebel. 
 And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 
 
 K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tcH'st a tale so ill. 
 Where is the earl of Wiltshire ? where is Bagot ? 
 What is become of Bushy ? where is Green ? 
 That they may let the dangerous enemy 
 Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? 
 If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. 
 I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 
 
 Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, 
 my lord. [demption ! 
 
 K, Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- 
 Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! [heart ! 
 Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my 
 Ttree Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas ! 
 Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war 
 Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! 
 
 Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property. 
 Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate: — 
 Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made 
 With heads, and not with hands: those whom you 
 
 curse 
 Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, 
 And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. 
 
 Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wilt- 
 shire dead ? 
 
 Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their 
 heads. 
 
 Aum, Whei-e ir, the duke my father wirh hii 
 
 power? 
 K. Rich. No matter where ; of comfort no man 
 speak : 
 Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
 Let's choose executors, and talk of wills: 
 And yet not so, for what can we bequeath. 
 Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
 Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke' », 
 And nothing can we call our own, but death; 
 And that small model of the barren earth, 
 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
 For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings: — 
 How some have Ix^cn depos'd, some slain in war 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd ; 
 Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd 
 All murdcr'd :— For within the hollow crown, 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
 Keeps death his court; and there the antic sits, 
 Scoffmg his state, and grinning at his pomp; 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
 To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks, 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit,— 
 As if this flesh, which walls about our lifp, 
 Were brass impregnable; and humor'd thus, 
 Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
 Bores through his castle wall, and — farev/ell king i 
 Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
 With solemn reverence; throw away respect. 
 Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, 
 For you have but mistook me all this while: 
 I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
 Need friends: — Subjected thus, 
 How can you say to me — I am a king? 
 
 Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their preseni 
 woes, 
 But presently prevent the ways to wail. 
 To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength. 
 Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe. 
 And so your follies fight against yourself. 
 Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come, to fight. 
 And fight and die, is death destroying death ; 
 Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. 
 
 Au)7i. My father hath a power, enquire of him 
 And learn to make a body of a limb. 
 
 A". Rich. Thou chid'st me well: — Proud Boling- 
 l)rokc, I come 
 To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
 This ague-fit of fear is overblown; 
 
 An easy task it is to win our own. 
 
 Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power ? 
 Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 
 
 Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky 
 
 The state and inclination of the day : 
 So may you by my dull and heavy eye. 
 
 My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
 I play the torturer, by small and small. 
 To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: — 
 Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke; 
 And all your northern castles yielded up. 
 And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
 Upon his party. 
 
 A'. Rich. Thou hast said enough. 
 
 Beshrew thee, cousin, which did lead me forth 
 
 [To ACMSRLS 
 
 Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 
 
 What say you now ? what comfort have we now' 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING RICHARD 11. 
 
 37T 
 
 By heaven, I'll h^tc him everlastingly, 
 I'liat bilk nie be of comfort any more. 
 rJo, to Flint castle; tlicre I'll pine away; 
 A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
 That power I have, discharge ; and let them go 
 To ear' the land that hath some hope to grow. 
 For I have none : — Let no man speak again 
 To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 
 
 Auni. My liege, one word. 
 
 K. Kick. He docs me double wrong 
 
 That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
 Discharge my followers, let them hence ; — Away, 
 From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Wales. Before Flint Casllc. 
 
 Enter, with Brum and Colors, BohrnGBVLOKn and 
 Forces/ York, NoRTHUMREnLAxi), and others. 
 
 Boli?Jg. So that by this intelligence we learn. 
 The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury 
 Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed, 
 With some few private friends, upon this coast. 
 
 North. The news is very fair and good, my lord: 
 Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. 
 
 York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, 
 To say — king Richard: — Alack the heavy day. 
 When such a sacred king should hide his head! 
 
 North. Your grace mistakes me ; only to be brief, 
 Left I his title out. 
 
 Yoi'k. The time hath been, 
 
 Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
 Have been so brief with you, to shorten you. 
 For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 
 
 Baling. Mistake not, uncle, farther than you 
 should. 
 
 York. Take not, good cousin, further than you 
 should. 
 Lest you mistake : The heavens are o'er your head. 
 
 Boiiug. I know it, uncle; and oppose not 
 Myself against their will. — But who comes herel 
 
 Enter Pf.iicT. 
 
 Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield 1 
 
 Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, 
 Against thy enti-ancc. 
 
 Baling. Royally ! 
 
 Why, it contains no king] 
 
 Percy. Yes, my good lord, 
 
 It doth contain a king: king Richard lies 
 Within the limits of yon lime and stone; 
 And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, 
 Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman 
 Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. 
 
 North. Belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. 
 
 Baling. Noble lord, [7« North. 
 
 Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; 
 Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parlc 
 Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: 
 Harry Bolingbroke 
 
 On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand ; 
 And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart. 
 To his most royal person : hither come 
 Even at his feet to lay my arms and power; 
 ''rovided that, my banishment repeal'd, 
 And lands restor'd again, be freely granted: 
 If not, I'll use the advantage of my j)owcr, 
 And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
 Kain'd fr)m the wounds of slaughter'd Englisluncn: 
 
 « Plcudh. 
 
 The which, how far off from tlw mind of Boling 
 
 broke 
 It is, such crimson tempest should bedrcncii 
 The fresh green lap of fair king Richanrs land, 
 My stooping duty tenderly shall sliow. 
 Go, signify as much ; while here we march 
 
 Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 
 
 £NoRTHUMBEiiLANi) udvunccs to i\t 
 Castle with a Trumpet. 
 Let's march without the noise of threat'ningdi-um, 
 That from the castle's tottcr'd battlements 
 Our fair appointments may be well perused. 
 Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet 
 With no less terror than the elements 
 Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock 
 At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
 Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water: 
 The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
 My waters; on the earth, and not on him. 
 March on, and mark king Richard how he looks, 
 
 A Parle sounded, andanswered by another Trum- 
 pet within. Flourish. Enter an the Walla 
 KixG RicHARU, the Bishop of Carlisle, Au- 
 MKRLE, Scroop, and Sali«burt. 
 
 York. See, see, king Richard dotli himself ap- 
 pear, 
 As doth the blusliing discontented sun 
 From out the fiery portal of the cast; 
 When he perceives the envious clouds are ben< 
 To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
 Of his bright passage to the Occident. 
 Yet looks he like a king ; behokl, his eye. 
 As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth, 
 Controlling majesty ; Alack, alack, for woe, 
 That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 
 
 K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have 
 we stood 
 To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, 
 
 [To NoRTHUJIBERLAXD. 
 
 Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: 
 And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
 To pa^- their awful duty to our presence 1 
 If wc be not, show us tlic hand of God 
 That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship 
 For well we know, no hand of blood and bom 
 Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, 
 Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
 And though you think, that all, as you have done. 
 Have torn their souls, by turning them fi-om us, 
 And we are barren, and bereft of friends; — 
 Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent. 
 Is must'ring in his clouds, on our behalf. 
 Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike 
 Your children yet unborn, and unbegot. 
 That lift your vassal hands against my head, 
 And threat the glory of my precious crown. 
 Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,) 
 That every stride he makes upon my land, 
 Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope 
 The purple testament of bleeding war: 
 But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, 
 Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 
 Shall ill become the flower of England's face; 
 Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
 To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
 Her pasture's grass with faithful English blood 
 North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord tha 
 king 
 Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
 
378 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Be rush'd upon ; Tliy thrice-noble cousin, 
 Harry Balino^broke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; 
 And by the honorable tomb he swears, 
 That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones; 
 And by the royalties of both your bloods. 
 Currents that sjjring from one most gracious head ; 
 And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt; 
 And by the worth and honor of himself, 
 Comprising all that maybe sworn or said, — 
 His coming hither hath no further scope, 
 Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg 
 Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: 
 Which on thy royal party granted once, 
 His glittering arms he will commend to rust, 
 His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
 To faithful service of your majesty. 
 This swears he, as he is a prince, is just ; 
 And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 
 
 K. Rich. Northumberland, say, — thus the king 
 
 returns 
 
 His noble cousin is right welcome hither; 
 And all the number of his fair demands 
 Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction; 
 With all the gracious utterance thou hast, 
 Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. — 
 We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, 
 To look so poorly, and to speak so foirl [To Aum. 
 Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
 Defiance to the traitor, and so die? 
 
 Aum. No, my good lord ; let's fight with gentle 
 words. 
 Pill time lend friends, and friends their helpful 
 swords. 
 K. Rich. O ! God O ! God that e'er this tongue 
 of mine, 
 1 hat laid the sentence of dread banishment 
 3n yon proud man, should take it off again 
 With words of sooth !'' O, that I were as great 
 As is my grief, or lesser than my name! 
 3r that I could forget what I have been ! 
 Or not rememl)er what I must be now ! 
 Swell'st thou, proud heart! I'll give thee scope to 
 
 beat. 
 Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 
 Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bo- 
 
 lingbroke. 
 K. Rich. What must the king do now ? Must 
 he submit 1 
 The king shall do it. Must he be depos'dl 
 The king shall he contented: must he lose 
 The name of king] o'God's name, let it go: 
 I'll give my jewels for a set of beads; 
 My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage; 
 My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown; 
 My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood ; 
 My sceptre, for a palmer's walking staff; 
 My subjects, for a pair of carved saints; 
 And my large kingdom, for a little grave, 
 A little, little grave, an obscure grave: — 
 Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, 
 Some way of common trade where subjects' feet 
 May hourly trample on their sovereign's head : 
 For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live; 
 
 And, buried once, why not upon my head? 
 
 Aumerle, thou weep'st; My tender-hearted cousin! 
 We'll make foul weather with despised tears; 
 Our sighs and they, shall lodge the summer corn, 
 And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
 Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, 
 * Softness. 
 
 And make some pretty match with shedding tears 
 As thus: — To drop them still upon one place, 
 Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
 Within the earth; and therein laid, — There lies 
 Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves tvith weeping 
 
 eyes? 
 Would not this ill do well?— Well, well, I see 
 I talk but idly, and you mock at me. — 
 Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, 
 What says king Bolingbroke ? will his majesty 
 Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? 
 You make a leg,' and Bolingbroke says — ay. 
 North. My lord, in the base'^ court he doth at- 
 tend. 
 To speak with you; may't please you to come down? 
 K. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering 
 Phaeton, 
 Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 
 
 [NoBTH. retires to Bolino 
 In the base court? Base court, where kings grow 
 
 base. 
 To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
 In the base court? Come down? Down, court! 
 
 down, king! 
 For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should 
 sing. [Exeunt, from above. 
 
 Boling. What says his majesty ? 
 North. Sorrow and grief of heart 
 
 Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man : 
 Yet he is come. 
 
 Enter King Richakb, and his Attendants, belov,-. 
 
 Baling. Stand all apart. 
 
 And show fair duty to his majesty. 
 
 My gracious lord, — [Kneeling. 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely 
 knee. 
 To make the base earth proud with kissing it: 
 Me rather had, my heart might feel your love. 
 Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
 Up, cousin, up: your heart is up, I know, 
 Thus high at least, [Touching his own head.'\ al- 
 though your knee be low. 
 
 Baling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine 
 own. 
 
 K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and 
 all. 
 
 Baling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, 
 As my true service shall deserve your love. 
 
 K. Rich. Well you deserve : — They well deserve 
 to have, 
 That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — 
 Uncle, give me your hand: nay, dry your eyes; 
 Tears show their love, but want their remedies. — 
 Cousin, I am too young to be your father, 
 Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
 What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; 
 For do we must, what force will have us do. — 
 Set on towards London : Cousin, is it so ? 
 
 Boling. Yea, my gootl lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Then I must not say, na 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV.— Langley. The duke of York's 
 Garde7i. 
 
 Enter the Queen, and two Ladies. 
 Queen. What sport shall we devise here in thii 
 garden. 
 To drive away tlie heavy thought of care ? 
 » A bow. » Lover. 
 
:?CENE rv. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 37^ 
 
 1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. 
 
 Queen. 'Twill make me think, 
 
 The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune 
 Runs 'gainst the bias. 
 
 1 Lady. Madam, we will dance. 
 
 Queen. My legs can keep no measure in de- 
 
 When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: 
 Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. 
 
 1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. 
 
 Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy 1 
 
 1 Lady. Of either, madam. 
 
 Queeii. Of neither, girl: 
 
 For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 
 It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; 
 Or if of grief, being altogether had, 
 It adds more sorrow to my want of joy : 
 For what I have, I need not to repeat; 
 And what I want, it boots not to complain. 
 
 1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ; 
 
 But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou 
 weep. 
 
 1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you 
 good. 
 
 Queen. And 1 could weep, would weeping do 
 me good. 
 And never borrow any tear of thee. 
 But stay, here come the gardeners : 
 Let's step into the shadow of these trees. — 
 
 Enter a Gardener, and two Servants. 
 My wretchedness unto a row of pins. 
 They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so 
 Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe. 
 
 [Queen and Ladies retire. 
 
 Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks, 
 Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
 Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : 
 Give some supportance to the bending twigs. — 
 Go thou, and like an executioner, 
 Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays. 
 That look too lofty in our commonwealth: 
 
 All must be even in our government. 
 
 You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
 The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
 The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 
 
 1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a 
 pale. 
 Keep law, and form, and due proportion. 
 Showing, as in a model, our firm estate 1 
 When our sea-walled garden, the whole land. 
 Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up. 
 Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd. 
 Her knots^ disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
 Swarming with caterpillars ? 
 
 Gard. Hold thy peace: — 
 
 He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring. 
 Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: 
 The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did 
 
 shelter, 
 That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, 
 • Figures planted in a box- 
 
 Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke; 
 I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 
 1 Serv. What, are they dead? 
 Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke 
 
 Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — Oh! What pity is i 
 That he had not so trimm'd a:\d dress'd his land. 
 As we this garden ! We at time of year 
 Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-irees ; 
 Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood. 
 With too much riches it confound itself: 
 Had he done so to great and growing men. 
 They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste 
 Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches 
 We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: 
 Had he done so, himself had borne the crown. 
 Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down, 
 1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall bo 
 
 depos'd 1 
 Gard. Dcpress'd he is already ; and depos'd, 
 'Tis doubt he will be : Letters came last night 
 To a dear friend of the good duke of York's 
 That tell black tidings. 
 
 Queen. O, I am press'd to death, 
 
 Through want of speaking ! — Thou, old Adam'3 
 likeness, [ Coming from her concealment. 
 Set to dress this garden, how dares 
 Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unplcasing news'! 
 What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee 
 To make a second fall of cursed man 1 
 Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd 1 
 Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth. 
 Divine his downfall 1 Say, where, when, and how, 
 Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? Speak,thou wretch. 
 
 Ga7-d. Pardon me, madam ; little joy have I, 
 To breathe this news ; yet, what I say, is true. 
 King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
 Of Bolingbroke ; their fortunes both are weigh'd : 
 In your lord's scale is nothing but himself. 
 And some few vanities that make him light; 
 But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
 Besides himself are all the English peers. 
 And with that odds he weighs king Richard down. 
 Post you to London, and you'll find it so ; 
 I speak no more than every man doth know. 
 Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of 
 foot. 
 Doth not thy embassage belong to me. 
 And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st 
 To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
 Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go. 
 To meet at London London's king in woe. — 
 What, was I born to this ! that my sad look 
 Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke! 
 Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, 
 I would, the plants thou graft'st may never grow. 
 [Exeunt Queex and Ladies. 
 Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be 
 no worse, 
 I would, my skill were subject to thy curse. — 
 Here did she drop a tear ; here, in this place, 
 I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : 
 Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
 In the remembrance of a weeping queen. 
 
 [Exeunk 
 
380 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 A^T IV. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE 1. — l.ondon. Westminster-Hall. 
 
 The Lords Spiritual on the right side of the 
 Throne,- the Lords Temporal on the left,- the 
 Commons below. Enter Bolinobrokk, Au- 
 
 MERLE, SunilEY, NoilTHUM II ERLAN U, PeRCT, 
 
 FiTZWATER, another Lord, Bishop of Car- 
 lisle, AnnoT OF Westminster, and Attend- 
 ants. Oflicers behind, luith Baoot. 
 
 Boling. Call forth Bagot: 
 
 Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; 
 What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death; 
 Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd 
 The bloody office of his timeless endl 
 
 Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. 
 
 Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that 
 man. 
 
 Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring 
 tongue 
 Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
 In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, 
 I heard you say, — Is nut my arm of length, 
 That reacheth from the restful English court 
 As far as Calais, to my uncle's head? 
 Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
 I heard you say that you had rather refuse 
 The offer of a hundred thousand crowns, 
 Than Bolingbroke's return to England; 
 Adding withal, how blest this land would be, 
 In this your cousin's death. 
 
 Auni. Princes, and noble lords, 
 
 What answer shall I make to this base man ' 
 Shall I so much dishonor my fair stars, 
 On equal terms to give him chastisement! 
 Either I must, or have mine honor soil'd 
 
 With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. 
 
 There is my gage, the manual seal of death, 
 That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest. 
 And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false, 
 In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
 To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 
 
 Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. 
 
 Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best 
 In all this presence that hath mov'd me so. 
 
 Fitz. If that thy valor stand on sympathies, 
 There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine : 
 By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st, 
 I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, 
 That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. 
 If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest; 
 And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart. 
 Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 
 
 Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that 
 day. 
 
 Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this 
 hour. 
 
 Aum. Fitzwater, thou art doom'd to hell for this. 
 
 Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honor is as true, 
 tn this appeal, as thou art all unjust: 
 And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage, 
 To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
 Of mortal breathing ; seize it, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off. 
 And never brandish more revengeful steel 
 Hver the glitter ng helmet of my foe ! 
 
 Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Au- 
 merle; 
 And spur thee on with full as many lies 
 As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear 
 From sun to sun : there is my honor's pawn ; 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aum. Who sets me else! by heaven, I'll throw 
 at all: 
 I have a thousand spirits in one breast, 
 To answer twenty thousand such as you. 
 
 Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well 
 The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 
 
 Fitz. My lord, 'tis true : you were in presence 
 then; 
 And you can witness with me, this is true. 
 
 Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself ii 
 true. 
 
 Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 
 
 Surrey. Dishonorable boy ! 
 
 That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword. 
 That it shall render vengeance and revenge, 
 Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie 
 In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. 
 In proof whereof, there is my honor's pawn ; 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse ! 
 If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
 I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness. 
 And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies. 
 And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith, 
 To tie thee to my strong correction. — 
 As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
 Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
 Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say, 
 That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy mea 
 To execute the noble duke at Calais. 
 
 Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, 
 That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this. 
 If he may be repeal'd to try his honor. 
 
 Boling. These differences shall all rest under 
 gage, 
 Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be, 
 And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
 To all his land and seignories ; when he's return'd, 
 Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 
 
 Car. That honorable day shall ne'er be seen. — 
 Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
 For Jesu Christ ; in glorious Christian field 
 Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross. 
 Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens: 
 And, toil'd with works of war, retired himself 
 To Italy ; and there at Venice, gave 
 His body to that pleasant country's earth. 
 And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
 Under whose colors he had fought so long. 
 
 Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ] 
 
 Car. As sure as I live, my lord. 
 
 Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to 
 the bosom 
 Of good old Abraham ! — 'Lords appellants. 
 Your differences shall all rest under gage, 
 Till we assign you to your days of trial. 
 
 Enter York, attended. 
 York, Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
 From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing sou? 
 
 . J 
 
Scene i. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 381 
 
 Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
 To the possession of thy royal hand: 
 Ascend his throne, descending now from him. — 
 And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! 
 
 Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal 
 throne. 
 
 Car. Marry, God forbid ! — 
 Worst in this royal presence may I speak. 
 Vet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
 Would God, that any in this noble presence 
 Were enough noble to be upright judge 
 Of noble Richard ; then true noblcss would 
 Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
 What subject can give sentence on his king] 
 And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject? 
 Thieves are not judg'd, but tliey are by to hear, 
 Altliough apparent guilt be seen in them; 
 And shall the figure of God's majesty. 
 His captain, steward, deputy elect. 
 Anointed, crowned, planted many years. 
 Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath. 
 And he himself not present? 0, forbid it. Gad, 
 That, in a Christian climate, souls refined 
 Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed ! 
 I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
 8tirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. 
 My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king. 
 Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king : 
 And if you crown him, let me prophesy, — 
 The blood of English shall manure the ground, 
 And future ages groan for this foul act; 
 Peace shall go sleep with Turks and Infidels, 
 And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars 
 Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound ; 
 Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, 
 Bliall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
 The field of Golgotha, and dead men's skulls. 
 0, if thou rear this house against this house, 
 It will the woefullest division prove. 
 That ever fell upon this cursed earth : 
 Prevent, resist it, let it not be so, 
 Lest child, child's children, cry, against you — woe ! 
 
 North. Well have you argued, sir ; and, for your 
 pains, 
 Of capital treason we arrest you here : 
 My lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
 To keep him safely till his day of trial. — 
 May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit. 
 
 Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common 
 view 
 He may surrender; so we shall proceed 
 Without suspicion. 
 
 York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. 
 
 Baling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest, 
 Procure y^ur sureties for your days of answer: — 
 Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle. 
 And little look'd for at your helping hands. 
 
 lie-enter YonK,iuithKiso RicHATin,cf7KZ Officers 
 bearing the Crown, ^c. 
 
 K. RiJi. Alack, why am I sent for to a king. 
 Before I have shook otf the regal tlioughts 
 Wherewith I reign'd 1 I hardly yet have learn'd 
 To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bond my knee: — 
 Give sorrow leave a while to tutor nic 
 To this submission. Yet I well remember 
 The favors* of these men: Were they not mine? 
 Did they not sometime cry, all h;iil ! to me ?— 
 Sio Judas did to Christ : but ho, in twelve, 
 
 Found truth in all but one ; I, in twelve thousand, 
 God save the king! — Will no man say, amen? [noneu 
 Am I both priest and clerk? well then, araen. 
 God save the king ! although I be not he ; 
 And yet, amen, if heaven do think hira me. — 
 To do what service am I sent for hither ! 
 
 York. I'o do that office of thine own good will, 
 
 Which tired majesty did make thee ofTen 
 
 The resignation of thy state and crown 
 
 To Henry Bolingbroke. [seize tlie crown 
 
 K. Kick. Give me the crown : — Here, cousin, 
 Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. 
 Now is this golden crown like a deep well. 
 That owes' two buckets filling one another ; 
 The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
 The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
 That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, 
 Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 
 
 Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. 
 
 K. Rich. My crown, I am ; but still my griefs are 
 You may my glories and my state depose, [mine • 
 But not my grief; still am I kuig of those. 
 
 Boling. Part of your cares you give me with 
 your crown. [cares down. 
 
 K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my 
 My care is — loss of care, by old care done ; 
 Your care is — gain of care, by new care won : 
 The cares I give, I have, though given away ; 
 They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 
 
 Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown ? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, no ; — no, ay ; — For I must nothing 
 Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. [be . 
 
 Now mark me how I will undo myself: — 
 I give this heavy weight from off my head, 
 And this unwieldly sceptre from my hand. 
 The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; 
 With mine own tears I wash away my balm,' 
 With mine own hands I give away my crown, 
 With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
 With mine own breath release all duteous oaths 
 All pomp r^d majesty I do forswear ; 
 My manors, rents, revenues, I forego ; 
 My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny : 
 God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me ! 
 God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee ! 
 Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd ; 
 And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd ! 
 Long may'st thou live in Richard's scat to sit, 
 And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! — 
 God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says. 
 And send him many years of sunshine days ! — 
 What more remains ? 
 
 North. No more, but that you read 
 
 [^Offering a paper 
 These accusations and these grievous crimes. 
 Committed by your person, and your followers, 
 Against the state and profit of this land ; 
 That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
 May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 
 
 K. Rich. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out 
 My weav'd up follies ? Gentle Northumberland, 
 If thy offences were upon record. 
 Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop, 
 To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst. 
 There shouldst thou find one heinous article, — 
 Containing the deposing of a king, 
 And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, — 
 Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the booK of heaven :— 
 Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon ma. 
 
 • Oirns. 
 
 • Oil of conBecratlon. 
 
J 8-2 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act IV. Scent 
 
 Whilfel that my wretchedness doth bait myself, — 
 Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, 
 Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 
 Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, 
 And water cannot wash away your sin. [cles. 
 
 No7-//i. My lord, despatch: read o'er these arti- 
 
 K. Rich. Mine; eyes are full of tears, I cannot see : 
 And yet salt water blinds them not so much. 
 But they can see a sort'' of traitors here. 
 Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
 I find myself a traitor with the rest: 
 For I have given here my soul's consent, 
 To undeck the pompous body of a king ; 
 Make glory base ; and sovereignty, a slave ; 
 Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant. 
 
 North. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insult- 
 ing man. 
 Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title, — 
 No, not that name was given me at the font, 
 But 'tis usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day. 
 That I have worn so many winters out, 
 And know not now what name to call myself! 
 O, that I were a mockery king of snow, 
 Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
 To melt myself away in water-drops! — 
 Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly 
 
 good,) 
 An if my word be sterling yet in England 
 Let it command a mirror hither straight; 
 That it may show me what a face I have. 
 Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 
 
 Baling. Go, some of you, and fetch a looking- 
 glass. lExit an Attendant. 
 
 North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth 
 come. [to hell. 
 
 K. Rich. Fiend ! tliou tnrmont'st me ere I come 
 
 Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumber- 
 land. 
 
 North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 
 
 K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read enough. 
 When I do see the very book indeed 
 Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. — 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with a Glass. 
 
 Give me that glass, and therein will I read. — 
 
 No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow struck 
 
 So many blows upon this face of mine. 
 
 And made no deeper wounds 1 — 0, flattering glass, 
 
 Like to my followers in prosperity. 
 
 Thou dost beguile me ! — Was this face the face, 
 
 That every day under his household roof 
 
 Did keep ten thousand men"? Was this the face. 
 
 That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? 
 
 Was this the face, that faced so many follies, 
 
 And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke 1 
 
 A brittle glory shineth in this face : 
 
 As brittle as the glory is the face; 
 
 [^Dashes the Glass against the ground 
 
 'Pack. 
 
 For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivero - 
 Maik, silent king, the moral of this sport,-- 
 How soon my sorrow hath destroy 'd my h?>. 
 Boling. The shadow of your sorrow Liia <i» 
 stroy'd 
 The shadow of your face. 
 
 K. Rich. Say that afy^'ti. 
 
 The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let'if f/e: — 
 'Tis very true, my grief lies all wittur ; 
 And these external manners of lamsnt 
 Are merely shadows to the unsf-evi grief. 
 That swells with silence in tho tortur'd soul; 
 There lies the substance : and S thank thee, king, 
 For thy great bounty, that nrt only giv'st 
 Me cause to wail, but teaclrr^t me the way 
 How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, 
 And then be gone, and trr (.ble you no more. 
 Shall I obtain it? 
 
 Boling. Nam?) \t, fair cousin. 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin ? Why, I am greater than 
 a king : 
 For, when I was a king, '(ny flatterers 
 Were then but subjects; being now a subject, 
 I have a king here to my flatterer. 
 Being so great, I have i i need to beg. 
 Boling. Yet ask. 
 K. Rich. And shall I have? 
 Boling. You shall. 
 K. Rick. Then give tae leave to go. 
 Boling. Whither? 
 K. Rich. Whither yoai will, so I were from your 
 
 sights. 
 Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the 
 
 Tower. 
 K. Rich. 0, good! Convey? — Conveyers' are 
 you all. 
 That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 
 
 [^Exeunt King Ricuaiid, some Lords, and a 
 Guard. 
 Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set 
 down 
 Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bisnop of 
 Carlisle, and Atjmeiile. 
 Abbot- A woeful pageant have we here beheld 
 Car. The woe's to come ; the children yet un- 
 born 
 Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 
 
 Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
 To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? 
 
 Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, 
 You shall not only take the sacrament 
 To bury mine intents, but to eflfect 
 Whatever I shall happen to devise : — 
 I see your brows are full of discontent, 
 Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of teais, 
 Come home with me to supper; I will lay 
 A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt 
 
 8 Jugglers, also robbers. 
 
Act V Scene T. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 383 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I —London. A Street leading to the 
 Tuwer. 
 
 Enter Queex, and Ladies. 
 
 Queen. This way the king will come; this is 
 the way 
 To Julius Cscsar's ill-ei-ectcd tower," 
 To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
 Is ddom'd a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke : 
 Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
 Have any resting for her true king's queen. 
 
 Enter King Richahd, and Guards. 
 
 But soft, but see, or rather do not see. 
 My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold; 
 That you in pity may dissolve to dew. 
 And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. — 
 Ah, thou, the model where old 'i'roy did stand; 
 Thou map of honor; thou king Richard's tomb. 
 And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn, 
 Why should hard-favor 'd grief be lodg'd in thee. 
 When triumph is become an ale-house guest? 
 K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not 
 
 so, 
 To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul. 
 To think our former state a happy dream; 
 From which awaked, the truth of what we are 
 Shows us but this : I am sworn brother, sweet. 
 To grim necessity : and he and I 
 Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, 
 And cloister thee in some religious house: 
 Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,^ — - 
 Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 
 Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and 
 
 mind 
 Transform'd, and weakened ? Halh Bolingbroke 
 Depos'd thine intellect ! hath he been in thy heart"! 
 The lion, dying, thrustcth li)rlh his paw. 
 And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage, 
 To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, 
 Take thy correction mildly 1 kiss the rod. 
 And fawn on rage with base humility. 
 Which art a lion, and a king of beasts] 
 
 K. Rich. A king of beasts indeed! if aught but 
 
 beasts, 
 I had been still a happy king of men. 
 Good sometime (jueen, prepare thee hence lor 
 
 France : 
 'J'hink, I am dead; and that even here liiou tak'st. 
 As from my death-bed, tny last living leave. 
 In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire. 
 With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales 
 Of woeful ages, long ago betid: 
 And, ere thou bid good night, to quit' their grief. 
 Tell thou the lamentable tail of me. 
 And send the hearers woejiing to their beds. 
 For why, the senseless brands will sympathize 
 The heavy accent of thy moving tongue. 
 And, in compassion, weep the lire out: 
 And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black. 
 For the deposing of a rightful king. 
 
 Enter NonTHUMiiEnLANi), attended. 
 
 North. My lord, the mind of BoUngbroke is 
 
 changed ; 
 •Tower of London. « Requite, rep.iy. 
 
 You must to Pcmfret, not unto the Tower. — 
 And, madam, there is order ta'en for you, 
 With all swift speed you must away to France. 
 K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where 
 withal 
 The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,— - 
 The time shall not be many hours of age 
 More than it is, ere Ibul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption: thou shalt tliink. 
 Though he divide the realm, and give thee half 
 It is too little, heljjing him to all; 
 And he shall think, that thou, wliich know'st th« 
 
 way 
 To jjlant unrightful kings, wilt know again, 
 Being ne'er so little urged, another way 
 To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 
 The love of wicked iriends coiwcrts to fear ; 
 That fear, to hate ; and hate turns one, or both. 
 To worthy danger, and deserved death. 
 
 North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. 
 Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. 
 K. Rich. Doubly divorced ? — Bad men, ye violate 
 A two-fold marriage : 'twixt my crown and mo ; 
 And then, betwixt me and my married wife.-- 
 Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; 
 And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.- 
 Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north. 
 Where shivering cold and sickness pines tlie clime; 
 My wife to France ; from whence, set fi)rth in pomp, 
 She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
 Sent back like Hallowmas,^ or short'st of day. 
 Queen. And must we be divided ] must we part ? 
 A'. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart 
 
 from heart. 
 Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with 
 
 me. 
 North. That were some love, but little policy. 
 Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. 
 K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one 
 woe. 
 Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; 
 Better far oil", than — near, be ne'er the near'. 
 Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans. 
 Queen. So longest way shall have the longest 
 
 moans. 
 A". Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way 
 being short, 
 And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
 Oome, come, in wooing sorrow, let's be brief. 
 Since, wedding it, theie is such length in grief. 
 One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; 
 Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. 
 
 [^They kiss. 
 Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere no good 
 part. 
 To take on nie to keep and kill thy heart. 
 
 [^Kiss again. 
 So, now I have mine own again, begone. 
 That I may strive to kill it with a groan. 
 
 A'. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond 
 diday : 
 Once more adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. 
 
 lEjceunt 
 
 » AUballows, t. «. AU-saints, Ncvr. 1. 
 
384 
 
 KING RICHARD 11. 
 
 Act Y. 
 
 BCENE U.—T/ie same. A Room in the Duke 
 of York's Palace, 
 
 Enter York, and his Duchess. 
 
 Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the 
 rest. 
 When weeping made you break the story off, 
 Of our two cousins coming into London. 
 York. Where did I leave 1 
 
 Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, 
 
 Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' 
 
 tops. 
 Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. 
 York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling- 
 broke, — 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, 
 Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
 With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course. 
 While all tongues cried — God save thee, Boling- 
 
 broke ! 
 You would have thought the very windows spake, 
 So many greedy looks of young and old 
 Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
 U]ion his visage ; and that all the walls. 
 With painted imagery, had said at once, — 
 Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke: 
 Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
 Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
 Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen : 
 4nd thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 
 
 Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the 
 while 1 
 
 York. As, in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
 After a well-graced actor leaves the stage. 
 Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
 Thinking his prattle to be tedious : 
 Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
 Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him ! 
 No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
 But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; 
 Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, — 
 His face still combating with tears and smiles, 
 The badges of his grief and patience, — 
 That, had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
 The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
 And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
 But heaven hath a hand in these events; 
 To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
 To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, 
 Whose state and honor I for aye allow. 
 Enter Aumekle. 
 
 Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 
 
 York. Aumerle that was ; 
 
 But that is lost for being Richard's friend. 
 And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: 
 I am in parliament pledge for his truth. 
 And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 
 
 Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets 
 now, 
 I'hat strew the green lap of the new-come spring 1 
 
 Auin. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not : 
 Heaven knows, I had as lief be none, as one. 
 
 York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of 
 time. 
 Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
 What news from Oxford! hold those justs ^ and 
 triumphs ? 
 
 Au7n. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
 
 * Tilts and tournaments. 
 
 York. You will be there, I know. 
 
 Aum, If God prevent it not ; I purpose so. 
 
 York. What seal is that, that hangs without th^ 
 bosom 1 
 Yea, look'st thou pale 1 let me see the writing. 
 
 Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. 
 
 York. No matter then who sees it: 
 
 I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. 
 
 Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me ; 
 It is a matter of small consequence. 
 Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 
 
 York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. 
 I fear, I fear, 
 
 Duch. What should you fear? 
 
 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into 
 For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. 
 
 Yo7-k. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond 
 That he is bound to ] Wife, thou art a fool. — 
 Boy, let me see the writing. 
 
 Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not 
 show it. 
 
 York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. 
 
 [Snatches it, and reads. 
 Treason ! foul treason ! villain ! traitor ! slave ! 
 
 Duch. What is the matter, my lord 1 
 
 York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servan* 
 Saddle my horse. 
 God for his mercy ! what treachery is here ! 
 
 Duch. Why, what is it, my lord? 
 
 York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my 
 
 horse : 
 
 Now by mine honor, by my life, my troth, 
 
 I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant 
 
 Duch. What's the matter? 
 
 York. Peace, foolish woman. 
 
 Duch. I will not peace: — What is the matter, son? 
 
 Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more 
 Than my poor life must answer. 
 
 Duch. Thy life answer ! 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with Boots. 
 
 York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. 
 
 Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.— Poor boy, thou 
 art amaz'd: 
 Hence, villain ; never more come in my sight. — 
 
 [To the Servant. 
 
 York. Give me mj boots, I say. 
 
 Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? 
 Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? 
 Have v/e more sons ? or are we like to have ? 
 Is not my teeming'' date drunk up with time ? 
 And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age. 
 And rob me of a happy mother's name ? 
 Is he not like thee ? is he not thine own ? 
 
 York. Thou fond mad woman. 
 Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ? 
 A dozen of them here have ta'cn the sacrament, 
 And interchangeably set down their hands, 
 To kill the king at Oxford. 
 
 Duch. He shall be none ; 
 
 We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him 1 
 
 York. Away, 
 Fond woman ! were he twenty times my son, 
 I would appeach him. 
 
 Duch. Had'st thou groaned for him, 
 
 As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. 
 But now I know thy mind ; thou dost suspect, 
 That I have been disloyal to thy bed. 
 And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 
 < Breeding. 
 

 Scene III. 
 
 KING mCHARB II. 
 
 88!) 
 
 Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind : 
 He is as like Ihee as a man may be, 
 Not like to mc, or any of my kin. 
 And yet I love him. 
 
 York. Make way, unruly woman. [^Exit. 
 
 Duck. After, Aumerle ; mount thee upon his 
 Spur, post : and get before him to the king, [horse ; 
 And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 
 I'll not be long behind ; though I be old, 
 I doubt not but to ride as fast as York ! 
 And ne'^er will I rise up from the ground. 
 Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee : Away : 
 Begone, ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter BoLDJQBROKE, as King ; Purct, and other Lords. 
 
 Baling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son 7 
 'Tis full three months since I did see him last : — 
 If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
 I would to God, my lords, he might be found : 
 Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
 For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
 With unrestrained loose companions : 
 Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
 And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; 
 While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, 
 Takes on the point of honor, to support 
 Bo dissolute a crew. [prince ; 
 
 Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the 
 And told liim of these triumphs held at Oxford. 
 
 Buling. And what said the gallant 1 [stews ; 
 
 Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the 
 A.nd from the common'st creature pluck a glove. 
 And wear it as a favor ; and with that 
 He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 
 
 Baling. As dissolute, as desperate ! yet through 
 I see some sparkles of a better hope, [both 
 
 Which elder days may happily bring forth. 
 But who comes herel 
 
 Aiim. 
 Bolini^ 
 
 Enter Aumkrle hastily. 
 Where is the king ? 
 
 ^ What means 
 
 Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly 1 
 Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your 
 majesty. 
 To have some conference with your grace alone. 
 Baling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
 alone. — \^Exeu7it Percy and Lords. 
 
 What is the matter with our cousin now? 
 Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, 
 
 [^Kneels. 
 My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, 
 Uidcss a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. 
 
 Baling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? 
 If hut the first, how heinous e'er it be, 
 T) win thy after-love, I pardon thee. 
 
 Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key. 
 That no man enter till my tale be done. 
 Baling. Have thy desire. • 
 
 [Aumerle locks the door. 
 
 York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thy- 
 
 Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. [self; 
 
 Baling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. 
 
 Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand ; 
 
 Thou hast no cause to fear. 
 
 York. [Within.'] Open the door, secure, fool- 
 hardy king : 
 Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face 1 
 Open the dour, or I will break it open. 
 
 [Bolingbroke opens the door. 
 
 Enter Yoke. 
 
 Boling. What is the matter, uncle 1 speak .' 
 Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger. 
 That we may arm us to encounter if. [knowi 
 
 Yo7-k. Peruse this writing here, and thou shal* 
 The treason that my haste forbids me show. 
 
 Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise 
 I do repent me ; read not my name there, [past: 
 My heart is not confederate with my hand. 
 
 York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it 
 I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king: [down, — 
 Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : 
 Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
 A serpent that will sting thee to the heail 
 
 Boling.O heinous, strong,and bold conspiiscy •- 
 
 loyal father of a treacherous son ! 
 
 Thou sheer,* immaculate, and silver fountain, 
 From whence this stream through muddy passages. 
 Hath held his current, and defiled liimself ! 
 Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; 
 And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
 This deadly plot in thy digressing son. 
 
 York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd ; 
 And he shall spend mine honor with his shame. 
 As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
 Mine honor lives when his dishonor dies, 
 Or my sham'd life in his dishonor lies ; 
 Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, 
 The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. 
 
 Duch. [Within.] V/hat ho, my liege ! for God's 
 sake let me in. 
 
 Boling. 'Vi'^hat shrill-voiced suppliant makes this 
 eager cry 7 
 
 Diich. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 
 Speak with mc, pity mc, open the door ; ['tis I. 
 A beggar begs, that never begged before. 
 
 Baling. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious 
 thing, 
 And now changed to The Beggar and the King.* 
 My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ; 
 
 1 know she's come to pray for your foul sin 
 
 York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, 
 More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper ma)\ 
 This festcr'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound ; 
 This, let alone, will all the rest confound. 
 Enter Duchess. 
 
 Duch. O king, believe not this heard-hearted man , 
 Love, loving not itself, none other can. [here '] 
 
 York. Tliou frantic woman, what dost thou make 
 Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear 1 
 
 Ditch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle 
 liege. [Kneds, 
 
 Baling. Rise up, good aunt. 
 
 Duch. Not yet, I thee beseesH ; 
 
 For ever will I kneel upon my knees. 
 And never see day that the happy sees. 
 Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy. 
 By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 
 
 Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my 
 knee. [Kneels. 
 
 York. Against them both, my true joints bended 
 be. [Kneels. 
 
 Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 
 
 Ditch. Plcadis he in earnest 1 look upon his face, 
 His eyes do drop no tears, liis prayers are in jest ; 
 His words come from his mouth, ours from oui 
 He prays but faintly, and would l)e denied : [breast 
 We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : 
 His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; 
 < TransDarent. • An old ballad- 
 
B86 
 
 KING RICHARD li. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Our knees shall knee.' till to the grounJ they grow : 
 
 His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; 
 
 Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. 
 
 Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have 
 
 That mercy which true prayers ought to have. 
 
 Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duck. Nay, do not say, stand up ; 
 
 But, pardon, first ; and afterwards, stand up. 
 An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 
 Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech. 
 I never long'd to hear a word till now ; 
 Say — pardon, king ; let pity teach thee how : 
 f he word is short, but not so short as sweet ; 
 Xo word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. 
 
 York. Speak it in French, king; say, par donnez 
 moy? 
 
 Dtich. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de- 
 Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, [stroy? 
 That sct'st the word itself against the word ! — 
 Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land ; 
 The chopping French we do not understand. 
 Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there : 
 Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ; 
 That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, 
 Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. 
 
 Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duck. I do not sue to stand. 
 
 Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 
 
 Boling. I pardcn him, as God shall pardon me. 
 
 Duck. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! 
 Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; 
 Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, 
 But makes one pardon strong. 
 
 Boling. With all my heart, 
 
 r pardon him. 
 
 Duch. A god on earth thou art. [the abbot, 
 
 Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, — and 
 With all the rest of that consorted crew, — 
 Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — 
 Good uncle, help to order several powers 
 To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : 
 They shall not live within this world, I swear, 
 But I will have them, if I once knew where. 
 Uncle, farewell, — and cousin, too, adieu : 
 Vfour mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 
 
 Tiuch. Come, my old son ; — I pray heaven make 
 thee new. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Eiiter ExTON and a Servant. 
 
 Exton. Didst thou not mark the king what 
 words he spake 1 
 Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear ? 
 Was it not so 1 
 
 Serv. Those were his very words. 
 
 Exton. Have Ino friend? quoth he : he spake it 
 And urged it twice together ; did he not 1 [twice, 
 
 Serv. He did. [me ; 
 
 Exton. And speaking it, he wistfully look'd on 
 As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man 
 That would divorce this terror from my heart ; 
 Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go ; 
 I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Pomfret. The Castle. 
 Enter King Richard. 
 K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 
 Phis prison, where I live, unto the world : 
 \nd, for because the world is populous, 
 .\nd here is not a creature but myself, 
 pannot do it ;— Yet Pll hammer it out. 
 • Excuse me. 
 
 My brain I'll prove the female to my soul • 
 My soul, the father : and these two beget 
 A generation of still-breeding thoughts. 
 And these same thoughts people this little world 
 In humors, like the people of this world ; 
 For no thought is contented. The better sort, — 
 As thoughts of things divine, — are intermix'd 
 With scruples, and do set the word itself 
 Against the word : 
 
 As thus, — Come, little ones,- and then again,— 
 // is as hard to come, as for a camel 
 To thread the postern'' of a needle's eye. 
 Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
 Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak naili 
 May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 
 Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls ; 
 And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
 Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,— 
 That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 
 Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars. 
 Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, 
 That many have, and others must sit there : 
 And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
 Bearing their own misfortune on the back 
 Of such as have before endured the like. 
 Thus play I, in one person, many people, 
 And none contented : Sometimes am I king, 
 Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar ; 
 And so I am : Then crushing penury 
 Persuades me I was better when a king ; 
 Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by. 
 Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
 And straight am nothing : — but whate'er I am, 
 Nor I, nor any man, that but man is. 
 With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be cas'd 
 With being nothing. — Music do I hear! [Music 
 Ha, ha ! keep time : — How sour sweet music is, 
 When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! 
 So is it in the music of men's lives. 
 And here have I the daintiness of ear 
 To check time broke in a disorder'd string ; 
 But, for the concord of my state and time. 
 Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
 I wasted time, and i:ow doth time waste me. 
 For now hath time oiade me his numb'ring clock - 
 My thoughts are m'mtes ; and, with sighs, they jai 
 Their watches on to -m.ie eyes, the outward watch, 
 Whereto my finger, i!ke a dial's point. 
 Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
 Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is. 
 Are clamopous g^-oans, ti.at strike upon my heart 
 Which is the bell : so sighs, and tears, and groans, 
 Show minutes, times, and hours : — but my time 
 Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy. 
 While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock." 
 This music mads me, let it sound no more ; 
 For though it have holp madmen to their wits. 
 In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. 
 Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
 For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard 
 Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. 
 Enter Groom. 
 
 Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 
 
 K, Rich. Thanks, noble pee- 
 
 The cheapest of us is ten gjoats too dear. 
 What art thou 1 and how comest thou hhher. 
 Where no man never c<.'<ne., bu*. thd saJ do^ 
 That brings me food, 1..^ m>ke ^dsfrrtun^ livs ? 
 
 Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, klrut. 
 
 1 LltUe gate, s Strike for i.lin, '.ike \,>e figcre of » mftOft: ft beU 
 
SCKNE V. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 ESI 
 
 Whf n thou wert king , who, travelling towards 
 With much ado, at length have gotten leave [York, 
 To look upon my sometime master's face. 
 O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld, 
 In London streets, that coronation day. 
 When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary ! 
 That 1. orsc, that thou so often hast bestrid ; 
 That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd ! 
 
 A'. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle 
 How went he under him 1 [friend, 
 
 Groom. S 5 proudly as if he Jisdain'd the gi-ound. 
 
 K. liic/i. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his 
 back ! 
 That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; 
 This hand hath n^ndc him proud with clapping him. 
 W^ould he not stumble ? Would he not fall down, 
 (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck 
 Of that proud man that did usurji his back 1 
 Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, 
 Since thou, created to be aw'd by man. 
 Wast born to bear 1 I was not made a horse ; 
 And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
 Spur-gall'd, and tired, by jauncing Bolingbroke. 
 Enter Keeper, with a dish. 
 
 Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer stay. 
 
 [To the Groom. 
 
 K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. 
 
 Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my 
 heart shall say. [Exit. 
 
 Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ] 
 
 K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 
 
 Keep. My lord,I dare not ; sir Pierce of Exton,who 
 Lately came from the king, commands the con- 
 trary. 
 
 A'. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, 
 and tlice ! 
 I 'alienee is stale, and I am weary of it. 
 
 [Beats the Keeper. 
 
 Keep. Help, help, help ! 
 
 Enter Exton and Servants armed. 
 
 K. Rich. How now] what means death in this 
 rude assault] 
 Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. 
 [Snatching a iveapon, and killing one. 
 Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 
 [He hills another, then Extox strikes him down. 
 That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, 
 That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce 
 
 hand 
 Hat-li with the king's blood stain'd the king's own 
 
 land. 
 M.iunt, mount, my soul ! thy scat is up on high; 
 \^ hilbt my gross flesh sinks downward here to die. 
 
 [Dies. 
 E.cton. As full of valor, as of royal blood: 
 Both have I spilt ; O, v^'ould the deed were good ! 
 For now the devil, that told me — I did well, 
 Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
 1'his dead king to the living king I'll bear; — 
 Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 BGENE VI.— Windsor. A Room in ike Castle. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, 
 with Lords, and Attendants. 
 Holing. Kind uncle York, the latest news we 
 hear, 
 
 Is — that the rebels have consumed with b_„ 
 
 Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; 
 
 But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not 
 
 Enter Northumberland. 
 
 Welcome, my lord : What is the news ? 
 
 North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap 
 piness, 
 The next news is, — I have to London senc 
 The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent 
 The manner of their taking may appear 
 At large discoursed in this paper here. 
 
 [Presenting a paper. 
 Doling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, foi tlij' 
 pains ; 
 And to thy worth will add right worthy gain? 
 
 Enter Fitzwateb. 
 
 Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon 
 don 
 The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely ; 
 Two of the dangerous consorted traitors. 
 That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 
 
 Baling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not beforgoti 
 Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 
 
 Enter Perot, with the Bisaop of Carlisle. 
 
 Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West- 
 minster, 
 With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, 
 Hath yielded up his body to the grave ; 
 But here is Carlisle living to abide 
 Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. 
 
 Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom : — 
 Choose out some secret place, some reverend room 
 More than thou hast, and with it 'joy thy life; 
 So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife • 
 For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 
 High sparks of honor in thee have I seen. 
 
 Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a Coffin 
 
 Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present 
 Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies 
 The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
 Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. 
 
 Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast 
 wrought 
 A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand. 
 Upon my head, and all this famous land. 
 
 Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I 
 this deed. 
 
 Boling. 'I'hey love not poison that do poison 
 need, 
 Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, 
 I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 
 The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labor, 
 But neither my good word, nor princely favor: 
 With Cain go wander through the shade of nighty 
 
 And never show thy head by day nor light. 
 
 Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe. 
 
 That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow 
 
 Come, mourn with me for what I do lament. 
 
 And put on sullen black incontinent:' 
 
 I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, 
 
 To wash this blood oil" from my guilty hand:— 
 
 March sadly after; grace my mournings here. 
 
 In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt 
 
 1 > Immediately. 
 
FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Sons to the King. 
 
 KivtJ llK«fnir THE Fouirrn 
 
 Heniit, I'rinc.e f;/" Wales, 
 
 Piiin(;k ,T()ii\ fi/" Ijiincnslor, 
 
 EAUt, OP Wkstmoheland, ) r, • 1 , a V 
 r, i.r II > I'rie7ins tut fie Kina. 
 
 8lll WaI.TKII ljF,lI?fT, ) " 
 
 Thomas Pkucy, ii'ar/ o/" Worcester. 
 Hevuy Pv.HVYfEarl oJ Northumberland. 
 
 IIlCNIlV Pl-.IM'V, .SUr??«WHY/ IIoTSl'UIt, kls Soti. 
 
 EiiWAiti) MoirriMKii, Ear/ of March. 
 Seitooi', Archhisliop of YorXi. 
 A urn I II A 1,1), Earl (^ Douglas. 
 OwKN Glemiowkii. 
 Sin RiciiAHi) Veiinon. 
 
 Sir John Falstapf. 
 
 Poiivs. 
 
 Gadsiiii.l. 
 
 Pkto. Bardolpu. 
 
 Lady Pkrcy, W*/e /o Hotspur, a7id Sister to Mof 
 
 timer. 
 Laky Mortimer, Datighter to Glcndower, and 
 
 Wife to Mortimer. 
 Mius. Quickly, Jlostcss (fa Tavern j«Eastcheap. 
 
 Lords, Officers, S/ier!Jf, Vintner, Chamberlain, 
 l)rawers,two Carriers, Travellers artd Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, Eiiglaml. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Kino Henry, Whstmoiiei^and, Siu 
 Walter Blunt, a7id others. 
 
 K. lien. So nhaken as wc arc, so wan with 
 
 fare, 
 Find we a time for frighted peace to pant. 
 And hiealhe short-winded accents of new broils 
 To be commenced in stronds' afar remote. 
 No more the thirsty Eriiinys* of this soil 
 Whall daub her lips with her own children's 
 
 blood ; 
 No more shall trenching war channel her fields, 
 Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs 
 Of hostile paces : those oj)poscd eyes, 
 Which, — like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 
 
 All of one nature, of one 8ul)stancc bred, 
 
 iJid lately meet in tlic intestine shock 
 
 And furious close of civil butchery. 
 
 Shall now, in mutual, well-besccming ranks, 
 
 March all one way ; and be no more oppos'd 
 
 Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies: 
 
 The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
 
 No more shall cut his master. Therefore, 
 
 friends, 
 Ka tar as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
 
 I Strands, banks of the soa. 
 388 
 
 « The Fury of discord. 
 
 (Whose soldier now, under wliosc blessed crosa 
 We are impressed and engaged to fight,) 
 Forthwith a power of English shall we levy; 
 Whose arms were moulded in their motlier't 
 
 womb 
 To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, 
 Over whose acres walked those blessed feet 
 Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd 
 For our advantage, on the bitter cross. 
 But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, 
 And bootless 'tis to tell you — we will go ; 
 Therefore wc meet not now : — Then let ine 
 
 hear 
 Of you, my gentle cousui Westmoreland, 
 What yesternight our council did decree 
 In forwarding this dear expedience.* 
 
 West. My liege, this haste was hot in que** 
 
 tion. 
 And many limits* of the charge set down 
 But yesternight : when, all athwart, there came 
 A post firom Wales, loaden with heavy news ; 
 Whose worst was, — that the noble Mortimer 
 Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
 Against the irregular and wild Glendowcr, 
 Was by the rudo hands »f that Welshman 
 
 taken, 
 
 > Expedition. 
 
 * Esttmntce. 
 
^CT 1. Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 389 
 
 And a thousand of his people butchered. 
 (Ijjoii whoso dead corps there was such misuse, 
 Such beastly, shameless transformation, 
 liy llitiwo Welshwoiiicii done, as may not be, 
 VVitliout much shame, rc-told or spoken of. 
 
 K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this 
 broil 
 Urako oil" our business for the Holy Land. 
 
 Wisf. This, match'd with otlier, did, my gracious 
 lord ; 
 For more uneven and unwelcome news 
 Came from the north, and thus it did import. 
 On Holy-rood day,' the gallant Hotspur there, 
 Voung Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, 
 That cvcr-valiant and approved Scot, 
 At Holmedon met. 
 
 Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; 
 As by discharge of their artillery, 
 And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
 For he that brought them, in the very heat 
 And pride of tlu'ir contention, did take horse, 
 Uncertain of the issue any way. 
 
 A'. Jlen. Here is a dear and true industrious 
 friend, 
 t^ir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
 Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
 Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; 
 And ho hath brought us smooth and welcome 
 
 news. 
 The earl of Douglas is discomfited ; 
 'J'en thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty 
 
 knigiits, 
 Balk'd" in their own blood, did sir Walter see 
 On Ilolmedon's plams : Of prisoners, Hotspur 
 
 took 
 JMordake, the carl of Fife, and eldest son 
 To beaten Douglas , and the earls of Athol, 
 Of Murray, Angus, and Mcnteith, 
 .And is not this an honorable spoil 1 
 A gallant prize 1 ha, cousin, is it not 1 
 
 W^st. In faiih. 
 It is a conq\iest for a prince to boast of 
 
 A'. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and 
 mak'st me sin 
 In envy that my lord Northumberland 
 Should be the father of so blest a son ; 
 A son, who is the theme of honor's tongue; 
 Amonc^st a grove, the very straightest plant; 
 Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride : 
 Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
 See riot and dishonor stain the brow 
 Of my young Harry. Oh, that it coidd be 
 
 prov'd, 
 That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged 
 In cradle clothes our children where they lay, 
 And cail'd mine — Percy, his — Plantagenet ! 
 Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 
 But let him from my thoughts : — What think you, 
 
 coz. 
 Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners, 
 M'liich he in this adventure hath surpriz'd, 
 'J'o his own use he keeps : and sends me word, 
 I shall have none but Mordake, earl of Fife. 
 West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor- 
 cester, 
 Malevolent to you in all asi)6cts ; 
 
 Which makes him prune' himself, and bristla 
 
 The crest of youth against your dignity. 
 
 A'. Hen. But I have sent for him to answei 
 this ; 
 And, for this cause, a while we must neglect 
 Our holy purpose to .lerusalem. 
 Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
 Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords: 
 But come yourself with speed to us again; 
 For more is to be said, and to be done, 
 Than out of anger can be uttered. 
 
 West. I will, my liege. \ Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Henry Prince o/ Wales, and Falstafp. 
 
 Eal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking 
 of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, 
 and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou 
 hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou 
 wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to 
 do with the time of the day ? unless hours were 
 cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the 
 tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of Icaping- 
 houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot 
 wench in flame-color'd taflcta ; I see no reason, 
 why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand 
 the time of the day. 
 
 Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: 
 for we that take purses, go by the moon and 
 seven stars ; and not by Phoebus, — he, that waw 
 dering knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweei 
 wag, when thou art king, — as, God save thy 
 grace, (majesty, I should say ; for grace thou will 
 have none,) 
 
 P. Hen. What, none i 
 
 ral. No, by my troth ; not so much as will 
 sen-e to be prologue to an egg and butter. 
 
 P. Hen. Weil, how then ? come, roundly, 
 roundly. 
 
 Eal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art 
 king, let not us, that arc squires of the nighf s 
 body, be called thieves of the day's beauty ; let 
 us be — Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, 
 minions of the moon: And let men say, we bn 
 men of good government : being governed, as the 
 sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, 
 under whose countenance we — steal. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well 
 too : for the fortune of us, that are the moon's 
 men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being go- 
 verned, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, 
 now : A purse of gold most resolutely snatched 
 on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on 
 Tuesday morning; got with swearing — lay by;' 
 and spent with crying — bring in :* now, in as 
 low an ebb as the foot of the ladder ; and, by 
 and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the 
 gallows. 
 
 Eal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And 
 is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweel 
 wench ? 
 
 P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of 
 
 • Septtmbor 14. 
 
 ' I'ileJ up in a heap. 
 
 1 Trim, as birds clean their featlicrs- 
 • Stand still. 
 
 > More wlna 
 
 26 
 
890 
 
 FIRST PAET OF 
 
 A.CT 1 
 
 Jie castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet 
 robe of durance ? ' 
 
 Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ? what, in 
 thy quips, and thy quiddities 1 what a plague have 
 I to do with a hufl" jerkin ? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with 
 my hostess of tlie tavern ? 
 
 Fal. Well, thou hast called her lo a reckoning, 
 many a time and oft. 
 
 P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy 
 parti 
 
 Fal. No : I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid 
 all there. 
 
 P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin 
 would stretch ; and, where it would not, I have 
 used my credit. 
 
 Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here 
 apparent that thou art heir apparent, — But, I 
 pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows stand- 
 ing in England when thou art king ; and resolu- 
 tion thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of 
 old father antic the law 1 Do not thou, when 
 thou art king, hang a thief. 
 
 P. Hen. No ; thou shalt. 
 
 Fal. Shall I ] O rare ! By the lord I'll be a 
 brave judge. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou judgcst false already ; I mean, 
 thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and 
 60 become a rare hangman. 
 
 Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps 
 with my humor, as well as waiting in the court, I 
 can tell you. 
 
 P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? 
 
 Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof 
 the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, 
 I am as melancholy as a gib' cat, or a lugged 
 bear. 
 
 P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute. 
 
 Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bag- 
 pipe.' 
 
 P. Hen. What say st thou to a hare, or the 
 melancholy of Moor-ditch 1 
 
 Fal. Thou hast the most unsavory similes ; and 
 art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, — 
 Bweet young prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trou- 
 ble me no more with vanity. I would to God, 
 ihou and I knew where a commodity of good 
 names were to be bought: An old lord of the 
 council rated me the other day in the street about 
 you, sir ; but I marked him not : and yet he 
 talked very wisely ; but I regarded him not : and 
 yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries out 
 in the streets, and no man regards it. 
 
 Fal. O tLou hast damnable iteration :' and art, 
 indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done 
 nmch harm upon me, Hal, — God forgive thee for 
 it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing ; 
 and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little 
 better than one of the wicked. I must give over 
 this life, and I will gi\ e it over ; by the Lord, an 
 [ do not, I am a villain ; I'll be damned for never 
 a king's son in Christendom. 
 
 P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, 
 Jack] 
 
 « The dress of sheriff's officers. 
 
 » Gib cat, shoulj be lib cat, — a Scotch term at this day 
 l>r a geldsd cat. 
 » Croak af a frog. * Citation of holy texts. 
 
 Fal. Where thou (vilt, lad, I'll m ike or.'c ; an 1 
 do not, call me villain, and baffle' me. 
 
 P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life ip 
 thee ; from praying, to purse-taking. 
 
 Enter Poins, at a distance. 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal : 'tis no 
 sin for a man to labor in his vocation. Poins ! — 
 Now shall wc know if Gadshill have set a match.' 
 O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in 
 hell were hot enough for him ? This is the most 
 omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a 
 true man. 
 
 P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. 
 
 Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. — What says 
 monsieur Remorse 1 What says sir John Sack- 
 and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and 
 thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on 
 Good-friday last, for a cup of Madeira, and a cold 
 capon's leg ] 
 
 P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the 
 devil shall have his bargain ; for he was never 
 yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil 
 his due. 
 
 Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy 
 word with the devil. 
 
 P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening 
 the devil. 
 
 Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morn- 
 ing, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill : There 
 are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich of- 
 ferings, and traders riding to London with fat 
 purses : I have visors for you all, you have 
 horses for yourselves : Gadshill lies to-night in Ro- 
 chester : I have bespoke supper to-morrow night 
 in Eastchcap ; we may do it as secure as sleep : 
 If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of 
 crowns : if you will not, tarry at home, and be 
 hanged. 
 
 Fal. Hear me, Yedward ; if I tarry at home 
 and go not, I'll hang you for going. 
 
 Poins. You will, chops ? 
 
 Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one 1 
 
 P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my 
 faith. 
 
 Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor 
 good-fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of 
 the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten 
 shillings.' 
 
 P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a 
 madcap. 
 
 Fal. Why, that's well said. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at 
 home. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when 
 thou art king. 
 
 P. Hen. I care not. 
 
 Poi7is. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince 
 and me alone ; I will lay him down such reasons 
 for this adventure, that he shall go. 
 
 Fal. Well, mayst thou have the spirit of persua- 
 sion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou 
 speakest may move, and what he hears may b« 
 believed, that the true prince may (for recreation' 
 
 » Treat me with ignominy. 
 
 • Made an appointment. 
 
 ' The value of a coin called real or royaX. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 391 
 
 Bake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of 
 the time wan , countenance. Farewell: You shall 
 'ind me in Eastchcap. 
 
 P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell 
 All-hallown summer!' [Exit Falstaff. 
 
 I'oins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with 
 us to-morrow ; I have a jest to execute, that I can- 
 not manage alone. Falstaif, Bardolph, Pcto, and 
 Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already 
 waylaid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and 
 when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob 
 them, cut this head from my shoulders. 
 
 P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in 
 setting forth ! 
 
 Poins. Why, w-e will set forth before or after 
 them, and appoint thcni a place of meeting, where- 
 in it is at our pleasure to fail ; and then will they 
 adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they 
 shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon 
 them. 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like, that they will know us, 
 by our horses, by our habits, and by every other 
 appointment, to be ourselves. 
 
 Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie 
 them in the wood ; our visors we will change, after 
 we leave them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buck- 
 ram for the nonce,'' to inmask our noted outward 
 garments. 
 
 P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for 
 us. 
 
 Poins. Well, for twoof them, I know them to be 
 as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for 
 the tliird, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll 
 forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the 
 incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will 
 tell us, when we meet at supper : how thirty, at least, 
 he fought with ; what wards, what blows, what ex- 
 tremities he endured; and, in the reproof of this, 
 lies the jest. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee ; provide us all 
 things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in 
 Eastcheap : there I'll sup. Farewell. 
 
 Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold 
 The unyok'd humor of your idleness: 
 Yet herein will I imitate the sun; 
 Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
 To smother up his beauty from the world, 
 That, when he please again to be himself, 
 Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at. 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 Of vapors, that did seem to strangle him. 
 If all the year were playing holidays, 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
 But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come, 
 And nothing plcaseth but rare accidents: 
 80, when this loose behavior I throw off, 
 And pay the debt I never promised. 
 By how much better than my word I am, 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
 And, like bright metal on a sullen ground. 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault. 
 Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, 
 Than that which hath no full to set it off. 
 I'll so offend, to make otlence a skill; 
 Redeeming time, when men think least I will. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 » Fine wratlior at All-h.nllown-tidp, (i. e. All-Saints, 
 Sot. 1st,) is called an AU-hallown summer. 
 ^ Oocaeion. 
 
 SCENE lU.—Anuker Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Nokthumberland, Wok 
 CKSTER, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and 
 others. 
 
 K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tem- 
 perate. 
 Unapt to stir at these indignities. 
 And you have found me ; for, accordingly, 
 You tread upon my patience ; but, be sure, 
 I will from henceforth rather be myself. 
 Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition ;° 
 Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young dowo 
 And therefore lost that title of respect. 
 Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. 
 
 Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little de« 
 serves 
 The scourge of greatness to be used on it; 
 And that same greatness too which our own hands 
 Have holp to make so portly. 
 
 North. My lord, 
 
 K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see dangef 
 And disobedience in thine eye ; O, sir. 
 Your presence is too bold and peremptory . 
 And majesty might never yet endure 
 The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
 You have good leave to leave us ; when we need 
 Your use and counsel, we .shall send for you. — 
 
 \^Exit WoHCESTEU. 
 
 You were about to speak. [7b North. 
 
 North. Yea, my good lord. 
 
 Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, 
 Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took. 
 Were, as he says, not with such strength denied 
 As is deliver'd to your majesty : 
 Either envy, therefore, or misprision. 
 Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. 
 
 Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
 But, I remember, when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil. 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, 
 Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home; 
 He was perfumed like a milliner; 
 And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
 A pouncet-box,'' which ever and anon 
 He gave his nose, and took't away again ; — 
 Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, 
 Took it in snuff: — and still he smiled and talk'd ; 
 And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by. 
 He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 With many holiday and lady terms 
 He question'd me ; among the rest demanded 
 My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 
 I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, 
 To be so pester'd with a popinjay. 
 Out of my grief and my impatience, 
 Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; 
 He should, or he should not ; — (or he made me maU. 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet 
 And talk so like a waiting-gcntiowoman. 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save th« 
 
 mark !) 
 And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise ; 
 And that it was great pity, so it was, 
 • Disposition. * A small box for musk or otber perfume* 
 
392 
 
 flRST PART OF 
 
 Act I 
 
 That villano'.is saltpotre shoulJ be diffff'J 
 Out of tlio bowels; of tho harmless earth, 
 Which many a ff<K>il tall' follow had destroy'ii 
 So cowardly ; and, hut for those vile guns, 
 He would iiiiiisclf have been a soldier. 
 This Iwld uiijoiiilod chat of his, my lord, 
 I iuiswor'd indirectly, as I said ; 
 And, 1 beseech yon, let not his report 
 Come current for an accusation, 
 Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 
 
 Blunt. 'I'iie circumstance considerd, good my lord. 
 Whatever Harry Percy then had said, 
 To such a jM-rson, and in such a jjlacc, 
 At such a time, with all tho rest re-told, 
 May reasrtnal)ly (he, and never rise 
 To do him wrong, or any way impeach 
 What then he said, so he unsay it now. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; 
 But with proviso, and exception,— 
 That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight 
 His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; 
 Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
 The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
 Against the great nvagician, danni'd Glcndovver; 
 Whose dauglitor, as we hear, the earl of March 
 Hath lately married. Shall our eotlers then 
 Be en>ptied, to redeem a traitor houve 1 
 Shall we buy treason T antl indent' with fears. 
 When tliey have lost and forfeited themselves! 
 No, on the barren incnujtains let him starve; 
 For I shall never hold that man my friend, 
 Whoso tongu<' shall ask me fir one penny cost 
 To ransom home rcvolte<l Mortimer. 
 
 Hot. Revolted Mortimer! 
 He never did fall off, my sovereign liege. 
 But by the chance of war : — ■'J'o prove that trne, 
 Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds. 
 Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly lie took. 
 When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank. 
 In single opposition, hand to liand. 
 He did confound the best part of an hour 
 In changing hardinuMit with great (ilendower : 
 Throe times they breath'd, and three times did they 
 
 drink. 
 Upon agreement, of swift Severn's Hood ; 
 Who then, allrighted with their bloody looks, 
 Ran fearfully among the trembling roedH, 
 And hid his crisp^ head in tho hollow bank 
 Blood-stained with those valiant combatants. 
 Never did bare and rotten policy 
 Color her working with such deadly wounds; 
 Nor never could the noble MortinKt 
 Receive so many, and all willingly: 
 Then let him not be slandor'd with revolt. 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost 
 
 belie him ; 
 fl J never did cHcounter with Glendower j 
 I cell thee. 
 
 He durst as well have met th« devil alone. 
 As Owen (ilendower for an enemy. 
 Art not ashamed! But, sirrah, henceforth 
 Let me not hear you apeak of Mortimer: 
 Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 
 Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
 As will displease you. — My lord Northumbrrland, 
 VVc license your departure with your son: — 
 Bend us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. 
 
 [Exeunt Kiiro Henky, Blunt, and Train. 
 
 ' Bravo. * Sign an indenture. 
 
 • Curlud. 
 
 Hot. And if the devil come ami oar for them, 
 I will not send them: — I will after straight, 
 And tell him so : for I will case my heart, 
 Although it be with hazard of my head. 
 
 North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pauwi 
 awhile ; 
 Here comes your uncle. 
 
 Re-enter WoncKSTKn. 
 
 Hot. Speak of Mortimer? 
 
 Yes, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
 Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 
 Yea, on his part, I'll em])fy all these veins, 
 And shed my dear blood dro|) by drop i' the dust, 
 But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
 As high i' the air as this unthankful king, 
 As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 
 
 North. Brother, the king hath made your nephe\i 
 mad. [7w Wouckstku. 
 
 Wor. Who struck this heal up, after I was gone 1 
 
 Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; 
 And when I urged the ransom onte again 
 Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pal® ; 
 And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. 
 Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 
 
 Wor. I cannot blame him : Was he not proelaim'd, 
 By Richard that dead is, the next of blood] 
 
 North. He was ; I heard the proclamation • 
 And then it was, when the unhap{)y king 
 (Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did s<'t forth 
 Upon his Irish exj)edition ; 
 From whence he, intercepted, did return 
 To be depos'd, and shortly, murdered. 
 
 Wor. And for whose death, we in the world s wido 
 mouth 
 Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. 
 
 Hot. But, soft, I pray you; Did king Richard 
 then 
 Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
 Heir to the crown! 
 
 North. He did; myself did hear it. 
 
 Hot, Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin 
 king. 
 That wished him on the barren mountain.s starv'd 
 But shall it be, that you, — that set tho crown 
 Upon the head of this forgetful man ; 
 And, for his sake, wear tlie detested blot 
 Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be. 
 That you a world of cursc.9 undergo; 
 Being the agents, or base second means. 
 The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ?• 
 O, pardon me, that I descend so low. 
 To show the line, and tho predicament. 
 Wherein you range under this subtle king, — 
 Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these dayS) 
 Or fill up chronicles in time to come. 
 That men of your nobility and power, 
 Did gage them both in an unjust belialf, — 
 As both of you, God pardon it! have done, — 
 To put down Richaril, that sweet lovely rose. 
 And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke'* 
 And shall it in more shame, be further spoken. 
 That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off 
 By him, for whom these shames ye underv\'ent 
 No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
 Your banish'd honors, and restore yourselves 
 Into tho good thoughts of the v/orld again : 
 Roverrge tho jeering anil disdain'd contempt. 
 Of this proud king; who studies day and night 
 To answer all the debt he owes* fo you, 
 
?^CF,NP, TIT. 
 
 KING HENRY T\'. 
 
 393 
 
 Even with the bloody payment of your deaths, 
 rhcrcfoie, I say, 
 
 Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more : 
 
 And now I will unclasp a secret book. 
 And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
 I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
 As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, 
 As to o'cr-walk a current, roaring loud, 
 On the unstcadtast footing of a spear. 
 
 Hot. If he fall in, good night: — or sink or swim : 
 Send danger from the cast unto the west. 
 So honor cross it from the north to south, 
 And let them grapple; — ()! the blood more stirs, 
 To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 
 
 North. Imagination of some great exploit 
 Drives hirn beyond the bounds of patience. 
 
 Hot. By heaven, nielhinks, it were an easy leap. 
 To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon; 
 Or dive uito the bottom of the deep, 
 Where fathom-line could never touch the ground. 
 And pluck up drowned honor by the locks; 
 So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, 
 Without corrival, all her dignities: 
 But out upon this half-faced fellowship! 
 
 Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here. 
 But not the form of what he should attend. — 
 Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 
 
 Hot. I cry you mercy. 
 
 Wor. Those same noble Scots, 
 That are your prisoners, 
 
 Hot. I'll keep them all ; 
 
 By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them : 
 No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: 
 ril keep them, by this hand. 
 
 Wor. You start away, 
 
 And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
 These prisoners you shall keep. 
 
 Hot. Nay, I will ; that's flat : — 
 
 He said, he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
 Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
 But I will find him when he lies asleep. 
 And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer! 
 Nay, 
 
 I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak 
 Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, 
 To keep his anger still in moti(jn. 
 
 Wor. Hear you. 
 
 Cousin; a woj-d. 
 
 Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy. 
 Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : 
 And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales, — 
 But that I think his father loves him not, 
 And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
 I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 
 
 Wor. Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you. 
 When you are better temper'd Xx> attend. 
 
 North. Why, what a vvasjvstung and impatient fool 
 Art thou to break into this woman's mood; 
 Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ! 
 
 Hot. Why, look you, I am whip[)'d and scourged 
 with rods, 
 Nctllcd, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
 Of this vile politician, Bolingl-roke. 
 In Richard's lime, — What do you call the place ? — 
 .1 plague ipon't ! — it is ui Giofctershire; — 
 
 'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept^ 
 His uncle York ;— where I first bow'd my knee 
 Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
 When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 
 
 North. At Berkley castle. 
 
 Hot. You say true : 
 
 Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
 This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! 
 Look, — ivhen his infant fortune came to age, 
 And, — gentle Hairy Percy,- — and, hindcoudn, — 
 
 The devil take such cozeners! Heaven forgivt 
 
 me ! 
 
 Good uncle, tell your talc, for I have done. 
 
 Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again; 
 We'll stay your leisure. 
 
 Hot. I have done, i'faitJ.. 
 
 Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
 Deliver them up without their ransom straight. 
 And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
 For powers in Scotland ; which, — for divers reasoni% 
 Which I shall send you written, — be assur'd, 
 Will easily be granted. — You my lord, — 
 
 [To Nobtiiumukhlajtd. 
 Your son in Scotland being thus cmploy'd, — 
 Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
 Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 
 The archbishop. 
 
 Hot. Of York, Ls't not? 
 
 Wor. True ; who bears hard 
 His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. 
 I speak not this in estimation. 
 As what I think might be, but what I know 
 Is ruminated, plotted, and set down; 
 And only stays but to behold the face 
 Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 
 
 Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well. 
 
 North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slipi 
 
 Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot:— • 
 And then the power of Scotland, and of York, — 
 To join with Mortimer, lial 
 
 Wor. And so they shall. 
 
 Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 
 
 Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, 
 To save our heads by raising of a head ;* 
 For, bear ourselves as even as we can. 
 The king will always think him in our debt; 
 And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
 I'ill he hath found a time to pay us home. 
 And see already, how he doth begin 
 To make us strangers to his looks of love. 
 
 Hot. He does, he docs : we'll be revenged on him. 
 
 Wor. Cousin, farewell : — No further go in this, 
 Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
 W^hen time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,) 
 I'll steal to Glcndower and lord Mortimer; 
 Where you and Douglas, and our powers at onc^ 
 (As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet, 
 'J'o bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, 
 Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 
 
 North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive^ 
 I trust. 
 
 Hot. Uncle, adieu: — O, let the hours be short, 
 Till fields, and blows, and groans apjdaud our sport 
 
 [Exeunk 
 • A body offerees 
 
 / 
 
89i 
 
 FIRST PART OP 
 
 Act 1j 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Rochester. Aa Inn Yard. 
 
 Enter a Carrier, with a lantern in his hand. 
 
 1 Car. Heigh ho ! An't be not four by the day, 
 I'll be hanged ; Charles' wain is over the new chim- 
 ney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler! 
 
 Ost. [ Within.'] Anon, anon. 
 
 1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's' sadtho, put 
 a few flocks in the point ; the poor jade is wrung 
 in the withers out of all cess.' 
 
 Enter another Carrier. 
 
 2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a 
 dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades 
 the hots : this house is turned upside down, since 
 Robin ostler died. 
 
 1 Car. Poor fellow ! never joyed since the price 
 of oats rose ; it was the death of him. 
 
 2 Car. I think this be the most villanous house 
 in all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench." 
 
 1 Car. Like a tench ] by the mass, there is ne'er 
 a king in Christendom could be better bit than I 
 have been since the first cock. 
 
 2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, 
 and then we leak in your chimney ; and your cham- 
 ber-lie breeds fleas like a loach.'' 
 
 1 Car. What, ostler ! come away and be hanged, 
 come away. 
 
 2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes 
 of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charingcross. 
 
 Car. 'Odsbody ! the turkeys in my pannier are 
 quite starved. — What, ostler ! — A plague on thee ! 
 hast thou never an eye in thy head ? canst not 
 hear 1 An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to 
 break the pate of thee, I am a very villain. — Come, 
 and be hanged : — Hast no faith in thee ? 
 Enter Gadshill. 
 
 Gads. Good-morrow, carriers. What's o'clock ? 
 
 1 Car. I think it be two o'clock. 
 
 Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
 gelding in the stable. 
 
 1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye ; I know a trick worth 
 two of that. 
 
 Gads. I pr'ythee lend me thine. 
 
 2 Car. Ay, when 1 canst tell ? — Lend me thy lan- 
 tern, quoth a 1-^marry, I'll see thee hanged first. 
 
 Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to 
 come to London ? 
 
 2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, 
 I waiTant thee. — Come, neighbor Mugs, we'll call 
 up the gentlemen ; they will along with the com- 
 pany, for they have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers. 
 
 Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 
 
 Cham. [Within.'] At hand, quoth pick-purse.* 
 
 Gads. That's even as fair as — at hand, quoth the 
 ..iiamberlain : for thou variest no more from picking 
 of purses, than giving direction doth from laboring ; 
 Ihou lay'st the plot how. 
 
 Enter Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good-morrow, master Gadshill. It holds 
 
 current that I told you yesternight: There's a 
 
 franklin' in the wild of Kent, hath brought three 
 
 hundred marks with him in gold : I heard him tell 
 
 it to one of his company, last night at supper ; a 
 
 kind of auditor; one that hath abundance of charge 
 
 * Name of his horse. » Measure. • Spotted like a tench. 
 1 A small fish supposed to breed fleas. 
 
 A proverb, from the pick-purse being always ready. 
 « Freeholder. 
 
 too, God knows what. They are up already, and cali 
 for eggs and butter : They will away presently. 
 
 Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicho« 
 las' clerks,' I'll give thee this neck. 
 
 Cham. No, I'll none of it : I pr'ythee keep that 
 for the hangman ; for I know thou worship's! saint 
 Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. 
 
 Gads. Why talkest thou to me of the hangman ? 
 if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows : for, if I 
 hang, old sir John hangs with me ; and, thou know- 
 est, he's no starveling. Tut : there are other Trojana 
 that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, 
 are content to do the profession some grace ; that 
 would, if matters should be looked into, for their 
 own credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with 
 no foot land-rakers,* no long-staff, sixpenny strikers; 
 none of these mad, mustachio, purple-hued malt 
 worms ; but with nobility, and tranquillity ; burgo- 
 masters, and great oneyers ;' such as can hold in ; 
 such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak 
 sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray 
 And yet I lie ; for they pray continually to their 
 saint, the commonwealth ; or, rather, not pray to 
 her, but prey on her ; for they ride up and down 
 on her, and make her their boots.* 
 
 Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots 1 
 will she hold out water in foul way ? 
 
 Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored 
 her.' We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have 
 the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. 
 
 Cham. Nay, by my faith ! I think you are moro 
 beholden to the night than to fern-seed, for your 
 walking invisible. 
 
 Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have a 
 share in our purchase, as I am a true man. 
 
 Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a 
 false thief. 
 
 Gads. Go to : Homo is a common name to all 
 men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the 
 stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exctmt- 
 
 SCENE JL— The Road by Gadshill. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry and Poins ; Bardolph 
 and Peto, at some distance. 
 
 Poins. Come, shelter, shelter : I have removed 
 Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet 
 
 P. Hen. Stand close. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Poins ! Poins ! and be hanged ! Poins ! 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidjiey'd rascal ; what a 
 brawling dost thou keep ! 
 
 Fal. Where's Poins, Hal ? 
 
 P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill ; 
 I'll go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poins. 
 
 Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: 
 the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him \ 
 know not where. If I travel but four foot by the 
 squire* further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, 
 I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 
 'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have for- 
 sworn his company hourly any time these two-and- 
 twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the 
 rogue's company. If the rascal have not given mo 
 medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged ; i1 
 could not be else ; I have drunk medicines. — Poins! 
 
 ' Cant term for a highwayman 
 
 3 Public accountants. 
 
 ' Oiled, smoothed her over 
 
 » Foot-ptds. 
 
 4 Booty. 
 
 e Square, rttl»- 
 
 \ 
 
PCEUE II. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 39J) 
 
 — Hal ! — a plague upon you both ! — 'Bardolph ! — 
 Poto ! — I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An 
 'twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true 
 man, and leave these rogues, I am the veriest var- 
 Ict that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards 
 of uneven ground is three score and ten miles afoot 
 with me ; and the stony-hearted villains know 
 it well enough : A plague upon't, when thieves 
 cannot be true to one another ! [Tliey whistle.^ 
 Whew ! — A plague upon you all ! Give me my 
 horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts ! lie down ; lay thine 
 ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear 
 the tread of travellers. 
 
 Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, 
 being down] 'SblooJ, I'll not bear mine own flesh so 
 far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's ex- 
 cheqi^er. What a pltigue mean you to colt* me thus? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou licst, thou art not colted, thou art 
 uncolted. 
 
 Fal. I pr'ythee, rjood prince Hal, lielp me to my 
 horse ; good king'a son. 
 
 P. Heti. Out, y »»u rogue ! shall I be your ostler ? 
 
 Fal. Go, hang iliyself in thy own heir-appaient 
 garters ! If I Ixj ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I 
 have not ballad* /aade on you all, and sung to filthy 
 tunes, let a caj of sack be my poison : When a 
 jest is so foi^»ard, and afoot too — I hate it. 
 
 Enter Gadshill. 
 Gads Knnd. 
 
 Fal. ^o i do, against my will. 
 Poi'is. O, 'tis our setter : I know his voice. 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. What news 1 
 
 Gads. Case ye, case ye : on with your visors : 
 there's money of the king's coming down the hill ; 
 'tis going to the king's exchequer. 
 
 Fal. You lie, you rogue ; 'tis going to the king's 
 tavern. 
 
 Gads. There's enough to make us all — 
 
 Fal. To be hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the nar- 
 row lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they 
 'scape from your encounter, then they light on us. 
 
 Peto. How many be there of them 1 
 
 Gads. Some eight, or ten. 
 
 Fal. Zounds ! will they not rob us 1 
 
 P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch 1 
 
 Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your 
 ffrandfather : but yet no coward, Hal. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 
 
 Poins. SuTah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 
 h«dge ; when thou need'st him, there thou shalt 
 find hit! Farewell, and stand fast. 
 
 Fa' r'ow cannot I strike him, if I should be 
 hangrL 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises 1 
 
 Poins. Here, hard by; stand close. 
 
 ^Exeunt P. Henry and Poins. 
 
 Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole. 
 Fay I ; every man to his business. 
 
 Enter Travellers. 
 1 Trav. Come, neighbor; the boy shall lead our 
 horses down the hill : we'll walk afoot pwhile, and 
 Base our legs. 
 Thieves. Stand. 
 IVfli'. Jesu bless us! 
 
 8 Make a youngster of me. 
 
 Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' 
 throats : Ah ! whoreson caterpillars ! bacon-fed 
 knaves ! they hate us youth : down with them 
 fleece them. 
 
 1 Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours, 
 for ever. 
 
 Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied' knaves ; Arc ye un- 
 done 1 No, ye fat chuffs ;' I would, ynur store were 
 here ! On, bacons, on ! What, ye knaves ] young 
 men must live ; You are grand jurors, are ye 1 
 We'll jure ye, i'faith. 
 
 \Exeunt Fal., Sfc, driving the TraveUers out. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry and Poms. 
 
 P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men 
 Now, could thou and I rob the thieves, and go 
 merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, 
 laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. 
 
 Poins. Stand close, I hear them comuig. 
 
 Re-enter Thieves. 
 
 Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then 
 to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be 
 not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring . 
 there's no more valor in that Poins than in a wild 
 duck. 
 
 P. Hen. Your money ! [Rushing out upon them. 
 Poins. Villains. 
 
 [As they are sharing, the Prince and 
 Poins set upon them. Falstaff, after 
 a blow or two, and the rest, run away, 
 leaving their booty behind them. 
 P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to 
 horse ; 
 The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
 So strongly, that they dare not meet each other ; 
 Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
 Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death. 
 And lards the lean earth as he walks along : 
 Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
 Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III — Warkworth. A Roomin the Castle. 
 Enter Hotspur, reading a Letter. 
 
 But for mine own part, my lord, I coula 
 
 be well contented to be there, in respect of the love 
 I bear your house. — He could be contented, — Why 
 is he not then 1 In respect of the love he bears our 
 house — he shows in this, he loves his own barn 
 better than he loves our house. Let me see some 
 more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous,- — 
 Why, that s certain ; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, 
 to sleep, to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out 
 of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 
 The purpose you undertake is dangerous ,- the 
 friends you have named, uncertain; the time itself 
 unsorted, and your whole plot too light, for the 
 counterpoise of so great a7i opposition.. — Say 3-ou 
 so, say you so 1 I say unto you again you are a shal- 
 low, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain 
 is this ? By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever 
 was laid ; our friends true and constant: a good plot, 
 good friends, and full of expectation : an excellent 
 plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue 
 ia this ] Why, my lord of York commends the plot, 
 and the general course of the action. Zounds, an 
 I wore now by this rascal, I could brain him with 
 his lady's flin. Is there not my father, my uncle, 
 and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of 
 9 Fat, corpulent. » Clownn 
 
SD6 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act 11 
 
 York, and Owen Glendower ? Is there not, besides, 
 the Douglas ] Have I not all their letters, to meet me 
 m arms by the ninth of the next month 1 and arc 
 they not, some ot' them, set forward already 1 
 What a pagan rascal is this? an infidel? Ha! you 
 shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold 
 heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our pro- 
 ceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to 
 buflets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk 
 with so honorable an action ! Hang him ! let him 
 tell the Ving: We are prepared: I will set forward 
 to-nigh'; 
 
 Enter Laut Percy. 
 How now, Kate? I must leave you within these 
 two hours. 
 
 Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone I 
 For what oflence have I, this fortnight, been 
 A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? 
 Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee 
 Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? 
 Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; 
 And start so often when thou sitt'st alone ? 
 Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in tliy cheeks ; 
 And given my treasures, and my rights of thee. 
 To thick-cy'd musing, and curs'd melancholy ? 
 In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, 
 And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars: 
 Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; 
 Cry, Courage! — 1o the field! And thou hast talk'd 
 Of sallies, and retires ; of trenches, tents, 
 Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets ; 
 Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin ; 
 Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, 
 And all the 'currents of a heady fight. 
 I'hy spirit within thee hath been so at war. 
 And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, 
 That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 
 Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream : 
 And in thy foce strange motions have appear'd. 
 Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
 On some great sudden haste. 0, what portents are 
 
 these ? 
 Some Iieavy business hath my lord in hand. 
 And I must know it, else he loves me not. 
 
 Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone? 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Sew. He is, my lord, an hour ago, 
 
 Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the 
 sheriff? 
 
 Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. 
 
 Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? 
 
 Scrv. It is, my lord. 
 
 Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 
 
 vVell, I will back him straight : O enperunce! ' — 
 Bid Butler lead him forth into tlie park. \Ex. Serv. 
 
 hudy. But hear you, my lord. 
 
 Hot". What say 'st, my lady? 
 
 Lady. What is it cairies you away? 
 
 Hot. My horse, 
 
 My love, my horse. 
 
 Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape! 
 A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, 
 As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
 I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. 
 [ fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir 
 \bout his title ; and hath sent for you, 
 To line' his enterprize: But if you go 
 
 Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love, 
 » Motto of the Percy family. > Strengthen. 
 
 Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
 Directly ' j this question that I ask. 
 In faith, ^'11 break thy little finger, Hany, 
 An if th( u wilt not tell me all things true. 
 
 Hot. iway, 
 Away, ")0U trifler! — Love! — I love thee not, 
 I care r Jt for thee, Kate: this is no world 
 To plav with mammets,'^ and to tilt with lips: 
 We nmst have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns. 
 And p';5s them current too. — Gods me, my horse!— 
 What say'st thou, Kate ? what wouldst thou havt 
 with me? 
 
 Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not, indeed 
 Well, uo not then; for, since you love me not, 
 I will not love myself. Do you not love me? 
 Nay, t-jll me, if you speak in jest or no. 
 
 Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride ? 
 And when I am o'horseback, I will swear 
 I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; 
 I must not have you henceforth question mc 
 Whither I go, nor reason whereabout: 
 Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude. 
 This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
 I know you wise ; but yet no further wise, 
 Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ; 
 But yet a woman: and for secrecy, 
 No lady closer; for I weW believe. 
 Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; 
 And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate ! 
 
 Lady. How ! so far ? 
 
 Hot. Not an inch farther. But hark you, Kate . 
 Whither I go, thither shall you go too; 
 To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. — 
 Will this content you, Kate? 
 
 Lady. It must, of force. [^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV. — Eastcheap. A Roominthe Boar's 
 
 Head Tavern. 
 
 Enter Prince Henrt and Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee,come out of that fat room, 
 and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 
 
 Foiiis. Where hast been, Hal ? 
 
 P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst 
 three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the 
 very base string of liumility. Sirrah, I am sworn 
 brother to a leash of drawers ; and can call them all 
 by their Christian names, as — Tom, Dick, and 
 Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, 
 that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am 
 the king of courtesy, and tell me flatly I am no 
 proud Jack, like FalstatI"; but a Corinthian," a lad 
 of mettle, a good boy, — by the Lord, so they call 
 me ; and when I am king of England, I shall com- 
 mand all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call 
 — drinking deep, dying scarlet ; and when you 
 breathe in your watering, they cry — hem ! and bid 
 you play it off. — To conclude, I am so good a profi- 
 cient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with 
 any tinker in his own language during my life. 
 I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honor, that 
 thou wert not with me in this action. But, sweet 
 Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned, I give theo 
 this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now in 
 my hand by an under-skinker ;* one that never 
 spake other English in his life, than — Eight s/aV- 
 lings and sixpence, and — You are welcome; with 
 this shrill addition, — Anon, anon, sir! Score apini 
 of bastard in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to 
 drive away the time till Falstaff com© I pr'ythee 
 a Puppets. » A wencher. * Tapster 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 397 
 
 do thou stand in some by-room, while I question 
 my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the 
 sugar ; and do thou never leave caUing — Francis, 
 that his talc to me may be nothing but — anon. — 
 Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent. 
 
 Poins. Francis ! 
 
 F. Hen. Thou art perfect. 
 
 Pnns. Francis ! [Exit Poins. 
 
 Enter Francis. 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into the 
 Pomegranate, Ralph. 
 
 P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. 
 
 Fran. My lord. 
 
 P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ] 
 
 Fran. Forsooth, iive year, and as much as to — 
 
 Poins. [ Within.'\ Francis ! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Five years ! by'r lady, a long lease for 
 the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be 
 60 valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, 
 and to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it 1 
 
 Fran. O lord, sir ! FU be sworn upon all the 
 books in England, I could find it in my heart — 
 
 Poins. [Within.^ Francis! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis 1 
 
 Fran. Let me see, — About Michaelmas next I 
 shall be — 
 
 I'oins. [ Within.'\ Francis ! 
 
 Fran. Anon, sir. — Pray you, stay a Httle, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : For the su- 
 gar tliou gavest me — 'twas a penny worth,was't not! 
 
 Fran. O lord, sir ! I would it had been two. 
 
 /■'. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound : 
 ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. 
 
 Poins. [ Within.'] Francis ! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon. 
 
 P. Hen. Anon, Francis 1 No, Francis : but to- 
 morrow, Francis ; or Francis, on Thursday ; or, in- 
 deed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, — 
 
 Fran. My lord 1 
 
 P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crys- 
 tal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, 
 caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch, — 
 
 Fi-an. O lord, sir, who do you mean ■? 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard* is your 
 only drink : for, look you, Francis, your white can- 
 vas doublet will sully : in Barbary, sir, it cannot 
 come to so much. 
 
 Fran. What, sir '! 
 
 Poins. [ Within.'] Francis ! 
 
 P. Hen. Away, you rogue ; Dost thou not hear 
 thenjcain [Here they both call him ; the Drawer 
 ttands amazed, not knowing which way to go.] 
 
 Enter Vintner. 
 
 Vint. What ! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such 
 ( calling ? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fran.] 
 My lord, old Sir John, with half a dozen more, 
 are at the door. Shall I let them in 1 
 
 P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open 
 the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! 
 
 Re-enter Poixs. 
 Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 7^. //cH. Sirrah, Falstafl'and the rest of the thieves 
 ere at the door ; Shall we be merry ? 
 
 Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark 
 ye; What cunning match have you made with 
 this jest of the drawer 1 come, what's the issue 1 
 * A Eweet wine. 
 
 P. Hen. I am now of all humors, that have 
 show'd themselves humors, since the old days of 
 goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present 
 twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter Fbancis, 
 with wine.] What's o'clock, Francis 1 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer 
 words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman ! — 
 His mdustry is — up stairs, and down stairs ; his elo- 
 quence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of 
 Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north; he thutkilla 
 me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, 
 washes his hands, and says to his wife, — Fye upon 
 this quiet life ! I want work. — my sweet Harry, 
 says she, how many hast thou killed to-day? Give 
 my roan horse a drench, says he, and answers. Some 
 /our^ee??, an hour after; atrifle,atrijle. Ipr'ythee, 
 call in Falstafl"; Fll play Percy, and that damned 
 brawn shall play dame Mortimer his wife. Rivo., 
 says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. 
 Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. 
 
 Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been ? 
 
 Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven- 
 geance too ! marry, and amen ! — Give me a cup 
 of sack, boy. — Ere I lead this life long, FU sew 
 nether-stocks,' and mend them, and foot them too. 
 A plague of all cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack, 
 rogue. — Is there no virtue extant "? [He drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish 
 of butter ? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the 
 sweet tale of the sun ] if thou didst, then behold 
 that compound. 
 
 Fal.YoM rogue, here's lime in this sack too. There 
 is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man : 
 Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in 
 it ; a villanous coward. — Go thy ways, old Jack ; die 
 when thou wilt: if manhood, good manhood, be 
 not forgotten upon the face of the earth, then am I 
 a shotten herring. There live not three good men 
 unhanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and 
 gjows old : God help the while ! a bad world, I say ! 
 I would, I were a weaver ; I could sing psalms or 
 any thing : A plague of all cowards, I say still. 
 
 P. Hen. How now, woolsack ] what mutter you 1 
 
 Fal, A king's son ! If I do not beat thee outof thy 
 kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy sub- 
 jects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never 
 wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales ! 
 
 P. Henry. Why, you whoreson round man ! 
 what's the matter 1 
 
 Fal. Are you not a coward 1 answer me to that ; 
 and Poins there ? 
 
 Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me 
 coward, I'll stab thee. 
 
 Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee damn'd ere 
 I call thee coward : but I would give a thousand 
 pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are 
 straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who 
 sees your back : Call you that backing oi your 
 friends 1 A plague upon such backing ! give me 
 them that will face mc. — Give me a cup of sack : 
 — I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. 
 
 P. He7i. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped 
 since thou drunk'st last. 
 
 Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, 
 still say I. [He drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. What's the matter? 
 
 Fal. What's the matter 1 there be four of ui 
 \ ere have ta'en a thousand pound this morning 
 » Stockings. 
 
398 
 
 FIRST I'ART OF 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Pc Hen. Where is it Jack? where is itl 
 
 Fal. Where is it 1 taken from us it is : a hundred 
 upon poor four of us. 
 
 P. Hen. What, a hundred, manl 
 
 Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword 
 with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 
 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through 
 the doublet; four through the hose; my buolclor 
 cut through and through ; my sword hack'd like a 
 hand-sdw, ecce signiim. I never dealt better sinre I 
 was a man ; all would not do. A plague of all cow- 
 ards ! — Let them speak : if they speak more or less 
 than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness. 
 
 P. Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was if! 
 
 Gads. We four set upon some dozen, 
 
 Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. 
 
 Gads. And bound them. 
 
 Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 
 
 Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man 
 of them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 
 
 Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven 
 fresh men set upon us, 
 
 Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in 
 the other. 
 
 P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all 1 
 
 Fal. All ] I know not what ye call all ; but if I 
 fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of ra- 
 dish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon 
 poor old Jack, then I am no two-legged creature. 
 
 Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some 
 of them. 
 
 Fal. Nay, that's past praying for: for I have 
 peppered two of them: two, I am sure, I have 
 paid; two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee 
 what, Hal, — if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, 
 call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward ; — 
 here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues 
 in buckram let drive at me, 
 
 P. Hen. What, four? thou saidst but two, even 
 now. 
 
 Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 
 
 Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 
 
 Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly 
 thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took 
 all their seven points in my target, thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Seven 1 why, there were but four, even 
 now. 
 
 Fal. In buckram. 
 
 Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 
 
 Fal, Seven by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'y thee, let him alone ; we shall have 
 more anon. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal 1 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 
 
 Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. 
 These nine in buckram, that I told thee of, 
 
 P. Hen. So, two more already. 
 
 Fal. Their points being broken, 
 
 Poins. Down fell their hose. 
 
 Fal. Began to give me ground: But I followed 
 me close, came in foot and hand ; and with a 
 thought, seven of the eleven I paid. 
 
 P. Hen. monstrous ! eleven buckram men 
 grown out of two ! 
 
 Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- 
 begotten knaves, in KendaP green, came at my 
 back, and let drive at me ; — for it was so dark, 
 Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. 
 
 P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
 
 * A town in Westmoreland famous for making cloth. 
 
 them ; gross as a mountain, open, palp&ble. Why, 
 thou clay-brain'd guts; thou knotty-j>at£ d fool, 
 thou whoreson, obscene, greasy, tallow-ketch.'' 
 
 Fal. What, art thou mad] art thou mad? is not 
 the truth, the truth ? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men 
 in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst 
 not see thy hand ? co:ne tell us your reason ; What 
 sayest thou to this ? 
 
 Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 
 
 Gal. What, upon compulsion ? No ; were I at tho 
 strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not 
 tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on com- 
 pulsion ! if reasons were as plenty as blackbeiries, I 
 would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. 
 
 P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin ; this 
 sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back- 
 breaker, this huge hill of flesh ; 
 
 Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried 
 neat's tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish, — 0, for 
 breath to utter what is like thee! — you tailor's yard, 
 you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck ; — 
 
 P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it 
 again : and when thou hast tired thyself in base 
 comparisons, hear me speak but this. 
 
 Poins. Mark, Jack. 
 
 P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four ; you 
 
 bound them, and were masters of their wealth. 
 
 Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down. — 
 Then did we two set on you four : and, with a word, 
 out-faced you from your prize, and have it ; yea, and 
 can show it you here in the house : — and Falstaff, 
 you canied your guts away as nimbly, with as quick 
 dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and 
 roared, as ever I heard a bull-calf. — What a slave 
 art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done ; and 
 then say, it was in fight ! What trick, what device, 
 what starting-hole, canst thou now find out, to hide 
 thee from this open and apparent shame ? 
 
 Poins. Come, let's hear. Jack ; What trick hast 
 thou now ? 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that 
 made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters ; Was it for 
 me to kill the heir apparent ? Should I turn upon 
 the true prince ? Why, thou knowest, I am as 
 valiant as Hercules : but beware instinct ; the lion 
 will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a gieat 
 matter ; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think 
 the better of myself and thee, during my life. I 
 for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by 
 
 the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. 
 
 Hostess, clap to the doors ; watch to-night, pray to- 
 moiTow. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all 
 the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, shall 
 we be merry ? shall we have a play extempore ? 
 
 P. Hen. Content; — and the argument shall bo 
 thy running away. 
 
 Fal. Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest ino. 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 Host. My lord, the prince, 
 
 P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess ? what 
 sayst thou to me ? 
 
 Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of 
 the court at door, would speak with you : he says, 
 he comes from your father. 
 
 P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him t 
 royal man, and send him back again to my mother, 
 
 Fal. What manner of man is he ? 
 
 Hosi. An old man. 
 
 1 A round lump of iai. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY lY 
 
 S9^ 
 
 Fal. What dodi s;ravity out of his bed at mid- 
 night? — Shall I g[\e him his answer? 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do, Jack. 
 
 Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing. lEzit. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, sirs; by'r lady, you fought fair ; 
 — so did you, Pcto; so did you, Bardolph: you are 
 lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not 
 touch the true prince ; no. — iye ! 
 
 Baid. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 
 
 P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, how came Fal- 
 BtafT's sword so hacked? 
 
 Peto. Why, he hacked it u ith his dagger ; and 
 said, he would swear truth out of England, but he 
 would make you believe it was done in fight; and 
 persuaded us to do the like. 
 
 Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
 grass to make them bleed: and then to besluliber 
 our garments with it, and to swear it was the blood 
 of true men. I did that I did not this seven year 
 before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain, thou stolcst a cup of sack 
 eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the man- 
 ner,' and ever since thou hast blushed extempore : 
 Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou 
 ran'st away; What instinct hast thou for it? 
 
 Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do 
 yDU behold these exhalations ? 
 
 P. Hen. I do. 
 
 Bard. What think you they portend? 
 
 P. Hen. Hot liver? and cold purses.' 
 
 Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
 
 P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. 
 
 lte-i:iiler Falstaff. 
 
 Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How 
 
 now, my sweet creature of bombast?' How long 
 
 is't ago. Jack, since thou saw'st thine own knee? 
 
 i^a/. My own knee? when I was about thy years, 
 Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could 
 have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: Aplague 
 of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. 
 There's villanous news abroad ; here was sir John 
 Bracy from your father ; you must to the court in 
 the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, 
 Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimou' the 
 bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore 
 the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a 
 Welsh hook, — What, a plague, call you him ? 
 
 Pains. O, Glendower. 
 
 Fal. Owen. Ovicn; the sa!ne;^and his son-in- 
 law, Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that 
 Bprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o'horse- 
 back up a hill p.'rpendicular. 
 
 P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with 
 bis pistol kills a sparrow flying. 
 
 Fal. You have hit it. 
 
 P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 
 
 Fal. Wfll that rascal hath good mettle in him ; 
 Le will not i it.. 
 
 P. Hen. \^ hy, what a rascal art thou then, to 
 praise him so for running? 
 
 Fal. O'horseback, ye cuckoo! Init afoot, he'will 
 not budge a foot. 
 
 P. Hen. Yes. Jack, upon instinct. 
 
 Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there 
 too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps^ 
 more: Worcester is stolen av;ay to-night; thy iii- 
 
 ' In the fact. » Drunkoniicss and poverty. 
 
 • Bombast is the stuffing of clothes. 
 
 ' A demon; who is doscribod as one of the four kingB, 
 who rule over all the demons in the world. 
 
 * Bcutsmeu in blue bonnets. 
 
 ther's lieard is turned white with the news; yon 
 may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot 
 June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy 
 maiden-heads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred. 
 
 Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it is like, 
 we shall have good trading that way. — But tell me, 
 Hal, art thou not horribly afeard ? thou being heir- 
 apparent, could the world pick thee out three such 
 enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit 
 Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou r.ot 
 horribly afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill at it ? 
 
 P. lien. Not a whit, i'faith; I lack seme of thj 
 instinct. 
 
 Fal. Well, thou wilt be honibly chid to-mon-ow, 
 when thou comest to thy father : if thou love me, 
 practise an answer. 
 
 P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and ex- 
 amine me upon the particulars of my life. 
 
 Fal. Shall I? content: — This chair shall bo 
 my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion 
 my crown. 
 
 P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy 
 golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy pre- 
 cious rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown. 
 
 Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out 
 of thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup 
 of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be 
 thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, 
 and I will do it in king Cambyses" vein. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, liere is my leg.* [Tjility 
 
 Fal. And here is my speech : — Stand aside, no- 
 
 Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith. [vain. 
 
 Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are 
 
 Host.O, the father, how he holds his countenance ! 
 
 Fal. For God's sake, lords, convoy my tristful 
 For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes, [queen, 
 
 Host. O rare ! he doth it as like one of these har 
 lotry players, as I ever see. 
 
 Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle- 
 brain.' — Hany, I do not only marvel where thou 
 spendcst thy time, but also how thou art accompa- 
 nied : for though the camomile, the more it is trod- 
 den on, the f;vstcrit grows, yet youth, the more it is 
 wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I 
 have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opin- 
 ion ; but chiefly, a villanous trick of thine eye, and a 
 foolish hangingof thy nether lip, that doth warrant 
 me. If then thou be son to me, here hes the point : — • 
 W hy, being son to me, art thou so pointed at ? Shall 
 the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher," and eat 
 blackberries ? a question not to be asked. Shall the 
 son of England prove a thief, and take purses? a 
 question to be asked. There is a thing, Hany, which 
 thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in 
 our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient 
 writers do report, doth defile ; so doth the company 
 thou keep'st : for, Harry, now, I do not speak to 
 thee in drink, but in tears ; not in pleasure, but in 
 passion ; not in words only, but in woes also : — 
 And yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have 
 often noted in thy company, but I knownot his name- 
 
 P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like youi 
 majesty ? 
 
 Fal. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent » 
 of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most no- 
 ble carriage ; and, as I think, his age some fiftj , or, 
 by'r lady, inclining to three-score; and now'l ie« 
 » A character in a tragedy by T. Preston, 1570. 
 « Obeisance. • Xame of a strong liquor. • A truant bor 
 
400 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act II. ScK.NK IV 
 
 member me, his name is Falstaff: if that man 
 ehould be lewdly given, he deccivelh me; for, 
 HaiTy, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree 
 may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, 
 then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that 
 Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell 
 me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast 
 thou been this month 1 
 
 P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king ] Do thou 
 stand for me, and I'll play my father. 
 
 Fa/. Depose me! if thou dost it half so gravely, so 
 majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up 
 by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a poultcr's hare. 
 P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 
 Fal. And here I stand: — judge, my masters. 
 P. Hen. Now, Harry 1 whence come youl 
 Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 
 P. Hen.Thc complaints I hear of thee arc grievous. 
 Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false: — nay, I'll 
 tickle ye for a young prince, i'faith. 
 
 P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy 1 hence- 
 forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried 
 away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in the 
 likeness of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy compan- 
 ion. Why dcst thou converse with that trunk of hu- 
 mors, that bolting-hutch^ of beastliness, that swoln 
 parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard' of sack, that 
 stuffed cloak bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree' 
 ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, 
 that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in 
 years 1 Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and 
 drink iti wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a 
 capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? 
 wherein crafty, but in villany ] wherein villanous, 
 but in all things ] wherein worthy, but in nothing 1 
 Fal. I would your grace would take me with 
 you ; whom means your grace 1 
 
 P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleader 
 of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. 
 Fal. My lord, the man I know. 
 P. Hen. I know, thou dost. 
 Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in 
 myself, were to say more than I know. That he is 
 old (the more the pity) his white hairs do witness it : 
 but that he is (saving your reverence) a whoremas- 
 ter, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a foult, 
 God help the wicked ! If to be old and merry be a 
 sin, then many an old host that I know, is damn'd : 
 if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine 
 are to be loved. No, my good lord ; banish Peto, ba- 
 nish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack Fal- 
 staff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant 
 Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he 
 Ls,old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's com- 
 pany ; banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. 
 P Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. 
 
 [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. 
 Re-enter Bardolph, running. 
 Bard. O, my lord, my lord ; the sheriff with a 
 most monstrous watch, is at the door. 
 
 Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play: I have 
 much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 
 Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 
 Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord ! — 
 Fal. Heigh ! heigh ! the devil rides upon a fid- 
 Jle-stick: what's the matter? 
 
 Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the 
 
 ' The machine which separates flour from hran. 
 
 • A leather black-jack to hold beer. 
 
 » In Essex, where 9 large ox was roasted whole. 
 
 door : they are come to search the house. Shall 1 
 let them inl 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true 
 piece of gold, a counterfeit : thou art essentially 
 mad, without seeming so. 
 
 P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without 
 instinct. 
 
 Fal. I deny your major,- if you will deny the 
 sheriif, so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a 
 cart as well as another man, a plague on my bring- 
 ing up ! I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a 
 halter, as another. 
 
 P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras; — the 
 rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true 
 face, and good conscience. 
 
 Fal. Both which I have had : but their date is 
 out, and therefore I'll hide me. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut the Prince and Poins 
 
 P. Hen. Call in the sheriff — 
 
 Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 
 
 Now, master sheriff: v.'hat's your will with me ? 
 
 Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and crv 
 Hath follow'd certain men into this house. 
 
 P. Hen. Wli ii men? 
 
 Sher. One of ttann is well known, my grdcioua 
 lord, 
 A gross fat man. 
 
 Cur. As fat as butter. 
 
 P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here , 
 For I myself at this time have cmploy'd him. 
 And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee. 
 That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 
 Send him to answer thee, or any man. 
 For any thing he shall be charged withal : 
 And so let me entreat you leave the house. 
 
 Sher. I will, my lord : There are two gentlemen 
 Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 
 
 P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb'd these men, 
 He shall be answerable; and so, farewell. 
 
 Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 
 
 P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; Is it not? 
 
 Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. 
 [Exeunt Sheriff anc? Carrier. 
 
 P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as 
 Paul's. Go, call him forth. 
 
 Poins. Falstaff! — fast asleep behind the arras, 
 and snorting like a horse. 
 
 P. Plen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: 
 Search his pockets. [Poins sea)-ches.] What hast 
 thou found? 
 
 Poins. Nothing but papers, my 
 
 P. He?i. Let's see what they be 
 
 2d. 
 
 lord, 
 read them. 
 
 Poins. Item, A capon. 
 Item, Sauce, Ad. 
 Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. Qd. 
 Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. Gd. 
 Item, Bread, a halt-penny. 
 
 P. Hen. O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth 
 of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! — What 
 there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more 
 advantage: there let him sleep till day. I'll to the 
 court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and 
 thy place shall be honorable. I'll procure this 
 fat rogue a charge of toot; and, I laiow, his death 
 will be a march of twelve-score. The money 
 shall be paid back again with advantage. Bi 
 with me betimes in the morning ; and so good 
 morrow, Poins. 
 
 Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt 
 
I'^ar ■iii-fc ■ II 
 
 --~-'i-'^'-"r~r'r'Y"-~-~ — '.^-n. 
 
 A.CT in. Scene I. 
 
 KiNa HENEY IV. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 401 
 
 SCENE I. — Bangor. A room in the Archdea- 
 con's House. 
 
 Filter HoTspun, Woiicesteii, MomiMEn, and 
 Glendower. 
 
 Morf, These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
 And our induction full of prosperous hope. 
 
 Hot. Lord Mortimer — and cousin Glendower — 
 Will you sit down? — 
 
 \nd, uncle Worcester: — A plague upon it! 
 I have forgot the map. 
 
 Glend. No, here it is. 
 
 Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur : 
 For by that name as oil as Lancaster 
 Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale : and, with 
 A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 
 
 Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears 
 Owen Glendower spoke off. 
 
 Glend. I cannot blame him ; at my nativity 
 The fiont of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
 Of burning cressets:' and at my birth. 
 The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shak'd like a coward. 
 
 Hot. Why, so it would have done 
 
 At the same season, if your mother's cat had 
 But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. 
 
 Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 
 
 Hut. And I say, the earth was not of my mind. 
 If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. 
 
 Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth 
 did tremble. 
 
 Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens 
 on fire. 
 And not in fear of your nativity. 
 Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
 In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth 
 Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
 By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
 Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving, 
 Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples' down 
 Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, 
 Our grandam earth, having this distemperature. 
 In passion shook. 
 
 Glend. Cousin, of many men 
 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
 To tell you once again, — that at my birth, 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; 
 'J'he goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
 Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
 These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ; 
 And all the counscs of my life do show, 
 I am not in the roll of common men. 
 Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea 
 That chides the banks of England, Scotland, 
 
 Wales, — 
 Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me] 
 And bring him out, that is but woman's son, 
 Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, 
 And hold me pace in deep experiments. 
 
 Hot. I think there is no man speaks better 
 Welsh:— 
 I will to dinner. 
 
 Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him 
 mad. 
 
 • ] Igbts Bct cross-ways upon beacons, and also upon 
 po' ee, which were used in processions, &c. ' Tumbles. 
 
 Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
 
 Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : 
 But will they come, when you do call for them? 
 
 Gle7id. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command 
 The deviJ. 
 
 Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to ehsmc the 
 devil. 
 By telling truth ; Tell truth, and shame the dfi^iJ.;—. 
 If thou have power to raise him, bring him talLeii 
 And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hencfc 
 O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. 
 
 3Iorf. Come, come. 
 No more of this unprofitable chat. 
 
 Glend. Three times hath Heniy Bolingbrcke 
 made head 
 Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye, 
 And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him, 
 Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. 
 
 Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too! 
 How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name 1 
 
 Glend. Come, here's the map; Shall we divide 
 our right. 
 According to our three-fold order ta'enl 
 
 Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
 Into three limits, very equally : 
 England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
 By south and east, is to my part assign'd : 
 Ail westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
 And all the fertile land within that bound. 
 To Owen Glendower : — and dear coz, to you 
 The remnant northward, lying ofi" from Trent: 
 And our indentures tripartite are drawn : 
 Which being sealed interchangeably, 
 (A business that tliis night may execute,) 
 To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, 
 And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth. 
 To meet your father, and the Scottish power, 
 As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
 My father Glendower is not ready yet, 
 Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days 
 Within that space, [To Glend.] you may have 
 
 drawn together 
 Your tenants, friends, and neighboring gentlemen. 
 
 Glend. A slicrtcr time shall send me to you, 
 lords, 
 And in my conduct shall your ladies come: 
 From whom you now must steal, and take n j leave ; 
 For there will be a world of water shed, 
 Upon the parting of your wives and you. 
 
 Hot. Methinks, hiy moiety, north from Burton 
 here, 
 In quantity equals not one of yours: 
 Sec, how this river conies me cranking in. 
 And cuts me, from the best of all my land, 
 A huge half moon, a monstrous cantle' out. 
 I'll have tlie current in this place damm'd up ; 
 And here the smug and silver Trent shall run. 
 In a new channel, foir and evenly: 
 It shall not wind with such a deep indent. 
 To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 
 
 Glend. Not wind ? it shall, it must; you see, it 
 doth. 
 
 Mort. Yea, 
 But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me uw 
 With like advantage on the other side; 
 
 1 Comez 
 
102 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act III 
 
 Gelding' the opposed continent as much, 
 As on the other side it takes from you. 
 
 Wor. Yea, hut a httlc charge will trench him 
 here, 
 And on this north side win this cape of land; 
 And then he runs straight and even. 
 
 Hot. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it. 
 
 Glend. I will not have it altcr'd. 
 
 Hot. Will not you? 
 
 Gktid. No, nor you shall not. 
 
 Hut. Who shall say me nay ] 
 
 Glend. Why that will I. 
 
 Hot. Let me not understand you then, 
 
 Speak it in Welsh. 
 
 Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you; 
 For I was train'd up in the English court: 
 Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
 Many an English ditty, lovely well, 
 And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; 
 A virtue that was never seen in you. 
 
 Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart : 
 I had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew, 
 Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: 
 I had rather hear a brazen canstick^ turn'd, 
 Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree; 
 And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
 Nothing so much as mincing poetry; 
 'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. 
 
 Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 
 
 Hut. I do not care : I'll give thrice so much land 
 To any well-deserving friend; 
 But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
 I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
 Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? 
 
 Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by 
 night : 
 I'll haste the writer, and, withal, 
 Break^ with your wives of your departure hence: 
 I am afraid, my daughter will run mad, 
 So much she doteth on her Mortimer. \_Exit. 
 
 Mart. Fye, cousin Percy! how you cross my 
 father! 
 
 Hot. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers me. 
 With telling me of the moldvvarp ' and the ant, 
 Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies; 
 And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
 A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, 
 A couching lion, and a ramping cat, 
 And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
 As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, — 
 He held me, but last night, at least nine hours. 
 In reckoning up the several devils' names, 
 That were his lacqueys : I cried, humph, — and well, 
 
 — go to, — 
 But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious 
 As is a tired horse, a railing wife; 
 Worse than a smoky house: — I had rather live 
 With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, fav, 
 Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, 
 In any summer-house in Christendom. 
 
 Mart, la faith, he is a worthy gentleman ; 
 Exceedingly well read, and profited 
 In strange ■joncealments ; valiant as a lion, 
 And wondrous affable: and as bountiful 
 As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? 
 He holds your temper in a high respect. 
 And curbs himself even of his natural scope, 
 When you do cross his humor; faith, he does: 
 . warrant you, that man is not alive, 
 
 ■O-itting. ^Candlestick, a Break the mattei-. * Mole. 
 
 Might so have tempted him as you have done, 
 Without the taste of danger and reproof; 
 But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 
 
 Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame 
 And since your coming hither have done enough 
 To put him quite beside his patience ; 
 You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: 
 'i'hough sometimes it show greatness, courage 
 
 blood, 
 (And that's the dearcsf grace it renders you,) 
 Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 
 Defect of manners, want of government. 
 Pride, haughtiness, opinion, aim disdain : 
 The least of which, haunting a nobleman, 
 Loseth men's hearts; and leaves behind a staia 
 Upon the beauty of all parts besides. 
 Beguiling them of commendation. [speed ! 
 
 Hot. Well, I am school'd ; good manners be youi 
 Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. 
 Re-enter Glendower, with the Ladies. 
 
 Mart. This is the deadly spite that angers me, — 
 My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 
 
 Glend My daughter weeps ; she will not part 
 
 She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars, [with you, 
 
 Mort. GooA father, tell her, — that she, and my aunt 
 
 Shall follow in your conduct speedily. [Percy, 
 
 [Glendower speaks to his daughter in Welsh, 
 
 and she answers him in the same. 
 
 Glend. She's desperate here ; a peevish self-will'd 
 
 One no persuasion can do good upon, [harlotry, 
 
 [Lady M. speaks to Mortimer m Welsh. 
 
 Mort. I understand thy looks ; that pretty Welsh 
 Which thou pourest down from these swelhng 
 I am too perfect in ; and, but for shame, [heavens, 
 In such a parley would I answer thee. 
 
 [Lady Mortimer speaks. 
 I understand thy kisses, and thou mine. 
 And that's a feeling disputation : 
 But I will never be a truant, love. 
 Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue 
 Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd. 
 Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower. 
 With ravishing division, to her lute.' 
 
 Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. 
 [Lady Mortimer speaks again, 
 
 Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this. 
 
 Glend. She bids you 
 Upon the wanton rushes lay you down. 
 And rest your gentle head upon her lap. 
 And she will sing the song that pleaseth you. 
 And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep. 
 Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness; 
 Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep 
 As is the difference betwixt day and night. 
 The hour before the heavenly harness'd team 
 Begins his golden progress in the east. [sing: 
 
 Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her 
 By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 
 
 Glend. Do so; 
 And those musicians that shall play to you, 
 Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence. 
 Yet straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. 
 
 Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down : 
 Come, quick, quick ; that I may lay my head in thy 
 
 Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. [lap. 
 
 [Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and 
 then the Music plays. 
 
 Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh,' 
 » A compliment to Queen Eliiabeth. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 403 
 
 And 'tis no marvel, he'a so humorous. 
 liy'i adv. he's a good musician. 
 
 ' Lach/' P. Then should you be nothing but mu- 
 sical ; for you are altogether governed by humors. 
 Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. 
 
 Hot. i had rather hear Lady, my brach,^ howl 
 in Irish. 
 
 Lady P Wouldst thou have thy head broken ? 
 
 Hot. No. 
 
 Lady P. Then be still. 
 
 Hot. Neither ; 'tis a woman's fault. 
 
 Lady P. Now God help thee ! 
 
 Hut. To the Welsh lady's bed. 
 
 Lady P. Wliat's that] 
 
 Hot. Peace! she sings. 
 
 A Welsh SONG, sung by Lady Mortimer. 
 
 Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. 
 
 Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 
 
 Hot. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you 
 swear like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in 
 good sooth; and. As true as I live; and, As God 
 shall mend me ; and, As sure as day : 
 And giv'st such sarcenet surety for tby oaths. 
 As if thou never walk'dst further than Fmsbury.' 
 Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, 
 A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooih, 
 And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, 
 To velvet guards,' and Sunday citizens. 
 Come, sing. 
 
 Lady P. I will not sing. 
 
 Hot, 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- 
 breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll 
 away within these two hours; and so co.nt; in 
 when ye will. [Exit. 
 
 Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer; you are as 
 As hot lord Percy is on fire to go: [slow, 
 
 By this our book's drawn ; we'll but seal, and then 
 To horse immediately. 
 
 Mort. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE n.— London. .4 Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords. 
 
 K. Hen. Jjords, give us leave ; the prince of 
 Wales, and I, 
 Must have some conference: But be near at hand, 
 For we shall presently have need of you. — 
 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 I know not whether God will have it so, 
 For some displeasing service I have done, 
 That in his secret doom out of my blood 
 Hi-'ll breed revengement and a scourge fur me ; 
 But thou dost, in thy passages of life. 
 Make nie believe, — that thou art only mark'd 
 F.;r the hot vengt i'nce and the rod of heaven, 
 To purish my mis-treadings. Tell me else, 
 Could such inordinate, and low desires, 
 Such poor, such bare, such lewd.such mean atterr-pts, 
 Such barren pleasures, rude society, 
 As thou art match'd witlial, and grafted tc. 
 Accompany the greatness of thy blood, 
 And hold their level with thy princely heart" 
 
 V. Hen. So please your majesty, I woulu, I cou^ 
 Quit all oflcnces with such clear excuse. 
 As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 
 Myself of many I am charged witlial: 
 \*et such extenuation let me beg, 
 is, in reproof of many tales devis'd, — 
 
 ' Iloiim!. ' In Moorfields. 
 
 ' L.ixd Ti'lvet, the finery of oickneya 
 
 Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, 
 By smiling pick-thanks' and base newsmongers, 
 I may, for some things true, wherein niy youth 
 Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, 
 Find pardon on my true submission. 
 
 K. Hen. God pardon thee ! — yet let me wondsi 
 Harry, 
 At thy affections, which do hold a wing 
 Quite fi-om the flight of all thy ancestors. 
 Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost. 
 Which by thy younger brother is .supplied : 
 And art almost an alien to the hearts 
 Of all the court and princes of my blood: 
 The hope and expectation of thy time 
 Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 
 Prophetically does fore-think thy fall. 
 Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
 So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, 
 So stale and cheap to vulgar company; 
 Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
 Had still kept loyal to possession ; 
 And left me in reputcless banishment, 
 A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
 By being seldom seen, I could not stir. 
 But, like a comet, I was wondered at: 
 That men would tell their children, This is he.- 
 Others would say, — Where? ivhich is Bolingbroke} 
 And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 
 And dress'd myself in such humility, 
 That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 
 Loud shouts and salutations from their moutha. 
 Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
 Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ; 
 My presence, like a robe pontifical. 
 Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state. 
 Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; 
 And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 
 The skipping king, he ambled up and down 
 With shallow jesters, and rash bavin" wits. 
 Soon kindled, and soon burn'd : carded his state 
 Mingled his royalty with capering fools ; 
 Had his great name profaned witli their scorns; 
 And gave his countenance, against his name. 
 To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 
 Of every beardless vain comparative: 
 Grew a companion to the common streets ; 
 Enfeoff'd himself to popularity: 
 That being daily svvallow'd by men's eyes. 
 They surfeited with honey; and began 
 To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a littk 
 More than a little is by much too much. 
 So, when he had occasion to be seen. 
 He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
 Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyea, 
 As, sick and blunted with community. 
 Afford no extraordinary gaze. 
 Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 
 When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: 
 But rather drowz'd, and hung their eyelids dowa 
 Slept in his face, and rendered such aspect 
 As cloudy men use to their adversaries; 
 Being with his presence glutted, gorged, and fuJ 
 And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou: 
 For thou hast lost thy princely privilege. 
 With vile particiiwition ; not an eye 
 But is a-weary of thy common sight. 
 Save mine, which hath dcsi.'d to --ee tliee more, 
 WLich now 'J--*h the* I would not hare it do. 
 Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 
 » Offlcious parasites. ' Brushwood. 
 
-104 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act III 
 
 P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, 
 Be more myself. 
 
 K. Hen. For all the workl, 
 
 A.S tnou art to this hour, was Richard then 
 When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg; 
 And even as I was then, is Percy now. 
 Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, 
 He hath more worthy interest to the state, 
 Than thou, the shadow of succession: 
 For, of no right, nor color like to right, 
 He doth fill fields with harness' in the realm ; 
 Turns head against the lion's armed jaws; 
 And, being no more in debt to years than thou, 
 Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on. 
 To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 
 What never-dying honor hath he got 
 Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds. 
 Whose hot nicursions, and great name in arms. 
 Holds, from all soldiers chief majority, 
 And military title capital. 
 
 Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christl 
 Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes. 
 This infant warrior, in his enterprizes 
 Discomfited great Douglas: ta'en him once. 
 Enlarged him, and made a friend of him. 
 To fill the mouth of deep defiance up. 
 And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
 And what say you to this"! Percy, Northumberland, 
 The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, 
 Capitulate^ against us, and are up. 
 But wherefore do I tell these news to theel 
 Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. 
 Which art my near'st and dearest' enemy ? 
 Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear. 
 Base inclination, and the start of spleen, — 
 To fight against me under Percy's pay. 
 To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns. 
 To show how much thou art degenerate. 
 
 P. Hen. Do not think so; you shall not find it so ; 
 And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd 
 Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 
 I will redeem all this on Percy's head. 
 And in the closing of some glorious day, 
 Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 
 When I will wear a garment all of blood, 
 And stain my favors in a bloody mask. 
 Which wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 
 And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights. 
 That this same child of honor and renown. 
 This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight. 
 And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet: 
 For every honor sitting on his helm, 
 'Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 
 My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
 That I shall make this northern youth exchange 
 His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
 Percy is but my factor, good my lord. 
 To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
 And I will call him to so strict account. 
 That he shall render every glory up. 
 Yea, even the slightest worship of his time. 
 Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
 This, in the name of God, I promise here: 
 The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, 
 I do beseech, your majesty may salve 
 The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: 
 If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 
 And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, 
 Kre break the smallest parcel of this vow. 
 " Armor. » Combine. * Most fatal. 
 
 K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in thia 
 Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. 
 
 Enter Blunt. 
 How now, good Blunt 1 thy looks are full of speed. 
 Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of. 
 liord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, — 
 That Douglas, and the English rebels, met 
 The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury ; 
 A mighty and a fearful head they are, 
 If promises be kept on every hand, 
 As ever offer'd foul play in a state. 
 
 K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to- 
 With my son, lord John of Lancaster ; [day 
 
 For this advertisement is five days old: — 
 On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set 
 Forward ; On Thursday, we ourselves will march : 
 Our meeting is Bridgnorth: and,Harry,you [count, 
 Shall march through Glostershire ; by which ac- 
 Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
 Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. 
 Our hands are full of business : let's away ; 
 Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [^Exeunt. 
 SCENE III. — Eastchcap. A Room in the Boar's 
 Head Tavern. 
 Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 
 this last action 1 do I not bate 1 do I not dwindle'? 
 Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's 
 loose gown ; I am wither'd like an old apple-John, 
 Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in 
 some liking;' I shall be out of heart, shortly, and 
 then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have 
 not forgotten what the inside of a church is made 
 of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside 
 of a church! Company, villanous company, hath 
 been the spoil of me. [long. 
 
 Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live 
 
 Fal. Why, there is it: — come, sing me a bawdy 
 song ; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, 
 as a gentleman need to be ; virtuous enough ; swore 
 little ; diced, not above seven times a week ; went 
 to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter — 
 of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or 
 four times; lived well, and in good compass: and 
 now I live out of all order, out ol all compass. 
 
 Bard. W^hy, you are so fat, sir John, that you 
 must needs be out of all compass: out of all rea- 
 sonable compass, sir John. 
 
 Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend 
 my life: Thou art our admiral," thou bearest the 
 lantern in the poop, — but 'tis in the nose of thee; 
 thou art the knight of the burning lamp. 
 
 Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. 
 
 Fal. No, I'll be sworn ; I make as good use of it aa 
 many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento 
 marl : I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, 
 and Dives that lived in purple ; for there he is in his 
 robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given 
 to virtue. I would swear by thy face ; my oath should 
 be. By this fire: but thou art altogether given 
 over ; and wert indeed, but for the light in thv face, 
 the son of utter darkness. — When thou rann'st up 
 Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not 
 think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball 
 of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou 
 art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bon-fire- 
 light ! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in 
 links and torches, walking with thee in the night be- 
 twixt tavern and tavern : but the sack that thou hast 
 
 ' llave some flesh. 
 
 ° Admiral's ship. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 405 
 
 drunk me,woulcl have bought me lights as good cheap, 
 at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have main- 
 tained that salamander of yours with fire, any time 
 these two-and-thirty years ; Heaven reward me for it ! 
 
 Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! 
 
 Fal. God-a-mercy ! so should I bo sure to be 
 heart-burned. 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 How now, dame Partlet the hen V have you inquired 
 yet who picked my pocket? 
 
 Host. Why, sir John ! what do you think, sir 
 John ? do you think I keep thieves in my house? I 
 have searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, 
 man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant : the 
 tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. 
 
 l^al. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved and 
 lost many a hair; and I'll be sworn, my pocket was 
 picked : Go to, you are a woman, go. 
 
 Host. Who, I ? I defy thee : I was never called so 
 in mine own house before. 
 
 Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 
 
 Host. No, sir John ; you do not know me, sir 
 John : I know you, sir John : you owe me money, sir 
 John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of 
 it; I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. 
 
 Fill. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away 
 to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. 
 
 Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of 
 eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, 
 sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money 
 lent you, four-and-twenty pound. 
 
 Fill. He had his part of it: let him pay. 
 
 Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. 
 
 Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; What call you 
 rich ? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks; 
 I'll not pay a denier. AVhat, will you make a younker 
 of me ? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but 
 I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal- 
 ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark. 
 
 Host. Jesu I I have heard the prince tell him, 
 I know not how oft, that that ring was copper. 
 
 Fal. How ! the prince is a Jack,^ a sneak-cup, and. 
 If he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog if he 
 would say so. 
 Enter Prince Hexuy and Poins, marching. Fal- 
 
 STAFF meets the Prince, plai/ing on his truncheon 
 
 nice a fife. 
 
 Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, 
 i'faith ? must we all march ? 
 
 Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. 
 
 Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 
 
 P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How 
 does thy husband? I love him well,he is an honest man. 
 
 Host. Good my lord, hear me. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. 
 
 P. Hen. What say'st thou, Jack? 
 
 Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind 
 the arras, and had my pocket picked : this house is 
 turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets. 
 
 P. Hen. AVhat didst thou lose, Jack? 
 
 Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four 
 bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my 
 grandfather's. 
 
 P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 
 
 Hist. So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard 
 your grace say so: And my lord, he speaks most 
 vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man, as he is ; and 
 said, he would cudgel you. 
 
 P. Hen. AVhat! he did not? 
 
 Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood 
 in me else. 
 
 Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed 
 prune ; nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn fox; 
 and for womanhood, maid Marian^ may be the depu- 
 ty's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. 
 
 ' In the story of Reynard the Fox. 
 
 • A term of contempt frerjuently used by Shakspeare. 
 27 
 
 Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 
 
 Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. 
 
 Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would 
 thou should'st know it ; I am an honest man's wife • 
 and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave 
 to call me so. 
 
 Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a 
 beast to say otherwise. 
 
 Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? 
 
 Fal. What beast ? why, an otter. 
 
 P. Hen. An otter, sir John ? why an otter? 
 
 Fal. Why, she's neither fish, nor flesh; a man 
 knows not where to have her. 
 
 Host. Thou art an uiyust man in saying so; thou 
 or any man knows where to have me, thou knava 
 thou! 
 
 P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he slan- 
 ders thee most grossly. 
 
 Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this othei 
 day, you ought him a thousand pound. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound ? 
 
 Fal. A thousand pound, Hal ? a million ; thy love 
 is worth a million ; thou owest me thy love. 
 
 Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said, 
 he would cudgel you. 
 
 Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? 
 
 Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. 
 
 Fal. Yea ; if he said, my ring was copper. 
 
 P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper : Darest thou be as good 
 as thy word now 1 
 
 Fal. AVhy, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but 
 man, I dare : but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as 
 I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. 
 
 P. Hen. And why not, as the lion ? 
 
 Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion ; 
 Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? 
 nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break ! 
 
 P. Hen. 0, if it should, how would thy guts fall 
 about thy knees ! But, sirrah, there's no room for 
 faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine : it is 
 filled up with guts, and midriflf. Charge an honest wo- 
 man with picking thy pocket ! AVhy, thou whoreson, 
 impudent, embossed' rascal, if there were anything 
 in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums 
 of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar 
 candy to make thee long winded ; if thy pocket were 
 enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a 
 villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not 
 pocket up wrong: Art thou not ashamed? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? thou knowest, in the 
 state of innocency, Adam fell ; and what should poor 
 Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villany ? Thou seest, 
 I have more flesh than another man ; and therefore 
 
 more frailty. You confess then, you picked my 
 
 pocket? 
 
 P. Hen. It appears so by the story. 
 
 Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready 
 breakfast ; love thy husband, look to thy servants, 
 cherish thy guests : thou shalt find me tractable to 
 any honest reason : thou seest, I am pacified.— 
 Still?— Nay, pr'ythee, begone. [Exit Hosteso.] 
 Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, 
 lad, — How is that answered? 
 
 P. Hen. 0, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
 angel to thee : — The money is^aid back again. 
 
 Fal. 0, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a 
 double labor. 
 
 P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and 
 may do any thing. 
 
 Fal. Kob me the exchequer the first thing thou 
 doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. 
 
 Bard. Do, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. I have procured thee. Jack, a charge of 
 
 foot. 
 
 s A female oharacter, who attends morris-dancers; gen« 
 rally a man dressed like a woman. 
 
 I Swoln, puffy. 
 
406 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall 
 I find one that can steal well 1 O for a fine thief, 
 of the age of two-and-twenty, or thereabouts ! I am 
 heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked 
 for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous ; 
 I laud them, I praise them. 
 
 P. Hen. Bardolph 
 
 Bard. My lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lan- 
 caster, 
 My brother John ; this to my lord of Westmore- 
 land, — 
 Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I, 
 
 Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinrici time. 
 
 Jack, 
 
 Meet me to-morrow i'the Temple-hall 
 
 At two o'clock i'the afternoon : 
 
 There shall thou know thy charge ; and there receive 
 
 Money, and order for their furniture. 
 
 The land is burning; Percy stands on high; 
 
 And eithei they, or we, must lower lie. 
 
 [^Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph 
 
 Fal. Rare words ! brave world ! Hostess, mj 
 
 breakfast ; come : — 
 
 O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE \.— The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 
 Enter Hotspuh, Worcesteh, and Douglas. 
 
 Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking 
 truth, 
 In this fine age, were not thought flattery. 
 Such attribution should the Douglas' have. 
 As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
 Should go so general current through the world. 
 By heaven, I cannot flatter ; I defy 
 The tongues of soothers; but a braver place 
 In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself: 
 Nay, task me to the word ; approve me, lord. 
 
 Doug. Thou art the king of honor: 
 No man so potent breathes upon the ground, 
 But I will beard him. 
 
 Hut. Do so, and 'tis well : — 
 
 Enter a Messenger, with Letters. 
 What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thank 
 you. 
 
 Mess. These letters come from your father, — 
 
 Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not him- 
 self] 
 
 Mess. He cannot come, my lord ; he's grievous 
 sick. 
 
 Hot. Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick, 
 In such a justling time? Who leads his power ? 
 Under whose government come they along ] 
 
 Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. 
 
 Wor. I pr'y thee, tell me, doth he keep his bed ? 
 
 Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth, 
 And at the time of my departure thence. 
 He was much fear'd by his physicians. 
 
 Wor. I would, the state of time had first been 
 whole, 
 Ere he by sickness had been visited; 
 Mis health was never better worth than now. 
 
 Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth 
 
 infect 
 
 The very life-blood of our enterprize ; 
 
 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. — 
 
 He writes me here, — that inward sickness — 
 
 And that his fi-iends by deputation could not 
 
 So soon be drawn ; nor did he think it meet. 
 
 To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
 
 On any soul remov'd, but on his own. 
 
 Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, — 
 
 That with our small conjunction, we should on, 
 
 To see how fortune is dispos'd to us : 
 
 ' This expression is applied by way of pre-eminence tc 
 the head of the Dougias family. 
 
 For, as he writes, there is no quailing^ now ; 
 Because the king is certainly possess'd 
 Of all our purposes. What say you to it? 
 
 Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 
 
 Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: — 
 And yet, in faith, 'tis not : his present want 
 Seems more than we shall find it: — Were it gooc^ 
 To set the exact wealth of all our states 
 All at one cast 1 to set so rich a main 
 On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 
 It were not good : for therein should we read 
 The very bottom and the soul of hope ; 
 The very list,' the very utmost bound 
 Of all our fortunes. 
 
 Doug. Faith, and so we should; 
 
 Where now remains a sweet reversion : 
 We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 
 Is to come in : 
 A comfort of retirement lives in this. 
 
 Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto. 
 If that the devil and mischance look big 
 Upon the maidenhead of our afliiirs. 
 
 War. But yet, I would your father had been here. 
 The quality and hair* of our attempt 
 Brooks no division. It will be thought 
 By some, that know not why he is away, 
 That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
 Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence; 
 And think, how such an apprehension 
 May turn the tide of fearful faction, 
 And breed a kind of question in our cause ; 
 For well you know, we of the offering side 
 Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement; 
 And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence 
 The eye of reason may pry in upon us : 
 This absence of your father's draws a curtain. 
 That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
 Before not dreamt of. 
 
 Hot. You strain too far. 
 
 I, rather, of his absence make this use: — 
 It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, 
 A larger dare to our great enterprize. 
 Than if the earl were here : for men must think, 
 If we, without his help, can make a head 
 To push against the kingdom ; with his help, 
 We shall o'erturn it, topsy-tui-vy down. — 
 Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 
 
 Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a 
 Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear, [word 
 
 'Languishing. « Limit, boundary. 
 
 • The complexion, the character. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 407 
 
 Enter Sir RicHAnn Vf.hnox. 
 
 Ji)t. My cousin Vernon ! welc-onie, by my soul. 
 
 Ver. Pray God, niy news he worth a welcome, 
 lord. 
 The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, 
 I.s marching hitlicrwards ; witli him. prince John. 
 
 Hot. No harm: what more? 
 
 Vcr. And further, I have learn'd — 
 
 The king liimself in person is sc\ forth, 
 Or hitherwards intended speedily. 
 With strong and mighty preparation. 
 
 Hat. He shall be welcome, too. Where is his son, 
 The nimble-footed madcap prince of Wales, 
 And his comrades that dalf'd' the world aside, 
 And bid it passl 
 
 Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, 
 
 All plum'd like estridges" that wing the wind; 
 Bated" like eagles having lately bath'd; 
 Glittering in golden coats, like images; 
 As full of spirit as the month of May, 
 And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; 
 Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young hulls. 
 I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on. 
 His cuisscs^ on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, — 
 Rise from the ground like fcather'd Mercury, 
 And vaulted with such ease into his seat. 
 As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds. 
 To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
 And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 
 
 Hut. No more, no more; worse than the sun in 
 March, 
 This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ; 
 They come like sacrifices in their trim. 
 And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war, 
 All hot, and bleeding, will we otier them : 
 riie mailed Mars shall on his altar sit. 
 Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire, 
 To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, 
 And yet not ours: — Come, let me take my horse, 
 Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt, 
 \gainst the bosom of the prince of Wales : 
 HaiTy to Han-y shall, hot horse to horse, 
 Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. — 
 0, that Glendower were come ! 
 
 Ver. There is more news: 
 
 I learn'd in Worcester as I rode along, 
 He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 
 
 Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hearofyet. 
 
 Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 
 
 Hut. What may the king's whole battle reach 
 untcil 
 
 Ver. To thirty thousand. 
 
 J Inf. Forty let it be ; 
 
 My jallicr and Glendower being both away, 
 The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
 Come, let us make a muster speedily : 
 Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. 
 
 Doug. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear 
 Of death, or death's liand, for this one half year. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \\.-~A public Road near Coventry. 
 £«/er Falstaff and BAnnoLPii. 
 
 Fed. Birdolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill 
 me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march 
 through ; we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night. 
 
 Ihird. Will you give me money, captain? 
 
 Fill. Lay out, lay out. 
 
 « Throw contemptuously. 
 " Vrcs;: 
 
 • OstricheB. 
 
 • Armor for the thighs. 
 
 Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 
 
 Fal. An if it do. take it for thy lalior; and if it 
 make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage, 
 Bid my lieutenant Pcto meet me at the town's end 
 
 Bard. I will, captain: farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am 
 a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press 
 damnably. I have got in exchange of a hundred 
 and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. 
 I press me none but good householders, yeomen'g 
 sons, enquire me out contracted bachelors, such aa 
 had been asked twice on the bans ; such a com- 
 modity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil 
 as a drum ; such as fear the report of a caliver* 
 worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I 
 pressed me none hut such toasts and butter, with 
 hearts in their beUies no bigger than pins' heads, 
 and they have bought out their services ; and now 
 my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, 
 lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as rag- 
 ged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the 
 glutton's dogs licked hfs soi-es: and such as, in- 
 deed, were never soldiers, but discarded, unjust 
 serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, re- 
 volted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen ; the cankers 
 of a calm world, and a long peace ; ten times more 
 dishonorably ragged than an old-faced ancient:' 
 and such have I to fill up the rooms of them that 
 have bought out their semces, that you would think, 
 that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, 
 lately come from swinc-kceping, from eating drafi' 
 and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, 
 and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and 
 pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such 
 scare-crows. I'll not march through Coventry with 
 them, that's flat: — Nay, and the villains march 
 wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves' on ; 
 for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison 
 There's but a shirt and a half in all my company ; 
 and the half shirt is two napkins tacked together, 
 and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat 
 without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, 
 stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red- 
 nose inn-keeper of Daintry.^ But that's all one: 
 they'll find linen enough on every hedge. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland. 
 
 P. Hen. How now, blown Jack 1 how now, quilt ? 
 
 Fal. What, Hal] How now, mad wag? what a 
 devil dost thou in Warwickshire ? — My good lord 
 of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy ; I thought your 
 honor had already been at Shrewsbury. 
 
 West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that 
 I was there, and you too ; but my powers are 
 there already: The king, I can tell ycu, lookf for 
 us all : we must away all night. 
 
 Fal. Tut, never fear me ; I am as vigilant as a 
 cat to .steal cream. 
 
 r. Hen. I think to steal cream, indeed ; for thy 
 theft hath already made thee butter. But, tell me, 
 Jack ; Whose fellows arc these that come after ? 
 
 Fed. Mine, Hal, mine. 
 
 P. Hen. I did never sec such pitiful rascals. 
 
 Fal. Tut, tut ; good enough to toss ; food for 
 powder, food for powder ; they'll fill a pit, as well 
 as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 
 
 West. Ay, but sir John, methinks they are e-* 
 ceeding poor and bare ; too beggarly. 
 
 9 :Musket. ' Standard. 
 
 » Fetters. » Davcntry, pronounced Daintrj 
 
408 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act IV. Scene III 
 
 Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, — I know not 
 (vhere they had that : and for their barenness, I am 
 Bwre they never learned that of mc. 
 
 P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn ; unless you call three 
 fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste; 
 Percy is already in the field. 
 
 Fal. What, is the king encamped 1 [long. 
 
 West. He is, sir John ; I fear we shall stay too 
 
 Fal. Well, [feast. 
 
 To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a 
 Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— TAe Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury, 
 Enter Hotspuk, Worcester, Douglas, and 
 
 Vernon. 
 
 Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. 
 
 Wor. It may not be. 
 
 Doug. You give him then advantage. 
 
 Ver. Not a whit. 
 
 Hot. Why say you so ■? looks he not for supply 1 
 
 Ver. So do we. 
 
 Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 
 
 Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd ; stir not to-night. 
 
 Ver. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Doug. You do not counsel well ; 
 
 You speak it out of fear and cold heart. 
 
 Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life, 
 (And I dare well maintain it with my life,) 
 If well respected honor bid me on, 
 I hold as little counsel with weak fear, 
 As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives: — 
 Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle. 
 Which of us fears. 
 
 Doug. Yea, or to-night. 
 
 Ver. Content. 
 
 Hot. To-night, say I. 
 
 Ver. Come, come, it may not be. 
 
 I wonder much, being men of such great leading.* 
 That you foresee not what impediments 
 Drag back our expedition : Certain horse 
 Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: 
 Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; 
 And now their pride and mettle is asleep, 
 Their courage with hard labor tame and dull. 
 That not a horse is half the half himself. 
 
 Hot. So are the horses of the enemy, 
 In general journey-bated and brought low; 
 The better part of ours is full of rest. 
 
 Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours: 
 For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 
 
 [The Trumpet sounds a parley. 
 
 Enter Sir Walter Bldxt. 
 
 Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king. 
 If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect. 
 
 Hot, Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; And 'would 
 to God, 
 You were of our determination ! 
 Some of us love you well : and even those some 
 Envy your great deserving, and good name; 
 Beamse you are not of our quality,' 
 But stand against us like an enemy. 
 
 Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so, 
 Bo long as, out of limit, and true rule. 
 You stand against anointed majesty.' 
 But to my charge. — The king hath sent to know 
 The nature of your griefs f and whereupon 
 You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
 
 * Conduct, experience. » Fellowship. • GrieTances. 
 
 Such bola hostility, teaching this duteous land 
 Audacious cruelty : If that the king 
 Have any way your good deserts forgot, — 
 Which he confesseth to be manifold, — 
 He bids you name your griefs; and, with allsjtee^ 
 You shall have your desires, with interest; 
 And pardon absolute for yourself, and these, 
 Herein misled by your suggestion. 
 
 Hot. The king is kind ; and, well we know, thfi 
 king 
 Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
 My father, and my uncle, and myself, 
 Did give him that same royalty he wears: 
 And, — when he was not six-and-twenty strong, 
 Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
 A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, — 
 My father gave him welcome to the shore : 
 And, — when he heard him swear, and vow (f 
 
 God, 
 He came but to be duke of Lancaster, 
 To sue his livery,'' and beg his peace; 
 With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal, — 
 My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd. 
 Swore htm assistance, and perform'd it too. 
 Now, when the lords and barons of the realm 
 Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him. 
 The more and less' came in with cap and knee; 
 Met him in boroughs, cities, villages; 
 Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes. 
 Laid gifts before him, proffered him their oaths. 
 Gave him their heirs ; as pages followed him. 
 Even at the heels, in golden multitudes. 
 He presently, — as greatness knows itself, — 
 Steps me a little higher than his vow 
 Made to my father, while his blood was pooi, 
 Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg; 
 And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
 Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees, 
 That lie too heavy on the commonwealth : 
 Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 
 Over his country's wrongs; and, by this face, 
 This seeming brow of justice, did he win 
 The hearts of all that he did angle for. 
 Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads 
 Of all the favorites, that the absent king 
 In deputation left behind him here. 
 When he was personal in the Irish war. 
 Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 
 
 Hot. Then, to the point. ' 
 
 In short time after, he depos'd the king; 
 
 Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life ; 
 
 And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state : 
 
 To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman, March, 
 
 (Who is, if every owner were well placed. 
 
 Indeed his king,) to be incaged in Wales, 
 
 There without ransom to lie forfeited : 
 
 Disgraced me in my happy victories ; 
 
 Sought to entrap me by intelligence; 
 
 Rated my uncle from the council-board ; 
 
 In rage dismiss'd my father from the court ; 
 
 Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong 
 
 And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
 
 This head of safety ; and, withal, to pry 
 
 Into his title, the which we find 
 
 Too indirect for long continuance. 
 
 Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king* 
 Hot. Not so, sir Walter ; we'll withdraw awhile. 
 Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd 
 Some surety for a safe return again, 
 •> The delivery of his lands. ' The greater and the les* 
 
fi.i?r V. Scene I. 
 
 tt.INa HENRY IV. 
 
 403 
 
 And in the morunig early shall mine uncle 
 Bring him our purposes: and so farewell. 
 
 Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and 
 
 love. 
 Hci And, may be, so we shall. 
 Blunt. 'Pray heaven you do ! 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— York. A Room hi the Arch- 
 bishop's House. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop 0/ York, and a Gentleman. 
 
 Arch. Hie, good sir Michael ! bear this sealed 
 brief,' 
 With winged haste to the lord mareshal; 
 This to my cousin Scroop; and ail the rest 
 To whom they are directed : if you knew 
 How much they do import, you would make haste. 
 
 Gent. My good lord, 
 I guess their tenor. 
 
 Arch. Like enough you do. 
 
 To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day. 
 Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
 Must 'bide the touch: For, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
 As I am truly given to understand, 
 The king, with mighty and quick-raised power. 
 Meets with lord Harry: and I fear, sir Michael, — 
 What with the sickness of Northumlx-rland, 
 (Whose power was in the first proportion,) 
 And what with Owen Glcndower's absence thence, 
 (Who with them was a rated sinew too,' 
 
 And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies,) 
 I fear the power of Percy is too weak 
 To wage an instant trial with the king. 
 
 Gent. Why, good my lord, you need not fear 
 there's Douglas, 
 And Mortimer. 
 
 Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. 
 
 Gent. But there is Mordake, Vernon, lord Harry 
 Percy, 
 And there's my lord of Worcester ; and a head 
 Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 
 
 Arch. And so there is : but yet the king hatij 
 drawn 
 The special head of all the land together: — 
 The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, 
 The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt; 
 And many more corrivals, and dear men 
 Of estimation and command in arms. 
 
 Gent. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well op- 
 pos'd. 
 
 Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis (o fear; 
 And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed: 
 For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
 Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, — 
 
 For he hath heard of our confederacy, 
 
 And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him. 
 Therefore, make haste: I must go write again 
 To other friends; and so farewell, sir Michael. 
 
 [Exeunt severally 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 (>CENE I. — The King's Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 
 Enter Kiwo Henry, Prince Henrt, Prixce 
 John of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and 
 Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
 Above yon busky' hill ! the day looks pale 
 At his distemperature. 
 
 P. Hen. The southern wind 
 
 Doth play the trumpet to his purposes ; 
 And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves. 
 Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day. 
 
 K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize; 
 For nothing can seem foul to those that win. — 
 
 Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vkunon. 
 
 How now, my lord of Worcester! 'tis not well. 
 That you and I should meet upon such terms 
 As now we meet: You have deceiv'd our trust; 
 .\nd made us doff' our easy robes of peace, 
 To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel : 
 This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
 What say you to'tl will you again unknit 
 I'liis churlish knot of all-abhorred war — 
 And move in that obedient orb again. 
 Where you did give a fair and natural light, 
 \ud be no more an exhaled meteor, 
 A prodigy of fear, and a pertiMit 
 Df broached mischief to the unborn times? 
 
 Wur. Hear me, my liege : 
 for mine own part, I could be well content 
 Vo entertain the lag-end of my life 
 
 • Letter. « A strength on which they reckoned 
 
 • Woody- » Put off. 
 
 With quiet hours ; for, I do protest, 
 
 I have not sought the day of this dislike. 
 
 K. Hen. You have not sought for it ! how comes 
 it then 1 
 
 Fal. Rebellion lay in his viay, and he found it. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, chewet,' peace. 
 
 Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looka 
 Of favor from myself, and all our house; 
 And yet I must remember you, my lord. 
 We were the first and deaiest of your friends. 
 For you, my staff of office did I break 
 In Richard's time; and posted day and night 
 To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand. 
 When yet you were in place and in account 
 Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
 It was myself, my brother, and his son. 
 That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
 The dangers of the time : You swore to us, — 
 And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, — 
 That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state; 
 Nor claim no further than your new-faH'n right, 
 The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: 
 To this we swore our aid. But, in short space, 
 It rain'd down fortune showering on your head; 
 And such a flood of greatness fell on you, — 
 \\'hat with our help; what with the absent king 
 What with the injuries of a wanton time; 
 The seeming sufferances that you had borne ; 
 And the contrarious winds, that held the king 
 So long in his unlucky Irish wars. 
 That all in England did repute him dead, — 
 And, from this swarm of iiiir advantages, 
 You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
 
 * A chnttcrinc bird, a pie 
 
410 
 
 FTEST PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 To gripe the general sway into your hand; 
 
 Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; 
 
 And, beiug led by us, you used us so 
 
 As that uugeutie gull, the cuckoo's bird, 
 
 Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; 
 
 Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, 
 
 That even our love durst not coine near your sight, 
 
 Foi fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing 
 
 We were enforced, for safety sake, to fly 
 
 Out of your sight, and raise this present head : 
 
 Whereby we stand opposed by such means 
 
 As you yourself have forged against yourself; 
 
 By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 
 
 And violation of all faith and troth 
 
 Sworn to us in your younger entcrprize. 
 
 K. Hen. Those things, indeed, you have articu 
 lated,' 
 Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches; , 
 To face the gaiineut of rebellion I 
 
 With some line color, that may please the eye 
 Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents. 
 Which gape, and rul) the elbow, at the news 
 Of hurlyburly innovation : 
 And never yet did insurrection want 
 Such water-colors, to impaint his cause; 
 Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
 Of pellmell havock and confusion. 
 
 P. Hen. in both our armies, there is many asonl. 
 Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 
 If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew. 
 The prince of Wales doth join with all the world 
 In praise of Henry Percy ; 13y my hopes, — 
 This present enterprise set off his head, — 
 I do not think, a braver gentleman. 
 More active-valiant, or more valiant-young. 
 More daring, or more bold, is now alive, 
 To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
 For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
 I have a truant been to chivalry ; 
 And so, I hear, he doth account me too: 
 Yet this before my father's majesty, — 
 I am content, that he shall take the odds 
 Of his great name and estimation ; 
 And will, to save the blood on either side, 
 Try fortune with him in a single fight. 
 
 K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we ven- 
 ture thee. 
 Albeit, considerations infinite 
 Do make against it : — No, good Worcester, no, 
 We love our people well ; even those we love. 
 That are misled upon your cousin's part: 
 And, will they take the oiler of our grace. 
 Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man 
 Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his: 
 80 tell your cousin, and bring me word 
 What he will do: — But if he will not yield. 
 Rebuke and dread correction wait on us. 
 And thoy shall do their oflRce. So, be gone; 
 We will not now be troubled with reply : 
 We offer fair, take it advisedly. 
 
 [Exeunt Wohcester and Vehnon. 
 
 P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life: 
 The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
 Are confident against the world in arms. 
 
 K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his 
 charge ; 
 For, on their ansv^'er, will we set on them : 
 And God befriend us, as our cause is just! 
 
 [^Exeunt King, Blunt, and Pbince John. 
 ' Exhibited in articles. 
 
 Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and 
 bestride mCj so ; 'tis a point of friendship. 
 
 P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
 friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell, 
 
 Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well 
 
 1'. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis not due yet ; I would fjc loath to pay 
 him before his day. What need I be so forward 
 with him that calls not on me ] Well, 'tis no mat- 
 ter ; Honor pricks me on. Yea, but how if hone, 
 prick me off when I come on 1 how then ? Can 
 honor set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No, 
 Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honui 
 hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honor? 
 A word. What is in that word, honor? What is 
 that honor? Air. A trim reckoning! Who 
 hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he 
 feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insen- 
 sible then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live 
 with the living? No. Why? Detraction will nol 
 suffer it: — therefore I'll none of it: Honor is a 
 mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism. [^Exii. 
 
 SCENE IL— The Rebel Camp. 
 Enter Worcester a7id Vernon. 
 
 War. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir 
 Richard, 
 The liberal kind offer of the king. 
 
 Ver. 'Twere best he did. 
 
 Wur. Then are we all undone, 
 
 It is not possible, it cannot be, 
 The king should keep his word in loving us ; 
 He will suspect us still, and find a time 
 To punish this offence in other faults: 
 Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes: 
 For treason is but trusted like the fox ; 
 Who, ne'er so tame, so chcrish'd, and lock'd up, 
 Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
 Look how we can, or sad, or merrily. 
 Interpretation will misquote our looks; 
 And we shall feed like oxen at a stall. 
 The better chcrish'd, still the nearer death. 
 My nephew's trespass may be well forgot. 
 It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood, 
 And an adopted name of privilege, — 
 A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen 
 All his ofl'ences live upon my head, 
 And on his father's ; — we did train him on ; 
 And, his corruption being ta'en from us, 
 We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
 Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know. 
 In any case, the offer of the king. 
 
 Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so. 
 Here comes your cousin. 
 
 Enter Hotspur and Douglas; and Officers ana 
 Soldiers, behind. 
 
 Hot. My uncle is return'd : — Deliver up 
 My lord of Westmoreland. — Uncle, what news? 
 Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. 
 Doitf^. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland 
 Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 
 Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. 
 
 [Exit 
 Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king 
 Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 
 Wor. I told him gently of our grievances, 
 Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,— 
 
GCENE III. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 41\ 
 
 By now forswearing that he is forsworn : 
 He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge 
 With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 
 Re-enter Dourlas. 
 
 Doug. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have 
 thrown 
 A brave defiance in king Henry's teeth, 
 And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it ; 
 Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 
 
 Wor. The prince of Wales stepped forth before 
 the king. 
 And, nephew, challenged you' to single fight. 
 
 Hot. 0, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads; 
 And that no man might draw short breath to-day, 
 But I, and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me, 
 How show'd his talking] seem'd it in contempt 1 
 
 Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in my life 
 Did hear a challenge urged more modestly. 
 Unless a brother should a brother dare 
 To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
 He gave you all the duties of a man ; 
 Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue ; 
 Spoke your deservings lilc e a chronicle ; 
 Making you ever better than his praise. 
 By still dispraising praise, valued with you: 
 And, which became him like a prince indeed, 
 He "made a blushing cital" of himself; 
 And chid his truant youth with such a grace, 
 As if he master'd there a double spirit. 
 Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. 
 There did he pause : But let me tell the world, — 
 If he outlive the envy of this day, 
 England did never owe'' so sweet a hope. 
 So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 
 
 Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamored 
 Upon his follies; never did I hear 
 Of any prince, so wild, at liberty: — 
 But, be he as he will, yet once ere night 
 I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, 
 
 That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 
 
 Arm, arm, with speed: And, fellows, soldiers, 
 
 friends, 
 Better consider what you have to do, 
 Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, 
 Can lift your blood up with persuasion. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 
 
 Hot. I cannot read them now. — 
 O gentlemen, the time of life is short ; 
 To spend that shortness basely, were too long. 
 If life did ride upon a dial's point. 
 Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
 An if we live, we live to tread on kings; 
 If die, brave death, when princes die with us ! 
 Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair. 
 When the intent of bearing them is just. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. 
 
 Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale. 
 For I profess not talking; Only this — 
 Let each man do his best; and here draw I 
 A sword, whose temper I intend to stain 
 With the best blood that I can meet withal 
 In the adventure of this perilous day. 
 Now, — Esperance /' — Percy ! — and' set on. — 
 Bound all the lofty instruments of war, 
 
 • Hecitixl. » Own. 
 
 • The motto of tho Percy family. 
 
 And by that music let us all embrace . 
 For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
 A second time do such a courtesy. 
 
 [TAe Trumpets sound. They embrace, ana 
 exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Plain near Shrewsbury 
 
 Excursions, and Parties Jighting. Alarum to tht 
 liattle. Tken e?j/£r Douglas anrf Blunt, meeting. 
 
 Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus 
 Thou crossest mel what honor dost thou seek 
 Upon my head ] 
 
 Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas; 
 
 And I do haunt thee in the battle thus. 
 Because some tell me that thou art a king. 
 
 Blunt. They tell thee true. 
 
 Doug. The lord of Stafl!brd dear to-day hath 
 bought 
 Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, king Harry, 
 This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee, 
 Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 
 
 Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot i 
 And thou shalt find a king that will revenge 
 Lord Stafford's death. 
 
 [They Jight, and Blunt is slain 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 
 Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holme 
 don thus, 
 I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. 
 
 Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathless 
 lies the king. 
 
 Hot. Where] 
 
 Doug. Here. 
 
 Hot. This, Douglas] no, I Imow this face fuD 
 well: 
 A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt: 
 Scmblably furnish'd like the king himself 
 
 Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes, 
 A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. 
 Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king ] 
 
 Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. 
 
 Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; 
 I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
 Until I meet the king. 
 
 Hot. Up, and away ; 
 
 Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [^Exeunt 
 
 Other Alarums. Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, 
 I fear the shot here; here's no scoring, but upon 
 the pate.— Soft ! who art thou] Sir Walter Blunt; 
 — there's honor for you : Here's no vanity ! — I 
 am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too : God 
 keep lead out of me ! I need no more weight than 
 mine own bowels. — I have led my raggamufllns 
 where they are pcpper'd : there's but three of my 
 hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the 
 town's end, to beg during life. But who comes 
 here ] 
 
 Enter Piunce Henht. 
 
 P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here ] lend me 
 thy sword: 
 Many a nobleman lies stark and stiflf 
 Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies. 
 Whose deaths are unrevenged : Pr'y thee, lend thy 
 sword. 
 Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe 
 a while. — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in 
 
415i 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 arms, as . have done this clay. I have paid Percy, 
 I have made him sure. 
 
 P. Hen. He is, indeed ; and hving to kill thee. 
 Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythce. 
 
 Fed. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou 
 get'st not my sword ; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. 
 
 P. Hen. Give it me : What, is it in the case 1 
 
 Fal. Aj, Hal ; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ! there's that will 
 sack a city. [^The'Piu-sc-e. draws out abottleof sack. 
 
 P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and d;dly now 1 
 [Throws it at him, and exit. 
 
 Fal. Well, if Percy lie alive, I'll pierce him. If 
 ho do corne in my way, so: if he do not, if I come 
 in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado ° of me. 
 I like not such grinning honor, as sir Walter hath: 
 Give me life : which if I can save, so ; if not, 
 honor comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. 
 
 lExit. 
 SCENE IN.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Phince 
 Henut, Prince John, and Westmoheland. 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, 
 Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much : — 
 Lord John of Lancaster, go j'ou with him. 
 
 P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 
 P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up. 
 Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 
 
 K. Hen. I will do so : — 
 My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. 
 West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. 
 P. Hen. Lead me, my lordl I do not need your 
 help : 
 And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive 
 The prince of Wales from such a field as this; 
 Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on. 
 And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 
 
 P. John. We breathe too long : — Come, cousin 
 Westmoreland, 
 Our duty this way lies: for heaven's sake, come. 
 [ExeuntVviificv. John and Westmoreland. 
 P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lan- 
 caster, 
 I did not think thee lord of such a spirit: 
 Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John ; 
 But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 
 
 K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point. 
 With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
 Of such an ungrown warrior. 
 
 P. Hen. O, this boy 
 
 Lends mettle to us all! [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Douglas. 
 Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads: 
 I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
 That wear those colors on them. — What art thou, 
 That countcrfeit'st the person of a king 1 
 K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves 
 at heart. 
 So many of his shadows thou hast met. 
 And not the very king. I have two boys 
 Seek Percy and thyself, about the field: 
 But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
 I will assay thee ; so defend thyself. 
 
 Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit; 
 And vet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king : 
 But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be, 
 A.nd thus I win thee. 
 
 [They fight; the King being in danger, 
 enter Prince Henry. 
 • A piece of meat cut o.rosswise for the gridiron. 
 
 P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art 
 like 
 Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 
 Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms: 
 It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee; 
 Who never uromiseth, but he means to pay. — 
 
 [They fight; DouGLAS_^t«a 
 Cheerly, my lord ; how fares your grace 1 — 
 Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succor sent, 
 And so hath Clifton ; I'll to Clifton straight. 
 
 K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while: — 
 Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ; 
 And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life, 
 In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 
 
 P. Hen. O, heaven ! they did me too much inj ; ij 
 That ever said, I hearkcn'd for your death. 
 If it were so, I might have let alone 
 The insulting hand of Douglas over you • 
 Which would have been as speedy in your cnilj 
 As all the poisonous potions in the world. 
 And sav'd the treacherous labor of your son. 
 
 K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas 
 Gawsey. [Exit King Henut. 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 
 Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my 
 name. 
 
 Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, then I see 
 
 A very valiant rebel of the name. 
 I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, 
 To share with me in glory any more : 
 Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
 Nor can one England brook a double reign. 
 Of HaiTy Percy, and the prince of Wales. 
 
 Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
 To end the one of us; And 'would to God, 
 Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 
 
 P. Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part fi-om thee ; 
 And all the budding honors on thy crest 
 I'll crop to make a garland for my head. 
 
 Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. 
 
 [Tliey fight. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal !— Nay, you shall 
 find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 
 
 Enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who 
 
 falls down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. 
 
 Hotspur is wounded, and falls. 
 
 Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth; 
 I better brook the loss of brittle life, 
 Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; 
 They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword ray 
 
 flesh ; 
 
 But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool 
 And time, that takes survey of all the world. 
 Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy. 
 But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
 Lies on my tongue : — No, Percy, thou art dust. 
 And food for [Dies 
 
 P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy ; Fare thee well, 
 great heart ! — 
 Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art tlH^shrunk! 
 When that this body did contain a spirit, 
 A kingdom for it was too small a bound; 
 But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
 Is room enough. — This earth that bears thee dead 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 413 
 
 If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
 I should not make so dear a show of zeal : — 
 But let my favors' hide thy mangled face; 
 And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
 For doing; these fair rites of tenderness. 
 Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! 
 Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 
 But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! 
 
 [He sees Falstaff on the ground. 
 What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh 
 Keep in a little life 1 Poor Jack, farewell ! 
 I could have better spared a better man. 
 O, I should have a heavy miss of thee. 
 If I were much in love with vanity. 
 Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day. 
 Though many dearer, in this bloody fray : — 
 Embowell'd will I see thee by and by; 
 Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. [^Rising slowly.'] Embowelled! if thou em- 
 bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder'^ me, 
 and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to 
 counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had pcdd 
 me scot and lot too. Counterfeit] I lie, I am no 
 counterfeit: To die, is to be a counterfeit; for he 
 is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life 
 of a man : but to counterfeit dying, when a man 
 thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true 
 and perfect image of life indeed. The better part 
 of valor is — discretion ; in the which better part, 
 I have saved my Ufe. Zounds, I am afraid of this gun- 
 powder Percy, though he be dead : How, if he 
 should counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid, he 
 would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll 
 make him sure ; yea, and I'll swear I killed him. 
 Why may not he rise, as well as I ? Nothing con- 
 futes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. There- 
 fore, sirrah, [Stabbing him.'] with a new wound 
 in your thigh, come you along with me. 
 
 [Takes Hotspuk on his buck. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henkt and Prince John. 
 
 P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast 
 thou flesh'd 
 Thy maiden sword. 
 
 P.John. But, soft! whom have we here? 
 
 Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead? 
 
 P. Hen. I did ; I saw him dead, breathless and 
 bleeding 
 
 Upon the ground. 
 
 Art thou alive ? or is it phantasy 
 That plays upon our eyesight? I pr'ythee, speak; 
 We will not trust our eyes, without our ears : — 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st. 
 
 Fal. No, that's certain ; I am not a double man : 
 ^lUt if I be not Jack FaistalT, then am I a Jack. 
 There is Percy : [Throiving the body down.] if 
 your father will do me any honor, so; ifnot, lethim 
 Hill the next Percy himself. I look to be either 
 earl, or duke, I can assure you. 
 
 V. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw 
 thee dead. 
 
 Fal. Didst thoul — Lord, lord, how this world 
 is given to lying ! — I grant you, I was down, and 
 out of breath ; and so was he : but we rose both at 
 an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury 
 clock. If I may be believed, so; if not, let them, 
 ihat should reward valor, bear the sin upon their 
 own heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him 
 this wound in the thigh : if the man were alive, and 
 
 ' Scart with which he covers Percy's faoo- » Salt. 
 
 would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my 
 sword. 
 
 P. John . This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. 
 P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brothet 
 
 John. 
 
 Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : 
 For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
 I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have. 
 
 [A Retreat is sounded. 
 The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. 
 Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field, 
 To see what friends are living, who are dead. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John. 
 
 Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that 
 
 rewards me, God reward him ! If I do grow great, 
 
 I'll gi-ow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and 
 
 live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. 
 
 [Exit, bearing off the body. 
 
 SCENE Y.— Another Part of the Field. 
 The Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince 
 Henry, Prince John, Westmoreland, and 
 others; withW orcester and YERJuoy, Prisoners. 
 
 K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. — 
 Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace, 
 Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? 
 And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary I 
 Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust 1 
 Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
 A noble earl, and many a creature else, 
 Had been alive this hour. 
 If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne 
 Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 
 
 Wor. What I have done, my safety urged me to. 
 And I embrace this fortune patiently. 
 Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 
 
 K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernou 
 too: 
 Other offenders we will pause upon. — 
 
 [Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded. 
 How goes the field 1 
 
 P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw 
 The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him. 
 The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
 Upon the foot ef fear, — fled with the rest ; 
 And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd, 
 That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
 The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace, 
 I may dispose of him. 
 
 K. Hen. With all my heart. 
 
 P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you, 
 This honorable bounty shall belong: 
 Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
 Up to his pleasure, ransomless and fi-ee: 
 His valor shown upon our crests to-day. 
 Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds. 
 Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 
 
 K. Hen. Then this remains, that we divide our 
 power. — 
 You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 
 Towards York shall bend you, with your dearesc 
 
 speed. 
 To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, 
 Who, as we hear, arc busily in arms : 
 Myself, — and you, son Harry, — wil' towards Wales, 
 To fight with Glcndowcr, and the earl of March. 
 Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 
 Meeting the check of such another day : 
 And since this business so fair is done. 
 Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt 
 
SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENEY IV. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KiSQ Henhy the Foubth 
 
 Heniit, Prince of Wales, after-wards 
 King Henry V.; 
 
 Thomas, Duke of Clarence; 
 
 PniKCE John of Lancaster, afterwards 
 (2 Henry V.) Duke 0/ Bedford ; 
 
 PniNCE HuMPUEET of Glostcr, after- 
 wards (2 Henry V.) Duke of 
 Gloster. 
 
 Earl of Warwick; ^ 
 
 his Sons. 
 
 of the King's 
 ^ Party. 
 
 Eaul of Westmoreland; 
 
 Gower; 
 
 Harcourt; 
 
 Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. 
 
 A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice 
 
 Earl of Northumberland; 
 
 Scroop, Archbishop of York; 
 
 Lord Mowbray; 
 
 Lord Hastings; 
 
 Lord Bardolph; 
 
 Sir John Colevile; 
 
 Enemies to 
 the King. 
 
 Tbavers and Morton, Domestics of Northum 
 
 berland. 
 Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page. 
 PoiNs and Peto, Attendants on Prince Henry. 
 Shallow and Silence, Country Justices. 
 Davy, Servant to Shallow. 
 Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull. 
 
 CALF, Recruits. 
 Fang and Snare, Sheriff's Officers. 
 Rumor. 
 A Porter. 
 A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue. 
 
 Lady Northumberlaitd. 
 liADY Percy. 
 Hostess Quickly. 
 
 Doll Tear-Sheet. 
 
 Lords and other Attendants: Officers, Soldiert 
 Messengers, Drawers, Grooms, S^c 
 
 SCENE,— England. 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle. 
 
 Enter Rvyion, painted full of Tongues. 
 
 Rum. Open your ears; For which of you will 
 stop 
 The vent of hearing, when loud Rumor speaks] 
 I, from the orient to the drooping west. 
 Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
 The acts commenced on this ball of earth : 
 Upon my tongues continual slanders ride ; 
 The which in every language I proni5unce. 
 Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
 I speak of peace, while covert enmity. 
 Under the smile of safety, wounds the world : 
 And who but Rumor, who but only I, 
 Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence ; 
 Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other grief, 
 Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
 A.nd no such matter 1 Rumor is a pipe 
 Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures; 
 And of so easy and so plain a stop. 
 That tho blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
 The still-discordant wavermg multitude, 
 414 
 
 Can play upon it. But what need I thus 
 
 My well-known body to anatomize 
 
 Among my household 1 Why is Rumor here 1 
 
 I run before King Harry's victory. 
 
 Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, 
 
 Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, 
 
 Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
 
 Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I 
 
 To speak so true at first 1 my office is 
 
 To noise abroad, — that Harry Monmouth fell 
 
 Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword : 
 
 And that the king before the Douglas' rage 
 
 Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 
 
 This have I rumor'd through the peasant towns 
 
 Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 
 
 And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone. 
 
 Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, 
 
 Lies crafly-sick: the posts come tiring on. 
 
 And not a man of them brings other news 
 
 Than they have learn'd of me; From Rumor's 
 
 tongues 
 They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true 
 
 wrongs. [^Exit, 
 
AOT I S(!ENE V 
 
 KliVG HENRY IV. 
 
 41:) 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 8CENE I.— Warkworth. Before Northumber- 
 land's Ctstle. 
 
 rhc Porter before the Gate,- Enter Loud Baii- 
 
 DOLPH. 
 
 L. Bard. Who keeps tiie gate here, ho ? — Where 
 
 is the earl ] 
 Port. What shall I say you are 1 
 L. Bard. Tell thou the earl, 
 
 5 hat the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 
 Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the or- 
 chard ; 
 Please it your honor, knock but at the gate. 
 And he himself will answer. 
 
 Enter NouTiiuMUKRLAJfn. 
 
 L. Bard. Here comes the carl. 
 
 North. What news, lord Bardolph.' every mi- 
 nute now 
 Should be the father of some stratagem :' 
 The times are wild ; contention, like a horse 
 Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, 
 And bears down all before him. 
 
 L. Bard. Noble earl ; 
 
 I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 
 
 North. Good, an heaven will ! 
 
 L. Bard. As good as heart can wish : — 
 
 The king is almost wounded to the death ; 
 And, in the fortune of my lord your son. 
 Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts 
 Kill'd by the hand of Douglas : young prince John, 
 And Westmoreland, and Sialford, fled the field ; 
 And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John, 
 Is prisoner to your son : O, such a day. 
 So fought, so foUow'd, and so fairly won, 
 Came not till now to dignify the times, 
 Since CiEsar's fortunes ! 
 
 North. How is this deriv'd] 
 
 Saw you the field 1 came you from Shrewsbuiy] 
 
 L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came 
 from thence ; 
 A gentleman well bred, and of good name, 
 That freely render'd me these newy for true. 
 
 North. Here comes my servant, 7 ravers, whom 
 I sent 
 On Tuesday last to listen after news. 
 
 L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way ; 
 And he is furnish'd with no certainties, 
 More than he haply may retail from me. 
 Eii'.er TnAVKRs. 
 
 North. Now, Travcrs, what good tidings come 
 with you! 
 
 Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrcvile turn'd me back 
 With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd. 
 Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard, 
 A gentleman, almost forspent with speed. 
 That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse : 
 He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him 
 I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. 
 He (old me that rebellion had bad luck, 
 \nd that young Harry Percy's spur was cold: 
 With that he gave his able horse the head. 
 And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
 Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
 Up to the rowel head ; and, starting so, 
 ' Important or dreadful event. 
 
 He seem'd in running to devour the way, 
 Staying no longer question. 
 
 North. Ha! Again. 
 
 Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold 1 
 Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion 
 Had met ill luck ? 
 
 L. Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what; — 
 
 If my young lord your son have not the day, 
 Upon mine honor, for a silken point^ 
 I'll give my barony : never talk of it. 
 
 North. Why should the gentleman, that -vjb tH 
 Travcrs, 
 Give then such instances of loss] 
 
 L. Bard. Who, he? 
 
 He was some hilding^ fellow, that had stol'n 
 The horse he rode on ; and, upon my life, 
 Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more newa 
 
 Enter Mortox. 
 
 North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-lea^ 
 Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: 
 So looks the strond, whcrcoii the imperious flood 
 
 Hath left a witness'd usurpation. 
 
 Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury ' 
 
 3Ior. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; 
 Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask. 
 To fright our party. 
 
 North. How doth my son and brother 1 
 
 Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
 Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless. 
 So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone. 
 Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, 
 And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: 
 But Priam tbund the fire, ere he his tongue, 
 And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. 
 This thou wouldst say, — Your son did thus, and 
 
 thus; 
 Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas 
 Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds: 
 But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed. 
 Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise. 
 Ending with — brother, son, and all are dead. 
 
 il/w. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; 
 But, for my lord, your son, 
 
 North. Why, he is dead. 
 
 Sec, what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
 He, that but fears the thing he would not know. 
 Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes. 
 That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton 
 Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies; 
 And I will take it as a sweet disgrace. 
 And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. 
 
 Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: 
 Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 
 
 North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead 
 I see a strange confession in thine eye: 
 Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, 
 To speak a truth. If be lie slain, say so: 
 The tongue olTonds not tluit ,r*'))ortshis death: 
 And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead: 
 Not he, which says the dead is i^pt alive. 
 Yet the first bringcr of unwelpome news 
 Hath but a losing office; and his tongue 
 
 ' Lace tagged. 
 
 ' Hilderling;, base, cowaxdlf. 
 
il6 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
 Remember'd knolling a departed friend. 
 
 L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. 
 
 Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe 
 That which I would to heaven I had not seen : 
 But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
 Rcnd'ring faint quittance,* wearied and outbreath'd, 
 To Harry Monmouth : whose swift wrath beat down 
 The never daunted Percy to the ea-*li. 
 From whence with life he never more sprung up. 
 [n few, his death, (whose spirit lent a fire 
 Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) 
 Being bruited ' once, took fire and heat away 
 From the best tcmper'd courage in his troops: 
 For from his metal was his party stcel'd ; 
 Which once in him abated, all the rest 
 Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. 
 And as the thing that's heavy in itself, 
 Upon enforcement, flies with greater speed; 
 So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, 
 Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, 
 That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim. 
 Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, 
 Fly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester 
 Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, 
 The bloody Douglas, whose well-laboring sword 
 Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 
 'Gan vail'' his stomach, and did grace the shame, 
 Of those that turn'd their backs ; and in his flight. 
 Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
 Is, — that the king hath won ; and hath sent out 
 A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord, 
 Under the conduct of young Lancaster, 
 And Westmoreland: this is the news at full. 
 
 North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. 
 In poison there is physic ; and these news. 
 Having been well, that would have made me sick, 
 Being sick, have in some measure made me well: 
 And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, 
 Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, 
 Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
 Out of his keepers' arms; even so my limbs, 
 Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief, 
 Are thrice themselves: hence therefore, thou nice'' 
 
 crutch ; 
 A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, 
 Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly quoif,' 
 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head. 
 Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
 Now bind my brows with iron ; and approach 
 The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring. 
 To frown upon the enraged Northumberland ! 
 Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand 
 Keep the wild flood confined! let order die! 
 And let this world no longer be a stage, 
 To feed contention in a lingering act ; 
 But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
 Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
 On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
 A.nd darkness be the burier of the dead ! 
 
 Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my 
 lord. 
 
 L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from 
 your honor. 
 
 Mor. The lives of all your loving complices 
 Lean on your health ; the which if you give o'er 
 To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
 You cast the event of war, my noble lord. 
 
 « Return of Ijlows. 
 • Let fall. 
 
 ' Trifling. 
 
 • Reported. 
 •Cap. 
 
 And summ'd the account of chance, before you 
 
 said, — 
 Let us make head. It was yeur presvirmise 
 That in the dole" of blows your son might drop: 
 You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge. 
 More likely to fall in than to get o'er : 
 You were advis'd, his flesh was capable 
 Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spiriti 
 Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged 
 Yet did you say, — Go forth; and none of this. 
 Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
 The stifl'-borne action : What hath then befallen, 
 Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth. 
 More than that being which was like to be ? 
 
 L. Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss 
 Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, 
 l^hat, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one: 
 And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd 
 Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; 
 And since we are o'crset, venture again. 
 Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods. 
 
 Mor. 'Tis more than time : And, my most nobl« 
 lord, 
 
 I hear for certain and do speak the truth, 
 
 The gentle archbishop of York is up. 
 With wcll-appoirited powers; he is a man, 
 Who with a doable surety binds his followers. 
 My lord your son had only but the corps, 
 But shadows, and the shows of men,to fight: 
 For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
 The action of their bodies from their souls : 
 And they did fight with queasiness,' constraint, 
 As men drink potions; that their weapons only 
 Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls, 
 This word, rebellion, it hath froze them up. 
 As fish are in a pond ; But now the bishop 
 Turns insurrection to religion : 
 Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts. 
 He's follow'd both with body and with mind; 
 And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 
 Of fair king Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones 
 Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; 
 Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land. 
 Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ; 
 And more,'' and less, do flock to follow him. 
 
 North. I knew of this before ; but, to speak truth. 
 This present grief had wiped it from my mind. 
 Go in with me ; and counsel every man 
 The aptest way for safety, and revenge : 
 Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed 
 Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— London. A Street. 
 
 Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing 
 
 his Sword and Buckle}: 
 
 Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor tc 
 my water? 
 
 Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good 
 healthy water : but, for the party that owed it, he 
 might have more diseases than he knew for. 
 
 Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird' at me 
 The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man. 
 is not able to invent any thing that tends to laugh 
 ter, more than I invent, or is invented on me ; I am 
 not only witty in mj»self, but the cause that wit is 
 in other men. I do here walk before thee, like » 
 sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. 
 If the prince put thee into my service for any othei 
 
 9 Distribution. 
 » Greater. 
 
 > Against their stomaoha. 
 I Gibe. 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 41? 
 
 reason than to set me off, why men I have no jutlg- 
 VL?nt. Thou whoreson mandrake,'* thou art fitter to 
 be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was 
 never manned with an agate^ till now : but I will set 
 you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, 
 and send you back again to your master for a jewel ; 
 the Juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is 
 not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in 
 the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his 
 cheek; and yet ho will not stick to say his face is a 
 face-royal : God may finish it when he will, it is not 
 a hair amiss yet : he may keep it still as a face- 
 royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of 
 it; and yet he will be crowing as if he had writ man 
 ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep 
 his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can 
 
 assure him. What said master Dumbleton about 
 
 the satin for my short cloak, and slops? 
 
 Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
 assurance than Bardolph : he would not take his 
 bond and yours ; he liked not the security. 
 
 Fed. Let him be damned like a glutton ! may his 
 tongue be hotter! — A whoreson Achitophel ! a ras- 
 cally yea-forsooth knave ! to bear a gentleman in 
 hand, and then stand upon security ! — The whoreson 
 smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, 
 and bunches of kej'S at their girdles; and if a man 
 <s thorough^ with them in honest taking up, then 
 toey must stand upon— security. I had as lief they 
 would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it 
 with security. I looked he should have sent me 
 two-and-twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, 
 and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in 
 security ; for he hath the horn of abundance, and 
 the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet 
 cannot he see, though he have his own lantern to 
 light him. Where's Bardolph ? 
 
 Parje. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your wor- 
 Bhip a horse. 
 
 Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a 
 horse in Smithfield : an I could get me but a wife in 
 the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.'' 
 
 Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an Attendant. 
 
 Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that commit- 
 ted the prince for striking him about Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. 
 
 Ch. Just. What's he that goes there ? 
 
 Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. 
 
 Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery? 
 
 Atten. He, my lord : but he hath since done good 
 service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now 
 going with some charge to the Lord John of Lan- 
 caster. 
 
 Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again. 
 
 Atten. Sir John Falstafi"! 
 
 Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. 
 
 Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. 
 
 Ch. Just. I am sure, he is, to the hearing of any 
 thing good. — Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must 
 jpsak with him. 
 
 Attin. Sir John, — 
 
 Fal. What ! a young knave, and beg ! Is there 
 not wars ? is there not employment? Doth not the 
 king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? 
 Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it 
 is worse shame to beg than to bo on the worse side, 
 wers it worse than the name of rebellion can tell 
 how to make it. 
 
 Atten. You mistake me, sir. 
 
 Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man ? 
 
 « A root supposed to have tlie shape of a man. 
 
 : Alluding to little figures cut in agate. 
 
 • In their debt. 
 
 ' Alludiug to an old proverb: Who goes to Westminster 
 for a wife, to St. Paul's for a man, and to Smithfield for a 
 b^rse, may meet with a whore, a knave, and a jade. 
 
 setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, 1 
 had lied in my throat if I had said so. 
 
 Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood 
 and your soldiership aside ; and give me leave to 
 tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any 
 other than an honest man, 
 
 Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay aside 
 that which grows to me ! If thou get'st any leave of 
 me, hang me ; if thou takest leave, thou wert better 
 be hanged ; You hunt-counter,^ hence ! avauat I 
 
 Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with ycu. 
 
 Fal. My good lord ! God give your lordsh'p good 
 time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad : 
 I heard say, your lordship was sick : I *«cpe, yout 
 lordship goes abroad by advice. You2 loraehip, 
 though not clean past your youth, hath yet soaie 
 smack of age in you, some relish of the saltncss cf 
 time; and I most humbly beseech your lordship, to 
 have a reverend care of your health. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your expe- 
 dition to Shrewsbury. 
 
 Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty 
 is returned with some discomfort from Wales. 
 
 Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty: — You would 
 not come when I sent for you. 
 
 Fal. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen 
 into this whoreson same apoplexy. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him ! I pray, let me 
 speak with you. 
 
 Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of 
 lethargy, an't please your lordship ; a kind of sleep- 
 ing in the blood, a whoreson tingling. 
 
 Ch. Just. What tell you me of it ? be it as it is. 
 
 Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from 
 study, and perturbation of the brain : I have read 
 the cause of his effects in Galen ; it is a kind of 
 deafness. 
 
 Ch. Just. I think, you are fallen into the disease; 
 for you hear not what I say to you. 
 
 Fal. Very well, my lord, very well : rather, an't 
 please you, it is the disease of not listening, the 
 malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. 
 
 Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels, would amend 
 the attention of your ears; and I care not, if I do 
 become your physician. 
 
 Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord ; but not so pa- 
 tient: your lordship may minister the potion of im- 
 prisonment to me, in respect of poverty ; but how I 
 should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, 
 the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or in- 
 deed a scruple itself. 
 
 Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters 
 against 3-ou for your life, to come speak with me. 
 
 Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel 
 in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in 
 great infamy. 
 
 Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live 
 in less. 
 
 Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your 
 waste is great. 
 
 Fal. I would it were otherwise ; I would my meana 
 were greater, and my waist slenderer. 
 
 Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 
 
 Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I am the 
 fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed 
 wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a lit- 
 tle gilded over your night's exploit on Gadshill : you 
 may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'erpost- 
 ing that action. 
 
 Fal. My lord? 
 
 Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so ; wak« 
 not a sleeping wolf. 
 
 Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a tox 
 • A catch-pole or bailifl. 
 
il8 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act I. Scene III 
 
 Ch.Just. What! you are as a candle, the better 
 part burnt out. 
 
 Fal. A wassel candle,' my lord : all tallow : if I 
 did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. 
 Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face, 
 but should have his effect of gravity. 
 Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 
 Ck. Just. You follow the young prince up and 
 dovi'n, like his ill angel. 
 
 Fal. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel' is hght ; but, 
 I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me with- 
 out weighing : and yet, in some respects, I grant, I 
 cannot go, I cannot tell :' Virtue is of so little regard 
 in these coster-monger times, that true valor is 
 turned bear-herd: Pregnancy' is made a tapster, 
 and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings : 
 all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice 
 of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. 
 You, that are old, consider not the capacities of us 
 that are young : you measure the heat of our liver in 
 the bitterness of your galls ; and we that are in the 
 vaward^ of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. 
 Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the 
 scroll of youth, that are written down old with all 
 the characters of age 1 Have you not a moist eye 1 
 a dry hand 1 a yellow cheek 1 a white beard ? a 
 decreasing leg 1 an increasing belly 1 Is not your 
 voice broken 1 your wind short ? your chin double 1 
 your wit single ? and every part about you blasted 
 with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself 
 young 1 Fye, fye, fye, sir John ! 
 
 Fal. My lord, i was born about three of the clock 
 in the afternoon, with a white head, and something 
 a round belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with 
 hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my 
 youth further, I will not : the truth is, I am only 
 old in judgment and understanding; and he that 
 will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him 
 lend me the money, and have at him. For the box 
 o'the ear that the prince gave you, — he gave it 
 like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible 
 lord. I have checked him for it; and the young 
 lion repents : many, not in ashes, and sack-cloth ; 
 but in new silk, and old sack. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better 
 companion ! 
 
 Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince ! 
 I cannot rid my hands of him. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and 
 prince Harry : I hear you are going with lord John 
 of Lancaster against the archbishop, and the earl 
 of Northumberland. 
 
 Fal. Yea ; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. 
 But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace 
 at home, that our armies join not in a hot day ! for, 
 by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and 
 I mean not to sweat extraordinarily : if it be a hot 
 day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I 
 would I might never spit white again. There is 
 not a dangerous action can peep out his head, but 
 lam thrust upon it: Well, I cannot last ever; 
 But it was always yet the trick of our English na- 
 tion, if they have a good thing, to make it too 
 common. If j'ou will needs say, I am an old man, 
 you should give me rest. I would to God, my 
 name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I 
 were better to be eaten to death with rust, than to 
 ^e scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. 
 
 ' A large caudle for a feast. • The coin called an angel. 
 • Paps current. » Readiness. a Forepart. 
 
 Ch.Just. Well, be honest, be honest; and God 
 bless your expedition ! 
 
 Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand 
 pound, to furnish me forth? 
 
 Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny ; you ara 
 too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: 
 Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. 
 
 [^ExeiDit Chief Justice and Attendant 
 
 Fal. If I do, fdlip me with a three-man beetle.' — A 
 man can no more separate age and covetousness, 
 than he can part young limbs and lechery : but the 
 gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and 
 so both the degrees prevent* my curses. — Boy !— ~ 
 
 Page. Sir? 
 
 Fal. What money is in my purse? 
 
 Page. Seven groats and two-pence. 
 
 Fal. I can get no .'•emedy against this consump- 
 tion of the purse : borrowing only lingers and lingera 
 it out, but the disease is incurable. — Go bear this 
 letter to my lord of Lancaster ; this to the prince ; 
 this to the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old 
 mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to 
 marry since I perceived the first white hair on my 
 chin : About it; you know where to find me. [_Exit 
 Page.] A pox of this gout ! or, a gout of this pox ! 
 for the one, or the other, plays the rogue with my 
 great toe. It is no matter if I do halt; I have the 
 wars for my color, and my pension shall seem the 
 more reasonable : A good wit will make use of any 
 thing; I will turn diseases to commodity.' [_Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— York. A Room in the Arch- 
 bishop's Palace. 
 E7iter the Archbishop of York, tlie Lords Has- 
 tings, Mowbray, and Bardolpii. 
 
 Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and 
 known our means ; 
 And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 
 Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes ; — 
 And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? 
 
 Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms ; 
 But gladly would be better satisfied, 
 How, in our means, we should advance ourselves 
 To look with forehead bold and big enough 
 Upon the power and puissance of the king. 
 
 Hast. Our present musters grow upon the hl«i 
 To five-and-twenty thousand men of choice ; 
 And our supplies live largely in the hope 
 Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
 With an incensed fire of injuries. 
 
 L. Bard. The question then, lord Hastmgs, 
 standeth thus: — 
 Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand 
 May hold up head without Northumberland. 
 
 Hast. With him, we may. 
 
 L. Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point; 
 
 But if without him we be thought too feeble. 
 My judgment is we should not step too far 
 Till we had his assistance by the hand : 
 For, in a theme so bloody-faced as tliis. 
 Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 
 Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, 
 It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 
 
 L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lined himself 
 Eating the air on promise of supply, [with hope^ 
 Flattering himself with project of a power 
 Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts : 
 
 • A large wooden hammer, so heavy as to require three 
 men to wi'^ld it. * Anticipate. • I'fofit. 
 
Act II. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 419 
 
 And so vvitli great imagination, 
 
 Proper to luadnien, led his powers to death, 
 
 A.iul, winking, leap'd into destruction. 
 
 Hast. But, hy your leave, it never yet did hurt 
 I'o lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. 
 
 L. Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war; — 
 Indeed the instant action (a cause on foot) 
 Lives so in hope, as in an early spring 
 We see the appearing buds ; which, to prove fruit, 
 Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair, 
 That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, 
 Wc first sui"vey the plot, then draw the model. 
 And when we see the figure of the house, 
 Then must we rate the cost of the erection ; 
 Which if we find outweighs ability, 
 What do we then, but draw anew the model 
 In fewer offices; or, at least, desist 
 To build at all 1 Much more, in this great work, 
 (Which is, almost to pluck a kingdom down, 
 And set another up,) should we survey 
 The plot of situation, and the model ; 
 Consent* upon a sure foundation ; 
 Question surveyors ; know our own estate, 
 How able such a work to undergo. 
 To weigh against his opposite ; or else. 
 We fortify in paper, and in figures, 
 Using the names of men, instead of men : 
 fiike one, that draws the model of a house 
 Beyond his power to build it ; who, half through. 
 Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost 
 A. naked subject to the weeping clouds, 
 And waste for churlish winter's tyranny, [liirth) 
 
 Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair 
 Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd 
 The utmost man of expectation ; 
 I think, we are a body strong enough, 
 Even as we are, to equal with the king. 
 
 L. Bard. What! is the king but five-and-twen- 
 ty thousand 1 
 
 Hast. To us, no more; nay, laot so much, lord 
 Bardolph. 
 For his divisions, as the times do brawl, 
 .\rc in three heads : one power against the French, 
 
 And one against Glcndower; perforce a third 
 
 Must take up us: So is the unfirm Idng 
 
 In three divided ; and his coflers sound 
 
 With hollow poverty and emptiness. [together, 
 
 Arch. That he should draw his several strength! 
 And come against us in full puissance, 
 Need not be dreaded. 
 
 Hast. If he should do so. 
 
 He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh 
 Baying him at the heels : never fear that. 
 
 L. Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces 
 hither? 
 
 Hast. The duke of Lancaster and Westmoreiacd,' 
 Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth 
 But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
 I have no certain notice. 
 
 Arch. Let us on ; 
 
 And publish the occasion of our arms. 
 The commonwealth is sick of their own cLcice, 
 Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: — 
 An habitation giddy and unsure 
 Hath he, that buildcth on the vulgar heart. 
 O thou fond many !' with what loud applause 
 Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 
 Before he was what thou wouldst have him bel 
 And being now trimm'd" in thine own desires^ 
 Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him. 
 That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
 So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
 Thy glutton bosom of the royal Eichard ; 
 And now thou wouldst cat thy dead vomit up. 
 And howl'stto find it. What trust is in these times? 
 They that, when Richard liv'd, would have hun die 
 Are now become enamour'd on his grave ; 
 Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, 
 When through proud London he came sighing on 
 After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
 Cry'st now, earth, yield us that king again, 
 And take thou this.' O thoughts of men accurst! 
 Past, and to come, seem best ; things present, worst. 
 
 Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? 
 
 Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be • 
 gone. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Street. 
 
 I'/t^er Hostess ; FA};G,and his Boy, tcith her,- and 
 
 Snare following. 
 
 Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action ? 
 
 Fang. It is entered. 
 
 Host. Where is your yeoroan?' Is it a lusty 
 yroman? will a' stand to't? 
 
 Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare ? 
 
 Host. lord, ay ; good master Snare. 
 
 Snare. Here, here. 
 
 Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John FalstafT. 
 
 Host. Yea, good master Snare; I have entered 
 him and all. 
 
 Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, 
 for he will stab. 
 
 Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; he stab- 
 bed me in mine own house, and that most beastly ; 
 in good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, 
 if his weapon be out: he will foin' like any devil; 
 bo will spare neither man, woman, nor child. 
 
 Fang. If I can close witb him, I care not for his 
 ■hrust. 
 
 > Auree • FoUower. i Thrust, 
 
 Host. No, nor I either : I'll be at your elbow. 
 
 Fang. An I but fist him once ; an a' come but 
 within my vice.' 
 
 Host. I am undone by his going ; I warrant you, 
 he's an infinite thing upon my score : — Good mas- 
 ter Fang, hold him sure ; — good master Snare, let 
 him not escape. He comes continually to Pie- 
 corner, (saving your manhoods,) to buy a saddle ; 
 and he's indited to dinner to the Lubbar's Head 
 in Lumbert-street, to master Smooth's the silk- 
 man : I pray ye, since my exion is entered, ar d 
 my case so openly known to the world, let him be 
 brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long 
 loan for a poor lone woman to bear: and I ha\e 
 borne, and borne, and borne ; and have been fub- 
 bed ofi", and fubbed olT, and fubbcd olT, from this 
 day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought 
 on. There is no honesty in such a dealing; un- 
 less a woman should be made an ass, and a beast, 
 
 to bear every knave's wrong. 
 
 Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and Bardolpu, 
 Yonder he comes; and that arrant mahnscy-nos* 
 knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do 
 
 » Foolish multitude. » Dressed. Grasp. 
 
420 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act n 
 
 your offices, master Fang, and master Snare; do 
 me, do me, do me your offices. 
 
 Fal. How now ] whose mare's dead 1 what's the 
 matter ] 
 
 Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mis- 
 tress Quickly. 
 
 Fal. Away, varlets ! — Draw, Bardolph : cut me 
 off the villain's head; throw the quean in the channel. 
 
 Host. Throw me in the channel 1 I'll throw thee 
 in the channel. Wilt thou 1 wilt thou 1 thou bas- 
 tardly rogue 1 — Murder, murder ! O thou honey- 
 suckle' villain ! wilt thou kill God's officers, and 
 the king's 1 thou honey-seed' rogue ! thou art a 
 honey-seed ; a man-queller, and a woman-queller. 
 
 Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 
 
 Fang. A rescue ! a rescue ! 
 
 Host, Good people, bring a rescue or two.' — 
 Thou wo't, Vv'o't thou 1 thou wo't, wo't thou ? do, 
 do, thou rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed ! 
 
 Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallion ! you 
 fustilarian ! I'll tickle j'our catastrophe. 
 
 Filter the Lord Chief Justice, attended. 
 
 Ch. Just. What's the matter 1 keep the peace 
 here, ho ! 
 
 Host. Good my lord, be good to me! I beseech you ! 
 
 Ck. Just. How now, sir John] what, are you 
 
 brawling here? fness? 
 
 Doth this become your place, your time, and busi- 
 
 You should have been well on your way to York. — 
 
 Stand from him, fellow; Wherefore hang'st thou 
 
 on liim 1 
 
 Host. O my most worshipful lord, an't please 
 pour grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and 
 he is arrested at my suit. 
 
 Ck. Just. For what sum 1 
 
 Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it is 
 for all, all I have : he hath eaten me out of house 
 and home : he hath put all my substance in that 
 fat belly of his: — but I will have some of it out 
 again, or I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare. 
 
 Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I 
 have any vantage of ground to get up. 
 
 Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John 1 Fye! what 
 man of good temper would endure this tempest of 
 exclamation] Are you not ashamed to enforce a 
 poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own] 
 
 Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? 
 
 Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thy- 
 self, and the money too. Thou didst swear to me 
 upon a parcel-gilt* goblet, sitting in my Dolphin- 
 chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, 
 upon Wednesday in Whitsun-week,when the prince 
 broke thy head for liking his father to a singing- 
 man of Windsor : thou didst swear to me then, as 
 I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make 
 me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it] Did 
 not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in 
 then, and call me gossip Quickly] coming in to 
 borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us, she had a 
 good dish of prawns ; whereby thou didst desire to 
 eat some; whereby I told thee, they were ill for a 
 green wound] And didst thou not, when she was 
 gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so fami- 
 liarity with such poor people; saying, that ere long 
 they should call me madam ] And didst thou not 
 kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings] I put 
 diee now to thy book-oath ; deny it, if thou canst. 
 Homicidal. ' Homicide. * Party gilt. 
 
 Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul ; and sh» 
 says, up and down tlie town, that her eldest son is 
 like you: she hath been in good case, and, the 
 truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these 
 foolish officers, I beseech you, I may have redress 
 against them. 
 
 Ck. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted 
 with your manner of wrenching the true cause the 
 false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the 
 throng of words that come with such more than 
 impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from 
 a level consideration ; you have, as it appears to me, 
 practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this wo- 
 man, and made her serve your uses both in purse 
 and person. 
 
 Host. Yea, in troth, my lord. 
 
 Ck. Just. Pry thee, peace: — ^Pay her the debt 
 you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done 
 with her; the one you may do with sterling money, 
 and the other with current repentance. 
 
 Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap' 
 without reply. You call honorable boldness, im- 
 pudent sauciness: if a man will make court'sy, and 
 say nothing, he is virtuous: I\o, my lord, my hum- 
 ble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor; I 
 say to you, I do desire deliverance from these 
 officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's 
 affairs. 
 
 Ck. Just. You speak as having power to do 
 wrong : but answer in the effect of your reputation,' 
 and satisfy the poor woman. 
 
 Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Taking ker asidf 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Ck. Just. Now, master Gower; What news] 
 
 Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry prince of 
 Wales 
 Are near at hand : the rest the paper tells. 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman, 
 
 Host. Nay, you said so before. 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman ; Come, no more 
 
 words of it. 
 
 Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must 
 be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of 
 my diuing-chambers. 
 
 Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: and 
 for thy walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the story 
 of the prodigal, or the German hunting in water- 
 work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings, 
 and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, 
 if thou canst. Come, an it were not for thy humors- 
 there is not a better wench in England. — Go, wash 
 thy face, and draw' thy action : Come, thou must 
 not be in this humor with me ; dost not know me ? 
 Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. 
 
 Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty 
 nobles; i'faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in 
 good earnest, la. 
 
 Fal. Let it alone ; I'll make other shift ; you'U 
 be a fool stdl. 
 
 Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn 
 my gowTi. I hope you'll come to supper: you'll 
 pay me all together] 
 
 Fal. Will I live]— Go, with her, with her; [To 
 Bardolph.] hook on, hook on. 
 
 Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet yoK 
 at supper ] 
 
 Fal. No more words ; let's have her. 
 [Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers, ararfPage. 
 
 » Snub, check. « Suitably to your character. ' Withdraw, 
 
Scene 1[. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 421 
 
 Ch. Jmt. I have heard better news. 
 
 Fal. What's the news, my good lord? 
 
 Oti. Just. Where lay the king last night ? 
 
 Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. 
 
 Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well : What's the 
 news, my lord ? 
 
 Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? 
 
 Guw. No ; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse. 
 Are march'd up to ray lord of Lancaster, 
 A.gainst Northumberland, and the archbishop. 
 
 Fal. Comes the king back from AVales, my noble 
 lord ? 
 
 Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently : 
 Come, go along with me, good master Gower. 
 
 Fal. My lord! 
 
 Ch. Just. What's the matter? 
 
 Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me 
 to dinner ? 
 
 Gow. I must wait upon my good lord hero : I 
 ihank you, good sir John. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter hero too long, being 
 you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. 
 
 Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower? 
 
 Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you these 
 manners, sir John ? 
 
 Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he 
 was a fool that taught them me. — This is the right 
 fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and so part fair. 
 
 Oh. Just. Now the Lord lighten thee ! thou art a 
 great fool. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Street. 
 Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. 
 
 Poins. Is it come to that? I had thought weari- 
 fcess durst not have attached one of so high blood. 
 
 P. Hen. 'Faith it does me ; though it discolors the 
 complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth 
 it not show vilely iu me, to desire small beer? 
 
 Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
 studied, as to remember so weak a composition. 
 
 P. Hen. Belike then, my appetite was not princely 
 got ; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor 
 creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble 
 considerations make me out of love with my great- 
 ness. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy 
 name ? or to know thy face to-morrow ? or to take 
 note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast ; viz. 
 these, and those that were the peach-colored ones ? 
 or to bear the inventory of thy shirts ; as, one for su- 
 perfluity, and the other for use? — but that, the ten- 
 nis-court keeper knows better than I; for it is alow 
 ebb of linen with thee, when thou keepest not racket 
 there ; as thou hast not done a great while, because 
 the rest of thy low countries have made a shift to eat 
 up thy holland : and God knows, whether those that 
 'f>awl out the ruins of thy linen^ shall inherit his 
 kingdom ; but the midwives say, the children are not 
 in the fault: whereupon the world increases, and 
 kindreds are mightily strengthened. 
 
 Poins. How ill it follows, after you have labored 
 so hard, you should talk so idly ! Tell me, how many 
 good young princes would do so, their fiithers being 
 80 sick as yours at this time is ? 
 
 P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins ? 
 
 Poins. Yes; and let it be an excellent good thing. 
 
 P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
 breeding than thine. 
 
 Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing 
 that you will tell. 
 
 J'.' Hen. Why, I tell thee,— it is not meet that I 
 should be sad. now my father is sick : albeit I could 
 toll to thoe, (as to one it pleases me, I'ur fault of a bet- 
 ter, to call my friend,) I could be sad, and sad indeed 
 tco. 
 
 • Children wrappeil up iu his old shirts. 
 
 28 
 
 Poins. Very hardly, upon such a suoject. 
 
 P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in 
 the devil's book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy 
 and persistency : Let the end try the man. But I 
 tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father 
 is so sick : and keeping such vile company as thou 
 art, hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of 
 sorrow. 
 
 Poins. The reason? 
 
 P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me if I should 
 weep? 
 
 Poni«. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. 
 
 P. Hen. It would be every man's thought : and 
 thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man 
 thinks; never a man's thought in the world keeps 
 the road-way better than thine : every man would 
 think me a hypocrite indeed. And what accites your 
 most worshipful thought, to think so? 
 
 Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and 
 so much engraffed to Falstaft'. 
 
 P. Hen. And to thee. 
 
 Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can 
 hear it with my own ears : the worst that they can 
 say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that I 
 am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two 
 things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mais, hero 
 comes Bardolph. 
 
 P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he had 
 him from me Christian; and look, if the fal villain 
 have not transformed him ape. 
 
 Enter Bardolph and Page. 
 
 Bard. 'Save your grace. 
 
 P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [2'o the Page.] 
 you bashful fool, must you be blushing ? wherefore 
 blush you now ? What a maidenly man at arms are 
 you become ! Is it such a matter, to get a pottle- 
 pot's maidenhead ? 
 
 Page. He called me even now, my lord, through 
 a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face 
 from the window : at last, I spied his eyes ; and me- 
 thought, he had made two holes in the ale-wife's 
 new petticoat, and peeped through. 
 
 P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited ? 
 
 Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, 
 away ! 
 
 Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away ! 
 
 P. Hen. Instruct us, boy : What dream, boy ? 
 
 Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was 
 delivered of a fire-brand ; and therefore I call him 
 her dream. 
 
 P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation. 
 — There it is, boy. [Gives him money. 
 
 Poins. 0, that this good blossom could be kept 
 from cankers ! — Well, there is sixpence to preserve 
 thee. 
 
 Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among 
 you, the gallows shall have wrong. 
 
 P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph ? 
 
 Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace'i 
 coming to town : there's a letter for you. 
 
 Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And how 
 doth the martlcmas,'' your master? 
 
 Bard. In bodily health, sir. 
 
 Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physi- 
 cian ; but that moves not him ; though that be sick, 
 it dies not. 
 
 P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with 
 me as my dog: and he holds his place; for, look 
 you, how he writes. 
 
 Poins. [lieiids.] John Falstaff, knight Every 
 
 man nuist know tliat, as often as he has occasion to 
 name himself Even like those that are kin to the 
 king; for they never prick their finger, but they 
 say, There is some of the king's blood spilt: Hota 
 ' Martinmas ; St. Martin's day is Nov. 11 
 
vl2 
 
 SECOND PaTIT of 
 
 Act II 
 
 comes tlMt? says he, that takes upon him not to 
 conceive : the answer is as ready as a borrower's 
 cap ; / am the king's poor cousin, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will 
 fetch it from Japhet. But the letter: — 
 
 Poins. Sir John FalstafF, knight, to the son of the 
 king nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales, 
 greeting. — Why, this is a certificate. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace! 
 
 Poins. / will imitate the honorable Roman in 
 brevity: — ^lie sure means brevity in breath; short- 
 winded. — I commend me to thee, I commend thee, 
 and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; 
 for he misuses thy favors so much, that he swears, 
 thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle 
 times as thou mayst, and so farewell. 
 
 Thine, by yea and no, {lohich is as much 
 as to say, an thou usest him.) Jack Fal- 
 staff, with my familiars; John, with my 
 brotheis and sisters; and Sir J ohn, with 
 all Europe. 
 My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make 
 him eat it. 
 
 P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his 
 words. But do you use me thus, Ned 1 must I 
 marry your sister ! 
 
 Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune ! 
 out I never said so. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the 
 time ; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds 
 and mock us.— Is your master here in London 1 
 
 Bard. Yes, my lord, 
 
 P. Hen. Where sups he ] doth the old boar feed 
 in the old frank 1' 
 
 Bard. At the old place, my lord; in East- 
 cheap. 
 
 P. Hen. What company 1 
 
 Page. Ephesians, my lord ; of the old church. 
 
 P. Hen. Sup any women with him ? 
 
 Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, 
 and mistress Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 P. Hen. What pagan may that be? 
 
 Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kins- 
 woman of my master's. 
 
 P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers arc 
 to the town bull. — Shall we steal upon him, Ned, 
 at supper? 
 
 Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I'll follow 
 you. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph ; — no 
 word to your master that I am yet come to town : 
 There's for your silence. 
 
 Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 
 
 Page. And for mine, sir ; — I will govern it. 
 
 P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt Bardolph 
 and Page.] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some 
 road. 
 
 Poins. I warrant you, as commor. as the way 
 between Saint Alban's and London. 
 
 P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff" bestow 
 himself to-night in his true colors, and not our- 
 selves be seen ] 
 
 Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, 
 and wait upon him at his table, as drawers. 
 
 P. Hen From a god to a bull ! a heavy descen- 
 sion ! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren- 
 tice 1 a low transformation ! that shall be mine : for, 
 in every thing, the pm-pose must weigh with the 
 folly. Follow me, Ned. ^Exeunt. 
 
 •Sty. 
 
 SCENE III.— Warkworth. Before thi Castle. 
 
 Enter NonTHUMBEnLAND, Lady Northumbeh- 
 LAND, and Lady Percy. 
 
 North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle 
 daughter. 
 Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
 Put not you on the visage of the times. 
 And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. 
 
 Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more : 
 Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. 
 
 North. Alas, sweet wife, my honor is at pawn 
 And, but my going, nothing can redeem it 
 
 Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these 
 wars! 
 The time was, father, that you broke your word. 
 When you were more endear'd to it than now ; 
 When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, 
 Threw many a northward look to see his Hither 
 Bring up liis powers; but he did long in vain. 
 Who then persuaded you to stay at home 1 
 There were two honors lost ; yours, and youi 
 
 son's. 
 For yours, — may heavenly glory brighten it ! 
 For his — it stuck upon him, as the sun 
 In the grey vault of heaven : and by his light, 
 Did all the chivalry of England move 
 To do brave acts ; he was, indeed, the glass 
 Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. 
 He had no legs, that practised not his gait: 
 And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish 
 OTcaine the accents of the valiant: 
 For those that could speak low, and tardily, 
 Would turn their own perfection to abuse. 
 To seem like him: So that, in speech, in gait, 
 In diet, in affections of delight. 
 In military rules, humors of blood. 
 He vi-as the mark and glass, copy and book. 
 That fashioned others. And him, — wondrous 
 
 him ! 
 miracle of men ! — him did you leave, 
 (Second to none, unseconded by you,) 
 To look upon the hideous god of war 
 In disadvantage ; to abide a field. 
 Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name 
 Did seem defrnsible : — so you left him : 
 Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong. 
 To hold your honor more precise and nice 
 With others, than with him ; let them alone ; 
 The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong: 
 Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, 
 To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck. 
 Have talk'd cf Monmouth's grave. 
 
 North. Beshrew your heart, 
 
 Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me. 
 With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
 But I must go, and meet with danger there; 
 Or it will seek me in another place, 
 And find me v^orse provided. 
 
 Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 
 
 Till that the nobles, and the armed commons. 
 Have of their puissance made a little taste. 
 
 Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the 
 king, 
 Then join you with them, like a rib of steel. 
 To make strength stronger ; but for all our lovesi, 
 First let them try themselves ; so did your son ; 
 He was so suffer'd ; so came I a widow ; 
 And never shall have length of life enough. 
 To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY lY. 
 
 ro'j 
 
 That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
 For recordation to my noble husband. 
 
 yorth. Come, come, go in with me : 'tis with my 
 rts with the tide sweli'd up unto its height, [mind, 
 That makes a still-stand, running neither way. 
 Fain would I go to meet the archbishop. 
 
 But many thousand reasons hold me back: 
 
 I will resolve for Scotland ; there am I, 
 
 Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Boar's 
 
 Head Tavern, in Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter two Drawers. 
 
 1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there? 
 apple-Johns] thou know'st, sir John cannot endure 
 an apple-John.' 
 
 2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true : The prince 
 once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told 
 him, there were five more sir Johns : and, putting 
 off his hat, said, I will now take my leave of these 
 six dry, round, old, wit/ter'd knights. It angered 
 him to the heart; but he hath forgot that. 
 
 1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down : 
 And see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise ;' mis- 
 tress Tear-sheet would fain hear some music. De- 
 spatch : — The room where the}' supped is too hot; 
 they'll come in straight. 
 
 2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and 
 master Poins anon : and they will put on two of 
 our jerkins, and aprons ; and sir John must not 
 know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. 
 
 1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis :' It 
 will be an excellent stratagem. 
 
 2 Draw. I'll see, if I can find out Sneak. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 Host. I'iaith, sweet heart, methinks now you are 
 in an excellent good temporality : your pulsidge 
 beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire: and 
 your color, I warrant you, is as red as any rose : 
 But, i'faith, you have drunk too much canaries ; 
 and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it per- 
 fumes the blood ere one can say, — What's this? 
 How do you now ] 
 
 Doll. I3etter than I was. Hem. 
 
 Host. Why, that's well said ; a good heart's worth 
 gold. Look, here comes sir John. 
 
 Enter Falstafp, singing. 
 
 Fal. When Arthur first in court. — Empty the 
 Jordan. — Ajid was a ivorthy king : [Exit Drawer.] 
 How now, mistress Doll ? 
 
 Host. Sick of a calm : yea, good sooth. 
 
 Fal. So is all her sect ; an they be once in a 
 calm, they are sick. 
 
 Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort 
 yi u give me 1 
 
 Fal. i'ou make fat rascals, mistress Doll. 
 
 Doll. I make them! gluttony and diseases make 
 tl.em ; I make them not. 
 
 Fal. If the cook helj) to make the gluttony ,you help 
 to make the diseases, Doll: wecatchof you, Doll,we 
 catch of you ; grant that, my poor virtue, grant that. 
 
 Doll. Ay, marry ; our chains, and our jewels. 
 
 Fal. Your brooches, pearls, and otvclies,- — for to 
 serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know: 
 To come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, 
 ind to surtrcry bravely ; to venture upon the charged 
 rhanibers' iirnvelv : 
 
 » An ;ii)|>l(' tbfit will koop two ycar.s. 
 
 • Sneak wap a Ftri'cfc minstrel ; a noise of musicians an- 
 tiontly si;.'nificil a concert. 
 
 ■".Morrj diangf". > Small pieces of ordnance. 
 
 Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang 
 yourself! 
 
 Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion ; you 
 two never meet, but you fall to some discord : you 
 are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dy 
 toasts ; you cannot one bear with another's confir- 
 mities. What the good-year !' one must bear, and 
 that must be you : [To Doll.] you are the weaker 
 vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel. 
 
 Doll. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
 full hogshead 1 there's a whole merchant's venture 
 of Bourdeaux stuff in him ; you have not seen a 
 hulk better stuffed in the hold. — Come, I'll ba 
 friends with thee. Jack : thou art going to tJ. e wars 
 and whether I shall ever see thee again, or no 
 there is nobody cares. 
 
 Re-enter Drawer. 
 
 Draw. Sir, ancient' Pistol's below, and would 
 speak with you. 
 
 Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him not 
 come hither: it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : no, 
 by my faith ; I must live amongst my neighbors ; I'll 
 no swaggerers : I am in good name and fame with 
 the very best : — Shut the door ; there comes no 
 swaggerers here : I have not lived all this while, to 
 have swaggering now : — Shut the door, I pray you 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ? — 
 
 Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John ; there 
 comes no swaggerers here. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear ? it is mine ancient. 
 
 Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me ; your 
 ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was 
 before master Tisick, the deputy, the other day ; 
 and, as he said to me, — it was no longer ago than 
 Wednesday last, — Neighbor Quickly, says he ; — 
 master Dumb, our minister, was by then ; — Neigh- 
 bor Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil ^ 
 for, saith he, you are jVi an ill name; — now he sai«- 
 so, I can tell whereupon ;for, says he, you are an 
 honest woman,and well thought on,- therefore take 
 heed what guests you receive: Receive, says he, 
 
 noswaggeriiig companions. There comes nc'-.e 
 
 here ; — you would bless you to hear what he said : 
 — no, I'll no swaggerers. 
 
 Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tame cheat- 
 er,' he; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy 
 grey-hound : he will not swagger with a Barbary 
 hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of re- 
 sistance. — Call him up, drawer. 
 
 Host, Cheater, call you him 1 I will bar no 
 honest man my house, nor no cheater: But I do 
 not love swaggering ; by my troth, I am the worse, 
 when one says — swagger: feel, masters, how I 
 shake ; look you, I warrant you. 
 
 Doll. So you do, hostess. 
 
 Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twern 
 an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. 
 
 Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 
 
 Fist. 'Save you, sir John ! 
 
 Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, 1 
 charge you with a cup of sack : do you discharge 
 upon mine hostess. 
 
 Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, witli 
 two bullets. 
 
 Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir ; you shall hardN 
 
 offend her. 
 
 9 Mrs. Quickly 's l)lund»r for govjtre, i. e. pox. 
 ■ Ensign. •Gamest*"- 
 
■iin ifi nmiiitrrt^taXfaa^ 
 
 124 
 
 SECOND I'ART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 Host. Coine, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets : 
 T'll drink no more than will do me good, for no 
 man's pleasure, I. 
 
 Fist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy; I will 
 charge you. 
 
 Boll. Charge mcl I scorn you, scurvy compa- 
 nion. What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, 
 lack-linen mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, away ! 
 I am meat for your master. 
 
 Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. 
 
 Doll. A way,you cut-purse rascal ! you filthy bung, 
 away ! by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your 
 mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. 
 Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! you basket-hilt stale 
 juggler, you! — Since when, I pray you, sir? — 
 What, with two points' on your shoulder 1 much?' 
 
 Pist. I will murder your rulV for this. 
 
 Fal. No more, Pistol ; I would not have you go 
 off here : discharge yourself of our company. Pistol. 
 
 Host. No, good captain Pistol •, not here, sweet 
 captain. 
 
 Doll. Captain [ thou abominable damned cheater, 
 art thou not ashamed to be called — captain ? If 
 captains were of my mind, they would truncheon 
 you out, for taking their names upon you before 
 you have earned them. You a captain, you slave ! 
 for what! fortearing a poor whore's ruffinabawdy- 
 house ? — He a captain ! Hang him, vogue ! He lives 
 upon mouldy stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A 
 captain! these villains will make the word captain 
 as odious as the word occupy ; which was an ex- 
 cellent good word bcfoi-e it was ill sorted : therefore, 
 captains had need look to it. 
 
 Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 
 
 Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. 
 
 Pist. Not I : tell thee what, corporal Bardolph; — 
 1 could tear her : — I'll be revenged on her. 
 
 Page. Pray thee, go down. 
 
 Pist. I'll see her damned first; — to Pluto's damned 
 lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures 
 vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down ! down, 
 dogs! down, faitors!' Have we not Hiren herel* 
 
 Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet; itis very late, 
 i'faith: I beseek you now, aggravate your cholcr. 
 
 Pist. These be good humors, indeed! Shall pack- 
 And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, [horses. 
 
 Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, 
 Compare with Casars, and with Cannibals,'' 
 And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with 
 King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. 
 Shall we fall foul for toys 1 
 
 Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter 
 words. 
 
 Ba?-d. Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to 
 a brawl anon. 
 
 Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins ; 
 Hive we not Hiren here 1 
 
 Host. O' my word, captain, there's none such 
 here. What the good-year ! do you think I would 
 deny her 1 for God's sake, be quiet. 
 
 Pist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis:' 
 Come, give's some sack. 
 
 Sifortuna me tormenta, sperato me cmitenta. — 
 Fear we broadsides ? no, let the fiend give fire : 
 Uive me some sack ; — and, sweetheart, lie thou 
 there. [^Laying doivn his swo^d. 
 
 • Laces, marks of his commission. 
 
 •An expression of disdain. 'Traitors, rascals. 
 
 • A qiotation from a play of G. Peele's. 
 ' Blunder for Hannibal. 
 
 Parody of a line in the Battle of Alcasar, an old play. 
 
 Come we to full points here ; and are ei ceterta 
 nothing ? 
 
 Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 
 
 Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif :" What ! wo 
 have seen the seven stars. 
 
 Do^l. Thrust him down stairs ; I cannot endure 
 such a fustian rascal. 
 
 Pist. Thrust liim down stairs! know we not 
 Galloway nags 1 ' 
 
 Fal. Quoit* him down, Bardolph, like a shove- 
 groat shilling : nay, if he do nothing but speak 
 nothing, he shall be nothing here. 
 
 Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 
 
 Pist. What ! shall we have incision 1 shall we 
 
 imbrue ? \_Snatching up his sword. 
 
 Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful 
 
 days!" 
 Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
 Untwine the sisters three ! Come, Atropos,- 1 say ! 
 
 Host. Here's goodly stuff toward ! 
 
 Fal. Give mc my rapier, boy. 
 
 Doll. I pray thee. Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. 
 
 Fal. Get you down stairs. 
 
 [Drawing, and driving Pistol out. 
 
 Host. Here's a goodly tumult ! I'll forswear 
 keeping house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and 
 
 frights. So ; murder, I wan-ant now.^ ^Alas, 
 
 alas ! put up your naked weapons, put up your 
 naked weapons. [Exeunt Pistol and Bardolph. 
 
 Doll. I pray thee. Jack, be quiet ; the rascal is 
 gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you. 
 
 Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? methought, 
 he made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 
 Re-enter Bardolph, 
 
 Fal. Have you turned him out of doors 1 
 
 Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk : you have 
 hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. 
 
 Fal. A rascal ! to brave me ! 
 
 Dull. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, 
 poor ape, how thou sweat'st ! Come, let me wipe 
 thy face ; — come on, you whoreson chops : — Ah, 
 rogue ! i'faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as 
 Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten 
 times better than the nine worthies. Ah, villain ! 
 
 Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue in a 
 blanket. 
 
 Doll. Do, if thou darest for thy heart: if thou 
 dost, I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets. 
 Enter Music. 
 
 Page. The music is come, sir. 
 
 Fat. Let them play : — Play, sirs. — Sit on my 
 knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue 
 fled from me like quicksilver. 
 
 Doll. I'faith, and thou followedst him like a 
 church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew 
 boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o'days, and 
 foining o'nights, and begin to patch up thine old 
 body for heaven ? 
 
 Enter behind, Prince Henry and Poins, dis- 
 gitised like Drawers. 
 Fal. Peace, good Doll ! Do not speak like a 
 death's head : do not bid me remember mine end. 
 Doll. Sirrah, what humor is the prince oil 
 Fal. A good shallow young fellow : he would 
 have made a good pantler, he would have chipped 
 bread well. 
 
 X)' //. They say, Poins has a good wit. 
 F d. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! hii 
 Fist. I Common hacknies. 
 
 " Throw. » Part of an ancient souir. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 425 
 
 wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard : there is no 
 fpore conceit in him, tlian is in a mallet. 
 
 Doll. Why (lo(3s the prince love him so then? 
 
 Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness ; 
 ind he plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and 
 fennel ; ind drinks oil" candles' ends for flap-dra- 
 gons; and rides the wild mare with the boys; and 
 jumps upon joint-stools : and swears witli a good 
 grace; and wears his boot very smooth, like unto 
 the sign of the leg; and breeds no bate with telling 
 of discreet stories, and such other gambol faculties 
 he hath, that show a weak mind and an able body, 
 for the which the prince admits him : for the prince 
 himself is such another; the weight of a hair will 
 turn the scales between their avoirdupois. 
 
 P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have 
 his ears cut off] 
 
 Puins. Let's beat him before his whore. 
 
 P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his 
 poll clawed like a parrot. 
 
 Pouis. Is it not strange, that desire should so 
 many years outlive performance ? 
 
 Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 
 
 P. He?!. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc- 
 tion! what says the almanac to that ] 
 
 Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon,* his 
 man, be not lisping to his master's old tables ; his 
 note-book, his counsel-keeper. 
 
 Fed. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 
 
 Doll. Nay, truly ; I kiss thee with a most con- 
 stant heart. 
 
 Fal. I am old, T am old. 
 
 Doll. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy 
 young boy of them all. 
 
 Fed. What stuff wilt have a kirtle' of 1 I shall 
 receive money on Thursday : thou shall liave a cap 
 to-morrow. A merry song, come : it grows late, 
 we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me, when I am gone. 
 
 Doll. By my troth, thou'lt set me a weeping, an 
 thou say est so: prove that ever I dress myself hand- 
 some till thy return. Well, hearken the end. 
 
 Fal. Some sack, Francis. 
 
 P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. 
 
 Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's? — And art 
 not thou Poins his brother ? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
 what a life dost thou lead ] 
 
 Fal. A better than thou ; I am a gentleman, thou 
 art a drawer. 
 
 P. Hen. Very true, sir ; and I come to draw you 
 out by the ears. 
 
 Host. 0, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by 
 my troth, welcome to London. — Now the Lord 
 bless that sweet face of thine ! O Jesu, are you 
 come from Wales 1 
 
 Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majest)% 
 — by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art 
 welcome. [Leaning liis hand upon Doll. 
 
 Doll, How ! you flit fool, I scorn you. 
 
 Poin.i. My lord, he will drive you out of your 
 revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take 
 not the heat. 
 
 P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you; how 
 vilely did you speak of me even now, before this 
 ionest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman 1 
 
 Host. 'Blessing o'your good heart! and so she 
 W, by my troth. 
 
 Fal. Didst thou hear me ? 
 
 P. Hen. Yes; and you knewmc,as you did when 
 • An *strouomi(!«l si«r. < i short cloak. 
 
 you ran away by Gads-hill : you knew, I was at y oui 
 back ; and spoke it on purpose to try my patience. 
 
 Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou 
 wast witliin hearing. 
 
 P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the 
 wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle you. 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honor; no abuse. 
 
 P. Hen. Not ? to dispraise me ; and call me — 
 pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what? 
 
 Fal. No abuse, i\n\. 
 
 Poins. No abuse 1 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned» 
 none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the 
 wicked might not fall in love with him : — in which 
 doing I have done the part of a careful friend, and a 
 true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. 
 No abuse, Hal ; — none, Ned, none; — no, boys, none. 
 
 P. Hen. See, now, whether pure fear, and en- 
 tire cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this vir« 
 tuous gentlewoman to close with usl Is she of the 
 wicked 1 Is thine hostess here of the wicked ] Or 
 is the boy of the wicked ? Or honest Bardolph, 
 whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked? 
 
 Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 
 
 Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph ir 
 recoverable : and his face is Lucifer's privy kitchen, 
 where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For 
 the boy, — there is a good angel about him; but the 
 devil outbids hun too. 
 
 P. Hen. For the women, 
 
 Fal. For one of them, — she is in hell already, and 
 burns, poor soul ! For the other,— I owe her money ; 
 and whctlier she be damned for that, I know not. 
 
 Host. No, I warrant you. 
 
 Fed. No, I think thou art not ; I think, tliou art quit 
 for that : Marry, tliere is another indictment upon 
 thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in tliy house con- 
 trary to the la w; for tlie which,I think, thou wilt howl. 
 
 Host. AH victuallers do so : What's a joint of 
 mutton or two in a whole Lent ? 
 
 P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, 
 
 Doll. What says your grace ? 
 
 Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
 against. 
 
 Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the 
 door there, Francis. 
 
 Enter Peto. 
 
 P. Hen. Peto, how now I what news? 
 
 Peto. The king, your father, is at Westminster; 
 And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, 
 Come from the north: and, as I came along, 
 I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, 
 Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns. 
 And asking every one for sir John Falstaff. 
 
 P.Hen.By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame, 
 So idly to profane the precious time : 
 When tempest of commotion, hke the south, 
 Borne with black vapor, doth begin to melt, 
 And drop upon our bare unarmed heads, [night. 
 Give me my sword and cloak: — Falstaft", good 
 [Ex. P. Hknry, Poins, Peto, and Bard. 
 
 Fa. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the 
 night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. 
 [Knocking heard.] More knocking at the door ? 
 
 Re-enter Bardolpu. 
 
 How now 1 what's the matter] 
 
 Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; 
 A dozen captains stay at door for you. 
 
 Fal. Pav the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page J 
 
426 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act III 
 
 Farewell, hostess; — Farewell, Doll. — You see, my 
 good wenches, how men of merit are sought after : 
 the undeservcr may sleep, when the man of action 
 is called on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be not 
 sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. 
 
 Doll. I cannot speak; — If my heart be not ready 
 to burst: — Well, sv/ect Jack, have a care of thyself. 
 
 Fed. Farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Falstaff, and Bardolph. 
 
 ACT 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enttr Kino Henut in his Night-goivn with a 
 
 Page. 
 
 K. Hen. Go, call the carls of Surrey and of 
 
 Warwick ; 
 
 But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, 
 
 And well consider of them : Make good speed. — 
 
 \_Exit Page. 
 How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
 Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep. 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down. 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulnessl 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
 Upon uneasy pallets*stretching thee. 
 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; 
 Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, 
 Under the canopies of costly state. 
 And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? 
 O tliou dull god, why liest thou with the vile. 
 In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly conch, 
 A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell ! 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; 
 And in the visitation of the winds 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top. 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
 With deaf'ning clamors in the slippery clouds, 
 That, with the burly,' death itself awakes] 
 Canst thou, partial sleep! give thy repose 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
 And, in the calmest and most stillest night, 
 With all appliances and means to boot. 
 Deny it to a kingi Then, happy low,' lie down! 
 Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
 EnterW AuwicK and Sukret. 
 War. Many good morrows to your majesty ! 
 K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords 1 
 War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 
 K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my 
 lords. 
 Have yi)u read o'er the letters that I sent youl 
 War. We have, my liege. 
 
 K. Htn. Then you perceive the body of our 
 kingdom, 
 IIow foul it is ; what rank diseases grow. 
 And with what danger, near the heart of it. 
 War. It is hut as a body, yet, distemper'd ; 
 Which to his former strength may be restor'd. 
 
 With good advice, and little medicine : 
 
 My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 
 K. H°n. O heaven ! that one might read the book 
 of fate ; 
 And see the revDlution of the times 
 Make mountain; level, and the continent 
 
 • Noise. » Those in lowly situations. 
 
 Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee 
 these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time ; but 
 an honester, and truer-hearted man, — Well, fare 
 thee well. 
 
 Bard. [ Within.'] Mistress Tear-sheet, 
 
 Host. What's the matter 1 
 
 Bard. [ Within.'] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come 
 to my master. 
 
 Host. O run Doll, run; run, good Doll. [Exewnf 
 
 III. 
 
 (Weary of solid firmness) melt itself 
 
 Into the sea ! and, other times, to see 
 
 The beachy girdle of the ocean 
 
 Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances mock, 
 
 And changes fill the cup of alteration 
 
 With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen, 
 
 The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through, 
 
 What perils past, what crosses to ensue, — 
 
 Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
 
 'Tis not ten years gone, 
 
 Since Richard, and Northumberland, great frieida, 
 
 Did feast together, and, in two years after. 
 
 Were they at wars : It is but eight years, sip^e 
 
 This Percy was the man nearest my soul; 
 
 Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs. 
 
 And laid his love and life under my foot : 
 
 Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
 
 Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 
 
 (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,) 
 
 [To Warwick, 
 When Richard, — with his eye brimfuU of tears, 
 Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, — 
 Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy * 
 ISonhiimberland, thou ladder, by the which 
 My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne,- — 
 Though then, heaven knows, I had no such in- 
 tent: 
 But that necessity so bow'd the state, 
 
 That I and greatness were compcll'd to kiss: 
 
 Tlie time shall come, thus did he follow it, 
 The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption: — so went on, 
 Foretelling this same time's condition, 
 And the division of our amity. 
 
 War. There is a history in all men's lives. 
 Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd : 
 The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, 
 With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
 As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds. 
 And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. 
 Such things become the hatch and brood of time 
 And, by the necessary form of this. 
 King Richard might create a perfect guess. 
 That great Northumberland, then false to hina, 
 Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness; 
 Which should not find a ground to root upon, 
 Unless on you. 
 
 K. Hen. Are these things then necessities 
 Then let us meet them like necessities: 
 And that same word even now cries out on us; 
 They say, the bishop and Northumberland 
 Are fifty thousand strong. 
 
 War. It cannot be, my lord, 
 
 Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo, 
 The numbers of the fear'd : — Please it your grac^ 
 To go to bed ; upon my life, my lord. 
 The powers that you already have sent forth. 
 Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
 
ScENK II. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 427 
 
 To ccrnfort you the more, I have received 
 A certain instance, that uiendower is dead, 
 ifour nitijesty hath bctn this fortnight ill ; 
 And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add 
 Unto your sickness. 
 
 K. Hen. I will take your counsel : 
 
 And, were these inward wars once out of hand. 
 We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Court before Justice Shallow's 
 House in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Enter Shali-ow and Si^'euc'e, meeting ,• Mouldy, 
 Shadow, Wart, Fkeble, Bull-calf, «?jrf Ser- 
 vants behind. 
 
 Shal. Come on, come on, come on* give me 
 your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir; an early 
 stirrer, by the rood.^ And how doth my good 
 cousin Silence] 
 
 ISil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 
 
 Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? 
 and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god- 
 daughter Ellen 1 
 
 tSil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. 
 
 Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin 
 William is become a good scholar : He is at Oxford, 
 still, is he not] 
 
 Sil. Indeed, sir; to my cost. 
 
 Shal. He must then to the inns of court, shortly : 
 I was once of Clement's Inn ; where, I think, they 
 will talk of mad Shallow yet. 
 
 <SV/. You were called — lusty Shallow, then, cousin. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing ; and 
 I would have done any thing indeed, and roundly 
 too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staflbrd- 
 shirc, and black George Bare, and Francis Pick- 
 bone, and Will Squele a Cotswold man, — you had 
 not tour such swinge-bucklers in all the inns of 
 court again : and I may say to you, we knew where 
 the bona-robas were. Then was Jack Falstaff, 
 now sir John, a boy; and page to Thomas Mow- 
 bray, duke of Norfolk. 
 
 Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither 
 anon, about soldiers] 
 
 Shal. The same sir John, the very same; I saw 
 him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when 
 he was a crack,' not thus high: and the very same 
 day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruit- 
 erer, behind Gray's Inn. 0, the mad days that I 
 have spent ! and to see how many of mine old ac- 
 quaintance are dead ! 
 
 Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 
 
 Slial. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very sure; 
 death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all ; all shall 
 die. — How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair ] 
 
 <SV/. Truly, cousin, I was not there. 
 
 S a/. Death is certain. — Is old Double of your 
 town living yet] 
 
 •SY(. Dead, sir. 
 
 Skul. Dead ! — See, see ! — he drew a good bow ; 
 — .\n(l dead! — He shot a fine shoot: — John of 
 (jiauiit loved him well, and betted much money on 
 his head. Dead ! — he would have clapped 'i the 
 clout at twelve score;' and carried you a forehand 
 ihaft at fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it 
 
 ivould have done a man's heart good to see. 
 
 How a score of ewes nowl 
 
 » Cross. » Boy. 
 
 * Hit the white marie at twelve score yards. 
 
 Sil. Thereafter as they be ; a score of good ewei 
 may be worth ten pounds. 
 
 Shal. And is old Double dead 
 
 Enter Bahdolph, and one icith him. 
 
 Sil. Here come two of sir John Falstaff's men, 
 as I think. 
 
 Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I be- 
 seech you, which is justice Shallow] 
 
 Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sii ; a poor esquire 
 of this county, and one of the king's justices of the 
 peace: What is your good pleasure with me] 
 
 Bard. My captain, sir, commends l.im to you' 
 iDy captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall' gentleman, 
 by heaven, and a most gallant leader. 
 
 Shal. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good 
 backsword man : How doth the good knight ? may 
 I ask, how my lady his wife doth ] 
 
 Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accommo- 
 dated than with a wife. 
 
 Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is well 
 said indeed too. Better accommodated ! — it is good ; 
 yea, indeed, it is: good phrases are surely, and ever 
 were, very commendable. Accommodated! — it 
 comes from accomrnodo ,• very good ; a good phrase. 
 
 Bard. Pardon me, sir: I have heard the word. 
 Phra.se, call you it ] By this good day, I know not 
 the phrase: but I will maintain the word with my 
 sword, to be a soldier-like word, and a word of ex- 
 ceeding good command. Accommodated ; that is, 
 when a man is, as they say, accommodated: oi 
 when a man is, — being, — whereby, — he may be 
 thought to be accommodated, which is an excellent 
 thing. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Shal. It is very just : — Look, here comes good sir 
 John. — Give me your good hand, give me your wor« 
 ship's good hand : By my troth, you look well, and 
 bear your years very well : welcome, good sir John. 
 
 Fal. I am glad to see you well, good mastei 
 Robert Shallow : — Master Sure-card, as I think. 
 
 Shal. No, sir John, it is my cousin Silence, in 
 commission with me. 
 
 Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you 
 should be of the peace. 
 
 Sil. Your good worship is w^elcome. 
 
 Fal. Fye! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, have 
 you provided me here half a dozen sufficient men ] 
 
 Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit ] 
 
 Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 
 
 Shal. Where's the roll ] where's the roll ] where's 
 the roll ? — let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so : 
 Yea, marry, sir — Ralph Mouldy : — let them ap- 
 pear as I call ; let them do so, let them do so.— — 
 Let me see, where is Mouldy ? 
 
 Moid. Here, an't please you. 
 
 Shal. What think you, sir John : a good limbed 
 fellow: young, strong, and of good friends. 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Mouldy ? 
 
 Moul. Yea, an't please you. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i'faith ! things 
 that are mouldy, lack use : Very singular good !— • 
 In faith, well said, sir John, very well said. 
 
 Fal. Prick him. [To Shallow. 
 
 Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an you 
 coulil have let me alone: my old dame will be un« 
 done now, for one to do her husbandry, and her 
 drudgery : you need not to have pricked me ; ther« 
 are other men fitter to go out than I. 
 siirsTK 
 
i28 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Fal. Go to ; peace, Mouldy, you shall go. Moul- 
 dy, it is time /ou were spent. 
 
 Muiil. Spent ! 
 
 Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside : Know 
 you where you arel — For the other, sir John: — 
 let me see ; — Simon Shadow ! 
 
 Fal. Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under: 
 he's like to be a cold soldier. 
 
 Shal. Where's Shadow? 
 
 Shad. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou 1 
 
 Shad. My mother's son, sir. 
 
 Fal. Thy mother's sou ! like enough, and thy 
 father's shadow: so the son of the female is the 
 fihadow of the male : It is often so, indeed ; but 
 not much of the father's substance. 
 
 Shal. Do you like him, sir John ? 
 
 Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, — prick him ; 
 — for wc have a number of shadows to fill up the 
 muster-book. 
 
 Shal. Thomas Wart ? 
 
 Fal. Where's he? 
 
 Wart. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Wart ? 
 
 Wart. Yea, sir. 
 
 Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 
 
 Shal. Shall I prick him, sir John 7 
 
 Fal. It were superfluous : for his apparel is built 
 apon his back, and the whole frame stands upon 
 pins: prick him no more. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! — you can do it, sir ; 3'ou can 
 Jo it: I commend j'ou well. — Francis Feeble ! 
 
 Fee. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. What trade art thou. Feeble 1 
 
 Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 
 
 Shal Shall I prick him, sir ? 
 
 Fal. You may : but if he had been a man's tailor, 
 he would have pricked you. — Wilt thou make as 
 many holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done 
 in a woman's petticoat 1 
 
 Fee. I will do my good will, sir ; you can have 
 no more. 
 
 Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor ! well said, 
 courageous Feeble ! Thou wilt be as valiant as the 
 wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. — 
 Prick the woman's tailor well, master Shallow ; 
 deep, master Shallow. 
 
 Fee. I would. Wart might have gone, sir. 
 
 Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor; that thou 
 might' st mend him, and make him fit to go. I can- 
 not put him to a private soldier, that is the leader 
 of so many thousands : Let that suffice, most 
 forcible Feeble. 
 
 Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 
 
 Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. — 
 Who is next ! 
 
 Shal. Peter Bull-calf of the green ! 
 
 Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf. 
 
 Bull. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow ! — Come, prick 
 me Bull-calf till he roar again. 
 
 Bull. O lord ! good my lord captain, — 
 
 Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art 
 pricked 1 
 
 Bull. O lord, sir ! I am a diseased man. 
 
 Fal. What disease hast thou 1 
 
 Bull. A whoreson cold, sir ; a cough, sir ; which 
 [ caught with ringing in the 'ling's affairs, upon 
 h's coronation-day, sir. 
 
 Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; 
 
 we will have away thy cold ; and I will take such or 
 der, that thy friends shall ring for th.;e. — Is here all! 
 
 Shal. Here is two more called than your num- 
 ber ; you must have but four here, sir ; — and so, 1 
 pray you, go in with me to dinner. 
 
 Fal, Come, I will go drink with you, but I can- 
 not tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good 
 troth, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. 0, sir John, do you remember since we lay 
 all night in the windmill in Saint George's fields? 
 
 Fal. No mere of that, good master Shallow, no 
 more of that. 
 
 Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jait* 
 Night-work alive ? 
 
 Fal. She Uves, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. She never could away with me. 
 
 Fal. Never, never : she would alwaj's say, she 
 could not abide master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. 
 She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own 
 well? 
 
 i^aZ. .Old, old, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Nay, she must be old ; she cannot choose but 
 be old ; certain she's old ; and had Robin Night-work 
 by old Night-work, before I came to Clement's Inn. 
 
 Sil. That's fifty-five year ago. 
 
 Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen 
 that that this knight and I have seen ! — Ha, sir 
 John, said I well ? 
 
 Fal. Wc have heard the chimes at midnight, 
 master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have : 
 in faith, sir John, we have ; our watch-word was. 
 Hem, hoys ! — Come, let's to dinner ; come, let's to 
 dinner: — O, the days that we have seen! — Come 
 come. \Ex. Falstaff, Shallow, and Silence 
 
 Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my 
 friend ; and here is four Hany ten shillings in 
 French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had 
 as lief be hanged, sir, as go: and yet, for mine own 
 part, sir, I do not care ; but, rather because I am 
 unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to 
 stay with my friends ; else, sir, I did not care, for 
 mine ov(ti part, so much. 
 
 Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Moul. And good master corporal captain, for my 
 old dame's sake, stand my friend : she has nobody to 
 do any thing about her, when I am gone : and she is 
 old, and cannot help herself: you shall have forty, sir. 
 
 Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Fee. By my troth, I care not ; — a man can die but 
 once ; — we owe God a death ; — I'll ne'er bear a base 
 mind ; — an't be my destiny, so ; an't be not, so : no 
 man's too good to serve his prince; and, let it go which 
 way it will, he that dies this year, is quit for the next. 
 
 Bard. Well said, thou'rt a good fellow. 
 
 Fee. Nay, I'll bear no base mind. 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff ana Justices. 
 
 Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have ? 
 
 Shal. Four, of which you please. 
 
 Bard. Sir, a word with you : — I have three pound 
 to free Mouldy and Bull-calf. 
 
 Fal. Go to ; well. 
 
 Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have? 
 
 Fal. Do you choose for me. 
 
 Shal. Marry then, — Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, 
 and Shadow. 
 
 Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf: For you. Mouldy, 
 irtay at home, still ; you are past service : am' fw 
 
A.CT IV. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 429 
 
 your part, Bull-calf, — grow till you come unto it; 
 I will none of you. 
 
 Shal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong ; 
 they are your likeliest men, and I would have you 
 served with the best. 
 
 Fal. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to 
 choose a man 1 Care I for the limb, the thewes, the 
 stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man ! Give 
 me the spirit, master Shallow. — Here's Wart ; — 
 you see what a ragged appearance it is: he shall 
 charge you, and discharge you, with the motion of 
 a pewterer's hammer ; come off, and on, swifter than 
 he that gibbcts-on the brewer's bucket. And this 
 saiT-c half-faced fellow, Shadow, — give me this 
 man ; he presents no mark to the enemy; the foe- 
 man may with as great aim level at the edge of a 
 penknife: And, for a retreat, how swiftly will this 
 Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me 
 the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put 
 me a caliver° into Wart's hand, Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse;' thus, thus, thus. 
 
 Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So: — 
 very well : — go to : — very good : — exceeding good. 
 — O, give me always a little, lean, old, chapped, 
 bald shot. — Well said, i'faith, Wart : thou art a 
 good scab : hold, there's a tester for thee. 
 
 Shal. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do 
 it right. I remember at Mile-end green, (when I 
 lay at Clement's Inn, — I was then sir Dagonet in 
 Arthur's show,') there was a little quiverfellow, and 
 a' would manage you his piece thus : and a' would 
 about and about, and come you in, and come you 
 in : rah, tah, tn.h, would 'a say; boimce would 'a 
 say ; and away again would 'a go, and again would 
 'a come : — I shall never see such a fellow. 
 
 Fal. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. 
 
 -God keep you, master Silence ; I will not use 
 
 many words with you : — Fare you well, gentlemen 
 
 both : I thank you : I must a dozen mile to-night. 
 
 — Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. 
 
 Shal. Sir John, heaven bless you and prosper 
 your affairs, and send us peace ! As you return, visit 
 
 my house; let our old acquaintance be renewed: 
 peradventure, I will with you to the court. 
 
 Fal. I would you would, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Go to ; I have spoke at a word. Fare you 
 well. [^Exeunt Shallow and Silence. 
 
 Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar- 
 dolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardolph, 
 Recruits, <^c.] As I return, I will fetch off these 
 justices: I do see the bottom of justice Shallow 
 Lord, lord, how subject we old men are to this vice 
 of lying ! This same starved justice hath done noth- 
 ing but prate to me of the wildncss of his youth, 
 and the feats he hath done about Tumbull-street ;* 
 and every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer 
 than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at 
 Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of 
 a cheese-paring : when he was naked, he was, for 
 all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fan- 
 tastically carved upon it with a knife : he was so 
 forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were 
 invisible : he was the very Genius of famine ; yet 
 lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called him 
 — mandrake : he came ever in the rereward of the 
 fashion, and sung those tunes to the over-scutched 
 huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, and 
 sware — they were his fancies, or his good-nights." 
 And now is this Vice's dagger' become a squire ; 
 and talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he 
 had been sworn brother to him : and I'll be sworn 
 he never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard ; and 
 then he burst his head, for crowding among the 
 marshal's men. I saw it ; and told John of Gaunt, 
 he beat his own name:* for you might have truss'd 
 him, and all his apparel, into an eel-skin •. the case 
 of a treble haut-boy was a mansion for him, a court ; 
 and now has he land and beeves. Well ; I will be 
 acquainted with him, if I return: and it shall go 
 hard, but I will make him a philosopher's two stones 
 to me : If the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I 
 see no reason, in the law of nature, but I may 
 snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE \.—A Forest in Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbiiat, 
 Hastings, and others. 
 
 Arch. What is this forest call'd 1 
 
 Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your 
 grace. 
 
 Arch. Here stand, my lord, and send discoverers 
 forth, 
 T") knaw the numbers of our enemies. 
 
 Hast. We have sent forth already. 
 
 Arch- 'Tis well done. 
 
 .My frie:..ds and brethren in these great affairs, 
 [ must acquaint you that I have receiv'd 
 New-dated letters from Northumberland ; 
 Their cold intent, tenor, and substance thus: 
 Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 
 As might hold sortancc' witii his quality. 
 The which he could not levy ; whereupon 
 He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes. 
 To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers, 
 That your attempts may overlive the hazard. 
 And fearful meeting of their opposite. 
 
 • Musket. 
 
 • An exhibition of archers. 
 
 ' March. 
 
 • Be suitable. 
 
 Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch 
 ground. 
 And dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Hast. Now, what news ! 
 
 Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile. 
 In goodly form comes on the enemy: 
 And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number 
 Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. 
 
 Motvb. The just proportion that we gave them out 
 Let us sway on, and face them in the field. 
 
 Enter Westmorelaxh. 
 
 Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us hcrel 
 
 3roivb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 West. Health and fair greeting from our general, 
 The prince, lord John, and duke of Lancaster. 
 
 Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace. 
 What doth concern your coming 1 
 
 West. Then, my lord. 
 
 Unto your grace do I in chief address 
 
 The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
 
 Came like itself, in base and abject routs, 
 
 Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage, 
 
 > lu Clcrkcnwell. » Titles of little poems. 
 
 » A wooden dagger like that used by the modern harl« 
 quia, « Qaunt is thin, slender, 
 
130 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 And countenanced by beys and beggary ; 
 
 I say, if vile commotion so appear'd, 
 
 In his true, native, and most proper shape, 
 
 Vou, reverend father, and these noble lords. 
 
 Had not been here, to dress the ugly form 
 
 Of base and bloody insurrection 
 
 Wit.i your fair honors. You, lord archbishop, — 
 
 Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd; 
 
 Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd; 
 
 Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutoi'd ; 
 
 Whose white investments figure innocence, 
 
 The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, — 
 
 Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself. 
 
 Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace. 
 
 Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war 1 
 
 Turning your books to gi-aves, your ink to blood, 
 
 Your pens to lances; and your tongue divine 
 
 To a loud trumpet, and a point of warl 
 
 Arch. Wherefore do I this ] so the question stands. 
 Briefly to this end: — We arc all diseased; 
 And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours, 
 Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, 
 And we must bleed for it: of which disease 
 Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
 But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland, 
 I take not on me here as a physician ; 
 Nor do I, as an enemy to peace. 
 Troop in the throngs of military men ; 
 But, rather, show a while like fearful war, 
 To diet rank minds, sick of happiness; 
 And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop 
 Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
 I have in equal balance justly weigh'd 
 What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we 
 
 suflfer. 
 And find our griefs'" heavier than our offences. 
 We see which way the stream of time doth run. 
 And are enforced from our most quiet sphere 
 By the rough torrent of occasion : 
 And have the summary of all our griefs, 
 When time shall serve, to show in articles: 
 Which, long ere this, we offer'd to the king, 
 And might by no suit gain our audience : 
 When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs. 
 We are denied access unto his person 
 Even by those men that most have dojie us wrong. 
 The dangers of the days but newly gone, 
 (Whose memory is written on the earth 
 With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples 
 Of every minute's instance, (present now,) 
 Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms: 
 Not to break peace, or any branch of it ; 
 But to estabhsli here a peace indeed, 
 Concurring both in name and quality. 
 
 West. When ever yet was your appeal denied 1 
 Wherein have you been galled by the king 1 
 What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you ] 
 That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
 Of forged rebellion with a seal divine. 
 And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? 
 
 Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth 
 To brother born a household cruelty, 
 I make my quarrel in particular. 
 
 West. There is no need of any such redress ; 
 Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. 
 
 Mowb. Why not to him, in part; and to us all. 
 That feel the bruises of the days before ; 
 And suffer the condition of these times, 
 To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
 
 Upon our honors 1 
 
 '' GrieTances. 
 
 West. O my good lord Mowbray, 
 
 Construe the times to their necessities, 
 And you shall say indeed, — it is the time. 
 And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
 Yet, for your part, it not appears to me. 
 Either from the king, or in the present time. 
 That you should have an inch of any ground 
 To build a grief on ; Were you not restor'd 
 To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories, 
 Your noble and right-well remembered father's 1 
 
 Mowb. What thing, in honor, had my father lost 
 That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in mel 
 The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, 
 Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him : 
 And then, when Harry Bolingbroke and he, — 
 Being mounted, and both roused in their seats. 
 Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, 
 Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, 
 Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, 
 And the loud trumpet blowing them together; 
 Then, then, when there was nothing could have 
 
 staid 
 My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
 O, when the king did throw his warder' down. 
 His own life hung upon the staff he threw: 
 Then threw he down himself; and all their lives. 
 That by indictment, and by dint of sword. 
 Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 
 
 West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know 
 not what : 
 The earl of Hereford was reputed then 
 In England the most valiant gentleman ; 
 Who knows, on whom fortune would then have 
 
 smiled? 
 But if your father had been victor there. 
 He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry : 
 For all the country, in a general voice. 
 Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers, and love, 
 Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on. 
 And bless'd and graced indeed, more than the king. 
 But this is mere digression from my purpose. — 
 Here come I from our princely general, 
 To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace, 
 That he will give you audience • and wherein 
 It thall appear that your demands are just. 
 You shall enjoy them ; every thing set off. 
 That might so much as think you enemies. 
 
 Mowb. But he hath forced us to compel this offer; 
 And it proceeds from policy, not love. 
 
 West. Mowbray, you overween," to take it so ; 
 This offer comes from mercy, not from fear: 
 For, lo! within a ken,' our army lies: 
 Upon mine honor, all too confident 
 To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
 Our battle is more full of names than yours, 
 Our men more perfect in the use of arms. 
 Our armor all as strong, our cause the best; 
 Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good:— 
 Say you not then, our offer is compell'd. 
 
 Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley 
 West. That argues but the shame of your offence ; 
 A rotten case abides no handling. 
 
 Hast, Hath the prince John a full commission, 
 In very ample virtue of his father. 
 To hear, and absolutely to determine 
 Of what conditions we shall stand upon! 
 
 West. That is intended^ in the general's nam« 
 I muse,' you make so slight a question. 
 
 • Truncheon. 
 » Sight. 
 
 "Understood. 
 
 » Think too highly. 
 ' Wonder. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 431 
 
 Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this 
 schedule ; 
 For this contains our general grievances : — 
 Each several article herein redress'd ; 
 All members of our cause, both here and hence, 
 That are insincvv'd to this action, 
 Acquitted by a true substantial form; 
 And present execution of our wills 
 To us, and to our purposes consign'd; 
 We come within our awful banks again. 
 And knit our powers to the arms of peace. 
 
 West. Tliis will I show the general. Please you, 
 lords, 
 In sight of both our battles we may meet: 
 And either end in peace, which heaven so frame! 
 Or to the place of dilfercnce call the swords 
 Which must decide it. 
 
 Arch. My lord, we will do so. [^Exit West. 
 
 Mowb. There is a tiling within my bosom, tells me 
 That no conditions of our peace can stand. 
 
 Hast. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace 
 Upon such large terms, and so absolute. 
 As our conditions shall consist upon. 
 Our peace shall stand as iirm as rocky mountains. 
 
 Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such. 
 That every slight and false-derived cause. 
 Yea, every idle, nice,' and wanton reason. 
 Shall, to the king, taste of this action: 
 That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love. 
 We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind. 
 That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff. 
 And good from bad fmd no partition. 
 
 Arch. No, no, my lord; Note this, — the king 
 is weary 
 Of dainty and such picking' grievances: 
 For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death. 
 Revives two greater in the heirs of life. 
 And therefore will he wipe his tables'' clean; 
 And keep no tell-tale to his memory, 
 That may repeat and history his loss 
 To new remembrance: For full well he knows. 
 He cannot so precisely weed this land, 
 As his misdoubts present occasion: 
 His foes are so enrooted with his friends. 
 That, plucking to unfix an enemy. 
 He doth untasten so, and shake a friend. 
 So that this land, like an olfensive wife, 
 That hath enraged him on to ofler strokes ; 
 As he is striking, holds his infant up. 
 And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm 
 That was uprcar'd to execution. 
 
 Hast. Besides the king hath wasted all his rods 
 On late otll'uders, that he now doth lack 
 The very instruments of chastisement: 
 So that his power, like to a fangless lion. 
 May offer, but not hold. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis very true ; — 
 
 And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal, 
 If we do now make our atonement well, 
 Our peace will, like a broken limb united, 
 Grow stronger for the breaking. 
 
 Muwh. Be it so. 
 
 Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 Re-enter WESTMoiiELAxn. 
 
 West. The prince is here at hand : Pleaseth your 
 
 lordship, 
 
 Vo meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies 7 
 
 « Tririnl. t Insignificant. 
 
 • liook for memorandunu. 
 
 Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name then 
 
 set forward. 
 Arch. Before, and greet his grace: — my lord, we 
 
 come. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter, from one side, Mowbhat, the Arch« 
 BISHOP, Hastixrs, and others: from the othef 
 side, Pktxce John of Lancaster, Westmoue* 
 LAxi), OlBcers, and Attendants. 
 
 P. John. You are well cncounter'd here, my 
 cousin Mowbray : — 
 Gooddaj' to you, gentle lord archbishop; — 
 And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. — 
 My lord of York, it better show'd with you. 
 When that your flock, assembled by the bell, 
 Encircled you to hear with reverence 
 Your exposition on the holy text ; 
 Than now to see you here an iron man. 
 Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum. 
 Turning the word to sword, and life to death. 
 That man that sits within a monarch's heart, 
 And ripens in the sunshine of his favor. 
 Would he abuse the countenance of the king, 
 Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach. 
 In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishoji, 
 It is even so : — Who hath not heard it spoken, 
 How deep you were within the books of God '' 
 To us, the speaker in his parliament; 
 To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself ; 
 The very opener and intelligencer. 
 Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven 
 And our dull workings : O, who shall believe, 
 But you misuse the reverence of your place; 
 Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, 
 Asa false favorite doth his prince's name. 
 In deeds dishonorable ? You have taken up, 
 Under the counterfeited zeal of God, 
 The subjects of his substitute, my father ; 
 And, both against the peace of heaven, and him, 
 Have here up-swarm'd them. 
 
 Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster 
 
 I am not here against your father's peace : 
 But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, 
 The time misorder'd doth, in common sense. 
 Crowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form, 
 To hold our safety up. I sent your grace 
 The parcels and particulars of our grief; 
 The which hath been with scorn shov'd from th« 
 
 court. 
 Whereon Hydra son son of war is born : 
 Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep, 
 With grant of our most just and right desires; 
 And true obedience of this madness cured, 
 Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 
 
 Moiub. If not, we ready are to try our fortunea 
 To the last man. 
 
 H(i,st. And though we here fall down, 
 
 We have supplies to second our attempt; 
 If they miscarry, theirs shall second them: 
 And so, success' of mischief shall be born ; 
 And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up. 
 Whiles England shall have generation. 
 
 P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much 
 too shallow. 
 To sound the bottom of the after-times. 
 
 West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directlf 
 How far-forth you do lilce their articles 1 
 ^ SuocesHlon. 
 
132 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 P. John. I like them all, and do allow' them well: 
 And swear here by the honor of my blood, 
 My lather's purposes have been mistook; 
 And some about him have too lavishly 
 Wrested his meaning and authority. — 
 My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd ; 
 Upon my soul they shall. If this may please you, 
 Discharge your powers unto their several counties, 
 As we will ours: and here, between the armies 
 Let's drink together friendly, and embrace ; 
 That all their eyes may bear those tokens home, 
 Of our restored love, and amity. 
 
 Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses. 
 
 P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my word; 
 And thereupon I drink unto your grace. 
 
 Hast. Go, captain, [^To an Officer^ and deliver 
 to the army 
 This news of peace; let them hav£ pay, and part: 
 [ know it will well please them ; Hie thee, captain. 
 
 lExH Officer. 
 
 Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 West. I pledge your grace : And, if you knew 
 what pains 
 I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace, 
 You would drink freely: but my love to you 
 Bhall show itself more openly hereafter. 
 
 Arch. I do not doubt you. 
 
 West. I am glad of it : — 
 
 Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. 
 
 Mowh. You wish me health in very happy season; 
 For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 
 
 Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry ; 
 But heaviness foreruns the good event. 
 
 West. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden 
 sorrow 
 Serves to say thus, — some good thing comes to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 
 
 Mowh. So much the worse, if your own rule be 
 true. [^Shouts ivitkin. 
 
 P. John. The word of peace is render'd; Hark, 
 how they shout! 
 
 Moiub, This had been cheerful after victory. 
 
 Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest ; 
 For then both parties nobly are subdued, 
 And neither party loser. 
 
 P. John. Go, my lord, 
 
 And let our army be discharged too. — 
 
 [Exit Westmoreland. 
 And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains 
 March by us ; that we may peruse the men 
 We should have cop'd withal. 
 
 Arch. Go, good lord Hastings, 
 
 Aul, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. 
 
 [^Exit Hastings. 
 
 P, John. I trust, my lord, we shall lie to-night 
 together. — 
 
 Re-enter WESTJiouELAifD. 
 
 iVow, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ] 
 West. The leaders, having charge from you to 
 stand, 
 
 Will not go off until they hear you speak. 
 P. John. They know their duties. 
 
 Re-enter Hastings. 
 
 Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already : 
 
 Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses 
 
 East, west, north, south ; or, like a school broke up. 
 
 Each hurries towards his home, and sporting-place. 
 
 • Approve, 
 
 West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; forth! 
 which 
 I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason ; — - 
 And you, lord archbishop, — and you, lord Mowbraj 
 Of capital treason I attach you both. 
 
 Mowh. Is this proceeding just and honorable! 
 
 West. Is your assembly so? 
 
 Arch. Will you thus break your faith? 
 
 P. John. I pawn'd thee none. 
 
 I promis'd you redress of these same grievance^ 
 Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine honor, 
 I will perform with a most Christian care. 
 But, for you, rebels, — look to taste the due 
 Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. 
 Most shallowly did 3'ou these arms commence, 
 Fondly' brought here, and foolishly sent hence. — 
 Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray; 
 Heaven, and not we, have safely fought to-day. — ■ 
 Some guard these traitors to the block of death, 
 Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE m.— Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Alarians: Exctirsiotis: Enter Falstaff and 
 CoLEviLE, Tueeting. 
 
 Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condl 
 tion are you ; and of what place, I pray ? 
 
 Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is — 
 Colevile of the dale. 
 
 Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name; a knight 
 is your degree ; and your place, the dale : Colevile 
 shall still be your name, — a traitor your degree , 
 and the dungeon your place, — a place deep enough . 
 so shall you still be Colevile of the dale. 
 
 Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? 
 
 Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. 
 Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I do 
 sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep 
 for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, 
 and do observance to my mercy. 
 
 Cole. I think you are sir John Falstaff: and, in 
 that thought, yield me. 
 
 Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this 
 belly of mine ; and not a tongue of them all speaks 
 any other word but my liame. An I had but a belly 
 of any indifferency, I were simply the most active 
 fellow in Europe : My womb, my womb, my womb, 
 undoes me. — Here comes our general. 
 
 Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland 
 and others. 
 
 P. John. The heat is past, follow no further now; — 
 Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.— 
 
 [Exit Westmoreland. 
 Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? 
 When every thing is ended, then you come : 
 These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life. 
 One time or other break some gallows' back. 
 
 Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should 
 be thus; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was 
 the reward of valor. Do you think me a swallow, 
 an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old 
 motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded 
 hither with the very extrcmest inch of possibility 
 I have foundered nine-score and odd posts; and 
 here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and 
 immaculate valor, taken sir John Colevile of the 
 dale, a most furious knight and valorous enemy 
 » Foolishly- 
 

 Scene [V, 
 
 KING HENRY IV 
 
 483 
 
 But what of that? he faw me, and yielded; that I 
 may justly say with the hoolied-nose fellow of Rome,' 
 — I came, saw, and overcame. 
 
 P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your 
 ieserving. 
 
 Fal. I know not ; here he is, and here I yield 
 aim : and I beseech your grace let it be booked 
 with the rest of this day's deeds ; or, by the Lord, 
 I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine 
 own picture :>n the top of it, Coleville kissing my 
 foot : To the which course, if I be enforced, if you 
 do not all show like gilt two-pences to mc ; and I, 
 in the clear sky of fame, o'crshining you as much 
 as the full moon doth the cinders of the clement, 
 which shewr like pins' heads to her ; believe not the 
 word of the noble : Therefore let me have right, 
 and let desert mount. 
 
 P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount. 
 
 Fal. Let it shine then. 
 
 P. John. Thine's too thick to shine. 
 
 Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may 
 .10 me good, and call it what you will. 
 
 P. John. Is thy name Colevilel 
 
 Cole. It is, my lord. 
 
 P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 
 
 Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 
 
 Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are. 
 That led me hither: had they been ruled by me. 
 You should have won them dearer than you have. 
 
 Fal. I know not how they sold themselves : but 
 fhou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away ; and 
 I thank thee for thee. 
 
 Re-enter WESTMORELAjrr. 
 
 P.John. Now, have you left pursuit] 
 
 Weft. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. 
 
 P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates, 
 To York, to present execution : 
 Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you guard him sure. 
 [Exeunt some with Colevile. 
 And now despatch we toward the court, my lords; 
 I hear, the king my father is sore sick : 
 Our news sliall go before us to his majesty, — 
 Which, cousin, you shall bear, — to comfort him ; 
 And we with sober specil will follow you. 
 
 Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go 
 through GlostcrsLire ; and, when you come to court, 
 stand my good lord, 'pray, in your good report. 
 
 P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my con- 
 dition," 
 Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [jBxiV. 
 
 Fal. I would, you had but the wit: 'twere better 
 than your dukedom. — Good faith, this same young 
 sober-blooded boy doth not love me ; nor a man 
 cannot make him laugh ; but that's no marvel, he 
 drinks no wine. There's never any of these de- 
 mure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth so 
 over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, 
 that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness ; and 
 then, when they marry, they get wenches : they are 
 generally fools and cowards ; — which some of us 
 ehould be too, but for inflammation. A good sher- 
 ris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends 
 me into the brain ; dries me there all the foolish, 
 and dull, and crudy vapors which environ it: makes 
 it apprehensive, quick, forgctive,' full of nimble, 
 fierj', and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er 
 lo tlic voice, (the tongue,) which is the birth, bc- 
 
 ' Julius Ca-sar. 
 
 • In my prcseut temper. 
 » InventiTe. 
 
 comes excellent wit. The second property ofyoui 
 excellent sherris is, — the wanning of the blood, 
 which, before cold and settled, left the liver white 
 and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and 
 cowardice : but the shen-is warms it, and makes it 
 course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It 
 illumineth the face ; which, as a beacon, gives 
 warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, 
 to arm ; and then the vital commoners, and inland 
 petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the 
 lieart; who, great, and puflcd up with this retinue, 
 loth any deed of courage : and this valor comes of 
 .■^herris: So that skill in the weapon is nothing, 
 without sack: for that sets it a-work: and learn- 
 ing, a mere hoard of gold, kept by a devil ; till sack 
 commences it,* and sets it in act and use. Hereof 
 comes it, that prince Harry is valiant : for the 
 cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he 
 hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, manured, hus« 
 banded, and tilled, with excellent endeavor of 
 drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris; 
 that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had 
 a thousand sons, the first human principle I would 
 teach them should be, — to forswear thin potationsi 
 and addict themselves to sack. 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 How now, Bardolph 1 
 
 Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone, 
 Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire ; 
 and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, es- 
 quire ; I have him already tempering between my 
 finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with 
 him.' Come away. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Westminster. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter King Hexiit, Clauence, Prince Hum- 
 phrey, Waravick, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give success* 
 ful end 
 To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, 
 We will our youth lead on to higher fields. 
 And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
 Our navy is address'd," our power collected, 
 Our substitutes in absence well invested, 
 And ever}' thing lies level to our wish: 
 Only, we want a little personal strength ; 
 And pause us, till these rebels now afoot, 
 Come underneath the yoke of government. 
 
 War. Both which we doubt not but your majesty 
 Shall soon enjoy. 
 
 K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Glostcr, 
 
 Where is the prince your brother I 
 
 P. Humph. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, 
 
 at Windsor. 
 K. Hen. And how accompanied? 
 P. Humph. I do not know, my lord. 
 
 K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, 
 
 with him 1 
 P. Humph. No, my good lord, he is in presence 
 
 here. 
 Cla. What would my lord and father? 
 K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of 
 Clarence. 
 How chance, thou art not with the prince, thj 
 
 brother ? 
 He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas 
 
 * Brings it into action. 
 
 » An allusion to the old use of scaling with soft wax 
 
 • Ki'ady, prepared. 
 
<34 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Thou hast a heUer place in his affection, 
 
 Than all thy brothers ; cherish it, mj' boy ; 
 
 And nolle olfices thou mayst effect 
 
 Of mediation, after I am dead, 
 
 Between his greatness and thy other brethren : — 
 
 Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love: 
 
 Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, 
 
 By seeming cold, or careless of his will, 
 
 For he is gracious, if he be observ'd ;' 
 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 
 Open as day for melting charity : 
 
 Y«t notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint ; 
 
 As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 
 His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd: 
 
 Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
 
 When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth : 
 
 But, being moody, give him line and scope; 
 
 Till that his passions, like a whale on ground. 
 
 Confound themselves with working. Learn this, 
 
 Thomas, 
 And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends ; 
 A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in ; 
 That the united vessel of their blood. 
 Mingled with venom of suggestion, 
 (As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,) 
 Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 
 As aconitum,^ or rash gunpowder. 
 
 Clu. I shall observe him with all care and love. 
 K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, 
 
 Thomas 1 
 Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in London. 
 K. Hen. And how accompanied 1 canst thou tell 
 
 that? 
 C/a.With Poins, and otherhis continual followers. 
 K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds ; 
 And he, the noble image of my youth, 
 Is overspread with them : Therefore my gi-ief 
 Stretches itself beyond the hour of death; 
 The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape. 
 In forms imaginary, the unguided days, 
 And rotten times, that you shall look upon 
 When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
 For when his headstrong riot hath no curb. 
 When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, 
 When means and lavish manners meet together, 
 0, with what wings shall his affections fly 
 Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! 
 
 War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: 
 The prince but studies his companions, 
 Like a strange tongue: wherein, to gain the language, 
 'Tis needful that the most immodest word 
 Be look'd upon, and learned : which once attain'd, 
 Vour highness knows, comes to no further use, 
 But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms. 
 The prince will, in the perfectness of time. 
 Cast off his followers : and their memory 
 Shall as a pattern or a measure live, 
 By which his grace must mete the lives of others ; 
 Turning past evils to advantages. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave 
 her comb 
 fn the dead carrion. — Who's herel Westmoreland 1 
 
 Enter Westmoreland. 
 
 West. Health to my sovereign! and new happiness 
 Added to that that I am to deliver! 
 Prince J Dhn, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand : 
 
 ' Has attention shown him. 
 » Wolf's bane, a poisonous herb. 
 
 Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all- 
 Are brought to the correction of your law; 
 There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed, 
 But peace puts forth her olive every where. 
 The manner how this action hath been borne. 
 Here at more leisure may your highness read ; 
 With every course, in this particular.' 
 
 K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer- 
 bird, 
 Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
 The lifting up of day. Look! here's more news. 
 
 Enter Harcourt. 
 
 Har. From enemies heaven keer >c/ur majesty; 
 And when they stand against you, may they fall 
 As those that I am come to tell you of! 
 The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, 
 With a great power of English, and of Scots, 
 Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : 
 The manner and true order of the fight, 
 This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
 
 K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news 
 make me sick 1 
 Will fortune never come with both hands full, 
 But write her fair words still in foulest letters' 
 She either gives a stomach, and no foo*,- 
 Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast. 
 And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich. 
 That have abundance, and enjoy it not. 
 I should rejoice now at this happy news ; 
 And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy • 
 O me ! come near me, now I am much ill. \^Sv)Oons 
 
 P. Humph, Comfort, your majesty ! 
 
 Cla. O, my royal father! 
 
 West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look 
 up! 
 
 War. Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits 
 Are with his highness very ordinary. 
 Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well. 
 
 Cla. No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs; 
 The incessant care and labor of his mind 
 Hath wrought the mure," that should confine it in, 
 So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. 
 
 P. Humph. The people fear me;' for they do 
 observe 
 Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature; 
 The seasons change their manners, as the year 
 Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them 
 over. 
 
 Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between : 
 And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
 Say, it did so, a little time before 
 That our great grandsirc, Edward, sick'd and died. 
 
 War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 
 
 P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end. 
 
 K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence 
 Into some other chamber: softly, 'pray. 
 
 [They convey the Kinr into an inner part 
 of the room, and place him on a bed. 
 Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; 
 Unless some dull' and favorable hand 
 Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
 
 War. Call for the music in the other room. 
 
 K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow hero 
 
 Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 
 
 War. Less noise, less noise. 
 
 ' The detail contained in prince John's letter. 
 > Wall. " Make me afraid. 
 
 » An historical fact, on Oct. 12, 1411. 
 ♦ Melancholy, soothing. 
 
S^ENE IV , 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 Enter Puimce Henrt. 
 
 F. IL-n. Who saw the iluke of Clarence 1 
 
 eta. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
 /*. Hen. How now ! ram within doors, and none 
 abroad ! 
 How doth the kingl 
 
 P. Humph. Exceeding ill. 
 P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet"! 
 
 Tell it him. 
 
 P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 
 P. Hen. If he be sick 
 With joy, he will recover without physic. 
 
 War. Not so much noise, my lords : — sweet 
 prince, speak low ; 
 The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 
 Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. 
 War. Will't please your grace to go along with usT 
 P. Hen. No; I will sit and watch here by the 
 king. [Exeunt all but P. Henry. 
 
 AVhy doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, 
 IJeiiig so troublesome a bedfellow'! 
 () polish'd perturbation! golden care! 
 That kccp'st the ports' of slumber open wide 
 To many a watchful night! — sleep with it now! 
 Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, 
 As he, whose brow, with homely biggin" bound, 
 Snores out the watch of night. majesty! 
 When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
 Like a rich armor worn in heat of day, 
 'i'hat scalds with safety. By his gates of breath 
 There lies a downy feather, which stirs not: 
 Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
 Perforce must move. — My gracious lord! my 
 
 father!— 
 This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep 
 That from this golden rigor hath divorc'd 
 So many English kings. Thy due, from me, 
 Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood ; 
 Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
 Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously ; 
 My due, from thee, is this imperial crown ; 
 Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, 
 Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, — 
 
 [Putting it on his head. 
 Which heaven shall guard : And put the world's 
 
 whole strength 
 Into one giant arm, it shall not force 
 This lineal honor from me : This from thee 
 Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. Warwick ! Gloster ! Clarence ! 
 
 43( 
 
 hath ta'en it hence :- -g<\ 
 
 Re-enter Warwick, aiid the rest. 
 Cla. Doth the king call 1 
 
 War. 
 
 • 1 How fares 
 
 What would your majesty! 
 your grace? 
 K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my 
 
 lords! 
 Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege, 
 V\ ho undertook to sit and watch by you. 
 
 A". Hen. The prince of Wales'! Where is he? 
 let me see him : 
 tie is not here. 
 
 War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 
 P. Humph. He came not through the chamber 
 
 where we stay'd. 
 K. Hen. Where is the crown? who took it from 
 
 my pillow? 
 ti'flr. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. 
 
 K. Hen. The prince 
 
 seek him out; 
 Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose 
 
 My sleep my death? 
 
 Find him, my lord of Warwick ; chide him hither 
 
 [Exit Warwick 
 This part of his conjoins with my disease. 
 And helps to end me. — See, sons, what things you 
 
 are! 
 How quickly nature falls into revolt. 
 When gold becomes her object! 
 For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
 Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their braina 
 
 with care, 
 Their bones with industry; 
 For this they have engrossed and piled up 
 The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ; 
 For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
 Their sons with arts, and martial exercises: 
 When, like the bee, tolling' from every flower 
 The virtuous sweets; 
 Our thighs packed with wax, our mouths with 
 
 honey. 
 We bring it to the hive; and, like the bees, 
 Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste 
 Yield his engrossments' to the ending father. — 
 
 Re-enter Warwick. 
 Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
 Till his friend sickness hath dctermhi'd' me? 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, 
 Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks; 
 With such a deep demeanor in great sorrow. 
 That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, 
 Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
 With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
 
 K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the 
 crown ? 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry. 
 
 Lo, where he comes. — Come hither to me, Harry:- 
 Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 
 
 [Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey, 
 Lords, SfC. 
 
 P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 
 
 K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that 
 thought : 
 I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
 Dost thou so hunger for my em])ty chair. 
 That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honor* 
 Before thy hour be ripe ? foolish youth ! 
 Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee 
 Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity 
 Is lield from falling with so weak a wind. 
 That it will quickly drop: my day is dim. 
 Thou hast stolen that, which, after some few hears 
 Were thine without offence; and, at my death, 
 Thou hast seal'd up my expectation:^ 
 Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not. 
 And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. 
 Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thougtils. 
 Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart. 
 To stab at half an hour of my life. 
 What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour? 
 Then get thee gone ; and dig my grave thyself; 
 And bid the merry bel's ring to thine ear. 
 That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
 Let all the tears that should bedew my hoarse. 
 
 • Gates 
 
 • Cap. 
 
 ' Circle. 
 
 • Taking toll. 
 « Euded. 
 
 » Arpuniulations. 
 
 1 Confirmed my opIsMtL 
 
436 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Be d ops of balm, to sanctify thy head: 
 Only compound me with begotten dust; 
 Give that, which gave thee Hfe, unto the worms, 
 Pluclt down my officers, break my decrees; 
 For now a time is come to mock at form, 
 Han-y tlie Fifth is crown'd :— Up, vanity! 
 Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence ! 
 And to the English court assemble now, 
 From every region, apes of idleness! 
 Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum : 
 Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, 
 Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit 
 The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ] 
 Be happy, he will trouble you no more: 
 England shall double gild his treble guilt; 
 England shall give him office, honor, might: 
 For the fifth Harry fi-om curb'd license plucks 
 The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
 Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
 
 my poor kingdom, sick with civil blovi's ! 
 When that my care could not withhold thy riots. 
 What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care 1 
 
 0, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
 
 P. Hen. O pardon me, my liege ! but for my 
 tears, [Kneeling. 
 
 The moist impediments unto my speech, 
 
 1 had forcstall'd this dear and deep rebuke, 
 Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard 
 The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
 And He that wears the crown immortally, 
 Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more, 
 Than as your honor, and as your renown, 
 Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
 (Which my most true and inward duteous spirit 
 Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending! 
 Heaven witness with me, when I here came in. 
 And found no course of breath within your majesty. 
 How cold it struck my heart ! if I do feign, 
 
 0, let me in my present wildness die ; 
 
 And never live to show the incredulous world 
 
 The noble change that I have purposed ! 
 
 Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 
 
 (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) 
 
 I spake unto the crown, as having sense. 
 
 And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending, 
 
 Hath fed upon the body of my father; 
 
 Therefore, thou, best of gold, art ivorst of gold, 
 
 Other, less fine in carat, ^ is more precious, 
 
 Preserving life in med'cine potable: 
 
 But thou, most fine, 7nost honor'' d, most renowned. 
 
 Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal 
 
 liege, 
 Accusing it, I put it on my head ; 
 To try with it, — as with an enemy, 
 Thi's had before my face murder'd my father, — 
 The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
 But if it did infect my blood with joy, 
 Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; 
 If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
 Did, with the least affection of a welcome, 
 Give entertainment to the might of it, 
 Let God for ever keep it from my head ! 
 And make me as the poorest vassal is, 
 That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 
 
 K. Hen. my son ! 
 Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence. 
 That thou mightst win the more thy father's love, 
 pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
 
 » A term used in describing the fineness of gold. 
 
 Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed, 
 
 And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
 
 That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my soi. 
 
 By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd v.'ays, 
 
 I met this crown; and I myself know well. 
 
 How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
 
 To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
 
 Better opinion, better confirmation : 
 
 For all the soil of the achievement goes 
 
 With me into the earth. It seem'd in me, 
 
 But as an honor snatch'd v^ith boisterous hand; 
 
 And I had many living, to upbraid 
 
 My gain of it by their assistance ; 
 
 Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed. 
 
 Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears, 
 
 Thou seest, with peril I have answcr'd : 
 
 For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
 
 Acting that argument ; and now my death 
 
 Changes the mode : for what in me was purchas'd, 
 
 Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; 
 
 So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
 
 Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do. 
 
 Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; 
 
 And all thy friends, which thou must make thj 
 
 friends. 
 Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; 
 By whose fell working I was first advanced, 
 And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
 To be again displaced : which to avoid 
 I cut them off; and had a purpose now 
 To lead out many to the Holy Land ; 
 Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 
 Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 
 Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds 
 With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out. 
 May waste the memory of the former days. 
 More would I, but my lungs are wasted so. 
 That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
 How I came by the crown, God, forgive! 
 And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 
 
 P. Hen. My gracious liege, 
 You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
 Then plain, and right, must ii.- •^o<<session be: 
 Which I, with more than with a common pain, 
 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 
 
 Enter Prince John o/" Lancaster, Waiiwick, 
 Lords, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of 
 Lancaster. 
 
 P. John. Health, peace, and happiness to my 
 royal father! 
 
 K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, 
 son John ; 
 But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
 From this bare, wither'd trunk ; upon thy sight. 
 
 My worldly business makes a period. 
 
 Where is my lord of Warwick 1 
 
 P. Hen. My lord of Warwick! 
 
 K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong 
 Unto the lodging where I first did swoon ? 
 
 War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 
 
 K. He7i. Laud be to God ! — even there my life 
 must end. 
 It hath been prophesied to me many years, 
 I should not die but in Jerusalem ; 
 Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land : — 
 But, bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; 
 In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. ^Exeunt 
 
 * Purchase, in Shakspeare, frequently means siokn goods 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 437 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I. — Gloucestershire. A Hall in Shal- 
 low's House, 
 tenter Shallow, Falstaff, Baudolph, and Page. 
 
 Shal. By cock and pic, sir, you shall not away 
 to-nisfht. What, Davy, I say ! 
 
 Fat. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow. 
 
 Shul. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be ex- 
 cused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; there is no 
 excuse shall serve ; you shall not be excused.— 
 Why, Davy ! 
 
 Enter Davy. 
 
 Davy. Here, sir. 
 
 Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy,— let me see, Davy; 
 let me see :— yea, marry, William cook, bid hmi 
 come hither.— Sir John, you shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Marry, sir, thus;— those precepts" cannot 
 be served : and", again, sir,— Shall we sow the head- 
 land with wheat ? 
 
 Shut. With red wheat, Davy. But tor W ilham 
 cook ; Are there no young pigeons ? 
 
 Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith s 
 
 note, for shoeing and plough-irons. 
 
 Shal. Let it be cast,' and paid :— sir John, you 
 shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must 
 needs be had.— And, sir, do you mean to stop any 
 of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other 
 day at Hinckley fair 1 
 
 Shal. He shall answer it :— Some pigeons, Davy; 
 a couple of short-legged hens; a jointof mutton; and 
 any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. 
 Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir! 
 Shal Yes, Davy, I will use him well ; A friend 
 i'the court is better than a penny in purse. Use 
 his men well, Davy ; for they are arrant knaves, 
 and will backbite. 
 
 Davij. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir; 
 for they have mars'ellous foul linen. 
 
 Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy busi- 
 ness, Davy. 
 
 Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William 
 
 Visor of Wincot, against Clement Pcrkes of the hill. 
 
 Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against 
 
 that Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my 
 
 knowledge. 
 
 Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, 
 sir: but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should 
 have some countenance at his friend's request. An 
 honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a 
 knave is not. I have served your worship truly, sir, 
 this eight years; and if I cannot once or twice in a 
 quarter bear out a knave against an honest man, 
 I have but a very little credit with your worship. 
 The knave is mine honest friend, sir; therefore, I 
 beseech your worship, let him be countenanced. 
 
 Shal. Go to; I say, he shall have no wrong. 
 Look about, Davy. \_ExH Davt.] Where are yon, 
 sir John? Come, off with your boots.— Give me 
 your hand, master Bardoli)h. 
 
 Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 
 Shal. I thank thee with all my iicart, kind mas- 
 ter Bardolph:— and welcome, my tall fellow. [7); 
 the Page.] Come, sir John. \^ExH Shallow. 
 
 FaL rU follow you, good master Robert Shallow. 
 Rardolph, look to our horses. [fij;e«/j/ Bahdoli-h 
 • Warrants. 29 'Cast up. 
 
 and Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, I should 
 make four dozen of such bearded hermit's staves aa 
 master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the 
 semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his: 
 They, by observing him, do bear themselves like 
 foolish justices; he, by conversing with them, is 
 turned into a justice-like serving man; their spirits 
 arc so married in conjunction with the participation 
 of society, that they flock together in consent, liko 
 so many wild-geese. If I had a suit to master 
 Shallow, I would humor his men with the impu- 
 tation of being near their master: if to his men, 
 I would curry with master Shallow, that no man 
 could better command his servants. It is certain, 
 that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, is 
 caught as men take diseases, one of another : there- 
 fore, let men take heed of their company. I will 
 devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep 
 prince Harry in continual laughter, the wearing- 
 out of six fashions, (which is four terms, or two 
 actions,) and he shall laugh without infervallums. 
 O, it is much, that a lie, with a slight oath, and a 
 jest, with a sad brow,' will do with a fellow that 
 never had the ache in his shoulders ! O, you shall 
 see him laugh till his face be like a wet cloak ill 
 laid up. 
 
 Shal. [ Wlth'm.'] Sir John I 
 
 Fal. I come, master Shallow ; I come, master 
 Shallow. i^xit Falstait 
 
 SCENE II.— Westminster. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Warwick, and the Lonn Chief Justice. 
 
 War. How now, my lord chief Justice 1 whither 
 away 1 
 
 Ch. Just. How doth the king? 
 
 War. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended 
 
 Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 
 
 War. He's walk'd the way of nature, 
 
 And, to our purposes, he lives no more. 
 
 Ch. Just. I would his majesty had called me 
 with him: 
 The service that I truly did his life, 
 Hath left me open to all injuries. 
 
 War. Indeed,! think the young king loves you 
 not. 
 
 Ch.Just. I know he doth not; and do arm myselt, 
 To welcome the condition of the time ; 
 Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
 Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 
 
 Enter Pkinck Joux, PnixcE Humphuet, Cla- 
 HENCE, WESTMonELAND, and others. 
 
 War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry: 
 O, that the living Harry had the temper 
 Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen! 
 How many nobles then should hold their places. 
 That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! 
 
 Ch. Just. .Mas! I fear, all will be overturn d. 
 
 r. Jo/in. Good-morrow, cousin Warwick. 
 
 /'. Humph. Cla. Good-morrrow, cousin 
 
 P. John. We meet like men that had forgot t» 
 speak. 
 
 • A geriouB £m«. 
 
tas 
 
 SECOND PART CF 
 
 Act V 
 
 War. We do remember; but our argument 
 Is all too heavy to admit such talk. 
 
 P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath 
 made us heavy ! 
 
 Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier ! 
 
 P. Humph. 0, good my lord, you have lost a 
 friend indeed: 
 And I dare swear, you borrow not that face 
 Of seeming sorrow; it is, sure, your own. 
 
 P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace 
 to find. 
 You stand in coldest expectation : 
 I am the sorrier ; 'would 'twere otherwise. 
 
 Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff 
 fair; 
 Which swims against your stream of quality. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in 
 honor. 
 Led by the impartial conduct of my soul ; 
 And never shall you see, that I will beg 
 A ragged and forestall'd remission. — 
 [f truth and upright innocency fail me, 
 I'll to the king my master that is dead, 
 And tell him who hath sent me after him. 
 
 War. Here comes the prince. 
 
 Enter King Henut V. 
 
 Ch. Just. Good-morrow ; and heaven save your 
 majesty ! 
 
 King. I'his new and gorgeous garment, majesty. 
 Sits not so easy on me as you think. — ■ 
 Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear; 
 This is the English, not the Turkish court; 
 Not Amurath an Amurath' succeeds, 
 But Harry,Harry: Yet be sad, good brothers. 
 For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you ; 
 Sorrow so royally in you appears. 
 That I will deeply put the fashion on. 
 And v/ear it in my heart. Why then, be sad: 
 But entertain no more of it, good brothers. 
 Than a joint burden laid upon us all. 
 For me, by Heaven, I bid you be assur'd, 
 I'll be your father and your brother too; 
 Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. 
 Yet weep, that Harry's dead; and so will I: 
 But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears. 
 By number, into hours of happiness. 
 
 P. John, 4"C. We hope no other from your majesty. 
 
 King. You all look strangely on nie: — and you 
 most; [7b the Chief Justice. 
 
 You are, I think, assur'd, I love you not. 
 
 Ch. Just. I am assur'd, if I be mcasur'd rightly. 
 Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 
 
 King. No! 
 Hjw might a prince of my great hopes forget 
 80 great indignities you laid upon me? 
 What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
 The immediate heir of England ! Was this easy 1 
 May this be washed in Lethe and forgotten '] 
 
 Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father; 
 The image of his power lay then in me: 
 And, in the administration of his law. 
 Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth. 
 Your highness pleased to forget my place. 
 The majesty and power of law and justice. 
 The image of the king whom I presented, 
 And struck me in my very seat of judgment; 
 
 » Emperor of the Turks, died in ISOfi; his son, who sue- 
 weded him, had a" 1 his brothers strangled. 
 
 Whereon, as an offender to your father, 
 I gave bold way to my authority, 
 And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
 Be you contented, wearing now the garland. 
 To have a son set your decrees at nought ; 
 To pluck down justice from your awful bench; 
 To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword 
 That guards the peace and safety of your persoi 
 Nay, more : to spurn at your most royal image. 
 And mock your workings in a second body. 
 Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours 
 Be now the father, and propose a son : 
 Hear your own dignity so much profaned. 
 See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, 
 Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd: 
 And then imagine me taking your part. 
 And, in your power, soft silencing your son: 
 After this cold considerance, sentence m.e; 
 And, as you are a king, speak in your sidte,' 
 What I iiave done, that misbecame my place, 
 My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 
 
 King. You are right. Justice, and y( 1 weigh tnis 
 well; 
 Therefore still bear the balance and tl. sword ; 
 And I do wish your honors may increase, 
 Till you do live to see a son of mine 
 Offend you, and obey you, ac I did. 
 So shall I live to speak my father's words; — 
 Happy am I, that liave a man so bold, 
 That dares do justice on my projitr son; 
 And not less happy, having such a son, 
 That loould deliver up his greatness go 
 Into the hands of justice.— You did commit me- 
 For which I do commit into your hand 
 The unstain'd sword that you have used to bear 
 With this remembrance, — That you use the sam* 
 With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit. 
 As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand . 
 You shall be as a father to my youth : 
 My voice shall sound as you do prompt mineeari 
 And I will stoop and huinble my intents 
 
 To your well-practis'd, wise directions. 
 
 And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; — 
 My father is gone wild into his grave. 
 For in his tomb lie my affections; 
 And with his spirit sadly I survive 
 To mock the expectation of the world ; 
 To frustrate prophecies; and to raze out 
 Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
 After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 
 Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now: 
 Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea: 
 Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, 
 And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
 Now call we our high court of parliament: 
 And let us choose such limbs of noble council, 
 That the great body of our state may go 
 In equal rank with the best govern'd nation; 
 That war, or peace, or l>oth at once, may be 
 
 As things acquainted and familiar to us ; 
 
 In which you, father, shall have foremost hand 
 
 [To the Loni) Chief Justk b 
 Our coronation done, we will accite,^ 
 As I before'remcmber'd, all our state : 
 And (God consigning to my good intents) 
 No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say,- 
 Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 « In your regal character and offica. 
 
 a Summon- 
 
^CENE 111. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 4H\i 
 
 SCENE III,— Gloucest:rshire. TTie Garden of 
 
 Shallow's House. 
 Enter Falstaff, Suallow, Silence, Bardolph, 
 the Page, and Davy. 
 Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard : where, in 
 an arbor, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own 
 graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth; — 
 come, cousin Silence ; — and then to bed. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwell- 
 ing, and a rich. 
 
 Shal. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beg- 
 gars all, sir John : — marry, good air. — Spread, 
 Davy ; spread, Davy ; well said, Davy. 
 
 Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he is 
 your ser\'ing-man, and your husbandman. 
 
 Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a vciy good 
 varlet, sir John. — By the mass, I have drunk too 
 much sack at supper: — A good varlet. Now sit 
 down, now sit down; — come, cousin. 
 Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, — wc shall 
 Do nothing hut eat, and make good cheer, 
 
 [Singing. 
 And praise heaven for the merry year; 
 When flesh is cheap and females dear. 
 And lusty lads roam here and there. 
 So merrily, 
 And ever among so merrily. 
 Fal. There's a merry heart! — Good master 
 Silence, I'll give you a health for that anon. 
 Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy. 
 Davy. Sweet sir, sit; [^eating Bardolph and 
 the Page at another table.J I'll be with you anon; — 
 most sweet sir, sit. — Master page, good master page, 
 sit : proface/' What you want in meat, we'll have in 
 drink. But you must bear; the heart's all. [Exit. 
 Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph: — and my 
 little soldier there, be merry. 
 
 Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife's as all,- 
 
 [Singing. 
 For women are shrews, both short and tall,- 
 ' Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all. 
 
 And welcome merry shrove-tide. 
 Be merry, be merry, ^-c. 
 Fal. I did not think master Silence had been a 
 man of this mettle. 
 
 <S'<7. Who, III have been merry twice and once 
 ere now. 
 
 Re-enter Davy. 
 Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats' for you. 
 [^Setting them before Bardolph. 
 Shal. Davy, — 
 
 Davy. Your worship ? — I'll be with you straight. 
 To Bard.] — A cup of wine, sir? 
 Sil. A cup of wine, that's brisk and fine, 
 
 [Singing. 
 And drink unto the lady mine,- 
 And a merry heart lives long-a. 
 '''al. Well said, master Silence, 
 Sil. And we shall be merry; — now comes in 
 the sweet of the night. 
 
 Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence. 
 Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come; 
 
 r II pledge you a mile to the bottom. 
 Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome : If thou wantest 
 »ny thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. — 
 Welcome, my little tiny thief; [To ike Page.] and 
 wclconic, indeed, too. — I'll drink to master Bar- 
 dolph, and to all the cavaleroes about London. 
 
 » Italian, much good may it do j-ou. 
 • Apples commonly called russetines. 
 
 Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 
 
 Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, - 
 
 Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a quart togetha 
 Ha! wdl you not, master Bardolph? 
 
 Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot. 
 
 Shal. I thank thee : — The knave will stick by 
 thee, I can assure thee that: he will not out: he ia 
 true bred. 
 
 Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir. 
 
 Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing: 
 be merry. [Knocking heard.^ Look whet's at door 
 there: Ho ! who knocks ? [ExitDA\x. 
 
 Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 
 
 [To SiLF.NCE, who drinks a bumper 
 
 Sil. Do me right, [Single (^ 
 
 And dub me knight-' 
 Samingo.^ 
 Is't not so ? 
 
 Fal. 'Tis so. 
 
 Sil. Is't so T Why, then say, an old man can do 
 somev^'hat. 
 
 Re-enter Datt. 
 
 Davy. An it please your worship, there's one Pisto' 
 come from the court with news. 
 
 Fal. From the court ! let him come in • 
 Enter Pistol. 
 How now, Pistol ? 
 
 Pist. God save you, sir John ! 
 
 Fal. What wind blew you hither. Pistol 1 
 
 Fist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to 
 good. — Sweet knight, thou art now one of the 
 greatest men in the realm. 
 
 <S'i7. By'r lady, I think 'a be; but goodman Puff 
 of B arson. 
 
 Fist. Puff] 
 Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! — 
 Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, 
 And helter-skelter have I rode to thee; 
 I And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys. 
 And golden times, and happy news of price. 
 
 Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man ol 
 this world. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base 
 I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 
 
 Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news ! 
 Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. 
 
 Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings. 
 
 Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? 
 And shall good news be baffled? 
 Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 
 
 Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breed- 
 ing. 
 
 Pist. Why then, lament therefoie. 
 
 Shal. Give me pardon, sir; — If, sir, you come 
 with news from the court, I take it, there is but 
 two ways ; either to utter them, or to conceal them- 
 I am, sir, under the king, in some authority. 
 
 Pist. Under which king, Bezonian ? speak, ordio. 
 
 Shal. Under king Harry. 
 
 Pist. Harry the fourth ? or Mh^ 
 
 Shal. Harry the fourth. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for thine office '- 
 
 Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; 
 Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth- 
 When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like 
 The bragging Spaniard. 
 
 * He who drank a bumper on his knees, to the health of 
 his mistress, was dubbed a knight for the evening. 
 
 « It should be Domingo : it is part of a song in one or 
 Nashe's plays 
 
m-imntaT-iHiig-oiirt-^i^i^ii 
 
 ,„■>.. »-,-.>-—,... Ti^^^i 
 
 -^■.-.^..-^^...^ HTMiim 
 
 i4b 
 
 SECOND PAKT OV 
 
 Act V 
 
 Fal. What ! is the old king dead 7 
 
 I^ist. As Hail in door : the things I speak, are just 
 
 Fal. Away, Bardolph ; saddle my horse. — Master 
 
 Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the 
 
 and, 'tis thine.^Pistol, I will double-charge thee 
 
 with dignities. 
 
 Hard. O joyful day !— I would not take a knight- 
 hood for my fortune. 
 
 I'isf. What ? I do bring good news T 
 Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master 
 Shallow, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am 
 fortune's steward. Get on thy boots ; we'll ride 
 all night : — O, sweet Pistol : — Away Bardolph. 
 ''Exit Bard.} — Come, Pistol, utter more to me ; 
 and withal, devise something, to do thyself gootl. — 
 Boot, boot, master Shallow ; I know, the young 
 king is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses ; 
 the laws of England are at my commandment. 
 Happy are they which have been my friends; and 
 woe to my lord chief Justice ! 
 
 Pisl. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! 
 Where is the life that late I led? say they : 
 Why, here it is ; Welcome these pleasant days. 
 
 l^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— London. A Street. 
 
 E.tter Beadles, draggiiig in Hostess Quickly, 
 and Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 Host. No, thou arrant knave ; I would I might 
 die, that I might have thee hanged: thou hast 
 drawn my shoulder out of joint. 
 
 1 Bead. The constables have delivered her over 
 to me ; and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, 
 I warrant her: There hath been a man or two 
 lately killed about her. 
 
 Doll. Nut-hook, nut-hook,' you lie. Come on ; 
 I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripc-visaged ras- 
 cal; an the child I now go with, do miscarry, thou 
 hadst better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou 
 paper-faced villain ? 
 
 Host. O the Lord, that sir John were come ! he 
 would make this a bloody day to somebody. But 
 J pray God the fruit of her womb miscaiTy ! 
 
 1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of 
 cushions' again ; you have but eleven now. Come, 
 I charge you both go with me ; for the man is dead, 
 that you and Pistol beat among you. 
 
 DM. I'll tell thee what, thou thin man in a cen- 
 eer! I will have you as soundly swinged for this, 
 yot: blue-bottle rogue !' yoru filthy famished cor- 
 rectioner! if you be not swinged, I'll forswear 
 half-kirtles.* 
 
 1 Bead. Come, come.you she knight-errant, come. 
 
 Host. 0, that right should thus overcome might! 
 Well ; of sufferance comes ease. 
 
 Doll. Come, you rogue, come; tring me to a 
 lustice. 
 
 Host. Ay ; come, you starved blood-hound. 
 
 Dull. Goodman death ! goodman bones ! 
 
 Host. Thou atomy, thou ! 
 
 Doll. Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal ! 
 
 1 Bead. Very well. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A public Place near Westminster 
 
 Abbey. 
 
 Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 
 1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 
 ' A term of reproach for a catchpoll. 
 •To fluff her out to counterfeit pre^ancy. 
 » Bea lies usually wore a blue livery. < Short cloaks. 
 
 2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 
 1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they com< 
 from the coronation : Despatch, despatch. 
 
 \Exeunt Grooma. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, SSAttow, Pistol, BardolpB, 
 and the Page. 
 
 Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow ; 
 I will make ths king do you grace : I will lear upon 
 him, as 'a comes by ; and do but mark the counte 
 nance that he will give me. 
 
 Fist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 
 
 Fal. Come here. Pistol; stand behind me. — 0, 
 if I had had time to have made new liveries, I would 
 have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of 
 you. [To Shallow.] But 'tis no matter; this poor 
 show doth better: this doth infer the zeal I had to 
 see him. 
 
 Shal. It doth so, 
 
 Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fal. My devotion. 
 
 Bhal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 
 
 Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and not 
 to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patienox 
 to shift me. 
 
 Shot. It is most certain. 
 
 Fal. But to stand stained with travel,and sweating 
 with desire to see him : thinking of nothing else ; 
 putting all affairs else in oblivion ; as if there were 
 nothing else to be done, but to see him. 
 
 Fist. 'Tis semper idem, for absquehoc nihil est:' 
 'Tis all in every part. 
 
 Shal. 'Tis so indeed. 
 
 Fist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, 
 And make thee rage. 
 
 Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
 Is in base durance, and contagious prison ; 
 Haul'd thither 
 
 By most mechanical and dirty hand : — 
 Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto'a 
 
 snake, 
 For Doll is in ; Pistol speaks nought but truth. 
 
 Fal, I will deliver lier. 
 
 [Shouts within, and the Trumpets sound 
 
 Fist. There roar'd the sea, the trumpet-clangor 
 sounds. 
 
 Enter the King and his Train, the Chief Justice 
 amoitg them. 
 
 Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal ! 
 Fist. The heavens thee guard and keep, moat 
 
 royal imp of fame ! 
 Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 
 Ki7jg. My lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain 
 
 man, 
 Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you whaJ 
 
 'tis you speak ? 
 Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my 
 
 heart! 
 King. I know thee not, old man : Fall to Ihj 
 prayers; 
 How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester! 
 I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, 
 So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane ; 
 But, being awake, I do despi?* my dream. 
 Make less thy body, hence,* and more thy grace 
 Leave gormandizing ; know, the grave doth gape 
 For thee thrice wider than for other men ; 
 
 ' 'Tis all im all, ami all iu every part. 
 « Henceforward. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 KING HE^RY IV. 
 
 i41 
 
 Reply not lo mc with a fool-born jpFt ; 
 Presume not, that I am the thing I was : 
 For heaven doth know, so shall the world perce'.ve, 
 That I have turn'd away my former self; 
 So will I those that kept my company. 
 When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
 Approach me ; and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
 The tutor and the feeder of my riots ; 
 Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, — 
 As I have done the rest of my misleaders, — 
 Not to come near our person by ten miles. 
 For competence of life, I will allow you^ 
 That lack of means enforce you not to evil : 
 And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
 We will, — according to your strength, and quali- 
 ties, — 
 Give you advancement, — Be it your charge, my 
 
 lord, 
 To see perform'd the tenor of our word. — 
 Set on. [^Exeunt King, and his Train. 
 
 Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand 
 pound. 
 
 Shal. Ay, marry, sir John ; which I beseech you 
 to let me have home with me. 
 
 Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do 
 not you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for in private 
 to him : look you, he must seem thus to the world. 
 Fear not your advancement ; I will be the man yet, 
 that shall make you great. 
 
 Shal. I cannot perceive how; unless you give 
 me your doublet, and stutT mc out with straw. I 
 beseech you, good sir Johu, let me have five hun- 
 dred of my thousand. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this thai 
 you heard, was but a color. 
 
 Shal. A color, I fear, that you will die in, sir 
 John. 
 
 Fal, Fear no colors; go with me to dinner 
 Come, lieutenant Pistol ; — come, Bardolph : — I 
 shall be sent for soon at night. \^Exeuiit 
 
 Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice, 
 Officers, &c. 
 
 Ch.Just. Go, carry sir John Falstafftothe Fleets 
 Take all his company along with him. 
 
 Fal. My lord, my lord, [soon. 
 
 Ch. Just. I cannot now speak : I will hear you 
 Take them away. 
 
 Pist, Si fort una me tormenta,spero meconfenta 
 [Exeunt Fal., Shal., Pist., Bard., Page, 
 and Officers. 
 
 P.John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's 
 He hath intent, his wonted followers 
 Shall all be very well provided for ; 
 But all are banish'd, till their conversations 
 Appear more wise and modest to the world. 
 
 Ch. Just. And so they are. 
 
 P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, 
 my lord. 
 
 Ch. Just, He hath. 
 
 P. John. I will lay odds, — that ere this year 
 expire. 
 We bear our civil swords and native fire, 
 As far as France : I heard a bird so sing, 
 Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. 
 Come, vi'iW you hence 1 [Exeunt 
 
 EPILOGUE. — Spoken by a Dancer. 
 
 rinsT, my fear; then, my court'' sy,- last, my \ 
 speech. My fear is, your displeasure,- my courfsy, 
 my duty,- and my speech, to beg your pardons. If 
 you look for a good speech now, you undo me: for 
 what I have to say is of 7nine own making,- and 
 what, indeed, I should say, will, I doubt, prove 
 mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so 
 to the venture: — Be it hwwn to you, (as it is very 
 well,) I was lately here in the end of a displeasing 
 play, to pray your patience for it, and to promise 
 you a better. I did mean, indeed, to pay you with 
 (his,- which, if like an ill venture, it come unlucki- 
 ly home, Ibreak, and you, my gentle creditors, lose. 
 Here, I promised you, 1 would be, and here I com- 
 mit my body to your mercies: bate me some, and 
 I will pay you some, and as most debtors do, 
 promise you infinitely. 
 
 If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, 
 will you command me to use my legs? and yet 
 \hat wer'. but light paymtnt,~-to dance out of 
 
 your debt. But a good conscience ivill make any 
 possible satisfaction, and so will I. All the ge>i- 
 tlcwomen here have forgiven me,- if the gentlemen 
 will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with the 
 gentlewomen, which was never seen before in suctt 
 an assembly. 
 
 One Word nwre, I beseech you. If you be not 
 too much cloyed vnth fat meat, our humble author 
 will continue the story, with sir John in it, and 
 make you mary with fair Katharine of France: 
 where, for any thing I know, Falsi aff shall die of 
 a sweat, unless already he be killed with your hard 
 opinions,- for Okleastle died a martyr, and this if 
 not the man. My tongue is weary; when, my legf 
 are too. I will bid you good night: and so knee: 
 down before you; — but, indeed, to pray for flu 
 queen:' 
 
 9 Most ot thfi aacisnt int'jrludes conclude with a prayer 
 for the king or queen. Hence, perhaps, the Vivatit Jiea d 
 Megiaot at the b:>ttoia rif our modern play TjiU* 
 
KING HENRY V. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henht ths Fifth 
 
 Duke of Gi-osteh, ) ^^^^^^^^ .^ ^^^ j^j^ 
 
 UuKE or iJEDFonn, ) 
 
 Duke of Exetek, Uncle to the King. 
 
 Duke of York, Cousin to the King. 
 
 Eahls of Salisbukt, WESTMOBEtAND, and 
 
 Warwick. 
 ARcasisHOP of Canterbury. 
 Bishop of Ely. 
 
 Earl of Cambridge, ^ Conspirators against the 
 
 LordScroop S j^j - 
 
 Sir 1 homas Gret, } ° 
 
 Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellew, 
 
 Macmorris, Jamt, Officers in King 
 
 Henry's army. 
 Bates, Court, Williams, Soldiers iii the same. 
 Ntm, Bardolph, Pistol, formerly Servants to 
 
 Falstaff, now Soldiers in the same. 
 Boy, Servant to them. 
 
 A Herald. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Charles the Sixth, King of France, 
 
 Lewis, the Dauphin. 
 
 Dukes of Burgundy, Ohleans, aiid Buvrboi 
 
 The Constable of France. 
 
 Rambures, and Grandphe, French Lords. 
 
 Governor of Harfleur. 
 
 MoNTJOT, a French Herald. 
 
 Ambassadors to the King of England. 
 
 Isabel, Queen of France. 
 Katharine, Daughter o/" Charles and Isabel. 
 A LI c E, a Lady attending on the Princess Katharine 
 Quickly, Pistol's Wife, an Hostess. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soi 
 diers, Messengers, and Attendants. 
 
 The SCENE, at the beginning of the play, lies in England; but ajttrwards wholly in France 
 
 V 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 O, for a muse of fire that would ascend 
 The brightest heaven of invention! 
 A kingdom for a stage, princes to act. 
 And nionarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
 Then should the warlike Harry, like himself. 
 Assume the port of Mars ; and at his heels, 
 Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and 
 
 fire, 
 Jrouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all. 
 The flat unraised spirit, that hath dared. 
 On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth 
 So great an object: Can this cockpit hold 
 The vasty fields of France, or may we cram 
 Within the wooden O,' the very casques,' 
 That did affright the air at Agincourt 7 
 O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may 
 
 « An allusion to the circular form of the theaire. 
 ' Helmets. 
 
 442 
 
 Attest, in little place, a million ; 
 
 And let us, ciphers to this great accompl. 
 
 On your imaginary forces" work: 
 
 Suppose, within the girdle of these walls, 
 
 Are now confined two mighty monarchies. 
 
 Whose high upreared and abutting fronts 
 
 The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder. 
 
 Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; 
 
 Into a thousand parts divide one man. 
 
 And make imaginary puissance: 
 
 Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them 
 
 Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth : 
 
 For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kinga^ 
 
 Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times; 
 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 
 Into an hour-glass ; For the which supply. 
 
 Admit me Chorus to this history ; 
 
 Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, 
 
 Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. 
 
 » Powers of fancy. 
 
Act I. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 44^ 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE 1. — London. An Atite-chamber in the 
 King's Palace. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop of CANTERBunT, and 
 Bishop of Ely. 
 
 Cant. My lord, I'll tell you, — that self hill is 
 urged, 
 Which, in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign, 
 Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd. 
 But that the scambling and unquiet time 
 Did pnsh it out of further question. 
 
 Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it nowl 
 Cant. Tt must be thought on. If it pass against 
 us. 
 We lose the better half of tfur possession : 
 For all the temporal lands, which men devout 
 By testament have given to the church. 
 Would they strip from us ; being valued thus, — 
 As much as would maintain to the king's honor. 
 Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights ; 
 Six thousand and two hundred good esquires ; 
 And, to relief of lazars, and weak age. 
 Of indigent faint souls, pas^t corporal toil, 
 A hundred alms-houses, righJ well supplied ; 
 And to the coffers of the king beside, 
 A thousand pounds by the year: Thus runs the bill. 
 Ely. This would drink deep. 
 Cant. 'Twould drink tbe cup and all. 
 
 Ely. But what prevention? 
 Cant. The king is full of grace and fair regard. 
 Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. 
 CaTit. The courses of his youth promisV it not. 
 The breath no sooner left his father's body, 
 But that his wildness, mortified in him, 
 Seem'd to die too : yea, at that very moment, 
 Consideration like an angel came, 
 And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; 
 Leaving his body as a paradise, 
 To envelop and contain celestial spirits. 
 Never was such a sudden scholar made : 
 Never came reformation in a flood, 
 With such a heady current, scouring faults; 
 Nor never hydra-headed wilfulness 
 So soon did lose his seat, and all at once, 
 As in this king. 
 
 Ely. We are blessed in the change. 
 
 Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, 
 And, all-admiring, with an inward wish 
 You would desire, the king were made a prelate : 
 Hear him debate of commonwealth afiairs. 
 You would say, — it hath been all-in-all his study: 
 List' his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
 A fearful battle render'd you in music: 
 Turn him to any cause of policy, 
 The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, 
 Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, 
 The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, 
 And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, 
 To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences; 
 So that the art and practic part of life 
 Must be the mistress to this thcoric: 
 Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it, 
 fSince iiis addiction was to courses vain : 
 His companies unlctter'd, rude, and shallow ; 
 
 > Listen to. 
 
 His hours fiU'd up with riots, banquets, sports; 
 And never noted in him any study, 
 Any retirement, any sequestration 
 From open haunts and popularity. 
 
 Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle* 
 And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, 
 Neighbor'd by fruit of baser quality: 
 And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation 
 Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt, 
 Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, 
 Unseen, yet crescive^ in his faculty. 
 
 Cant. It must be so : for miracles are ceas'd 
 And therefore we must needs admit the means 
 How things are perfected. 
 
 Ely. But, my good lord, 
 
 How now for mitigation of this bill 
 Urged by the commons'! Doth his majesty 
 Incline to it, or no ] 
 
 Cant. He seems indifferent. 
 
 Or, rather, swaying more upon our part, 
 Than cherishing the exhibiters against us" 
 For I have made an offer to his majesty,- 
 Upon our spiritual convocation; 
 And in regard of causes now in hand, 
 Which I have open'd to his grace at large, 
 As touching France, — to give a greater sum 
 Than ever at one time the clergy yet 
 Did to his predecessors part withal. 
 
 Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord'. 
 Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty 
 Save, that there was not time enough to hear 
 (As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done) 
 The severals, and unhidden passages. 
 Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms; 
 And, generally, the crown and seat of France, 
 Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather. 
 Ely. What was the impediment that broke this off 1 
 Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant, 
 Crav'd audience : and the hour, I think, is come. 
 To give him hearing : Is it four o'clock 1 
 Ely. It is. 
 
 Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy. 
 Which I could, with a ready guess, declare. 
 Before the Frenchman spoke a word of it. 
 
 Ely. I'll wait upon you ; and I long to bear it. 
 
 '[Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room of State in the same. 
 Enter King Hexiiy, Gloster, Bedford, Exe« 
 TER, Warwick, Westmoreland, GJicf Attend- 
 ants. 
 
 K. Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canter- 
 bury 1 
 Exe. Not here in presence. 
 K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. 
 West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege 1 
 K. Hen. Not yet, my cousm ; we would be re- 
 solv'd. 
 Before we hear him, of some thinga of weight, 
 That task our thoughts concerning us and France. 
 
 Enter the ARciinisuop of Canterburt and Bi« 
 SHOP OF Ely. 
 
 Cant. God, and his angels, guari your sacreiJ 
 throne. 
 And make you long become it ! 
 * Increasing. 
 
144 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 A.CT 1 
 
 A'. Hen. Sure, we thank you. 
 
 My learned lord, we pray you to proceed ; 
 And justly and religiously unfold, 
 Why the law Salique, that they have in France, 
 Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. 
 And Ciod forbid, my dear and faithful lord, 
 That you should fashion, wrest or bow your reading. 
 Or nicely charge your understanding soul 
 With opening titles niiscreate, whose right 
 Suits not in native colors with the truth; 
 For fiod doth know, how many, now in health, 
 Shall drop their blood in approbation 
 Of what your reverence shall incite us to: 
 riiereforc take heed how you impawn our person. 
 How you awalce the sleeping sword of war; 
 Wc charge you in the name of God, take heed : 
 For never two such kingdoms did contend, 
 Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops 
 Are every one a woe, a sore complaint, 
 'Gainst hirn,whose wrongs give edge unto the swords 
 That make such waste in brief mortality. 
 Under this conjuration, speak, my lord: 
 And wc will hear, note, and believe in heart. 
 That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd 
 As pure as sin with baptism. 
 
 Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, — and 
 you peers, 
 That owe your lives, your faith, and services. 
 To this impel ial throne; — There is no bar 
 To make aganist your highness' claims to France, 
 But this which they produce from Pharamond, — 
 In terrain Sulicain 7niilicrcs 7ic succedunt, 
 No uwnmn shall succeed in Salique land: 
 Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze,' 
 To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 
 The founder of this law and female bar. 
 Yet their own authors faithfully affirm. 
 That the land Salique lies in Germany, 
 Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe: 
 Where Charles the great, having subdued the Sax- 
 ons, 
 There left behind and settled certain French ; 
 Who, holding in disdain the German women. 
 For some dishonest manners of their life, 
 Establish'd there this law, — to wit, no female 
 Should be inheretrix in Salique land; 
 Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, 
 Is at this day in Germany call'd — Meisen. 
 Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law 
 Was not devised for the realm of France: 
 Nor did the French possess the Salique land 
 Until four hundred one-and-twenty years 
 After defunction of king Pharamond, 
 Idly suppos'd the founder of this law : 
 Who died within the year of our redemption — 
 Four hundred twenty six; and Charles the great 
 Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French 
 Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
 E ght hundred five. Besides, their writers say. 
 King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, 
 Did, as heir-general, being descended 
 Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair, 
 Make claim and title to the crown of France. 
 Hugh Capet also, — that usurp'd the crown 
 Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male 
 Of the true line and stock of Charles the great, — 
 To fine* his title with some show of truth, 
 rriiough, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,) 
 oonvey'd himself as heir to the lady Lingare, 
 • Rzplain. ♦ Make showy or specious. ' Derived his title. 
 
 Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son 
 To licwis the emperor, and Lewis the sod 
 Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth 
 Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
 Could not keep quiet in his conscience, 
 Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 
 That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother. 
 Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, 
 Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Loram: 
 By the which marriage, the line of Charles the great 
 Was re-united to the crown of France. 
 So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 
 King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, 
 King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear 
 To hold in right and title of the female : 
 So do the kings of France unto this day, 
 Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law. 
 To bar your highness claiming from the female; 
 And rather choose to hide them in a net. 
 Than amply to inibare' their crooked titles 
 Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. 
 
 K. Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make 
 this claim? 
 
 Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign . 
 For in the book of Numbers it is writ, — 
 When the son dies, let the inheritance 
 Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord. 
 Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; 
 Look back unto your mighty luicestors: 
 Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb 
 From whom you claim ! invoke his warlike spirit. 
 And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince 
 Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 
 Making defeat on the full power of France ; 
 Whiles his most mighty father on a hill 
 Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp 
 Forage in blood of J'rench nobility.'' 
 noble English, that could entertain 
 With half their forces the full pride of France; 
 And let another half stand laughing by, 
 All out of work, and cold for action ! 
 
 E/i/. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, 
 And with your puissant arm renew their feats; 
 You are their heir, you sit upon their throne ; 
 The blood and courage, that renowned them. 
 Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liega 
 Is in the very May-morn of his youth, 
 Kipe for exploits and mighty enterprises. 
 
 Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth 
 Do all expect that you should rouse yourself. 
 As did the former lions of your blood. 
 
 West. They know your grace hath cause, and 
 means, and might; 
 So hath your highness; never king of England 
 Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects ; 
 Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, 
 And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 
 
 Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, 
 With blood, and sword, and fire to win your right' 
 In aid whereof, we of the spirituality 
 Will raise your highness such a mighty sum, 
 As never did the clergy at one time 
 Bring in to any of your ancestors. 
 
 K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade (lit 
 French ; 
 But lay down our i)roportions to defend 
 Against th« Scot, who will make road upon us 
 With all advantages. 
 
 • Lay open. 
 
 '■ At the battle of Cresur 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 445 
 
 Cant. They of those marches," gracious sovereign, 
 Shall be a wall suflicient to defend 
 Our inland from the pilfering borderers. 
 
 K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers 
 only, 
 But fear the main intendment' of the Scot, 
 Who hath been still a giddy neighbor to us; 
 For you shall read that my great grandfather 
 Never went with his forces into France, 
 But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
 Cauio pouring, like the tide into a breach, 
 With ample and brim fulness of his force ; 
 Galling tho gleaned land with hot essays; 
 Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns; 
 That England, being empty of defence, 
 Hath shook, and trembled at the ill neighborhood. 
 
 Cant. She hath been then more fear'd' than 
 harm'd, my liege: 
 For hear her but exampled by herself, — 
 When all her chivalry hath been in France, 
 And she a mourning widow of her nobles, 
 She hath herself not only well defended. 
 But taken, and impounded as a stray. 
 The king of Scots, whom she did send to France, — 
 To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings; 
 And make your chronicle as rich with praise, 
 As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
 With sunken vs'reck and sumless treasuries. 
 
 West. But there's a saying, very old and true, — 
 
 Tfthat you will France ivin, 
 Then with Scotland first begin: 
 
 For once the eagle England being in prey, 
 
 To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 
 
 Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs ; 
 
 Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat, 
 
 To spoil and havoc more than she can eat. 
 
 Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home : 
 Yet that is but a sad necessity ; 
 Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries. 
 And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
 While that the armed hand doth light abroad. 
 The advised head defends itself at home : 
 For government, though high, and low, and lower, 
 Put into parts, doth keep in one concent; 
 Congruing' in a full and natural close, 
 Like music. 
 
 Cant. True : therefore doth heaven divide 
 
 The state of man in divers functions, 
 Setting endeavor in continual motion ; 
 To which is fixed, as an aim or butt. 
 Obedience: for so work the honey bees; 
 Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach 
 The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
 They have a king, and officers of sorts:" 
 Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; 
 Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ; 
 Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings. 
 Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; 
 Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
 To the tent-royal of their emperor: 
 Wlio, busied in his majesty, surveys 
 The singing masons building roofs of gold; 
 1'he civil citizens kneading up the honey ; 
 The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
 riieir heavy burdens at his narrow gate; 
 The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, 
 
 • The borders of Engla* \ and Scotland. 
 
 » General disposition « FriRhtonod. 
 
 • i^creeinif ' Different dcgreeg. 
 
 Delivering o'er to Executors* pale 
 
 The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, — 
 
 That many things, having full reference 
 
 To one concent, may work contrariously ; 
 
 As many arrows, loosed several ways, 
 
 Fly to one mark ; 
 
 As many several ways meet in one town ; 
 
 As many fresh streams run in one self sea; 
 
 As many lines close in the dial's centre; 
 
 So may a thousand actions, once afoot. 
 
 End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
 
 Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. 
 
 Divide your happy England into four; 
 
 Whereof take you one quarter into Frajice, 
 
 And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. 
 
 If we, with thrice that power left at home, 
 
 Cannot defend our own door from the dog. 
 
 Let us be worried ; and our nation lose 
 
 The name of hardiness, and policy. 
 
 K. Hen. Call in the messengers, sent from the 
 dauphin. 
 [Exit an Attendant. The King ascends his T'hro7ie. 
 Now are we well resolv'd : and, — by God's help. 
 And yours, the noble sinews of our power, — 
 France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe. 
 Or break it all to pieces: Or there we'll sit. 
 Ruling in large and ample empery,' 
 O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms 
 Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
 Tombless, with no remembrance over thera ■ 
 Either our history shall, with full mouth. 
 Speak freely of our acts ; or else our grave, 
 Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth 
 Not vorshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. 
 
 Enter Ambassadors of France. 
 
 Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure 
 Of our fair cousin dauphin; for we hear. 
 Your greeting is from him, not from the king. 
 
 Amb. May it please your majesty, to give us leave 
 Freely to render what we have in charge ; 
 Or shall we sparingly show you far off 
 The dauphin's meaning and our embassy ? 
 
 K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king, 
 Under whose grace our passion is a subject. 
 As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: 
 Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness, 
 Tell us the dauphin's mind. 
 
 Amb. Thus then, in few. 
 
 Your highness, lately sending into France, 
 Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
 Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third. 
 In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
 Says, — that you savor too much of your youth ; 
 And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France, 
 That can be with a nimble galliard'* won ; 
 You cannot revel into dukedoms there : 
 He therefore sends you, mcetcr for your spirit. 
 This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this. 
 Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim, 
 Hear no more of you. This the dauphin speaks. 
 
 K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ! 
 
 Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. We are glad, the dauphin is so pleasant 
 with us; 
 His present, and your pains, we thank you for: 
 When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, 
 We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, 
 
 * Executioners. • Domlnioa. < An ancient dance 
 
4 46 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Acr II 
 
 shall strike his father's crown into the hazard:' 
 Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrang- 
 ler, 
 That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
 With cliaces.' And we understand him well, 
 How he comes o'er us with our wilder days. 
 Not measuring what use we made of them. 
 We never valued this poor seat' of England; 
 Ar.d therefore, living hence,' did give ourself 
 To barbarous license; As 'tis ever common. 
 That men are merriest when they are from home. 
 But tell the dauphin, — I will keep my state; 
 Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness. 
 When I do rouse mc in my throne of France: 
 For that I have laid by my majesty, 
 And plodded like a man for working-days; 
 But I will rise there with so full a glory, 
 That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
 Yea, strike the dauphin blind to look on us. 
 And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his 
 Hath turned his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul 
 Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance 
 That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows 
 Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; 
 Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down ; 
 And some are yet ungotten, and unborn. 
 
 That shall have cause to curse the dauphin's scorn 
 But this lies all within the will of God, 
 To whom I do ap[)eal ; and in whose name. 
 Tell you the dauphin, I am coming on. 
 To venge nic as I may, and to put forth 
 My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. 
 So, get you hence in peace; and tell the dauphin, 
 His jest will savor but of shallow wit, 
 When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it. — 
 Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well. 
 
 [^Exeunt Ambassadors, 
 
 Exe. This was a merry message. 
 
 K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. 
 [Descends from his Throne. 
 Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour. 
 That may give furtherance to our expedition : 
 For we have now no thought in us but France; 
 Save those to God, that run before our business. 
 Therefore, let our proportions for these wars 
 Be soon collected ; and all things thought upon, 
 That may, with reasonable swiftness, add 
 More feathers to our wings ; for, God before, 
 We'll chide this dauphin at his fothcr's door. 
 Therefore, let every man now task his thought. 
 That this fair action may on foot be brought. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, 
 And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies ; 
 Now thrive the armorers, and honor's thought 
 Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
 They sell the pasture now. lO buy the horse ; 
 Following the mirror of ail Christian kings. 
 With winged heels, as English Mercuries. 
 For now sits Expectation in the air ; 
 And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, 
 With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, 
 Promis'd to Harry, and his follov/ers. 
 The French, advis'd by good intelligence 
 Of this most dreadful preparation. 
 Shake in their fear ; and with pale policy 
 Seek to divert the English purposes. 
 O England ! — model to thy inward greatness, 
 Like little body with a mighty heart, — 
 What might'st thou do, that honor would thee do, 
 Were all thy children kind and natural ! 
 But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out 
 A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 
 With treacherous crowns : and three corrupted 
 
 men, — 
 One, Richard earl of Cambridge ; and the second, 
 Henry lord Scroop of Masham ; and the third, 
 Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland, — 
 Have, for the gilt* of France, (0 guilt, indeed !) 
 Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France ; 
 And by their hands this grace of kings must die, 
 (If hell and treason hold their promises,) 
 Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton, 
 'jinger your patience on ; and well digest 
 The abuse of distance, while we force a play. 
 The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
 The king is set from London ; and the scene 
 Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton : 
 There is the playhouse now, there must you sit : 
 
 ' A place in the tennis-court, into wliicli the ball is some- 
 Omes struck. « A term at tennis. » The throne. 
 
 » Withdrawing from the court »Gold. 
 
 And thence to France shall we convey you safe, 
 And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
 To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may. 
 We'll not oflend one stomach with our play. 
 But, till the king come forth, and not till then. 
 Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE L— London. Before Quickly's Houst 
 
 in Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter Nyu and B^rdolph. 
 
 Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. 
 
 Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. 
 
 -Barrf. What,are ancientPistol and you friends yet? 
 
 Nym. For my part, I care not; I say little: but 
 when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ; — but 
 that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will 
 wink, and hold out mine iron : It is a simple one; 
 but what though ] it will toast cheese ; and it will 
 endure cold as another man's sword will: and 
 there's the humor of it. 
 
 Bard. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you 
 friends ; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to 
 France ; let it be so, good corporal Nym. 
 
 Nym. 'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's 
 the certain of it; and when I cannot live any 
 longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest,^ that is 
 the rendezvous of it. 
 
 Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married 
 to Nell Quickly : and , certainly, she did you wrong ; 
 for you were troth-plight to her. 
 
 Nym. I cannot tell ; things must be as they may : 
 men may sleep, and they may have their throats 
 about them at that time; and some say, knives have 
 edges. It must be as it may : though patience be 
 a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be 
 conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife : 
 — good corporal, be patient here. — How now, mini 
 host Pistol 1 
 
 • Determination. 
 
Scene li. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 417 
 
 Pisi. Bum tii:%,'- .^all'st thou me — host? 
 Now, by this Kami ^ swear, I scorn the term ; 
 Nor shall my Nell k('ep lodgers. 
 
 Quick. No, by my troth, not long : for we cannot 
 lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen, 
 .hat live honestly by the prick of their needles, but 
 it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight. 
 [Nym draws his sword.'} O well-a-day, Lady, if he 
 be not drawn now ! O Lord ! here's corporal Nym's 
 — now shall we have wilful adultery and murder 
 committed. Good lieutenant Bardolph, — good 
 torporal, offer nothing here. 
 
 Nym. Pish! 
 
 Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog ! thou prick- 
 tar'd cur of Iceland ! 
 
 Quick. Good corporal Nym, show the valor of 
 i man, and put up thy sword. 
 
 JSym. Will you shog off] I would have you 
 solus. [^Sheathing his sword. 
 
 Pist. Solus, egregious dog 1 O viper vile ! 
 The so(us in thy most marvellous face ; 
 The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat, 
 And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy.' 
 And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth ! 
 I do retort the solus in thy bowels : 
 For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 
 And flashing fire will follow. 
 
 Ni/m. I am not Barbason;' you cannot conjure 
 me. I have a humor to knock you indifferently 
 well : If you grow foul with me. Pistol, I will scour 
 you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: If 
 you would walk off, I would prick your guts a 
 little, in good terms, as I may ; and that's the hu- 
 mor of it. 
 
 Pist. O braggard vile, and damned furious wight ! 
 The grave doth gape, and doting death is near ; 
 Therefore exhale/ [Pistol and Nym draw. 
 
 Bard. Hear me, hear me, what I say : — he that 
 strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, 
 as I am a soldier. \_Draws. 
 
 Pist. An oath of mickle might : and fury shall 
 Give me thy fist, tliy fore-foot to me give ; [abate. 
 Thy spirits are most tall. 
 
 Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, 
 in fair terms ; that is the the humor of it. [again. 
 
 Pist. Coup le gorge, that's the word ] — I thee defy 
 
 hound of Crete," think'st thou my spouse to get 1 
 No ; to the spital' go. 
 
 And from the powdering tub of infamy. 
 Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,' 
 Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse : 
 
 1 have, and I will hold, the quondam^ Quicldy 
 Fk t/.e only she ; and — Pauca, there's enough. 
 
 Enter the Boy. 
 B.-t . Mine host, Pistol, you must come to my 
 master,— -and you, hostess ; — he is very sick, and 
 would to bed. — Good Bardolph, put thy nose be- 
 tween his sheets, and do the office of a warming 
 pan : 'fiiith, he's very ill. 
 Bard. Away, you rogue. 
 
 Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pud- 
 ding one of these daj's: the king has killed his heart. 
 Good husband, come home presently. 
 
 [^Exeunt Mrs. Quickly and Boy. 
 Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? We 
 must to France together ; Why, the devil, should 
 we keep knives to cut one another's throats ? 
 « Dog. I Par Dieu. « Name of a (lemon. 
 
 'Breathe your last. » niood-hounci. » Ilospital. 
 
 « Of Crcssida's nature, see the play of Troilus and Crossida. 
 • Formerly. 
 
 Pist. Let floods o'erswcll, and fiends for food 
 howl on ! 
 
 Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won 
 of you at betting 1 
 
 Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 
 
 Nym. That now I will have ; that's the humor of it. 
 
 Pist. As manhood shall compound ; Push home. 
 
 Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first 
 thr^/-*, I'll kill him ; by this sword, I will. 
 
 Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have 
 their course. 
 
 Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be fricu js,bfl 
 friends: an thou wilt not, why then be eneraid 
 with me too. Pr'ythee, put up. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of 
 you at betting ? 
 
 Pist. A noble' shalt thou have, and present pay. 
 And liquor likewise will I give to thee, 
 And friendship shall^ combine, and brotherhood • 
 I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; — 
 Is not this just ] — for I shall sutler be 
 Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my noble 1 
 
 Pist. In cash most justly paid. 
 
 Nym. Well, then, that's the humor of it. 
 Re-enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Quick. As you ever came of women, come in 
 quickly to sir John : Ah, poor heart ! he is so shaked 
 of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most la- 
 mentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. 
 
 Nym. The king hath run bad humors on the 
 knight, that's the even of it. 
 
 Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; 
 His heart is fracted and corroborate. 
 
 Nym. The king is a good king : but it must be 
 as it may ; he passes some humors, and careers. 
 
 Pist. Let us condole the knight ; for, lambkins, 
 we will live. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Southampton. A Council-Chamber. 
 
 Enter E.xeter, Bedford, and Westmoreland. 
 
 Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these 
 traitors. 
 
 Exc. They shall be apprehended by and by. 
 
 West. How smooth and even they do bear them- 
 As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, [selves! 
 
 Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. 
 
 Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, 
 By interception which they dream not of. 
 
 Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, 
 Whom he hath cloy'd and graced with princely fa- 
 That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell [vors,— 
 His sovereign's life to death and treachery ! 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter King Henry, ScrooP; 
 Cambridge, Grey, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will 
 
 aboard. [Masham,— 
 
 My lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord of 
 
 And you, my gentle knight, give me youi 
 
 thoughts : 
 Think you not, that the powers we bear with us, 
 Will cut their pa.ssage through the force of Franco" 
 Doing the execution, and the act. 
 For which we have in head* assembled them ? 
 Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best 
 K. Hen. I doubt not that; since we are weL 
 
 persuaded, 
 » A coin, value six ghllUngs and eight-pence. «rorc» 
 
148 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act II, 
 
 We (;arry not a heart with us from hence, 
 That grows not in a fair consent with ours ; 
 Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish 
 Success and conquest to attend on us. 
 
 Canu Never was monarch better fear'd, and 
 lov'd. 
 Than is your majesty ; there's not, I thinli, a subject. 
 That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
 Under the sweet shade of your government. 
 
 &rey. Even those, that were your father's enemies, 
 Have stecp'd their galls in honey ; and do serve you 
 With hearts create of duty and of zeal. 
 
 K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thank- 
 fulness; 
 And shall forget the ofHce of our hand, 
 Sooner than quittance* of desert and merit. 
 According to the weight and worthiness. 
 
 Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil ; 
 And labor shall refresh itself with hope ; 
 To do your grace incessant services. 
 
 K. Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter, 
 Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 
 That rail'd against our person : we consider, 
 It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
 And, on his more advice, we pardon him. 
 
 Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security : 
 Let him be punish'd, sovereign ; lest example 
 Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 
 
 K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 
 
 Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. 
 
 Grey. You show great mercy, if you give him life. 
 After the taste of much correction. 
 
 K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me 
 Are heavy orisons ' 'gainst this poor wretch. 
 If little faults, proceeding on distemper. 
 Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye. 
 When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and di- 
 gested. 
 Appear before us ? — We'll yet enlarge that man, 
 Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, — in their 
 
 dear care, 
 And tender preservation of our person, — 
 Would have him punish'd. And now to our 
 
 French causes; 
 Who are the late' commissioners 1 
 
 Cam. I one, my loid ; 
 Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 
 
 Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 
 
 Grey. And me, my royal sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge, there 
 is yours; — 
 Theie yours, lord Scroop of Masham; — and, sir 
 
 knight. 
 Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: — 
 Read them ; and know, I know your worthiness. — 
 My lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle Exeter, — 
 We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentle- 
 men] 
 What see you in those papers, that you lose 
 So much complexion 1 — look ye, how they change ! 
 Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there, 
 That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood 
 Out of appearance 1 
 
 Cam. I do confess my fault: 
 
 And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 
 
 Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal. 
 
 K. Hen. The mercj , that was quick' in usbutlate. 
 By your own counse. is suppress'd andkill'd: 
 
 * Recompense. 
 
 • Lately apjiointe^. 
 
 • Prayers. 
 ' Living. 
 
 You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; 
 For your own reasons turn uito your bosoms. 
 As dogs upon their masters, worrying them. — 
 See you, my princes, and my noble peers, 
 These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge 
 
 here, — 
 You know, how apt our love was, to accord 
 To furnish him with all appertinents 
 Belonging to his honor: and this man 
 Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd 
 And sworn unto the practices of France, 
 To kill us here in Hampton: to the which, 
 This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
 Than Cambridge is, — hath likewise sworn: — But Oi 
 What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop; thou cruel, 
 Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! 
 Thou, that didst bear the key of all my counsels. 
 That knew'st the very bottom of my soul. 
 That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, 
 Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use 1 
 May it be possible, that foreign hire 
 Could out of thee extract one spark of evil. 
 That might annoy my finger 1 'tis so strange. 
 That though the truth of it stands off as gross 
 As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it 
 Treason, and murder, ever kept together, 
 As two yoke-devils sworn to cither's purpose 
 Working so grossly in a natural cause, 
 That admiration did not whoop at them: 
 But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in 
 Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder • 
 And whatsoever cunning fiend it was. 
 That wrought upon thee so preposterously, 
 H'ath got the voice in hell for excellence : 
 And other devils, that suggest by treasons. 
 Do botch and bungle up damnation 
 With patches, colors, and with forms being fetch'd 
 From glistering semblances of piety ; 
 But he, that tempcr'd' thee, bade thee stand up, 
 Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do trea- 
 Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor, [son, 
 If that same demon, that hath guU'd thee thus. 
 Should with his lion gait,' walk the whole world. 
 He might return to vasty Tartar' back, 
 And tell the legions — I can never win 
 A soul so easy as that Englishman's. 
 O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
 The sweetness of afhance ! Show men dutiful 1 
 Why, so didst thou : Seem they grave and learned! 
 Why, so didst thou: Come they of noble family? 
 Why, so didst thou : Seem they religious 1 
 Why, so didst thou: Or sre they spare in diet; 
 Free from gross passions, or of mirth, or anger ; 
 Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood; 
 Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement;' 
 Not working with the eye, without the ear. 
 And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? 
 Such, and so finely bolted,' didst thou seem: 
 And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
 To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued, 
 With some suspicion. I will weep for thee ; 
 For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
 Another fall of man. — Their faults are open, 
 Arrest them to the answer of the law ; — 
 And God acquit them of their practices ! 
 
 Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the nam< 
 of Richard earl of Cambridge. 
 
 ' Rendered tbee pliable. 
 ' Tartarus. 
 
 • Sifted. 
 
 » Pace, step. 
 « AccompUsljnient. 
 
Scene IT. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 449 
 
 I arrest fbee of liip;'' treason, by the name of 
 Henry lord Scroop of Masham. 
 
 I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
 Thomas Grey, of Northumberland. 
 
 Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; 
 And I repent my fault, more than my death ; 
 Which I beseech your highness to forgive, 
 Although my body pay the price of it. 
 
 Cam. For me — the gold of France did not seduce; 
 Although I did admit it as a motive, 
 The sooner to effect what I intended : 
 But hearen be thanked for prevention; 
 Which I in suiferanco heartily will rejoice, 
 Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me. 
 
 Orey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
 At the discovery of most dangerous treason, 
 Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, 
 Prevented from a damned enterprise : 
 My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear your 
 sentence. 
 You have conspir'd against our royal person, 
 Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his cof- 
 Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death; [fers 
 
 Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, 
 His princes and his peers to servitude, 
 His subjects to oppression and contempt, 
 And his whole kingdom unto desolation. 
 Touching our person, seek we no revenge : 
 But we our kingdom's safety must so tender. 
 Whoso ruin you three sought, that to her laws 
 We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, 
 Poor miserable wretches, to j'our death : 
 The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you 
 Patience to endure, and true repentance 
 Of all your dear offences! — Bear them hence. 
 
 \_Exeunt Conspirators, guarded. 
 Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof 
 Shall be, to you, as us, like glorious, 
 Wc doubt not of a fair and lucky war ; 
 Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
 This dangerous treason lurking in our way. 
 To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now, 
 But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
 Then forth, dear countrymen ; let us deliver 
 Our puissance into the hand of God, 
 Putting it straight in expedition. 
 Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance : 
 No king of England, if not king of France. 
 
 l^Exeiint, 
 
 SCENE III. — Mrs. Quickly's House in Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter PisToi,, Mrs. Quickly, Nym, Bardolph, and 
 Boy. 
 
 Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me 
 bring thee to Staines. 
 
 Pist. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn." — 
 Bardolph, be blithe ; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins ; 
 Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for FalstafT he is dead. 
 And we must yearn therefore. 
 
 Ihud. 'Would, I were with him, wheresome'er he 
 ia, either in heaven, or in hell ! 
 
 Quick. Nay, sure, he's not in hell ; he's in Arthur's 
 bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made 
 a finer end, and went away, an it had been any 
 ehristom' child ; 'a parted even just between twelve 
 and one, e'en at turning o'the tide : for after I saw 
 him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, 
 and smile upon his finger's ends, I knew there was 
 but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 
 'a babbled of green fields. How now, sir John ? 
 quoth I : what, man ! be of good cheer. So 'a cried 
 out — God, God, God ! three or four times : now I, 
 to comfort him, bid him, 'a should not think of God; 
 I hoped, there was no need to trouble himself with 
 
 • GricTe. * A child not more than a month old. 
 
 any such thoughts yet. So 'a bade mo lay mor« 
 clothes on his feet ; I put my hand into the bed, 
 and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; 
 then I felt to his knees, and so upward, and upward, 
 and all was as cold as any stone. 
 
 Nym. They say, he cried out of sack. 
 
 Quick. Ay, that 'a did. 
 
 Bard. And of women. 
 
 Quick. Nay, that 'a did not 
 
 Boy. Yes, that 'a did; and said, they were dcvila 
 incarnate. 
 
 Quick. 'A could never abide carnation : 'twas a 
 color he never liked. 
 
 Boy. 'A said once, the devil would havo him 
 about women. 
 
 Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, hacd'e women : 
 but then he was rheumatic,^ and talked cf \Li whore 
 of Babylon. 
 
 Boy. D' you not remember, 'a saw a flea spick upon 
 Bardolph's nose; and a' said, it was a black soul 
 burning in hell-fire? 
 
 Bard. Well, the fuel is gone, that maintained that 
 fire : that's all the riches I got in his service. 
 
 Nym. Shall we shog off? the king will be gone 
 from Southampton. 
 
 Pist. Come, let's away. — My love, give me thy 
 Look to my chattels, and my movables : [lips. 
 
 Let senses rule; the word is, Pitch and j)ay; 
 Trust none ; 
 
 For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer cakes. 
 And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck ; 
 Therefore caveto be thy counsellor. 
 Go, clear thy crystals. — Yoke-fellows in arms. 
 Let us to France ! like horse-leaches, my boys ; 
 To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! 
 
 Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. 
 
 Pist. Touch her soft mouth and march. 
 
 Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her, 
 
 Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humor of it ; but, 
 adieu. 
 
 Pist. Let housewifery' appear; keep close, I thee 
 command. 
 
 Quick. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— France. A Boom in the French 
 King's Palace. 
 
 Enter the French King attended; the Dauphin, the 
 Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and others. 
 
 Fr. King. Thus come the English with full powei 
 And more than carefully it us concerns, [upon us; 
 To answer royally in our defences. 
 Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, 
 Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, — 
 And you, prince dauphin, — with all swift despatch, 
 To line, and new repair, our towns of war. 
 With men of courage, and with means defendant • 
 For England his approaches makes as fierce, 
 As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 
 It fits us then, to be as provident 
 As fear may teach us, out of late examples 
 Left by the fatal and neglected English 
 Upon our fields. 
 
 Dau. My most redoubted father. 
 
 It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe : 
 For peace itself should not so duU^ a kingdom, 
 (Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in ques 
 But that defences, musters, preparations, [tion,' 
 Should be maintained, assembled, and collected. 
 As were a war in expectation. 
 Therefore, I say, 'tig meet wc all go forth 
 To view the sick and feeble parts of France • 
 And let us do it with no show of fear; 
 No, with no more, than if we heard that England 
 Were busied with a Whitsun morrice-danco 
 
 » Mrs. Quiokly means luuHtic 
 • Render it callous, insensible. 
 
450 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act II, 
 
 For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, 
 Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
 By a vain, giddy, shallow, humourous youth, 
 That fear attends her not. 
 
 Con. O peace, prince dauphin ! 
 
 You are too much mistaken in this king : 
 Question your grace the late ambassadors, — 
 With what great state he heard their embassy, 
 How well supplied with noble counsellors. 
 How modest in exception,* and, withal, 
 How terrible in constant resolution, — 
 And you shall find his vanities forespent 
 Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly. 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
 That shall first spring, and be most delicate. 
 
 Dau. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable, 
 But though we think it so, it is no matter : 
 In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh 
 The enemy more mighty than he seems, 
 So the proportions of defence are fill'd ; 
 Which, if a weak and niggardly projection, 
 Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting 
 A little cloth. 
 
 Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong ; 
 And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. 
 The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us ; 
 And he is bred out of that bloody strain,' 
 That haunted us in our familiar paths : 
 Witness our too much memorable shame, 
 When Cressy battle fatally was struck. 
 And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand 
 Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales ; 
 Whiles that his mountain sire, — on mountain 
 
 standing, 
 Up in the air, crown'd with a golden sun, — 
 Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him 
 Mangle the work of nature, and deface 
 The patterns that by God and by French fathers 
 Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
 Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear 
 The native mightiness and fate of him. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Ambassadors fi-om Henry king of England 
 Do crave admittance to your majesty. 
 
 Fr. King. We'll give them present audience. Go, 
 and bring them. 
 
 [Exeunt Mess, and certain Lords. 
 Vou see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. 
 Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit : for coward 
 dogs 
 VTost spend their mouths, when what they seem to 
 
 threaten, 
 Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, 
 Take up the English short ; and let them know 
 Of what a monarchy you are the head : 
 Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
 '\s self-neglecting. 
 
 Re-enter Lords, with Exetkb and Train. 
 Fr. King. From our brother England ? 
 
 Exe. From him: and thus he greets your ma- 
 jesty. 
 He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
 That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
 The borrowed glories, that, by gift of heaven, 
 By law of nature, and of nations, 'long 
 Vo him, and to his heirs; namely, the crown, 
 
 » In making objections. ' Lineage. 
 
 And all wide-stretched honors that pertain. 
 
 By custom and the ordinance of times. 
 
 Unto the crown of France. That j-ou may know, 
 
 'Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claim, 
 
 Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, 
 
 Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd. 
 
 He sends you this most memorable line, 
 
 [^Gives a paper 
 In every branch truly demonstrative; 
 Willing you overlook this pedigree : 
 And, when you find him evenly deriv'd 
 From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, 
 Edward the third, he bids you then resign 
 Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held 
 From him, the native and true challenger. 
 
 Fr. King. Or else, what follows? 
 
 Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide the crown 
 Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: 
 And therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, 
 In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove ; 
 (That, if requiring fail, he will compel ;) 
 And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, 
 Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy 
 On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war 
 Opens his vasty jaws : and on your head 
 Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, 
 The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans, 
 For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, 
 That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. 
 This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my "message , 
 Unless the dauphin be in presence here. 
 To whom expressly I bring greeting too. 
 
 Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this further : 
 To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
 Back to our brother England. 
 
 Dau. For the dauphin, 
 
 I stand here for him ; What to him from England 1 
 
 Exe. Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, 
 And any thing that may not misbecome 
 The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
 Thus says my king : and, if your father's highness 
 Do not, in grant of all demands at large, 
 Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, 
 He'll call you to so hot an answer for it, 
 That caves and womby vaultages of France 
 Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock 
 In second accent of his ordnance. 
 
 Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply. 
 It is against my will: for I desire 
 Nothing but odds with England: to that end. 
 As matching to his youth and vanity, 
 I did present him with those Paris balls. 
 
 Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake f jr it, 
 Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe: 
 And, be assur'd, you'll find a difference, 
 (As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) 
 Between the promise of his greener days. 
 And these he masters now : now he weighs ti/ne. 
 Even to the utmost grain ; which you shall read 
 In your own losses, if he stay in France. 
 
 Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind 
 at full. 
 
 Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king 
 Come here himself to question our delay ; 
 For he is footed in this land already. 
 
 Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd with 
 fair conditions : 
 A night is but small breath, and little pause. 
 To answer matters of this consequence. 
 
 \Exeunt 
 
Act III Scene I 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 151 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 dor. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene 
 
 flics, 
 In motion of no less celerity 
 
 Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen 
 The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
 Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet 
 With silken streamers the young Phcebus fanning. 
 Play with your fancies ; and in them behold, 
 Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing : 
 Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give 
 To sounds confus'd : behold the threaden sails. 
 Borne with the invisible and creeping wind. 
 Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, 
 Breasting the lofty surge : O, do but think, 
 You stand upon the rivage,' and behold 
 A city on the inconstant billows dancing; 
 For so appears this fleet majestical, 
 Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow ! 
 Grapple your minds to sternage' of th-s navy; 
 And leave your England, as dead midnight, still, 
 Guarded with grandsircs, babies, and old women. 
 Or past, or not arriv'd to, pith and puissance: 
 For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
 With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
 These c ull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? 
 Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege : 
 Behold the ordnance on their carriages. 
 With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. 
 Suppose, the ambassador from the French conies 
 
 back ; 
 Tells HaiTy — that the king doth oflfer him 
 Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, 
 Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
 The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner. 
 With linstock' now the dreadful cannon touches, 
 [A/arum,- and Chambers' go off. 
 And down goes all before them. Still bo kind, 
 And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE L— Before Harfleur. 
 
 Alarums. EnterKiya Henry, Exeter, Bedford, 
 Gloster, and Soldiers, with Scaling Ladders. 
 
 K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, 
 once more ; 
 Ur close the wall up with our English dead! 
 In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, 
 As modest stillness and humility : 
 But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
 Then isnitate the action of the tiger; 
 Stiiron the sinews, summon up the blood. 
 Disguise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage ; 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; 
 Let it pry through the portage of the head. 
 Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it. 
 As fearfully, as doth a galled rock 
 O'erhang and jutty^ his confounded' base, 
 Bwilfd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
 Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; 
 Hold iiard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 Vn his full height ! — On, on, you noblest English, 
 
 • Hank or shore. s Sterns of the ships. 
 
 ' The .itaff wliieh }iolds the match used iu firing cannon. 
 1 Small pieces of ordnance. 
 
 • A mole to withstand the encroachment of the tide. 
 ' Worn, wasted. 
 
 Whose blood is fet' from fathers of war-proof \ 
 
 Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
 
 Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought. 
 
 And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument." 
 
 Dishonor not your mothers; now attest, 
 
 That those, whom you call'd fathers, did be^t you ! 
 
 Be copy now to men of grosser blood. 
 
 And teach them how to war! — And you, good 
 
 yeomen. 
 Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
 The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
 That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt 
 
 not; 
 For there is none of you so mean and base, 
 That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 
 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips. 
 Straining upon the start. The game's afoot , 
 Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 
 Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and saint George ! 
 [Exeunt. Alarum, and Chambers go off. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Forces pass over,- then enter Ntm, Bardolph, Pis- 
 Toi, and Boy. 
 
 Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the 
 breach ! 
 
 Ni/m. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are 
 too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case 
 of lives: the humor of it is too hot, that is the very 
 plain-song of it. 
 
 Fist. The plain-song is most just ; for humors 
 do abound; 
 Knocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and die 
 And sword and shield, 
 In bloody field, 
 Doth win immortal fame. 
 Boy. 'Would I were in an alehouse in London! 
 I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. 
 Fist. And I : 
 
 If wishes would prevail with me, 
 My purpose should not fail with me. 
 But thither would I hie. 
 Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing 
 on bough. 
 
 Ejiter Fluellen. 
 Flu. Got's plood \ — Up to the preaches, you 
 rascals ! will you not up to the preaches T 
 
 [Driving them forward. 
 Fist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould ! 
 Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage ! 
 Abate thy rage, great duke ! [chuck ! 
 
 Good bawcock, hate thy rage ! use lenity, sweet 
 Nym. These be good humors! — your honor 
 wins bad humors. 
 
 [Exeunt Nr^t. Pistol, and Bardolph, 
 
 followed by Fluellex. 
 
 Boy. .\s young as I am, I have observed these 
 
 three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but 
 
 ail they three, though they would serve me, could 
 
 not be man to me: for, indeed, three such antics 
 
 do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, — he is 
 
 white-livered, and red-faced ; by the moans whereof, 
 
 'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistcl, — hfl 
 
 » Fetched. • Matter^ sulucct 
 
452 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act III 
 
 nath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword : by 
 the means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps 
 whole weapons. For Nym, — he hath heard that 
 men of few words are the best' men ; and there- 
 fore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should 
 be thought a coward ; but his few bad words 
 are match'd with as few good deeds ; for 'a 
 never broke any map's head but his own ; and 
 that was against a post, when he was drunk. 
 They will steal any thing and call it purchase. 
 Bardolph stole a lute-case ; bore it twelve leagues, 
 and sold it for three half-pence. — Nym, and Bar- 
 dolph, are sworn brothers in filching, and in Ca- 
 lais they stole a fire shovel : I knew, by that piece 
 of service, the men would carry coals.' They 
 would have me as familiar with men s pockets as 
 their gloves or their handkerchiefs : which makes 
 much against my manhood, if I should take from 
 another's pocket, to put into mine ; for it is plain 
 pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and 
 seek some better service : their villany goes against 
 my weak stomach. ^Exit Boy. 
 
 Re-enter Fldellen, Gower following. 
 
 Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come present- 
 ly to the mines ; tlie duke of Gloster would speak 
 with you. 
 
 Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke, it is not 
 so good to come to the mines : For, look you, the 
 mines is not according to the disciplines of the 
 war ; the concavities of it is not sufficient ; for, 
 look you, th' athversary (you may discuss unto 
 the duke, look you) is dight* himself four yards 
 under the countermines : by Chcshu, I think, 'a 
 will plow up all, if there is not better directions. 
 
 Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order 
 of the siegi is given, is altogether directed by an 
 Irishman ; a very valiant gentleman, i'faith. 
 
 Flu. It IS captain Macmorris, is it not ? 
 
 Gow. I think it be. 
 
 Flu. By Clieshu, he is an ass, as in the 'orld : 
 I will verify as much in his peard : he has no more 
 directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look 
 you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. 
 
 Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance. 
 
 Gow. Here 'a comes ; and the Scots captain, 
 captain Jamy, with him. 
 
 Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvelous falorous gen- 
 tleman, that is certain ; and of great expedition, 
 and knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my par- 
 ticular knowledge of his directions : by Cheshu, 
 he will maintain his argument as well as any 
 military man in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the 
 pjistine wars of the Romans. 
 
 Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. 
 
 Flu, God-den to your worship, goot captain 
 Jamy. 
 
 Gow. How now, captain Macmorris? have 
 you quit the mines'? have the pioneers given 
 o'erl 
 
 Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done : the work ish 
 give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my 
 hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work 
 ish ill done ; it ish give over : I would have blowed 
 up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. 
 0, tish ill done, tish ill done ; by my hand, tish ill 
 lone! 
 
 ' Bravest. 
 
 • Pocket affronts. 
 
 » Digged. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmoms, I pesecch you now 
 will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputa- 
 tions with you, as partly touching or concerning 
 the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in th« 
 way of argument, look you, and friendly commu 
 nication ; partly, to satisfy my opinion, and partly 
 for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as 
 touching the direction of the military discipline 
 that is the point. 
 
 Jamy. It sail be very gud, good feith, gud cap- 
 tains both : and I sail quit' you with gud leve, as 
 I may pick occasion ; that shall I, marry. 
 
 Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save 
 me, the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, 
 and the king, and the dukes ; it is no time to dis- 
 course. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet 
 calls us to the breach; and we talk, and, by 
 Chrish, do nothing ; 'tis shame for us all : so God 
 sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still : it is shame, by 
 my hand, and there is throats to be cut, and works 
 to be done ; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish 
 sa' me, la. 
 
 Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine 
 take themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, 
 or aile ligge i' the ground for it; ay, or go to 
 death ; and I'll pay it as valourously as I may, that 
 sail I surely do, that is the breff and the long : 
 Mary, I wad full fain heard some question 'tween 
 you tway. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, 
 under your correction, there is not many of your 
 nation 
 
 Mac. Of my nation 1 What ish my nation 1 
 ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a 
 rascal ? What ish my nation 1 Who talks of my 
 nation ? 
 
 Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise 
 than is meant, captain Macmoms, peradventure, I 
 shall think you do not use me with that affability 
 as in discretion you ought to use me, look you ; 
 being as goot a man as yourself, both in the dis- 
 ciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my birth, 
 and in other particularities. 
 
 Mac. I do not know you so good a man as 
 myself: So Chrish save me, I will cut off your 
 head. 
 
 Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each 
 other. 
 
 Jamy. Au ! that's a foul fault. 
 
 [yl Parley sounded. 
 
 Gow. The town sounds a parley. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more 
 better opportunity to be required, look you, I will 
 be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of 
 war, and there is an end. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Before the Gates o/Harfleur. 
 
 The Governor and some Citizens on the Walls, 
 the English Forces below. Enter King Henrt 
 and his Train. 
 
 K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of tha 
 town? 
 This is the latest parle we will admit : 
 Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves : 
 Or, like to men proud of destruction. 
 Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, 
 
 « Requite, answer. 
 » Cruel. 
 
 » Soiled. 
 
 * Without success. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY \. 
 
 458 
 
 (A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) 
 
 I? I begin the battery once again, 
 
 [ will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, 
 
 Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
 
 The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ; 
 
 And the flesh'd soldier — rough and hard of 
 
 heart, — 
 [n liberty of bloody hand, shall range 
 With conscience wide as hell ; mowing like grass 
 Vour fresh-air virgins, and your flowering in- 
 fants. 
 What is it then to me, if impious war, — 
 Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, — 
 Do, with his smirch'd'^ complexion, all fell' feats 
 Enlink'd to waste and desolation? 
 What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause. 
 If your pure maidens fall into the hand 
 Of hot and forcing violation ? 
 What rein can hold licentious wickedness, 
 When down the hill he holds his fierce career 1 
 We may as bootless* spend our vain command 
 Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, 
 As send precepts to the Leviathan 
 To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Har- 
 fleur, 
 Take pity of your town, and of your people. 
 Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ; 
 Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace 
 O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
 Of deadly murder, spoil, and villany. 
 If not, why, in a moment, look to see 
 The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
 Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daugh- 
 ters ; 
 V^our fathers taken by the silver beards, 
 And their most reverend heads dashed to the 
 
 walls ; 
 Your naked infants spitted upon pikes ; 
 Whiles the mad mothers with their howls con- 
 
 fus'd 
 Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 
 At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
 What say you 1 will you yield, and this avoid 1 
 Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroyed 1 
 
 Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end : 
 T le dauphin, whom of succor wc entreated, 
 R« turns us — that his powers are not yet ready 
 To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread 
 
 king. 
 We j'ield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy: 
 Enter our gates ; dispose of us, and ours ; 
 For we no longer are defensible. 
 
 A". lien. Open your gates. — Come, uncle Ex- 
 eter, 
 Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain. 
 And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French : 
 Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, — 
 The winter coming on, and sickness growing 
 Upon our soldiers, — we'll retire to Calais. 
 To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest ; 
 To-morrow for the march we are addrest.' 
 
 [^Flourish, llie King, <^c., enter the Town. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rouen. A Room in the raluce. 
 Enter Katharine and Alice. 
 
 Kath. Alice, tu as este en Angkterre, et tu par- 
 ks hien le language. 
 Alice. Vn peu, madame. 
 
 • Soiled. •Cruel. « 'Vithout success 'Prepared. 
 30 
 
 Kath. Je tcprie, m'enseigne:,- ilfaut quefap' 
 prenne (i purler. Comment appcllez voiis la main, 
 en Anglois? 
 
 Alice. La main? elle est appellee, de hand. 
 
 Kath. De hand. Et lea doigts ? 
 
 Alice. Les doigts? jnaf()t/,je nuhlie les doigts ; 
 mais je me souviendray. Le^ doigts ? je pensr, 
 qu'ils sont appelles de fingrcs ; ouy, de fingres. 
 
 Kath. La main, de hand ; les doigts, de fingrcs. 
 Je pense,queje suis le bon escolier. J^iygagne 
 deux mots d' Anglois vistement. Comme^it appe.l- 
 lez vous les ongles? 
 
 Alice. Les ongles? les appellons, do nails. 
 
 iTa^A. De nails. Escoutez,- ditesmoy,sijeparlt 
 bien; de hand, de fingres, de nails. 
 
 Alice. Cest bien dit, madame ,- il est fort bon 
 Anglois. 
 
 Kath. Dites may en Anglois, le bras. 
 
 Alice. Dc arm, madame. 
 
 Kath. Et le coude. 
 
 Alice. De elbow. 
 
 Kath. De elbow. Je rn'en faitz la repetition dt 
 tous les mots, que vous m'avez appris dbs a pre- 
 sent. 
 
 Alice. II est tivp difficile, madame, comme je 
 pense. 
 
 Kath. Excusez moy, Alice ,• escoutez: De hand, 
 de fingrc, dc nails, de arm, dc bilbow. 
 
 Alice. De elbow, madame, 
 
 Kath. Seig7ieur Dieu/ je m'en oublief De 
 elbow. Comment appellez vous le col? 
 
 Alice. De neck, madame. 
 
 Kath. De neck : Et le menton ? 
 
 Alice, De chin. 
 
 Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck : le menton, de 
 sin. 
 
 Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur,- en veritS 
 vous prononces les mots atissi droict que les natifs 
 d'Angteterre. 
 
 Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre par la 
 grace de Dieu ,- et en peu de temps. 
 
 Alice. N'avez vous pas deja otiblie ce que je 
 vous ay enseignee? 
 
 Kath. Non,je reciter ay a vous promptement 
 De hand, fingre, de mails. 
 
 Alice. De nails, madame. 
 
 Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow. 
 
 Alice. Sauf vostre honneur, de elbow. 
 
 Kath. Ainsi dis je,- de elbow, de neck, et de 
 sin: Comment appellez vous le pieds et la robe? 
 
 Alice. Dc foot, madame ; e^ de con. 
 
 Kath. De foot, et de con? O Seigneur Dieu/ 
 ces sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, 
 et impudique, et non pour les dames d^honneur 
 d'uscr : Jc ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant 
 les seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde. Il 
 faut de foot, et de con, neant-moitis. Je reciterai 
 une autrefois ma legon eiisemble: De hand, da 
 fingre, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de neck, de sin, 
 de foot, de con. 
 
 Alice. Excellent, madame ! 
 
 Kath. G^est assez pour une fois; allons nmu 
 a disner. [Exeu 
 
 SCENE V. — RoUen. A Rrom in the iulace. 
 Enter the French King, the Dadphin, Dukb 
 of BouitRON, the CoNSTABLR / France, and 
 others. 
 
 Fr. King, 'Tis certain, he A passed the r 
 Somme. 
 
154 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Co7U And if he be not fought withal, my 
 
 lord, 
 Let us not live in Fr'vncc : let us quit all, 
 And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 
 
 Dau. Dieu vivant ! shall a few sprays of us. 
 The emptying of our fathers' luxury,* 
 Our scions put in wild and savage stock, — 
 Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, 
 And overlook their grafters 1 
 
 Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman 
 
 bastards ! 
 Mart de ma vie ! if they march along 
 Unfought withal, ()ut I will sell my dukedom, 
 To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
 In that nook-shotten' isle of Albion. 
 
 Con. Dieu de battailles! where have they this 
 
 mettle 1 
 iS not their climate foggy, raw, and dulll 
 On w.aom, as in despite, the sun looks pale. 
 Killing uieir fruit with frowns 1 Can sodden 
 
 water, 
 A drench for sur-reir'd jades, their barley broth. 
 Decoct their cold blooa to such valiant heat 1 
 And shall our quick bloou, sphited with wine. 
 Seem frosty ] O, for honor o our land. 
 Let us not hang like roping icich s 
 Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty 
 
 people 
 Sweat drops of gallant youth in our ric. fields ; 
 Poor — we may call them, in their native Xn^As. 
 
 Dau. By faith and honor. 
 Our madams mock at us; and plainly say. 
 Our mettle is bred out ; and they will give 
 Their bodies to the lust of English youth, 
 To new-store France with bastard warriors. 
 Bour. They bid us, to the English dancing 
 
 schools, 
 And teach lavollus high, and swift corantos ;^ 
 Saying our grace is only in our heels. 
 And that we are most lofty nniaways. 
 
 Ft: King. Where is Montjoy, the herald 1 speed 
 
 him hence ; 
 Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. — 
 Up, princes ; and with spirit of honor edg'd. 
 More sharper than your swords, hie to the 
 
 field : 
 Charles De-Ia-bret, high constable of France ; 
 You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, 
 Alen9on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; 
 Jacques Chatillion, Ramburcs, Vaudemont, 
 Beaumont, Grandpr6, Roussi, and Fauconberg, 
 Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; 
 High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and 
 
 knighJs, 
 F;i your gr;at seats, now quit y -■ of great 
 
 shames, 
 Dai Harry England, that sweeps through our 
 
 land. 
 With pennons' painted .n the blood of Harfleur: 
 Rush on his host as loth the melted snow 
 Upon the vallies ; liose low vassal seat 
 The Alps doth spii and void his rheum upon : 
 Go down upon him, — you have power enough, — 
 And in a rap- .e chariot, into Roiien 
 Bring him our prisoner. 
 
 Con. This becomes the great. 
 
 Sorry am 1 his numbers are so few, 
 His soldier^. sick, and famish'd in their march; 
 
 • Lust. 1 Shooting into promontorieg. 
 
 • Over-ritldeii. s Dunces. « Pendants, smal! 3ag3. 
 
 For, I am sure, when he shall see our army. 
 He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear. 
 And, for achievement, offer us his ransom. 
 
 Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, has'.e ob 
 Montjoy : 
 And let him say to England, that we send 
 To know what willing ransom he will give. — 
 Prince dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roiien 
 Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 
 Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain will 
 us. — 
 Now forth, lord constable, and princes all ; 
 And quickly bring us word of England '•> fall. 
 
 [Exeunf 
 
 SCENE Yl.— The English Camp in Picardy. 
 Enter Gower and Fluellen. 
 
 Gow. How now, captain Fluellen 1 come you 
 from the bridge 1 
 
 Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent service 
 committed at the pridge. 
 
 Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe ? 
 
 Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous 
 as Agamemnon ; and a man that I love and honor 
 with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and 
 my life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers ; 
 he is not, (God be praised, and plessed !) any hurt 
 in the 'orld ; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, 
 with excellent discipline. There is an ensign 
 there at the pridge, — I think in my very conscience, 
 he is as valiant as Mark Antony ; and he is a man 
 of no estimation in the 'orld : but I did see him do 
 gallant service. 
 
 ''^nw. What do you call him 1 
 
 Flu. He is called — ancient Pistol. 
 
 Gou I know him not. 
 
 Enter PistoI/. 
 
 Flu. Do J ;i not know him 1 Here comes the 
 man. 
 
 Fist. Captain, ^ thee beseech to do me favors* 
 The duke of Exete? doth love thee well. 
 
 Flu. Ay, I prai:^. Got; and I have nrrited 
 some love at his hands. 
 
 Pin!, i^ard. 'ph, a s, Idler, firm and sound of 
 heart. 
 Of buxom valor, hath, — by cruel f:ite, 
 And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
 That goddess blind. 
 That stands upon the rolling restless stone, — 
 
 Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune 
 is painted blind, with a muffler- before her eyes, to 
 signify to you tliat fortune is plind : And she is 
 painted also with a wheel ; to signify to you, 
 which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and 
 inconstant, and variations, and nuitabilities; and 
 her foot, look you, is fixed upon a splierical stone, 
 which rolls, and rolls, and rolls ; — In good truth, 
 the poet is make a most excellent description of 
 fortune : fortune, look you, is an excellent moral. 
 
 P/s/. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on 
 him ; 
 For he hath stol'n a jiix", and hanged must 'a be 
 A damned death ! 
 
 Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free, 
 And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate. 
 
 2A fold of linen wliich partially covered the face. 
 3A small box in wliich were kept the consecrated war 
 fers. 
 
A.cr III. Scene VT. 
 
 KING HENRY \. 
 
 455 
 
 Dut Exeter hath given the doom of death, 
 
 For pix of little price. 
 
 Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy 
 
 voice ; 
 And let not Bardolph's vital breath be cut 
 With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach ; 
 Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. 
 
 Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your 
 meaning. 
 
 Pist. Why then, rejoice therefore. 
 
 Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to re- 
 joice at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I 
 would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, 
 and put him to executions ; for disciplines ought 
 to be used. 
 
 risf. Die and be damned ; and Jigo for thy friend- 
 ship ! 
 
 Flu. It is well. 
 
 Pi.sL The fig of Spain !' [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Flu. Very good. 
 
 Goiv. Why this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; 
 I remember him now ; a bawd, a cutpurse. 
 
 Flu. I'll assure you, 'a utter'd as prave 'ords at 
 the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day: 
 But it is very well ; what he has spoke to me, 
 that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. 
 
 Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue ; that now 
 and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his 
 return into London, under the form of a soldier. 
 And such fellows are perfect in great commanders' 
 names : and they will learn you by rote, where ser- 
 vices were done ; — at such and such a sconce,* at 
 such a breach, at such a convoy : who came off 
 bravely, who was sliot, who disgraced, what terms 
 the enemy stood on : and this they con perfectly in 
 the phrase of war, which they trick up with ncw- 
 cuned oatlis : And what a beard of the general's 
 cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among 
 foaming bottles and alc-wash'd wits, is wonderful 
 to be thought on ! but you must learn to know such 
 slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellous 
 mistook. 
 
 F/u. I tell you what, captain Gower; — I do per- 
 ceive he is not the man that he would gladly make 
 show to the 'orld he is ; if I find a hole in his coat, 
 I will tell him my mind. [^Druni heard.'] Hark 
 you, the king is coming ; and I must speak with 
 him from the pridge. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Soldiers, 
 
 Flu. Got bless your majesty! 
 
 K. Hen. How now, Fluellenl earnest thou from 
 ihc liridge? 
 
 /'"/(/. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of 
 Sxt'v has very gallantly maintained the pridge: 
 The 1 rcnch is gone off, look you ; and there is 
 gallani, and most prave passages : Marry, th' ath- 
 versary was have possession of the pridge ; put he 
 is enforced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is 
 master of the pridge: I can tell your majesty, the 
 duke is a prave man. 
 
 K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellenl 
 
 Flu. The perdition of th' athvcrsary hath been 
 very great, very reasonable great: marry, for my 
 part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but 
 one that is !ik< to be executed for robbing a church, 
 one Banli>li)h, if your majesty know the man: his 
 face is all Inibukles, and whelks, and knobs, and 
 ' An iilliisiori to the custom in Spain and Italy of giving 
 poisonej ligs < An entrenchment hastily thrown up. 
 
 flames of fire; and his lips plows at his nose, and 
 it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and some- 
 times red ; but his nose is executed, and his fire's 
 out. 
 
 K. Hen. We would have all such olfendcrs so 
 cut off: and we give express charge, that in om 
 marches through the country, there be nothing 
 compelled from the villages, nothing taken but 
 paid for; none of the French upbraided, or abused 
 in disdainful language ; For when lenity and cru- 
 elty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is 
 the soonest winner. 
 
 Tucket sounds. Enter Montjot. 
 
 Mont. You know me by my habit. 
 
 K. Hen. Well then, I know thee : What sha- 
 I know of thee ? 
 
 Mont. My master's mind. 
 
 K. Hen. Unfold it. 
 
 Mont. Thus says my king: — Say thou to Harry 
 of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but 
 sleep; Advantage is a better soldier, than rashness. 
 Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur ; 
 but that we thought not good to bruise an injury, 
 till it were full ripe : — now we speak upon our cue,' 
 and our voice is imperial : England shall repent his 
 folly, see his weakness, and admire our sufferance. 
 Bid him, therefore, consider of his ransom; which 
 must proportion the losses we have borne, the sub- 
 jects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested; 
 which, in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would 
 bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too 
 poor; for the cflusion of our blood, the muster of 
 his kingdom too faint a number ; and for our dis- 
 grace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, but a 
 weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add — 
 defiance : and tell him, for conclusion, he hath be- 
 trayed his followers, whose condemnation is pro- 
 nounced. So far my king and master; so much 
 my office. 
 
 K. Hen. What is thy name ? I know thy quality 
 
 Mo7it. Montjoy. 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost thy oflice fairly. Turn theo 
 
 back, 
 
 And tell thy king, — I do not seek him now ; 
 
 But could be willing to march on to Calais 
 
 Without impeachment ;° for, to say the sooth, 
 
 (Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
 
 Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,) 
 
 My people are with sickness much enfeebled ; 
 
 My numbers lessen'd ; and those few I have 
 
 Almost no better than so many French ; 
 
 Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, 
 
 I thought upon one pair of English legs 
 
 Did march three Frenchmen. — Yet, forgive ma 
 
 God, 
 
 That I do brag thus ! — this your air of France 
 
 Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent. 
 
 Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am ; 
 
 My ransom, is this frail and worthless trunk; 
 
 My army, but a weak and sickly guard ; 
 
 Yet God before,' tell him we will come on. 
 
 Though France himself, and such another neigbi-i.*.. 
 
 Stand in our way. There's for thy labor, Montiov 
 
 Go, bid thy master well advise himself: 
 
 If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd, 
 
 We shall your tawny ground with your red h»oo< 
 
 Discolor: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
 
 'In proper time. « IIindraD4W. 
 
 iThen used for God being my guide. 
 
450 
 
 KING HENKY V. 
 
 Act III 
 
 The sura of all onr answer is but this : 
 We would not seek a battle, as we are; 
 Noi as wc are, we say, we will not shun it; 
 So tell your master. 
 
 Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high- 
 ness. [Exit MONTJOY. 
 
 Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now. 
 
 K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in 
 theirs. 
 March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night ; — 
 Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves ; 
 And on to-mon-owbid them march away. [Exeunt. 
 
 60ENE VII. — The FrcnchCamp near Agincourt. 
 
 Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Ram- 
 
 EURES, the Duke of Orleans, Dauphin, and 
 
 others. 
 
 Con. Tut ! I have the best armor of the world. 
 —-'Would it were day. 
 
 Orl. You have an excellent armor ; but let my 
 horse have his due. 
 
 Con. It is the best liorse of Europe. 
 
 Orl. Will it never be morning 1 
 
 Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high 
 constable, you talk of horse and armor, — • 
 
 Orl. You are as well provided of both, as any 
 prince in the world. 
 
 Dau. What a long night is this ! 1 will not 
 
 change my horse with any that treads but on four 
 pasterns. Ca, ha ! He bounds from the earth, as if 
 his entrails were hairs!' It cheval volant, the Pe- 
 gasus, qui a las narines de feu .' When I bestride 
 him, I soar, I am a hawk : he trots the air ; the 
 earth sings when he touches it ; the basest horn of 
 his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. 
 
 Orl. He's of the color of the nutmeg. 
 
 Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a 
 boast for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and the 
 dull elements of earth and water never appear in 
 him, but only in patient stillness, while his rider 
 mounts him : he is, indeed, a horse ; and all other 
 jades you may call — beasts. 
 
 Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and 
 excellent horse. 
 
 Dau. It is the prince of palfreys ; his neigh is 
 like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance 
 enforces homage. 
 
 Orl. No more, cousin. 
 
 Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, 
 from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the 
 lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey : it is a 
 theme as fluent as the sea ; turn the sands into 
 eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for 
 them all ; 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason 
 on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on ; and 
 for t'ae world (familiar to us, and unknown) to lay 
 apart their particular functions, and wonder at 
 him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, and be- 
 gan thus : Wonder of nature, — 
 
 0)-l. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's 
 mistress. 
 
 Dau. Then did they imitate that which I com- 
 posed to my courser ; for my horse is my mis- 
 tress. 
 
 Orl. Your mistress bears well. 
 
 Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript praise and 
 perfection of a good and partiailar mistress. 
 
 • Alluding to the bounding of tennis-balls, which were 
 ituffed with hair. 
 
 Con. Ma foy! the other dqv, methought, youj 
 mistress shrewdly shook your Liack. 
 
 Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. 
 
 Con. Mine was not bridled . 
 
 Dau. O! then, belike, she was old and gentle; 
 and you rode, like a kerne' of Ireland, your French 
 hose off, and in your straight trossers.' 
 
 Con. You have good judgment in horseman- 
 ship. 
 
 Dau. Be warned by me then : they that ride 
 so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had 
 rather have my horse to my mistress. 
 
 Con. I had as lief have mv mistress a jade. 
 
 Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress weare 
 her own hair. 
 
 Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if 
 I had a sow to my mistress. 
 
 Dau. he chien est retourne d son propre vo- 
 missement, et la truie lavee au bourbier: thou 
 makcst use of any thing. 
 
 Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mis- 
 tress ; or any such proverb, so little kin to the pur- 
 pose. 
 
 Ram. My lord constable, the armor, that I saw 
 in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon 
 it] 
 
 Con. Stars, my lord. 
 
 Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope- 
 
 Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 
 
 Dau. That may be, for you bear many su- 
 perfluously; and 'twere more honor, some were 
 away. 
 
 Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; 
 who would trot as well, were some of your brags 
 dismounted. 
 
 Dau. 'Would I were able to load him with his 
 desert ! Will it never be day ? I will trot to-morrow 
 a mile, and my way shall be paved with English 
 faces. 
 
 Cun. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced 
 out of my way: But I would it were morning, for 
 I would fain be about the ears of the English. 
 
 Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty 
 English prisoners'? 
 
 Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere 
 you have them. 
 
 Dau. 'Tis midnight ; I'll go arm myself. [Exit. 
 
 Orl. The dauphin longs for morning. 
 
 Ram. He longs to eat the English. 
 
 Con. I think, he will eat all he kills. 
 
 Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gal- 
 lant prince. 
 
 Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread 
 out the oath. 
 
 Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentleman 
 of France. 
 
 Con. Doing is activity: and he will still be 
 doing. 
 
 Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. 
 
 Con. Nor will do none to-morrow ; he will keep 
 that good name still. 
 
 Orl. I know him to be valiant. 
 
 Con. I was told that by one that knows hira 
 better than you. 
 
 Orl. What's he ? 
 
 Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he 
 said, he cared not who knew it. 
 
 Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. 
 
 Con. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body 
 ■ Soldier. » Trowser«. 
 
Act iV. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 457 
 
 saw it, but his lackey : ' s a hooded valor ; and, 
 when it appears, it will l.ate.' 
 
 Orl. Ill-will never said well. 
 
 Con. I will cap that proverb with — There is flat- 
 tery in fricndsliip. 
 
 Orl. And I will take up that with — Give the 
 rtevil his due. 
 
 Con. Well placed ; there stands your friend for 
 ihi! devil : have at the very eye of that proverb, 
 with — A pox of the devil. 
 
 Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how 
 much — A fool's bolt is soon shot. 
 
 Con. You have shot over. 
 
 Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord high constable, the English he 
 within fifteen hundred paces of your tent. 
 
 Con. Who hath measured the ground! 
 
 Mess. The lord Grandpre. * 
 
 Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. — 
 Would it were day ! — Alas, poor Harry of Eng- 
 land ! — he longs not for the dawning, as we do. 
 
 Orl. What a wretched and peevish' fellow is this 
 king of England, to mope with his fat-brained fol- 
 lowers &u far out of his knowledge! 
 
 Con. If the English had any apprehension, thej 
 would run away. 
 
 Orl. That they lack ; for if their heads had anj 
 intellectual armor, they could never wear sucJk 
 heavy head-pieces. 
 
 Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant 
 creatures ; their mastiflsare ofunmatchable courage. 
 
 Orl. Foolish curs! that run winking into the 
 mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads 
 crushed like rotten apples : You may as well say, — 
 that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfart on 
 the lip of a lion. 
 
 Con. Just,just; and the n?sn do sympathize with 
 the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming en, 
 leaving their wits with their wives : and then give 
 them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they 
 will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. 
 
 Orl. Ay, but these English arc shrewdly out of 
 beef. 
 
 Con. Then we shall hnd to-morrow — they have 
 only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it 
 time to arm : Come, shall we about it ? 
 
 Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see,— 
 by ten, 
 We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time, 
 When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, 
 Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
 From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night 
 The hum of either army stilly' sounds. 
 That the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
 The secret whispers of each other's watch: 
 Fire answers fire ; and through their paly flames 
 Each battle sees the other's umber'd' face : 
 Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
 Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents, 
 The armorers, accomplishing the knights, 
 With busy hammers closing rivets up, 
 Give dreadful note of preparation. 
 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll. 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
 Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, 
 The confident and over-lusty' French 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice; 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
 So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 
 Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
 Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 
 The morning's danger; and their gesture sad. 
 Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
 Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
 So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold 
 The royal captain of this ruin'd band, 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 
 Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head ! 
 For forth he goes, and visits all his host; 
 Bids them good-moirow, with a modest smile; 
 
 9 .\n equivoque in terms in fulconry : he means his 
 ralor is Lid from every body but his laekey, and when it 
 »j)pcars it will Cill off. 
 
 « Foolish. t Gently, lowly. 
 
 » Biscolored by the gleam of ihe firea. « Orer-saucy. 
 
 And calls them — brothers, friends, and countrymen, 
 Upon his royal face there is no note, 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him • 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color 
 Unto the weary and all-watched night: 
 But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint, 
 With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ; 
 That every wretch, pining and pale before. 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks' 
 A largess universal, like the sun. 
 His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
 Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all. 
 Behold, as maj' unvcorthincss define, 
 A little touch of Harry in the night: 
 And so our scene must to the battle fly. 
 Where (O for pity !) we shall much disgrace, — 
 With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 
 Right ill-dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous, — 
 The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see; 
 Minding' true things, by what their mockeries ho. 
 
 lEjcil 
 
 SCENE I.— The English Camp at Agincourt. 
 
 Enter King Henry, BEDFORn, and Gi.ostkiv. 
 K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in greai 
 danger ; 
 The greater therefore should our courage b.\ — 
 Good morrow, brother Bedford. — God Almighty 
 There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would men obscrvingly distil it out; 
 For our bad neighbor makes us early stirrer.-* 
 \Mii(h is both healthful, and good husbandry * 
 Besides, they are our outward consciences. 
 And preachers to us all; admonishing, 
 That we should dress us fairly fur our enti. 
 Thus may we gather honey from the weed 
 And make a moral of the devil himselil 
 
 * Calling to remsmbrasw 
 
(58 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Emer EnpufCHAst. 
 
 8ood-morrow, oUl sir Thomas Erpingham : 
 A good soft pillow for that good white head 
 Wore hotter than a churlish turl' of France. 
 
 Erp, Not so, my licgc; this lodging likes me 
 hotter, 
 8ince I may say — now lie I like a king. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their present 
 pains, 
 Upon example; so the spirit is cased: 
 And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt. 
 The organs, though ilefunct and dead hel'ore. 
 Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move 
 With casted slough'' and fresh legerity.' 
 Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas. — Brothers both, 
 Commend me to the princes in our camp; 
 Do my good-morrow to them ; and anon, 
 Desire them all to my })avilion. 
 
 Glu. We shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exetitil Glostj;u and Bedford. 
 
 E)-p. Shall I attend your grace] 
 
 K. Hen. No, my good knight; 
 
 Go with my brothers to my lords of England : 
 I ami my bosom must debate a while, 
 And then I would no other company. 
 
 Erj). The Lord iu heaven bless thee, noble Harry. 
 
 l^Exit ElllMNGIIAM. 
 
 K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart 1 Ihouspcakest 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Enter Pistoi.. 
 
 fist. Qui va la? 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Pisf. Discuss unto me; Art thou officer; 
 3r art thou base, common, and popular! 
 
 A'. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 
 
 Pisf. Trailest thou the puissant pike 1 
 
 K. Hen. Even so: What are you? 
 
 Pint. As good a gentleman as the emjx;ror. 
 
 K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. 
 
 Pist. Tlie king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, 
 A lad of life, an imp of fame; 
 Of parents good, of fist most valiant: 
 I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings 
 I love the lovely bully. What's thy name ] 
 
 K. Hen. Harry k Roy. 
 
 Pist. Le Ruyf a Cornish name : art thou of Cor- 
 nish crew? 
 
 K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 
 
 Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen 1 
 
 K. Hen. Yes. 
 
 Pisi. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate, 
 Upon saint David's day. 
 
 A'. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap 
 that day, lest he knock that about yours. 
 
 Pist. Art thou his friend? 
 
 K. Hen. And his kinsman too. 
 
 Pist. The fgu for thee then ! 
 
 K. Hen. I thank you : Heaven be with you. 
 
 Pisf. My name is Pistol called. [Exit. 
 
 K Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 
 Enter Fluellen aiul GowEii sevcrallij. 
 
 tiow. Captain Fluellen ! 
 
 Fhi. So ! in the name of Chcshu Christ, speak 
 ower. It is the greatest admiration, in the univer- 
 sal 'orld, when tlie true and ancient prerogatifes 
 nnd laws of the wars is not kept : if you would 
 take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey 
 
 • Slouch is the skin ■nhidi serpents annually throw off. 
 l>ii;htness, nimbleness. 
 
 the Great, you shall tii.d, I warrant you, that ther« 
 is no tiddle taddic, or i)il)ble jiabble, in Pompey'i 
 camp; I warrant you. you shall find the ceremoniei 
 of the wars, and the cares of it, ;ind the forms of 
 it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to 
 be otherwise. 
 
 Gow, Why, the enemy is loud ; you heard him 
 all night. 
 
 Fill. If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a 
 prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we 
 should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a 
 prating coxcondi; in your own conscience nowl 
 
 (juuk I will speak lower. 
 
 F/u. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. 
 [Exeunt Gowf.u and Fluellkn. 
 
 K. Hen. Though it appear .i little out of fashion; 
 There is much care and valor in this Welshman 
 
 Enter Bates, Coukt, and Williams. 
 
 Court. Brother Jehu Bates, is not that the morn- 
 ing which breaks yonder ? 
 
 liufcs. I think it be: but we have no great cause 
 to desire the approach of day. 
 
 Will. We see yonder the btginning of tlie day, 
 but, I think, wc shall never see the end of it. — 
 Who goes there 1 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Will. Under what captain serve you ? 
 
 A'. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. 
 
 Will. A good old commander, and a most kirid 
 gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our estate? 
 
 A'. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that 
 look to be washed olf the next tide. 
 
 Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king ? 
 
 K. Hen. No: norit is not meet he should. For, 
 though I speak it to you, I think, the king is but a 
 man, as I am : tlie violet smells to him, as it doth 
 to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me; 
 all his senses have but human conditions.''' his ce- 
 remonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but 
 a man ; and though hisailcctions are higher mount- 
 ed than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with 
 the like wing; therefore, when he sees reason of 
 fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of tho 
 same relish as ours arc: Yet, in reason, no man 
 should possess him with any appearance of fear, 
 lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army. 
 
 Bates. He may show what outward courage he 
 will: but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could 
 wish himself in the Thames up to the neck : and 
 so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, 
 so we were quit here. 
 
 A'. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience 
 of the king; I think, he would not wish himself 
 any where but where he is. 
 
 Bates. Then, 'would he were here alone; so 
 should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor 
 men's lives saved. 
 
 A'. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to 
 wish him here alone: howsoever you speak this, to 
 feel other men's minds : Methinks, I could not die 
 any where so contented as in the king's company ; 
 his cause being just, and his quarrel honorable. 
 
 Will. That's more than we know. 
 
 Bates. Ay, or more than we should peek after , 
 for we know enough, if wc know we are the king's 
 subjects ; if his cause be wrong, cur cbedience U 
 the king wipes the crime of it out ^f ux 
 
 • Qualities. 
 
 V 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 459 
 
 Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king 
 Himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all 
 itiosc legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a 
 battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry 
 all — We died at such a jilace ; some swearing; 
 some, crying for a surgeon ; some, njion their wives 
 '.eft poor behind them; some, upon the debts they 
 owe; some, upon their children rawly' left. I am 
 afeard there are It'W die well, tliat die in battle; for 
 how cat", they charitably dispos^e of any thing, when 
 Mood is their argument! Now, if lliese men do 
 not die well, it will be a black matter for the king 
 that led them to it; whom to disobey, were against 
 nil proportion of subjection. 
 
 A". Hen. So, if a son that is by his father sent 
 about merchandi/.e, do sinfully miscarry upon the 
 sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, 
 should be imposed upon his father that sent him : 
 or if a servant, under his master's command, trans- 
 porting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and 
 die in many irrcconciled iniquities, you may call the 
 business of the master the author of the servant's 
 damnation: — IJut this is not so: the king is not 
 bound to answer the particular endings of his sol- 
 diers, the father of his son, nor the master of his 
 servant: for they purpose not their death, when 
 they purpose their services. Besides, there is no 
 king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to 
 the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all 
 unspotted soldiers. Some, j)eradventure, have on 
 them the guilt of premeditated aiul contrived mur- 
 der; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken 
 seals of perjury; some, making the wars their bul- 
 wark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of 
 peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men 
 have dclcaled the law, and outrun native punish- 
 ment,'^ though they can outstrip men, they have no 
 wings to fly from God: war is his beadle, war is his 
 vengeance; so that here men are punished, for be- 
 fore-brcach of the king's laws, in now the king's 
 quarrel: where they feared the death, they have borne 
 life away; and where they would be safe, they per- 
 ish : Then if they die un[)rovidcd, no more is the king 
 guilty of their danuuition, than he was before guilty 
 of those impieties for the which they are now visited. 
 Every subject's duty is the king's; but every sub- 
 ject's soul is his own. Therefore should every sol- 
 dier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, 
 wash every mote out of his conscience: and dying 
 BO, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the 
 time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation 
 was gained: and, in him that escapes, it were not 
 sin to think, that making God so free an ofler, he 
 let him outlive that day to see his greatiu^ss, and 
 to teach others how they should prepare. 
 
 Will, 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill 
 is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. 
 
 Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; 
 and yet I determine to light lustily for him. 
 
 K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would 
 not be ransomed. 
 
 1^ ///. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; 
 liut when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, 
 and we ne'er the wiser. 
 
 A'. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his 
 word after. 
 
 Will. 'jMass, you'll pay' him then! That's a peri- 
 lous shot out of an elder gun, llial a poor and private 
 
 • Suddenly, a i. c. Punishment In their native country. 
 •To pay Ixrro signifies to bring to account, to i>unish 
 
 displeasure, can do against a momirch ! you may at 
 well go about to turn the sun to ice, with limning 
 in his face with a peacock's (i-ather. You'll neve» 
 trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying. 
 
 K. Hen. Your rcj)roof is something too rountl; 1 
 should be angry with you if the time were conve- 
 nient. 
 
 Will. I,et it be a quarrel between us, if you livp,. 
 
 K. Hen. I embrace it. 
 
 Will. How shall I know thee again? 
 
 A'. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will 
 wear it in my Ixuniet: tlien. if ever thou darest ac- 
 knowledge it, I will UKike it my quarrel. 
 
 Will. Here's my glove ; give mo another of thine. 
 
 K. Hen. There. 
 
 Will. 'J'his will I also wear in my cap: if ever 
 thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, 7'///.v is 
 mij gloi'e, by this hand, I will take thee a box on 
 the car. 
 
 A'. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. 
 
 Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 
 
 A'. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee 
 in the king's company. 
 
 1V7//. Keej) thy word: fare theo well. 
 
 Bates. Be friends, you English fools, bo friends; 
 we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell 
 how to reckon. 
 
 K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty 
 French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear 
 them on their shoulders : But it is no English trea- 
 son to cut French crowns; and, to-morrow, the king 
 himself will be a clipper. [i/'arww/ Soldiers. 
 
 Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls. 
 Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and 
 Our sins, lay on the king; — we must bear all. 
 O lianl condition! twin-born with greatness, 
 Subjected to the breath of every fool, 
 Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! 
 What inlliiite heart's ease must kings neglect, 
 That private nu'U enjoy '] 
 
 And what have kings, that privates have not too, 
 Save ceremony, save geiu^ral ceremony! 
 And what art thou, thou idle ceremony? 
 What kind of god art thou, that suflcr'st more 
 Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers? 
 What are thy rents? what arc thy comings-in? 
 
 cerenu)ny, show me but thy worth ! 
 What is the soul of adoration? 
 
 Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form. 
 
 Creating awe and fear in other men? 
 
 Wherein thou art less happy being f.'ar'd 
 
 Than thoy in fearing. 
 
 What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, 
 
 But poison'd flattery ? O, be sick, great greatnesg, 
 
 And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 
 
 Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out 
 
 With titles blown from adulation? 
 
 W'ill it give place to flexure and low bending ! 
 
 Canst thou, when thou conunand'st the beggar'a 
 
 kiu'c. 
 Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, 
 That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; 
 
 1 am a king, that find thee; and I know, 
 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the bal'. 
 The sword, the mace, the crown imperial. 
 The inter-tissucd robe of {jjold and j)carl, 
 'I'he farced' title ruiniing 'fore the king. 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
 
 • Farced is stulTed. The tumid puffy titles with iihiek 
 a kiue's name is iDtroda<>ed. 
 
460 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act TV 
 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world, 
 No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, 
 Not all these, laid in bed majestical, 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave; 
 Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, 
 Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; 
 Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ; 
 But, like a lackey, from the rise to set. 
 Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night. 
 Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn. 
 Doth rise, and help Hyperion" to his horse; 
 And follows so the ever-running year 
 With profitable labor, to his grave: 
 And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 
 Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep. 
 Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 
 The slave, a member of the country's peace, 
 Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots. 
 What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, 
 Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 
 Enter Eupingham. 
 
 Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your ab- 
 sence. 
 Seek through your camp to find you. 
 
 K. Hen. Good old knight. 
 
 Collect them all together at my tent: 
 I'll be before thee. 
 
 Erp. I shall do't, my lord. [^Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. O God ol battles! steel my soldiers' 
 hearts ! 
 Possess them not with fear; take from them now 
 The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers 
 Pluck their hearts from them! — Not to-day, Lord, 
 
 not to-day, think not upon the fault 
 My father made in compassing the crown ! 
 
 1 Richard's body have interred new : 
 
 And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears. 
 Than from it issued forced drops of blood. 
 Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay. 
 Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up 
 Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built 
 Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
 Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do : 
 Though all that I can do, is nothing worth : 
 Since that my penitence comes after all. 
 Imploring pardon. 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. My liege ! 
 
 K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice? — Ay; 
 
 I know thy errand, I will go with thee: — 
 The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 SCENE U.—TIie French Camp. 
 
 Enter Dauphix, Orleans, RambuheSjG^ic? oiAer*. 
 Orl. The sun doth gild our armor; up, my lords. 
 Dau. Mon'rz a cheval: — My horse ! valet/ lac- 
 
 quay.' — ha ! 
 Orl. O bra ve spirit ! 
 Dau. Via/ '' — tes eaiix et la terre ■ ■• 
 
 Orl. Rten puis? — Vair et lefeu 
 
 Dau. Ciel/ cousin Orleans. 
 
 Enter Constable. 
 
 \ow, my lord constable ! 
 
 Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service 
 
 neigti. 
 Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their 
 
 hides; 
 • The Bun. ' An old encouraging exclamation. 
 
 That thoirhot blood may spin in English eyes. 
 And dout' them with superfluous courage: Ila 
 Ram. What, will you have them weep om 
 horses' blood] 
 How shall we then behold their natural tears 1 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The English are embattled, you French 
 
 peers. 
 Con. To horse, you gallant princes ! straight tr 
 
 horse ! 
 Do but behold yon poor and starved band, 
 And your fair show shall suck away their so'jls, 
 Leaving them but the shales and husks of nruu 
 There is not work' enough for all our hands; 
 Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, 
 To give each naked curtle-axe a stain. 
 That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, 
 And sheath for lack of sport: let us but dIow 06 
 
 them. 
 The vapor of our valor will o'erturn them. 
 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, 
 That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,— 
 Who, in unnecessary action, swarm 
 About our squares of battle, — were enough 
 To purge this field of such a hilding' foe; 
 Though we, upon this mountain's basis by, 
 Took stand for idle speculation : 
 But that our honors must not. What's to say? 
 A very little little let us do. 
 And all is done. Then let the trumpet sound 
 The tucket-sonuancc,' and the note to mount : 
 For our approach shall so much dare the field, 
 That England shall couch down in fear, and yield 
 
 Enter Grandphe. 
 
 Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords o£ 
 France ? 
 Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
 Ill-favor'dly become the morning field : 
 Their ragged curtains' poorly are let loose. 
 And our air shakes them passing scornfully. 
 Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host. 
 And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. 
 Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks. 
 With torch-staves in their hand: and their poo- 
 jades 
 Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hipr. 
 The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyca 
 And in their pale dull mouths, the gimmaP bit 
 Lies foul with chcw'd grass, still and motic nie'-i ; 
 And their executors, the knavish crows, 
 Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour 
 Description cannot suit itself in words. 
 To demonstrate the life of such a battle 
 In life so lifeless as it shows itself. 
 
 Con. They have said their prayers, ana lnu* 
 stay for death. 
 
 Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and rireslj 
 suits. 
 And give their fasting horses provender, 
 And after fight with them ? 
 
 Con. I stay but for my guard; On, to Jie fieW 
 I will the banner from a trumpet take. 
 And use it for my haste. Come, come away ! 
 The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [^Exeunt 
 
 » Do them out, extin;iuish them. » Mean, despicable 
 « The name of an introductory flourish on the trumpet 
 « Colors * King. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 461 
 
 SCENE in.— TAe English Camp. 
 
 Enter the English Host; Glostkr, Bedford, 
 Exeter, Saiisdurt, and Westmoreland. 
 
 Glo. Where is the king? 
 
 Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. 
 
 West. Of fighting men they have full three-score 
 thousand. 
 
 Exe. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh. 
 
 Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fearful odds. 
 God be wi' you, princes all ; I'll to my charge : 
 If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven, 
 Then joyfully, — my noble lord of Bedford, — 
 My dear lord Gloster, — and my good lord Exeter, — 
 And my kind kinsman, — warriors all, adieu! 
 
 Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury : and good luck 
 go with thee! 
 
 Exe. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day ; 
 And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it, 
 ''"'or thou art framed of the firm truth of valor. 
 
 [Exit Salisbury. 
 
 Bed. He is as full of valor as of kindness: 
 l*rincely in both. 
 
 West. that we now had here 
 
 Enter King Henry. 
 
 But one ten thousand of those men in England, 
 That do no work to-day ! 
 
 K. Hen. What's he that wishes sol 
 
 My cousin Westmoreland] — No, my fair cousin: 
 If we are mark'd to die, we are enough 
 To do our country loss ; and if to live. 
 The fewer men, the greater share of honor. 
 God will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 
 By Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; 
 Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost; 
 It yearns^ me not, if men my garments wear : 
 Such outer things dwell not in my desires: 
 But, if it be a sin to covet honor, 
 I am the most oflfending soul alive. 
 No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from En.gland : 
 God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor. 
 As one man more, mcthinks, would share from mc, 
 For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more : 
 Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, 
 That he, which hath no stomach to this fight. 
 Let him depart; his passport shall be made. 
 And crowns for convoy put into his purse: 
 We would not die in that man's company, 
 That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
 This day is called — the feast of Crispian : 
 He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
 Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, 
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian : 
 He, that shall live this day, and sec old age, 
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, 
 And say — to-morrow is saint Crispian: 
 Then will he strip his sleeves, and show his scars, 
 And say, these wounds I had on Crispian's day. 
 Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, 
 But he'll remember, with advantages. 
 What feats he did that day : Then shall our names. 
 Familiar in their mouths as household words, — 
 Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, 
 Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — 
 Be in thoir flowing cups freshly rcmcmlier'd: 
 This story shall the good man teach his son; 
 .\nd Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by. 
 From this day to the ending of the world, 
 
 1 Qrioves 
 
 But we in it shall be remembered : 
 We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; 
 For he, to-day, that sheds his blood with me, 
 Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, 
 This day shall gentle his condition :* 
 And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, 
 Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here; 
 And hold their manhood cheap, while any speaks 
 That fought with us upon saint Crispin's day. 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 Sal. My sovereign lord , bestow yourself with speed 
 The French are bravely in their battle set. 
 And will with all expedience charge on us. 
 
 K. Hen. All things are ready, if our mmds be so, 
 West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward 
 now! [land, cousin ? 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from Eng- 
 West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I 
 alone. 
 Without more help, might fight this battle out ! 
 A'. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five 
 thousand men ; 
 Which likes me better, than to wish us one. — 
 You know your places : God be with you all ! 
 
 Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 
 
 Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king 
 If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, [Harry, 
 Before thy most assured overthrow : 
 For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf. 
 Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, 
 The constable desires thee — thou wilt mind' 
 Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls 
 May make a peaceful and a sweet retire 
 From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor 
 Must lie and fester. [bodies 
 
 K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now 1 
 
 Mont. The constable of France. 
 
 K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answerback. 
 Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. 
 Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thusi 
 The man, that once did sell the lion's skin 
 While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him. 
 A many of our bodies shall, no doubt. 
 Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust, 
 Shall witness live in brass of this day's work ; 
 And those that leave their valiant bones in France, 
 Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, 
 They shall be famed ; for there the sun shall greet 
 And draw their honor's reeking up to heaven; [them. 
 Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime. 
 The smell whereof shall breed a plague in Fiince 
 Mark then a bounding valor in our English ; 
 That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, 
 Break out into a second course of mischief, 
 Killing in relapse of mortality. 
 Let me speak proudly : — Tell the constable. 
 We are but warriors for the working day : 
 Our gayness, and our gilt,' are all bcsmirch'd' 
 With rainy marching in the painful field : 
 There's not a piece of feather in our host, 
 (Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,) 
 And time hath worn us into slovcnry : 
 But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim ; 
 And my poor soldiers tell me — yet ere night 
 They'll be in fresher robes ; or they will pluck 
 The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads. 
 And torn them out of service. If they do this, 
 (As, if God please, they shall,) my ransom then 
 
 8 i. e. Thif day shall ni.lv(ince him to the rank of a f:entl» 
 man. » Koinind. « Qilding « Soiled 
 
1 62 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Will soor De levied. Herald, save thou thy labor ; 
 Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald ; 
 They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints: 
 Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them, 
 Shall yield them little, tell the constable. 
 
 Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well: 
 I'hou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. 
 K. Hen. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for 
 ransom. 
 
 Enter the Duke of Yoiik. 
 York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 
 The leading of the vaward.' 
 
 K. Hen. Take it, brave York. — Now, soMiers, 
 march away: — 
 And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! 
 
 [Exeu7it. 
 SCENE IV.— The Field of Battle. 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter French Soldier, 
 Pistol, and Boy. 
 
 Pist. Yield, cur. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Jepense, que vous estes le gentilhomme 
 de bonne qualiti. 
 
 Pist. Quality, call you me? — Construe me, art 
 thou a gentleman ? What is thy name ] discuss. 
 
 Fr. Sol. O seigneur Dicu! 
 
 Pist. 0, signieur Dew should he a gentleman: — 
 Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark; — 
 signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,' 
 Except, signieur, thou do give to me 
 f^gregious ransom. 
 
 Fr.Sol . O.prennez misericorde! ayezpitii de moy. 
 
 Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys ; 
 For I will fetch thy rim' out of thy throat. 
 In drops of crimson blood. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Est il impossible d^eschapper le force 
 de ton brasP 
 
 Pist. Brass, cur ! 
 Thou damned and luxurious' mountain goat, 
 Offer'st me brass? 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0, pardonnez moy! 
 
 Pist. Say'st thou me so 1 is that a ton of moys? — 
 Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French, 
 What is his name. 
 
 Boy. Escoutez: Comment estes vous appellc? 
 
 Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 
 
 Boy. H ^ says his name is — master Fer. 
 
 Pist. ' ^ster Fei , I'll fer him, and firk° him, and 
 ferret ..n : — discuss the same in French unto him. 
 
 ^ y. I do not know the French for fer, and fer- 
 '••' , and firk. 
 
 Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, Monsieur? 
 
 Boy. // me commande de vous dire que vous 
 faites vous prest,- car ce soldat icy est dipose toute 
 a cette heure de couper vostre gorge. 
 
 Pist. Ouj , couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant. 
 Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; 
 Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0, je vous supplie pour I'amour de Dieu, 
 me pardMnner/ Je suis gentilhonune de bonne mai- 
 S071: gardez ma vie, etje vous donneray deux cents 
 escus. 
 
 Pist. What are his words? 
 
 Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gen- 
 tleman of a good house ; and, for his ransom, he 
 will give you two hundred crowns. 
 
 * Vanguard. 
 
 * An old cant word for a sword, so called from a famous 
 iword cutler of the name of Fox. 
 
 * Ihe diaphragm. « Lascivious. ' Chastise. 
 
 Pist. Tell him, — my fury Suall abate, and I 
 The crowns will take. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Petit 7nonsieur, que dit-il? 
 
 Boy. Encore quit est contrc son jurement, dt 
 pardonner aucuu prisonnier,- 7rearitmoins, pour 
 les escus que vous Favez promis, il est content dt 
 vous donner la liberie, le franchisement. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Sur mesgenoux,je vous donne mille rt- 
 merciemens: et je m'estime heureux que je stiin 
 tomhe entre les mains d 'tin chevalier, je pense, 
 le plus brave, valiant, et ires disti7igue seig7ieuT 
 d'Angleterre. 
 
 Pist. Expound unto me, boy. 
 
 Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand 
 thanks: and he esteems himself happy that he hath 
 fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave, 
 valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England. 
 
 Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. — 
 Follow me, cur. [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitai7ie. 
 
 [Exit French Soldier. 
 I did never know so full a voice issue from so 
 empty a heart : but the saying is true, — The empty 
 vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and 
 Nym, had ten times more valor than this roaring 
 devil i'the old play, that every one may pare his 
 nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both 
 hanged; and so would this be, if he durst steal any 
 thing adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, 
 with the luggage of our camp: the French might 
 have a good prey of us, if he knew of it ; for there 
 is none to guard it but boys. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE Y.— Another Part of the Field of Battle. 
 Alarums. Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, 
 Constable, Rambures, and others. 
 Con. O diable .' [perdu : 
 
 Orl. seigneur! — le jure est perdu, tout est 
 Dau. Mo7-t de ma vie ! all is confounded, all ! 
 Reproach and everlasting shame 
 Sits mocking in our plumes. — meschantefortu7ie.' 
 Do not run away. [A short Alarum. 
 
 Con. Why all our ranks are broke. 
 
 Dau. perdurable' shame! — let's stab ourselves 
 Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for ? 
 Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom 1 
 Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but 
 shame ! 
 Let us die instant • Once more back again ; 
 And he that will not follow Bourbon now. 
 Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand, 
 Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door, 
 Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog," 
 His fairest daughter is contaminate. 
 
 Co7i. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us new < 
 Lot us, in heaps, go offer up our lives 
 Unto these English, or else die with fame. 
 
 0)-l. We are enough, yet living in the field, 
 To smother up the English in our throngs. 
 If any order might be thought upon. [throng* 
 Bour. The devil take order now ; I'll to th« 
 Let life be short ; else, shame will be too long. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 SCENE YL— Another Part of the Field. 
 Alarums. Enter Kino Henry, and Forces; 
 Exeter, a7id others. 
 K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice kalian 
 countrymen : 
 But all's not done, yet keep the French the field 
 • Lasting. s I. e. 'WTio has no more gentility. 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 463 
 
 Exe. The duke of York commends him to your 
 majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle 1 thrice, within this 
 hour, 
 I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting;. 
 From hehnct to the spur, al! blood he was. 
 
 Exe. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lio, 
 Larding the plain : and by his bloody side, 
 (Yoke-fellow to his honor-owing wounds,) 
 The noble earl of Suflblk also lies. 
 Sullblk first died : and York, all haggled over. 
 Comes to him, where in gore he lay instccp'd. 
 And takes him by the beard ; kisses the gaslies, 
 That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; 
 And cries aloud, — Tarry, cliar caiit'in Siijj'dlk.' 
 My Sisul shall thine keep company to heaven: 
 Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then Jly a-hrenst; 
 \s, in this glorious and well-foughten field, 
 Vie kept together in our chivalry! 
 Upon these words I came, and chcei'd him up: 
 He smil'd me in the face, raught* me his hand, 
 And, with a feeble gripe, says, — Dear my lord, 
 Commend my service to my sovereign. 
 So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck 
 He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips; 
 And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd 
 A testament of noble-ending love. 
 The pretty and sweet manner of it forced 
 Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd; 
 But I had not so much of man in me. 
 But all my mother came into mine eyes. 
 And gave me up to tears. 
 
 K. Hen. I blame you not; 
 
 For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
 With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. — 
 
 [Alarum. 
 But, hark ! what new alarum is this saiue ? 
 The French have reinforced their scatter'd men : — 
 Then every soldier kill his prisoner; 
 Give the word through. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \n.~Anothcr Part of the Field. 
 Alarums. Enter Fluellen and Gowek. 
 
 Flu. Kill the poysand the luggage ! 'tis expressly 
 against the law of arms : 'tis as arrant a piece of 
 knavery, mark you now, as can be ofler'd in the 
 'orld: In your conscience now, is it not? 
 
 Gow. 'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive ; 
 and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, 
 hi-ne done this slaughter: besides, they have burned 
 and carried away all that was in the king's tent; 
 wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused 
 every soldier to :v.t his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a 
 gallant king . 
 
 Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain 
 Gower. What call you the town's name, where 
 Alexander the pig was porn] 
 
 Giiw. Alexander the great. 
 
 Flu. Why, I prav you, is not j)ig, great! The 
 pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the 
 magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the 
 phrase is a little variations. 
 
 Gow. I think, Alexander the great was born in 
 Macedon ; his father was called — Philip of Mace- 
 don ; as I take it. 
 
 Flu. I thuik it is in Macedon, where Alexander 
 is porn. I tell you, captain, —If you look in the 
 maps of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the 
 
 • Rea-jhed. 
 
 comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, 
 that the situations, look you, is both alike. There 
 is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover 
 a river at Monmouth : it is called Wye, at Mon 
 mouth ; but it is out of my prains, what is the 
 name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like 
 as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons 
 in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry 
 of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferer; ", well ; 
 for there is figures in all things. Alexander, (God 
 knows, and you know,) in his rages, and his furies, 
 and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and 
 his displeasures, and his indignations, and alsobe* 
 ing a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales 
 and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. 
 
 Gow. Our king is not like him in that; he never 
 killed any of his friends. 
 
 I-'lu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take 
 tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and 
 finished. I speak but in the figures and compari 
 sons of it: As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus, 
 being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Mon- 
 mouth, beuig in his right wits and his goot judg- 
 ments, is turn away the fat knight with the great 
 pelly -doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and 
 knaveries, and mocks; I am forget his name. 
 
 Gow. Sir John Falstafl'. 
 
 Flu. That is he: I can tell you there is go^t men 
 born at Monmouth. 
 
 Gow. Here comes hi.s majesty. 
 
 Alarum. Enter King Henry, with a part of the 
 English Forces; Warwick, Gloster, Exeter, 
 and others. 
 
 K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France 
 Until this instant.— Take a trumpet, herald ; 
 Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill; 
 If they will fight with us, bid them come down, 
 Or void the field ; they do offend our sight : 
 If they'll do neither, we will come to them ; 
 And make them skin-* away as swift as stones 
 Enforced fi-om the old Assyrian slings: 
 Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have ; 
 And not a man of them, that we shall take. 
 Shall taste our mercy : — Go, and tell them so. 
 
 Enter Montjot. 
 
 Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my 
 liege. 
 
 Glo. His eyes are humbler than they used to be, 
 
 K. Hen. How now, what means this, herald 1 
 know'st thou not. 
 That I have fined these bones of mine for ranscm ! 
 Com'st thou again for ransom 1 
 
 Mont. No, great kin J 
 
 I come to thee for charitable licence. 
 That we may wander o'er this bloody field, 
 To book our dead, and then to bury them ; 
 To sort our nobles from oiir common men; 
 For many of our princes (woe the while!) 
 Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
 (So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs 
 In blood of princes;) and their wounded steeds 
 Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage, 
 Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, 
 Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king 
 To view the field in safety, and dispose 
 Of their dead bodies. 
 
 •Scour. 
 
464 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act V. ScKNK Vlll 
 
 K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 
 
 I know not, if ths day be ours or no ; 
 For yet a many of your horsemen peer, 
 And gallop o'er the field. 
 
 Mont. The day is yours. 
 
 K, Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength 
 for it!— 
 What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by 1 
 
 Mont. They call it — Agincourt. 
 
 K. Hen. Then call we this — the field of Agincourt, 
 Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 
 
 Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't 
 please your majesty, and your great uncle Edward, 
 the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the 
 chronicles, fought a mostprave pattle here in France. 
 
 K. Hen. They did, Fiuellen. 
 
 Flu. Your majesty says very true : If your ma- 
 jesty is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot 
 service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing 
 leeks in their Monmouth caps; which your ma- 
 jesty knows to this hour, is an honorable padge of 
 the service ; and, I do believe, your majesty takes 
 no scorn to wear the leek upon saint Tavy's day. 
 
 K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honor : 
 For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 
 
 Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your 
 majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell 
 you that : Got pless it and preserve it, as long as 
 it pleases his grace, and his majesty too ! 
 
 K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 
 
 Flu. By Chcshu, I am your majesty's country- 
 man, I care not who know it ; I will confess it to 
 all the 'orld : I need not to be ashamed of your 
 majesty, praised be Got, so long as your majesty is 
 an honest man. 
 
 K. Hen. God keep me so — 'Our heralds go with 
 Bring me just notice of the numbers dead. [him. 
 On both our parts. — Call yonder fellow hither. 
 
 [Points to Williams. Exeunt Montjot 
 and others. 
 
 Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. 
 
 K. Hen. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in 
 thy cap 1 
 
 Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of 
 one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 
 
 K. Hen. An Englishman 1 
 
 Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that 
 Bwagger'd with me last night : who, if 'a live, and 
 ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to 
 take him a box o' the ear: or, if I can see my glove 
 in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he 
 would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out soundly. 
 
 K. Hen. What think you, captain Fiuellen? is it 
 fit this soldier keep his oath"! 
 
 Flu. He is a craven' and a villain else, an't please 
 your majesty, in my conscience. 
 
 K. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of 
 great sort,' quite from the answer of his degree. 
 
 Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the 
 tevil is, as Lucifer and Beelzebub himself, it is ne- 
 cessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and 
 his oath : if he be perjured, see you now, his repu- 
 tation is as arrant a villain, and a Jack-sauce,' as 
 ever his plack shoe trod upon Got's ground and his 
 earth, in my conscience, la. 
 
 K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou 
 meet'st the fellow. 
 
 Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 
 
 K. Hen. "W ho servest thou under? 
 
 • Coward. ' High rank. » For saucy Jack. 
 
 Will. Under captain Gower, my liege. 
 
 Flu. Gower is a goot captain : and is good know 
 /edge and literature in the wars. 
 
 K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 
 
 Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. Here, Fiuellen ; wear thou this favor 
 for me, and stick it in thy cap: When Alengon and 
 myself were down together, I plucked this glove 
 from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a 
 friend to Alen^on, and an enemy to our person ; if 
 thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou 
 dost love me. 
 
 Flu. Your grace does me as great honors as can 
 be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would 
 fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall 
 find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all; but 
 I would fain see it once ; an pleaee Got of his grace, 
 that I might see it. 
 
 K. Hen. Knowcst thou Gower? 
 
 Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 
 
 K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and Ijring him 
 to my tent. 
 
 Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit, 
 
 K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, — and my brother 
 Follow Fiuellen closely at the heels : [Gloster 
 The glove, which I have given him for a favor 
 May, haply, pui'chase him a box o' the ear; 
 It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should 
 Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick; 
 If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge 
 By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) 
 Some sudden mischief may arise of it ; 
 For I do know Fiuellen valiant, 
 And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, 
 And quickly will return an injury: 
 Follow, and see there be no harm between them. — 
 Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeu7it 
 
 SCENE YUL— Before King Henry's Pavilion. 
 
 Enter Gower mid Williams. 
 
 Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain. 
 Enter Fluellen. 
 
 Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I pe* 
 seech you now, come apace to the king : there ii 
 more goot toward you, peradventure, than is ir 
 your knowledge to dream of. 
 
 Will. Sir, know you this glove? 
 
 Flu. Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove 
 
 Will. I know this ; and thus I challenge it. 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 
 Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the 
 universal 'orld, or in France, or in England. 
 
 Goio. How now, sir? you villain! 
 
 Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn? 
 
 Flu. Stand away, captain Gower; I will giw 
 treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. 
 
 Will. I am no traitor. 
 
 Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. — I charge }'0u, in 
 his majesty's name, apprehend him ; he's a friend of 
 the duke Alen9on's. 
 
 Enter Warwick and Gloster. 
 
 War. How now, how now ! what's the mattei 1 
 
 Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised bi 
 
 Got for it !) a most contagious treason come to ligH 
 
 look you, as you shall desire in "^ sJimraer'" dav 
 
 Here is his majesty. 
 
 Enter King Henut and Exi;tfh. 
 K. Hen. How now! what? the matter/ 
 
ACT v. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 465 
 
 Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, 
 look your grace, has struck the glove which your 
 majesty is take out of the helmet of Alen^on. 
 
 Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is the 
 fellow of it: and he, that I gave it to in change, 
 promised to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike 
 him, if lie did: I met this man with my glove in 
 his cap, and I have been as good as my word. 
 
 Flu. Your majesty, hear now, (saving your ma- 
 jesty's manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, 
 lousy knave it is : I hope your majesty is pear me 
 testimony, and witness, and avouchmcnts, that 
 this is the glove of Alen9on, that your majesty is 
 give nie, in your conscience now. 
 
 K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier; Look, here 
 is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promiscd'st 
 to strike ; and thou hast given me most bitter terms. 
 
 Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer 
 for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld. 
 
 K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction ? 
 
 Will. All ollences, my liege, come from the heart: 
 never came any from mine, that might ofl'jnd your 
 majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. 
 
 Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you 
 appeared to me but as a common man ; witness the 
 night, your garments, your lowliness ; and what 
 your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech 
 you, take it for your own fault, and not mine: for 
 had you been as I took you for, I made no offence ; 
 therefore, I beseech }'our highness, pardon me. 
 
 K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with 
 crowns. 
 And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow; 
 And wear it for an honor in thy cap. 
 Till I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns : — 
 And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 
 
 /''/(/. By this day and this light, the fellow has 
 mettle enough in his pelly : — Hold, there is twelve 
 pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and 
 keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, 
 and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter 
 for you. 
 
 Will. I will none of your mono}'. 
 
 Flu. It is with a goot will ; I can tell you, it will 
 serve you to mend j'our shoes : Come, wherefore 
 should you be so pashful 1 your shoes is not so goot : 
 'tis a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. 
 
 Enter an English Herald. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, herald; are the dead number'd? 
 Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd 
 
 French. [^Delivers a Paper. 
 
 K. Hai. What prisoners of good sort are taken, 
 
 uncle 1 
 Cre. ( Iharles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king; 
 
 John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt: 
 Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires, 
 Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 
 
 K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 
 French, 
 That in the field lie slain : of princes in this number, 
 And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead, 
 One hundred twenty-six: added to these. 
 Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen. 
 Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which 
 Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights: 
 So that, in these ten thousand thej have ^js^ 
 There are but sixteen hundred mercenarl'CS , 
 The rest are — princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squire* 
 And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
 The names of those their nobles that lie dead, — 
 Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; 
 Jacques of Chatiilon, admiral of France ; 
 The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures; 
 Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard 
 
 Dauphin; 
 John duke of Alen^on; Antony duke of Brabant 
 The brother to the duke of Burgundy ; 
 And Edward duke of Bar; of lusty earls, 
 Grandpre, and Roussi, Fauconbcrg, and Foix, 
 Beaumont, and Marie, Vaudemont, and Lestrale* 
 
 Here was a royal fellowship of death! 
 
 Where is the number of our English dead'; 
 
 [HcraU prese7its another Paper 
 Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, 
 Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam, esquire : 
 None else of name : and, of all other men, 
 But five-and-twenty. O God, thy arm was here, 
 And not to us, hut to thy arm alone, 
 Ascribe we all.- — When, without stratagem. 
 But in plain shock, and even play of battle, 
 Was ever known so great and little loss. 
 On one part and on the other] — Take it, God, 
 For it is only thine ! 
 
 Exe. 'Tis wonderful ! 
 
 K. He7i. Come, go we in procession to the village : 
 And be it death proclaimed through our host. 
 To boast of this, or take that praise from God, 
 Which is his only. 
 
 Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to 
 tell how many is killed] 
 
 K. Hen. Yes, captain, but with this acknowledg- 
 ment. 
 That God fought for us. 
 
 Fill. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. 
 
 K. Hen. Do we all holy rites ; 
 Let there be sung No7i nobis, and Te Deum, 
 The dead with charity enclos'd in clay. 
 We'll then to Calais; and to England then; 
 Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. 
 
 \^Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 Enter Chotitts. 
 Char. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the 
 storj'. 
 That I may prompt them: and of such as have, 
 I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
 Of time, of numbers, and due course of things. 
 Which cannot in their huge and proper life 
 
 fie here preserited. Now we bear the king 
 Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen, 
 Heave him away upon your winged thoughts. 
 Athwart the sea: Behold, the English beach 
 Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, 
 Whose .shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mc»'ithM 
 sea. 
 
16b 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 hich, like a mighty whiffler* 'fore tlie king, 
 Seems to prepare his way: so let him land; 
 And, solemnly, see him set on to London. 
 So swift a pace hath thought, that even now 
 You may imagine him upon Blackheath: 
 Where that his lords desire him, to have' home 
 His hruised helmet, and his bended sword, 
 Before him, through the city: he forbids it, 
 Being free from vainness and scIf-glorious pride; 
 Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, 
 Quite from himself, to God. But now behold. 
 In the quick forge and working-house of thought, 
 How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
 The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort, — 
 Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
 With the plebeians swarming at their heels,—- 
 Go forth, and fetch their conquering Cffisar in: 
 As, by a lower but by loving likelihood,^ 
 Were now the general of our gracious empress'' 
 (As, in good time, he may) from Ireland coming. 
 Bringing rebellion broached" on his sword. 
 How many would the peaceful city quit. 
 To welcome him] much more, and much more cause. 
 Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ; 
 (As yet the lamentation of the French 
 Invites the king of England's stay at home: 
 The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 
 To order peace between thcm;)*nd omit 
 All the occurrences, whatever chanced. 
 Till Harry's back-return again to France: 
 There must we bring him ; and myself have play'd 
 The interim, by remembering you — 'tis past. 
 Tlien brook abridgment; and your eyes advance 
 After your thoughts, straight back again to France. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I.- France. An English Court of Guard. 
 Enter Fluellen and Gowr,n. 
 
 Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your 
 leek to-day 1 Saint Davy's day is j)ast. 
 
 Flu. There is occasions and causes why and 
 wherefore in all things; I will tell you, as my 
 friend, captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly, 
 lousy, pragging knave. Pistol, — which you and 
 yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no better than 
 a fellow, look you now, of no merits, — he is come 
 to me, and prings me pread and salt yesterday, 
 look you, and pid me eat my leek : it was in a 
 place where I could not prccd no contentions with 
 him ; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my 
 cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell 
 him a little piece of my desires. 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 
 Gow. Why, here he comes swelling like a 
 tarkcy-cock. 
 
 Fhi. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his 
 turkey-cocks. — Got pless you, ancient Pistol ! you 
 Bcurvy, lousy knave. Got pless you ! 
 
 Fist. Ha ! art thou Bedlam 1 dost thou thirst, 
 base Trojan, 
 To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? 
 Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 
 
 Flu. I peseechyou heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, 
 at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, 
 to eat, look you, this leek ; because, look you, you do 
 
 * An officer who walks first in processions. 
 
 • I. e To order it to be borne. « Similitudp. 
 ■< The earl of Essex in the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 Spitted, transfixed. 
 
 not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, 
 and your digestions, does not agree with it, 1 
 would desire you to eat it. 
 
 Fist. Not for Cadwalladcr and all his goats. 
 
 Flu. There is one goat for you. l_Stri/ces him.^ 
 Will be so goot, scald knave, as eat it ' 
 
 Fist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 
 
 Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got'a 
 will is: I will desire you to live in the mean tune, 
 and eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it, 
 [_Slri/i'ing him again.'] You called me yesterday 
 mountain-squire ; but I will make you to-day a 
 squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to ; if you 
 can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. 
 
 Goiv. Enough, captain : you have astonished him. 
 
 Flu. I say, I will make him cat some part of 
 my leek, or I will peat his pate four days . — Pile, I 
 pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and 
 your ploody coxcomb. 
 
 Fist. Must I bite T 
 
 Flu. Yes, certainly ; and out of loubt, and out 
 of questions too, and ambiguities. 
 
 Fist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge : 
 I eat, and eke I swear — 
 
 Flu. Eat, I pray you: Will you have some 
 more sauce to your leek] there is not enough 
 leek to swear by. 
 
 Fist. Quiet thy cudgc 1 ; thou dost see, I eat. 
 
 Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. 
 Nay, 'pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot 
 for your proken coxcomb. When you take occa- 
 sions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at 
 them ; that is all. 
 
 Fist. Good. 
 
 Flu. Ay, leeks is goot : — Hold you, there is a 
 groat to heal your pate. 
 
 Fist. Me a groat ! 
 
 Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth you shall take it ; 
 or I have another leek in my pocket, which you 
 shall eat. 
 
 Fist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge. 
 
 Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in 
 cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy 
 nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and 
 keep you, and heal your pate. [Exit. 
 
 Fist. All hell shall stir for this. 
 
 Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly 
 knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition,- 
 begun upon an honorable respect, and worn as a 
 memorable trophy of predeceased valor, — and dare 
 not avouch in your deeds any of your words 1 I iiave 
 seen you gleeking" and galling at this gentleman 
 twice or thrice. You thought, because he could 
 not speak English in the native garb, he could not 
 therefore handle an English cudgtl: you find il 
 otherwise ; and henceforth, let a Welsh correction 
 teach you a good English condition.' Fare ye well, 
 
 " {Exit 
 
 Fist. Doth fortune play the li'iswife'^ with m« 
 nowl 
 News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital.'' 
 Of malady of France ; 
 And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
 Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
 Honor is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn. 
 And something lean to cutpurse of quick hana. 
 To England will I steal, and there I'll steal : 
 And patches will I get unto these scars, 
 And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. \_Exit 
 
 9 Scoffing, sneering. « Temper. 'For jilt. »UospitaL 
 
Scene II 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 461 
 
 SCENE II. — Troycs in Champagne. An Apart- 
 ment in the French King's Palace. 
 
 Enteral one door, Kifia Heniit, BKi)Foni),GLOs- 
 
 TKIt, EXKTKR, WaIIWICK, WkSTMOHELANI), 
 
 and oilier Lords ; at another, the French King, 
 QuKEjf Isabel, the Piuncess Katharine, 
 Lords, Ladies, 4'C.; the Duke of Buiioundt, 
 and his Train. 
 
 K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are 
 met! 
 Unto our brother France, — and to our sister, 
 Health and fair time of day : — ^joy and good wishes 
 To our most fair and princely couKin Katharine; 
 And (as a branch and member of this royalty. 
 By vvliom this great assembly is contrived) 
 We do salute you, duke of Burgundy; — 
 And, princes French, and i)eers, health to you all ! 
 /'V. King. Right joyous art' we to behold your face. 
 Most worthy brother England; iiiirly met: — 
 So are you, princes English, every one. 
 
 Q. ha. So ha])py be the issue, brother England, 
 Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting. 
 As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; 
 Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
 Against the French, that met them in their bent, 
 The fatal balls of murdering basilisks; 
 1'he venom of such looks, we fairly hope. 
 Have lost their quality; and that this day 
 Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love. 
 K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. 
 Q. ha. You English princes all, I do salute you. 
 liur. My duty to you both, on e(iual love. 
 Great kings of France and England ! That I have 
 
 labor'd 
 With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavors. 
 To bring your most imperial majesties 
 Unto this bar* and royal interview, 
 Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. 
 Since then my office hath so far prevail'd, 
 Thai face to face, and royal eye to eye, 
 You have congreeted ; let it not disgrace me, 
 If I demand, before this royal view. 
 What rub, or what impediment, there is, 
 VA'hy, that the naked, poor, and mangled peace. 
 Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births. 
 Should not, in this best garden of the world. 
 Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage! 
 Alas ! she hath from France too long been chas'd ; 
 And all her husbandry cloth lie on heaps. 
 Corrupting in its own fertility. 
 Her "ire, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
 Un{ relied dies: her hedges even-pleach'd, — 
 Lik.i prisoners wildly over-grown with hair. 
 Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas, 
 The darnel, hendock, and rank fumitory. 
 Doth root upon; while that the coulter rusts. 
 That should deracinate'' such savagery : 
 The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
 The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, 
 Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
 Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems. 
 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs. 
 Losing both beauty and utihty. 
 And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges. 
 Defective in their natures, grow to wildness ; 
 Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children, 
 Ha\<' lost, or do not learn, for want of time. 
 The sciences tliat should become our country , 
 
 * Uarii^i » Force op by tho roots. 
 
 But grow, like savages, — as soldiers wiU, 
 That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 
 To swearing, and stern looks, diflus'd* attire. 
 And every thing that seems unnatural: 
 Which to reduce into our former favor,'' 
 You are assend)led: and my spcedi entreats, 
 That I njay know the let," why gentle peace- 
 Should not expel these inconveniences, 
 And bless us with her former qualities. 
 
 K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the 
 peace, 
 Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
 Which you have cited, you nnist buy that r«5ic« 
 With full accord to all our just demands; 
 Whose tenors and particular effects 
 You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. 
 Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the which, 
 as yet. 
 There is no answer made. 
 
 K. Hen. Well then, the peace 
 
 Which you before so urged, lies in his answei 
 Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye 
 O'er-glanced the articles : pleaseth your grace 
 To appoint some of your council j)rescntly 
 To sit with us once more, with better heed 
 To re-survey them, we will, suddenly. 
 Pass our accept, and peremptory answer. 
 
 K. Hen. Brother, we shall. — Go, uncle Exeter,— 
 And brother Clarence, — and you, brother Gloster, — 
 M'arwick, — and Huntingdon, — go with the king- 
 And take with you free power to ratify. 
 Augment, or alter, as your v.'isdoms best 
 Shall sec advantagcable for our dignity, 
 Any thing in, or out of, our demands; 
 And we'll consign thereto. — Will you, fair sister. 
 Go with the princes, or slay here wifh us? 
 
 Q. La. Our gracious brother, I will go with them • 
 Haply, a woman's voice may do some good. 
 When articles, too nicely urged, be stood on. 
 K. He7i. Yet leave our cousin Katharine her« 
 with us; 
 She is our capital demand, comprised 
 Within the fore-rank of our articles. 
 Q. Isa. She hath good leave. 
 
 [^Exeunt all hut Henuy, Kathahine, 
 and her Gentlewoman. 
 K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair! 
 
 W^ill you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, 
 Such as will enter at a lady's ear. 
 And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? 
 
 Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot 
 speak your England. 
 
 K. Hen. O fiiir Katharine, if you will love me 
 soundly with your Freiuh heart, I will be glad to 
 hear you confess it brokenly with your English 
 tongue. Do you like me, Kate? 
 
 Kath. Pardonnez ntoy, I cannot tell vat is — like 
 me. 
 
 K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and yen 
 are like an angel. 
 
 Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semblahk a lei 
 anges ? 
 
 Alice. Ouy, vruyinenl, {sauf vostre grace,) ainn 
 dit-il. 
 
 K, Hen. I said so, dear Kitharine. and I must 
 not blush to aflirm it. 
 
 Kath. 0! hon Dieu .' 
 sont pleines des tronipiries 
 
 les lungues des hommes 
 
 « KxtraTagant. 
 
 '■ Appearance. ' Uinderanna 
 
(68 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act V 
 
 K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the ! 
 longues of men arc full of deceits '^ ' 
 
 Alice. Ouy,- tlat de tongues of de mans is be full 
 of deceits : dat is de princess. 
 
 K. Hen. The princess is the better English- 
 woman. Ffaith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy 
 understanding: I am glad, thou canst speak no 
 better English ; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst 
 find me such a plain king, that thou wouldst think, 
 I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no 
 Vfays to mince it in love, but directly to say — I love 
 you : then, if you urge me further than to say — Do 
 vou, in faith ] I wear out my suit. Give me your 
 answer; i'faith, do; and so clap hands and a bar- 
 gain : How say you, lady ? 
 
 Kath. Saufvostre honneur, me understand well. 
 
 K. Hen, Marry, if you would put me to verses, 
 or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me : 
 for the one, I have neither words nor measure ; and 
 for the other, I have no strength in measure,' yet a 
 reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a 
 lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with 
 my armor on my back, under the correction of 
 bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap for a 
 wife. Or, if I might bufiet for my love, or bound my 
 horse for her favors, I could lay on like a butcher, and 
 sit like a jack-an-apes, never off: but, before God, 
 I cannot look greenly,* nor gasp out my eloquence, 
 nor I have no cunning in protestation ; only down- 
 right oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never 
 break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of 
 this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun- 
 burning, that never looks in his glass for love of any 
 thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I 
 speak to thee plain soldier : If thou canst love me for 
 this, take me : if not, to say to thee — that I shall die, 
 is true ; but — for thy love, by the Lord, no ; yet I 
 love thee too. And while thou livcst, dear Kate, 
 take a fellow of plain and uncoined' constancy ; for 
 he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not 
 the gift to woo in other places : for these fellows of 
 mfinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into 
 ladies' favors — they do always reason themselves 
 out again. What ! a speaker is but a prater ; a 
 rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall f a 
 straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn 
 white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face 
 will wither; a full eye will wax hollow : but a good 
 heart, Kate, is the sun and moon; or rather the 
 sun, and not the moon ; for it shines bright, and 
 never char.ges, but keeps his course truly. If thou 
 would have such a one, take me : And take me, 
 take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king: And 
 what sayest thou then to my love ? speak, my fair, 
 and fairly, I pray thee. 
 
 KalJu Is it possible dat I should love de enemy 
 of France ? 
 
 K. Hen. No ; it is not possible, you should love 
 the enemy of France, Kate; but in loving me, you 
 should love the friend of France ; for I love France 
 BO well j that I will not part with a village of it, I 
 will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is 
 mine, and I am yours, then yours is France, and 
 you are mine. 
 
 Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 
 
 K.Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; 
 Jvhich, I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a 
 
 » In dancing. • i. e. Like a young lover, awkwardly. 
 » He means, resembling a plain piece of metal, which 
 Has not yet received any impression. * Fall away. 
 
 new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardlj 
 to be shook off. Quandfay lapossession de France, 
 et quandvous avez /a possession de mui, (let me see, 
 what then! Saint Denis be my speed!) — done 
 vast re est France, el vous estes mienne. It is as easy 
 for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom, as to speak 
 so much more French : I shall never move thee in 
 French, unless it be to laugh at me. 
 
 Kath. Saufvostre honneur, le Francois que vous 
 parlez, est niellkur que /' Anglois hqueljeparle. 
 
 K. Hen. No, fliith, is't not, Kate : but thy speak- 
 ing of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, 
 must needs be granted tc be much at one. But, 
 Kate, dost thou understand thus much English ^ 
 Canst thou love mel 
 
 Kath. I cannot tell. 
 
 K. Hen. Can any of your neighbors tell, Kate '! 
 I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me : and 
 at night when you come into your closet, 3'ou'ri 
 question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, 
 Kate, you will to her, dispraise those parts in me, 
 tliat you love with your heart : but, good Kate, 
 mock me mercifully ; the rather, gentle princess, 
 because I love thee cruelly. If ever thou be'st mine, 
 Kate, (as I have a saving faith within me, tells me, 
 — thou shalt,) I get thee with scrambling, and thou 
 must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder : 
 Shall not thou and I, between Saint Denis and 
 Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half 
 English, that shall go to Constantinople, and take 
 the Turk by the beard 1 shall we not ? what sayest 
 thou flower-de-luce ? 
 
 Kath. I do not know dat. 
 
 K. Hen. No ; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to 
 promise : do but now promise, Kate, you will en- 
 deavor for your French part of such a boy ; and, for 
 my English moiety, take the word of a king, and 
 a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Catha- 
 rine du monde, mon trls chere et divine deesse ? 
 
 Kath. Your majeste \ycfausse French enough to 
 deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en Franoe. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, fye upon my false French ! By 
 mine honor, in true English, I love thee, Kate : by 
 which honor I dare not swear, thou lovest me ; 
 yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, 
 notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect 
 of my visage. Now beshrew my father's ambition ! 
 he was thinking of civil wars when he got me ; there- 
 fore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an 
 aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I 
 fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the 
 l)etter I shall appear : my comfort is, that old age, 
 that ill-layer up of beauty, can do no more spoil 
 upon my face : thou hast me, if thou hast me, at 
 the worst ; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear 
 me, better and better ; and therefore tell me, most 
 fair Katharine, will you have me 1 Put off your 
 maiden blushes ; avouch the thoughts of your heart 
 with the looks of an empress ; take me by the hand, 
 and say — Harry of England, I am thine: which 
 word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal 
 but I will tell thee aloud — England is thine. Ire 
 land is thine, France is thine, arid Henry Planta 
 genet is thine ; who, though I speak it before his 
 face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou 
 shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, 
 your answer in broken music ; for thy voice is 
 music, and thy English broken : therefore, queen 
 of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken 
 English, Wilt thou have me ■? 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 469 
 
 Kaih. Dat is as it shall please de roy man 
 pere. 
 
 K. Hen, Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it 
 shall please him, Kate. 
 
 Knth. Den it shall also content me. 
 
 K. Hen. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I 
 call you — ray queen. 
 
 Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez; 
 mafoy,je ne veux point que vous abbaissez vostre 
 grandeur, en baisant la main d'u7ie vostre in- 
 digne serviteur; excusez moy, je vous supplie, 
 mon tris puissant seigneur. 
 
 K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 
 
 Kath. Les 'dames, et demoiselles, pour estre 
 baisees devant leur nopces, il rV est pas la cotltume 
 de France. 
 
 K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says 
 sho'' 
 
 Ahce. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies 
 of France, — I cannot tell what is baiser, en 
 English. 
 
 K. Hen. To kiss. 
 
 Alice. Your majesty entendre better que moy. 
 
 K. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids in 
 France to kiss before they arc married, would she 
 say 7 
 
 Alice. Ouy, vrayment. 
 
 K. Hen. O, Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great 
 kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined 
 within the weak list* of a country's fashion : we are 
 the makers of manners, Kate ; and the liberty that 
 follows our places, stops the mouths of all find- 
 faults ; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice 
 fashion of your country, in denying me a kiss : 
 therefore, patiently, and yielding. \Kissing Aer.] 
 You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate : there is 
 more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than 
 in the tongues of a French council; and they 
 should sooner persuade Harry of England, than 
 a general petition of monarchs. Here comes 
 your father. 
 
 Enter the French King and Queen, Burgundy, 
 Bedford, Gloster, Exeter, Westmoreland, 
 and other French and English Lords. 
 
 Bur. God save your majesty ! my royal cousin, 
 teach you our princess English. 
 
 K. Hen. I would h&x e her learn, my fair cousin, 
 how perfectly I love her; and that is good 
 English. 
 
 Bur. Is she not apt ? 
 
 K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz ; and my con- 
 dition* is not smooth ; so that, having neither the 
 voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so 
 conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will 
 appear in his true likeness. 
 
 Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I an- 
 swer you for that. If you would conjure in her, 
 you must make a circle: if conjure up love in her, 
 in his true likeness, he must appear naked, and 
 blind : Can you blame her then, being a maid yet 
 rosed over with the virgin crimson of modesty, if 
 she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in 
 her naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a hard 
 condition for a maid to consign to. 
 
 A'. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield ; as love 
 \s blind, and enforces. 
 
 « Slight barrier. 
 
 t Temper. 
 
 Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when 
 they see not what they do. 
 
 K. He7i. Then, good my lord, teach your couain 
 to consent to winking. 
 
 Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if 
 you will teach her to know my meaning : for maids, 
 well summered and warm kept, are like flies at 
 Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their 
 eyes ; and then they will endure handling, which 
 before would not abide looking on. 
 
 K, Hen. This moral' ties me over to time, and 
 a hot summer ; and so I will catch the fly, your 
 cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too. 
 
 Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 
 
 K. Hen. It is so : and you may. some of you, 
 thank love for my blindness ; who cannot see many 
 a fair French city, for one fair French maid that 
 stands in my way. 
 
 Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them perspcc- 
 tively, the cities turned into a maid ; for they are 
 all girdled with maiden walls, that war hath never 
 entered. 
 
 K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife ? 
 
 Fr. King. So please you. 
 
 K. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities you 
 talk of, may wait on her: so the maid, that stood 
 in the way of my wish, shall show me the way to 
 my will. 
 
 Fr. King, We have consented to all terms of 
 reason. 
 
 K. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England ? 
 
 West. The king hath granted every article • 
 His daughter, first; and tlien, in sequel, all, 
 According to their firm proposed natures. 
 
 Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this :- 
 Where your majesty demands, — That the king ct 
 France having any occasion to write for matter of 
 grant, shall name your highness in this form, and 
 with this addition, in French, — Notre tris cherjilz 
 Henry, roy d' Angleterre, heritier de France,- and 
 thus in Latin, — Prseclarissimus Jilius noster Hm. 
 ricus, rex Angliae, ^ hscres Franciae. 
 
 Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so donied, 
 But your request shall make me let it pass. 
 
 K. Hen. I pray you, then, in love and dear al- 
 Uance, 
 Let that one article rank with the rest : 
 And, thereupon, give me your daughter. 
 
 Fr. King. Take her, fair son ; and from her hlcod 
 raise up 
 Issue to me : that the contending kingdoms 
 Of France and England, whose very shores look 
 
 pale 
 With envy of each other's happiness. 
 May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunc- 
 tion 
 Plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord 
 In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
 His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair 
 France. 
 
 All. Amen! 
 
 K. Hen. Now welcome, Kate : — and bear me 
 witness all. 
 That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. 
 
 [Flourisn, 
 
 Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages, 
 Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! 
 As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
 
 • ApplicAtion. 
 
 81 
 
«70 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act V. Scene Fi 
 
 So be there 'twlxt your kingdoms such a spousal, 
 That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, 
 Which troubles oft the Led of blessed marriage. 
 Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms. 
 To make divorce of their incorporate league; 
 That English may as French, French Englishmen, 
 Receive each other! — God speak this Amen! 
 
 All. Amen! 
 
 K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage: — on 
 which day. 
 My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath. 
 And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. — 
 Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ! 
 And may our oaths well kept and prosp'rous be ! 
 
 [^Ex'.unt. 
 
 Etder Ciionus. 
 
 Thus far, with rough, and all unable pea. 
 
 Our bending* authoi hath pursu'd the story ; 
 In little room confining mighty men, 
 
 Mangling by starts the full course of their glorj 
 Small time, but, in that small, mosi greatly liv'd 
 
 This star of England: fortune made his sword 
 By which the world's best garden' he achiev'd. 
 
 And of it left his son imperial lord. 
 Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king 
 
 Of France and England, did this king succeed:. 
 Whose state so many had the managing. 
 
 That they lost France, and made his England 
 bleed : 
 Which oft our stage hath shown ; and for their sake. 
 In your fair minds let this acceptance take, [TJxU 
 
 • ». e. Uiaequal in the weight, of the subject. ' Frasoek 
 
 I 
 
:vc^- 
 
 .:i.-ii 
 
 
 \^ 
 
 «% 
 
 ^ 
 
FIRST PART OP 
 
 KING HENRY YL 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KlITQ HEiniT THE SiXTH. 
 
 Duke of Gloster, Uncle to the King, and Pro- 
 tector. 
 
 Duke of Bedfori), Uncle to the King, and Re- 
 gent of France. 
 
 Thomas Beatjfort, Duke of Exeter, great Un- 
 cle to the King. 
 
 Henry Bf.aufout, great Uncle to the King, Bi- 
 shop of Winchester, and afterwards Car- 
 dinal. 
 
 'oHX Beaufort, Earl of Somerset; afterwards 
 Duke. 
 
 Richard PtANTAfiEUET, eldest Son of Richard, 
 late Earl of Cambridge ; afterwards Duke 
 of York. 
 
 Earl of Warwick. 
 
 Earl of Salisbury. 
 
 Earl of Suffolk. 
 
 Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. 
 
 John Talbot, his So?i. 
 
 Edward Mortimer, Earl of March. 
 
 Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer. 
 
 Sir John Fastolfe. 
 
 Sir William Lucy. 
 
 Bia William Glansdale. 
 
 Sir Thomas Garghave. 
 
 Mayor of London. 
 
 WooDviLLK, Lieutenant of the 'I'ower. 
 Vernon, of the White Rose, or York Faction. 
 Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster Faction. 
 Chables, Dauphin, and afterwards King of 
 
 France. 
 Reignieh, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of 
 
 Naples. 
 Duke of Burgundy. 
 Duke of Alen^on. 
 Governor of Paris. 
 Bastard of Orleans. 
 
 Master-Gunner of Orleans, and his Son. 
 General of Ike French Forces in Bourdeaux. 
 A French Sergeant. 
 A Porter. 
 Margaret, Daughter to Reignier; afterwards mat' 
 
 ried to King Henry. 
 Countess of Auvergne. 
 
 Joan la Pucelle, conunonly called J*)X7f of Arc. 
 Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, 
 
 Soldiers, Messengers, and several Atten- 
 
 dayits both on the English and French- 
 
 SCENE, partly in England, and partly in France. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L— Westminster Abbey. 
 
 ^ead March. Corpse ofKma Henry the Fifth 
 discovered, lying in state; attended on by the 
 Dukes of Bedford, Gloster, and Exeter; 
 the Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Win- 
 chester, Heralds, S^c. 
 
 Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day 
 to night ! 
 Comets, importing change of times and states. 
 Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky : 
 And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, 
 That have consented unto Henry's death ! 
 Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! 
 England na'er lost a king of so much worth. 
 
 Glo. E.igland ne'er had a king until his time. 
 Virtue be had, deserving to command: 
 His biaiiLish'd sword did blind men with his beams; 
 His a-.TT-s spread wider than a dragon's wings ; 
 His .parkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, 
 More dazzled and drove baek his enemies, 
 471 
 
 Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against tneir facesi 
 What should I say 1 his deeds exceed all speech, 
 He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered. 
 
 Exe. We mourn in black ; Why mourn we not 
 Henry is dead, and never shall revive : [in blood T 
 Upon a wooden coffin we attend ; 
 And death's dishonorable victory 
 We with our stately presence glorify. 
 Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
 What ? shall we curse the planets of misha| 
 That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? 
 Or shall we think the subtle-witted French 
 Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him. 
 By magic verses' have contrived his end 1 
 
 Witi. He was a king bless'd of the King of king^ 
 
 Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day 
 
 So dreadful will not be, as was his sight. 
 
 The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought : 
 
 The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 
 
 » There was a notion long preyalent, that life mijcht b« 
 taken away by metrical charms. 
 
<72 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act L 
 
 Glo. The church! where is it? had not church- 
 men pray'd, 
 His thread of hfc had not so soon dccay'd : 
 None do you Hiie but an effeminate prince, 
 Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 
 
 Win. Gloster, wliate'er we hke,tliou art protector; 
 And lookest to command the prince, and realm. 
 Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe. 
 More than God, or religious churchmen may. 
 
 Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh. 
 And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'.st. 
 Except it be to pray against thy foes. 
 
 Red. Cease, cease these jars, an<l rest your 
 minds in peace ! 
 Lei's to the altar: — Heralds, wait on us: — 
 Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms ; 
 Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. — 
 Posterity, await for wretched years. 
 When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck; 
 Our isle be made a nourish'' of salt tears. 
 And none but women left to wail the dead. — 
 Henry the Fifth ! thy ghost I invocate ; 
 Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! 
 Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! 
 A far more glorious star thy soul will make, 
 Than Julius Caesar, or bright 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My honorable lords, health to you all ! 
 Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, 
 Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture : 
 Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, OrleaRS, 
 Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. 
 
 Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Hen- 
 ry's corse? 
 Speak softly ; or the loss of those great towns 
 Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. 
 
 Glo. Is Paris lost? is Roiien yielded up? 
 If Henry were recall'd to life again. 
 These news would cause him once more yield the 
 ghost. 
 
 Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was 
 us'd? 
 
 Mess. No treachery; but want of men and money. 
 Among the soldiers this is muttered, — 
 That here you maintain several factions; 
 And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought. 
 You are disputing of your generals. 
 One would have lingering wars with little cost; 
 Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; 
 A third man thinks, without expense at all. 
 By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. 
 Awake, awake, English nobility ! 
 Let not sloih dim your honors, new-begot : 
 Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms 
 Of England's coat one half is cut away. 
 
 Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral. 
 These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. 
 
 Bed. Me they concern ; regent I am of France: — 
 Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France. — 
 Away with these disgraceful wailing robes ! 
 Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes, 
 To weep their intermissive miseries.' 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad 
 mischance, 
 
 » Nurse was anciently so spelt. 
 
 • I. e. Their miseries which hare had only a short inter- 
 siission. 
 
 France is revolted from the English quite, 
 Except some petty towns >f no import: 
 The dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheime 
 The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; 
 Reignier, duke of Anjou, doth take his part ; 
 The duke of Alcnc-on flictli to his side. 
 
 Exe. Thcdaupliin cvownod katg! all fly to him; 
 O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? 
 
 Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats: 
 Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. 
 
 Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forward- 
 ness? 
 An army have I muster 'd in my thoughts. 
 Wherewith already France is over-run. 
 
 Enter a third Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My gracious lords, — to add to your la- 
 ments, 
 Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse,— 
 I must inform you of a dismal fight. 
 Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. 
 
 Will. What ! wherein Talbot overcame ? is't so ? 
 
 ^ Mess. O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'er- 
 thrown ; 
 The circumstance I'll tell j'ou more at large. 
 The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, 
 Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 
 Having fiill scarce six thousand in his troop, 
 By three-and-twenty thousand of the French 
 Was round encompassed and set upon ; 
 No leisure had he to enrank his men; 
 He wanted pikes to set before his archers > 
 Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of 
 
 hedges. 
 They pitched in the ground confusedly. 
 To keep the horsemen oflT from breaking in. 
 More than three hours the fight continued; 
 Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, 
 Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. 
 Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand 
 
 him ; 
 Here, there, and every where, enraged he slew : 
 The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms; 
 All the whole army stood agaz'd on him : 
 His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, 
 A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain. 
 And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 
 Here had the conquest fully been sealed up. 
 If sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward 
 He being in the vaward (placed behind 
 With purpose to relieve and follow them,) 
 Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. 
 Hence grew the general wreck and massacre, 
 Enclosed were they with their enemies : 
 A base Walloon, to win the dauphin's grace. 
 Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back; 
 Whom all France, with their chief assembled 
 
 strength, 
 Durst not presume to look once in the face. 
 
 Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself, 
 For living idly here, in pomp and case. 
 Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid. 
 Unto his dastard foe-man is betray'd. 
 
 3 Mess. O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner, 
 And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford; 
 Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took likewise. 
 
 Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay 
 I'll hale the dauphin headlong from his throne, 
 His crown shall be the ransom of my friend ; 
 Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.— 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 47T 
 
 Farewell, ray masters; to my task will I; 
 Bonfires in France fortliwith I am to make. 
 To keep our great saint George's feast withal : 
 Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take. 
 Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. 
 
 3 Mess. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd; 
 The English army is grown weak and faint: 
 The earl of Salisbury craveth supply, 
 And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, 
 Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 
 
 Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry 
 sworn ; 
 Either to quell the dauphin utterly. 
 Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 
 
 Bed. I do remember it; and here takt; leave. 
 To go about my preparation. [Exit. 
 
 Glo. I'll to the Tower, with all the haste I can. 
 To view the artillery and munition ; 
 And then I will proclaim young Henry kii.g. [Exit. 
 
 Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is. 
 Being ordain'd his special governor; 
 A.nd for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit. 
 
 Win. Each hath his place and function to attend : 
 I am left out; for me nothing remains. 
 But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office ; 
 The king from Eltham I intend to send, 
 And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— France. Before Orleans. 
 
 Enter Chahles, with his Forces; Alescox, 
 Reignier, and others. 
 
 Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the 
 heavens, 
 80 in the earth, to this day is not known : 
 Late did he shine upon the English side; 
 Now wc are victors, upon us he smiles. 
 What towns of any moment, but we havel 
 At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans; 
 Other.whiles, the famish'd English,like pale ghosts. 
 Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 
 
 Alen. They want their porridge, and their fat 
 bull-beeves: 
 Either they must be dieted like mules. 
 And have their provender tied to their mouths, 
 Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. 
 
 Reig. Let's raise the siege : Why live we idl}' here? 
 Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: 
 Remaincth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; 
 And he may well in fretting spend his gall. 
 Nor men, nor money, hatli he to make war. 
 
 Char. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them. 
 Now for the honor of the forlorn French: 
 Him I forgive my death, that killeth me, 
 V\'hen he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Ahrums; Excursions,- afterwards a Retreat. 
 
 Jie-enter Chaiiles, Alkncox, REUf.viEn, and 
 
 others. 
 
 Char. Who ever saw the like? vvhat men have I? — 
 Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! — I would ne'er have fled. 
 But that they left me 'midst my enemies. 
 
 Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; 
 He fighteth as one weary of his life. 
 The other lords, like lions wanting food. 
 Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.' 
 
 A/en. Froissard, a countryman of ours, records, 
 England all Olivers and liowlands bred. 
 During the time Edward the third did reig "i 
 More truly now may this be verified; 
 
 * i. e. Tlie prey for which they are hungry 
 
 For none but Samsons, and Goliasses, ^ 
 
 It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ' 
 Lean raw-bon'd rascals ! who vi'ould e'er suppose 
 They had such courage and audacity ? 
 
 Char. Let's leave this town ; for they are hail 
 brain'd slaves, 
 And hunger will enforce them to be more eagei : 
 Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth 
 The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege 
 
 Reig. I think by some odd gimmals' or device, 
 Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on; 
 Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do. 
 By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone 
 
 Alen. Be it so. 
 
 Enter the Bastard of Orleans 
 
 Bast. Where's the prince dauphin ? I rOLvtr.tws 
 for him. 
 
 Char. Bastard' of Orleans, thrice we!c- iu« 10 ds. 
 
 Ba^t. Methinks, your looks are sad, your Jieer' 
 appall'd ; 
 Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? 
 Be not disraay'd, for succor is at hand: 
 A hoi}' maid hither with me I bring, 
 Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven. 
 Ordained is to raise this tedious siege. 
 And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
 The s))irit of deep prophecy she hath. 
 Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome; 
 What's past, and what's to come, she can descry. 
 Speak, shall I call her in ? Believe my words. 
 For they are certain and unfallible. 
 
 Char. Go, call her in: [Exit Bastard.] But, 
 first, to try her skill, 
 Reignier, stand thou as dauphin in my place: 
 Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern: — 
 By this means shall we sound what skill she hath 
 
 [Retires. 
 Enter La Pucelle, Bastard of Orleans, aiid others 
 
 Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these won- 
 d'rous feats ? 
 
 Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile 
 me? — 
 Where is the dauphin ? — come, come from behind; 
 I know thee well, though never seen before. 
 Be not ama7,'d, there's nothing hid from me: 
 In private will I talk with thee apart: — 
 Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while 
 
 Reig. Slip takes upon her bravely at first dash. 
 
 Puc. Daujihin, I am by biith a shepherd'* 
 daughter. 
 My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. 
 Heaven, and our lady gracious, hath it pleas'd 
 To shine on my contemptible estate: 
 Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs. 
 And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, 
 God's mother deigned to appear to me ; 
 And, in a vision full of majesty, 
 Will'd me to leave my base vocation, 
 And free my country from calamity: 
 Her aid she promis'd and assur'd success* 
 In C(5mplete glory she rcveal'd herself; 
 And, whereas I was black and swart before. 
 With those clear rays which she infus'd on me. 
 That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see. 
 Ask me what question thou canst possible, 
 And I vi^ill answer unpremeditated: 
 
 » A pimmal is a picre of jointed work, where one piec« 
 moves witliin another; here it is taken at large for an en 
 gine. • This was not iu former times a li-rm of repi-oacli 
 
 ■• Counti'nance. 
 
474 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 My courage try by comba:, if tlion dar'st, 
 And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. 
 Resolve on this :' Thou shalt be fortunate, 
 If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. 
 
 Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high 
 Only this proof I'll of thy valor make, — [terms ; 
 In single combat thou shalt buckle with me : 
 And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true ; 
 Otherwise, I renounce all confidence. 
 
 Puc. I am prepared : here is my keen-edg'd sword, 
 Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; 
 The which at Touraine, in saint Katharine's church- 
 Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth. [yard. 
 
 Char. Then come o'God's name, I fear no woman. 
 
 Puc. And, while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. 
 
 \They fight. 
 
 Char. Stay, stay thy hands ; thou art an Amazon, 
 And fightest with the sword of Deborah, [weak. 
 
 Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too 
 
 Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must 
 Impatiently I burn with thy desire ; [help me : 
 My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd. 
 Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, 
 Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be; 
 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. 
 
 Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love, 
 For my profession's sacr. »d from above : 
 When I have chased all thy foes from hence. 
 Then will I think upon a recompence. [thrall. 
 
 Char. Meantime, look gracious on thy prostrate 
 
 Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 
 
 Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her 
 smock ; 
 Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 
 i2e/^.Shall we disturb him,since he keeps no mcanl 
 
 Alen. He may mean more than we poor men 
 
 do know. [tongues. 
 
 These women are shrewd tempters with their 
 
 Reig.My lord,whcre are you? what devise you on? 
 Shall we give over Orleans, or no ? 
 
 Ptic. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants ! 
 Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. 
 
 C/iar. What she says,I'll confirm; we'll fight it out. 
 
 Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. 
 This night the siege assuredly I'll raise : 
 Expect saint Martin's summer' halcyon days, 
 Since I have entered into these wars. 
 Glory is like a circle in the water, 
 Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, 
 Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought. 
 With Henry's death, the English circle ends ; 
 Dispersed are the glories it included. 
 Now am I like that proud insulting ship. 
 Which Cffisar and his fortune bare at once. 
 
 Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ? 
 Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 
 Helen, the mother of great Constantine, 
 Nor yet saint Philip's daughters,' were like thee. 
 Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth. 
 How may I reverently worship thee enough ? 
 
 Alen. Leave off" delays, and let us raise the siege. 
 
 Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our 
 honors ; 
 Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. 
 
 Char. Presently we'll try : — Come, let's away 
 about it: 
 No prophet will I trust if she prove false. [Exeunt. 
 
 8 Be firmly persuaded of it. 
 
 » Expect prosperity after misfortune. 
 
 • Meaning the four daughters of Philip mentioned in 
 tcts xxi. 9. 
 
 SCENE III.— London. Hill before the'Towet 
 
 Enter, at the Gates, the Duke op Gloster with 
 his Serving-men, 171 blue Coats. 
 
 Glo. I am come to aurvey the Tower this day 
 Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. 
 Where b« these warders, that they wait not here 
 Open the gates ; Gloster it is that calls. 
 
 [Servants knock. 
 1 Ward. [Within.'] Who is there that knocks 
 so imperiously? 
 
 1 Serv. It is the noble duke of Gloster. 
 
 2 Ward. [ Within.] Whoe'er he be, you may not 
 
 be let in. 
 Serv. Answer you so the lord protector, villains? 
 1 Ward. [ Within.] The Lord protect him ! so 
 we answer him : 
 We do no otherwise than we are will'd. [minel 
 Glo. Who willed you ? or whose will stands, but 
 There's none protector of the realm but I. — 
 Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize : 
 Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms ? 
 
 Servants rush at the Tower Gates. Enter, to the 
 Gates, WooDViLLE, the Lieutenant. 
 
 Wood. [ Within.] What noise is this ? what trai- 
 tors have we here ? 
 
 Glo. Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear? 
 Open the gates; here's Gloster, that would enter. 
 
 Wood. [ Within.] Have patience, noble duke ; I 
 may not open ; 
 The cardinal of Winchester forbids ; 
 From him I have express commandment. 
 That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in. [me? 
 
 Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore 
 Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate. 
 Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook ? 
 Thou art no friend to God, or to the king: 
 Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. 
 
 1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector; 
 Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not 
 
 quickly. 
 Enter Wixchestek, attended by a Train of Ser- 
 vants, in tawtiy Coats. 
 
 Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey ? what 
 means this? [shutout? 
 
 Glo. Piel'd priest,* dost thou command me to be 
 
 Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor,* 
 And not protector of the king or realm. 
 
 Glo. Stand back: thou manifest conspirator; 
 Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord : 
 Thou, that giv'st whores indulgences to sin : 
 I'll canvass' thee in thy broad cardinal's hat. 
 If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 
 
 Win. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a fc«t. 
 This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
 To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 
 
 Glo. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back! 
 Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth, 
 I'll use, to carry thee out of this place. 
 
 Win. Do what thou dar'st ; I beard thee to thy face 
 
 G/o. What ? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face?— 
 Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; [beard 
 Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware you; 
 [Gloster aiid his men attack the Bishop 
 I mean to tug it, and to cuff" you soundly: 
 Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat; 
 In spite of pope or dignities of church, 
 Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. 
 
 « Theft. » Alluding to his shaven croWn 
 
 « Traitor. » Sift. 
 
6CENE IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 4;n 
 
 Win. Glostcr, 1 iiou'lt answer this before the pope. 
 
 G/o. Winchester goose," I cry — a rope! arope! — 
 Now beat them hence : Why do you let them stay 1 — 
 Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. — 
 Out, tawny coats! — out, scarlet' hypocrite! 
 
 Here a gi-eat Tumult. In the midst of it, enter the 
 Mayor of London, and Officers. 
 
 May. Fye, lords ! that you, being supreme ma- 
 gistrates, 
 Thus contumeliously should break the peace ! 
 
 Glo. Peace, mayor; thou know'st little of my 
 wrongs : 
 Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
 Ilsith here distrain'd the Tower to his use. 
 
 Win. Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens; 
 One that still motions war, and never peace, 
 O'ercharging your fi'ee purses with large fines; 
 That seeks to oveithrow religion, 
 Because he is protector of the realm : 
 And would have armor here out of the Tower, 
 To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. 
 
 Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but 
 blows. [^Here they skirmish again. 
 
 May. Nought rests lor me, in this tumultuous 
 strife. 
 But to make open proclamation: — 
 Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst. 
 QfT. All nunmer of men, assembled here inarms 
 
 this day, against God's peace and the king's, 
 
 we charge and command you, in his highness' 
 
 name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; 
 
 and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, 
 
 weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain 
 
 'jf death. 
 
 Glo. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law : 
 But we shall meet and break our minds at large. 
 
 Win. Glostcr, we'll meet ; to thy dear cost, be sure : 
 Thy heart-blood I will have, for this day's work. 
 
 May. I'll call for clubs,^ if you will not away : — 
 This cardinal is more haughty than the devil. 
 
 Glo. Mayor, farewell ; thou dost but what thou 
 mayst. 
 
 Win. Abominable Gloster ! guard thy head ; 
 For I intend to have it ere long. \_Exeunt. 
 
 May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will 
 depart. 
 Good God ! that nobles should such stomachs' bear ! 
 I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— France. Before Orleans. 
 Enter on the Walls, the Master-Gunner andhis Son. 
 
 M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is be- 
 A nd how the English have the sul)urbs won. [sieged; 
 
 Si.n Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, 
 Ilove'er, unforfanate, I miss' my aim. 
 
 M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd 
 Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; [by me : 
 Something I must do, to procure me grace : 
 The prince's espials' have informed me, 
 H-iw the English, in the suburbs close intrencn'd, 
 W out, through a secret gate of iron bars 
 In yoiuler tower, to ovcrpeer the city ; 
 And thence discover, how, with most advantage, 
 They may vex us, with shot, or with assault. 
 To intercept this inconvenience, 
 .\ piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed ; 
 
 < A ptrumpet. » An allusinn to the Bishop's htibit. 
 
 » That i.>) for peace-officers armed with clubs or staves. 
 Pride. • Spies. 
 
 And fully even these three days have I walch'd, 
 If I could see them. Now boy, do thou watch. 
 For I can stay no longer. 
 If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; 
 And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit. 
 Son. Father, I warrant you ; take you no care ; 
 I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. 
 
 Enter, in an upper Chamber of a Tower,the Lord* 
 Salisbury andTx^yioT, Sir William Glans- 
 DALE, Sir Thomas Gargrave, and others, 
 
 Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd ! 
 How wert thou handled, being prisoner? 
 Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd 1 
 Discourse, Ipr'ythce, on this tun-ct's top. 
 
 Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner, 
 Called — the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles ; 
 For him I was exchanged and ransomed. 
 But with a baser man of arms by far. 
 Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me: 
 Which I, disdaining, scorn'd ; and craved death 
 Rather than I would be so piled esteem'd.' 
 In fine, redecm'd I was as I desir'd. 
 But, ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart ! 
 Whom with my bare fists I would execute, 
 If I now had him brought into my power. 
 
 Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert enter- 
 tain'd. 
 
 Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelioui 
 taunts. 
 In open market-place produced they me, 
 To be a public spectacle to all ; 
 Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
 The scare-crow that affrights our children so. 
 Then broke I from the officers that led me; 
 And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground. 
 To hurl at the beholders of my shame. 
 My grisly countenance made others fly ; 
 None durst come near for fear of sudden death. 
 In iron walls they deem'd me not secure ; 
 So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread 
 That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steel, 
 And spurn in pieces posts of adamant; 
 Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, 
 That walk'd about me every minute-while; 
 And if I did but stir out of my bed, 
 Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 
 
 Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd •. 
 But we will be revenged sufficiently. 
 Now is it supper-time in Orleans : 
 Here through this grate, I can count every one, 
 And view the Frenchmen how they fortify ; 
 Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee.— 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdals, 
 Let me have your express opinions, 
 W^here is best place to make our battery next. 
 
 Gar. I think, at the north gate; for there stand 
 lords. 
 
 Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. 
 
 Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, 
 Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. 
 
 [Shot from the Town. SALisntnir and 
 Sir Thomas Q \v.i.in\\T. fall. 
 
 Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners ! 
 
 Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man ! 
 
 Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath 
 cross'd us ? 
 Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak; 
 How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? 
 
 » So stripped of honoro 
 
476 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act J 
 
 One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off! 
 Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand, 
 That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy ! 
 In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame: 
 Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars; 
 Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, 
 His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. 
 Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury ] though thy speech doth 
 
 fail, 
 One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace : 
 The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. — 
 Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive. 
 If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! — 
 Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it. — 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life'? 
 Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. 
 Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort; 
 
 Thou .shalt not die, whiles 
 
 He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me; 
 As who should say, Whe7i lam dead and gone, 
 Remember to avenge me on the French. — 
 Plantagcnct, I will; and Nero-like, 
 Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: 
 Wretched shall France be only in my name. 
 
 [TImnder heard; afterioards an Alarum. 
 What stir is thisi What tumult's in the heavens? 
 Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have ga- 
 ther'd head : 
 The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, — 
 A holy prophetess, new risen up, — 
 Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 
 
 [Salisbury groans. 
 Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan! 
 It irks his heart, he cannot be revenged. 
 Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you : — 
 Pucelle or puzzel,' dolphin or dogfish. 
 Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, 
 And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. 
 Convey me Salisbury into his tent, 
 And then we'll try what dastard Frenchmen dare. 
 [^Exeunt, bearing out the bodies. 
 
 SCENE Y.— Before one of the Gates o/ Orleans. 
 Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the 
 
 Dauphin, and driveth him in: then enter Joan 
 
 LA Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. 
 
 Then enter Talbot. 
 
 Ta/. Where is my strength,my valor ,and my force? 
 Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ; 
 A woman, clad in armor, chaseth them. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle. 
 Here, here she comes : — I'll have a bout with thee ; 
 Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee : 
 Blood will I draw on thee,* thou art a witch, 
 And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. 
 
 Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace 
 
 thee. [Theyjight. 
 
 Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail ? 
 
 My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage. 
 
 And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. 
 
 But I will chdstise this high-minded strumpet. 
 
 Puc. Talbot, farewell ; thy hour is not yet come : 
 
 must go victual Orleans forthwith. 
 
 O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. 
 
 ' Dirty wench. 
 
 «The superstition of those times taught, that he who 
 so'il'J draw a witch's blood was free from her power. 
 
 Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men ; 
 Help Salisbury to make his testament: 
 This day is ours, as many more shall be. 
 
 [Pucelle enters the Towii, with SolJieri 
 
 Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a pctter'a 
 wheel ; 
 I know not where I am, nor what I do; 
 A witch, by. fear, not force, like Hannibal, 
 Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists: 
 So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench, 
 Are from their hives, and houses, driven away. 
 They called us, for our fierceness, English dogs; 
 Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 
 
 [A short Alarum. 
 Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight, 
 Or tear the lions out of England's coat; 
 Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: 
 Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf, 
 Or horse, or oxen, fi-om the leopard. 
 As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. 
 
 [Alarum. Another Skirmish, 
 It will not be: — Retire into your trenches: 
 You all consented unto Salisbury's death. 
 For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. — 
 Pucelle is entered into Orleans, 
 In spite of us, or aught that we could do. 
 0, would I were to die with Salisbury ! 
 The shame hereof will make me hide my head. 
 
 \_Alarum. Retreat. Exemit Talbot and hu 
 Forces, S^c. 
 
 SCENE Y\.— The same. 
 
 Enter on the Walls, Pucelle, Chables, Reio 
 NiER, ALEN90J>r, and Soldiers. 
 
 Puc. Advance our waving colors on the walls; 
 Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves : — 
 Thus Joan la Pucelle hath ])erform'd her word. 
 
 C^flr.Divinest creature, bright Astraea's daughter 
 How shall I honor thee for this success "* 
 Thy promises are like Adonis' gaTdcns, 
 That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next. 
 France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! — 
 Recover'd is the town of Orleans: 
 More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 
 
 Reig. W^hy ring not out the bells throughout the ■ 
 town? 
 Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires. 
 And feast and banquet in the open streets, 
 To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 
 
 Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and 
 
 joy. 
 
 When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. 
 Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won ; 
 For which, I will divide my crown with her: 
 And all the priests and friars in my realm 
 Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise 
 A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear. 
 Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was 
 In memory of her, when she is dead, 
 Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
 Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius, 
 Transported shall be at high festivals 
 Before the kings and queens of France. 
 No longer on saint Denis will we cry. 
 But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint 
 Come in ; and let us banquet royally. 
 After this goldei» day of victory. 
 
 [^Flourish. Exeunt 
 
Act II Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 477 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 
 Enter to the Gates, a French Sergeant, and two 
 ' Sentinels. 
 Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant : 
 If any noise, or soldier, you perceive, 
 Near to the walls, by some apparent sign. 
 Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.' 
 1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. \Exit Sergeant.] 
 Thus are poor servitors 
 (^When others sleep upon their quiet beds) 
 Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. 
 Brt/er Talbot, BEi)FOHi),BunocNi)T, a«(Z Forces, 
 with scaling Ladders,- their Drums beating a 
 dead March. 
 
 Tal Lord regent, — and redoubted Burgundy, — 
 By whose approach, the regions of Artois, 
 Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us, — 
 This happy night the Frenchmen are secure. 
 Having all day carous'd and banqueted : 
 Embrace we then this opportunity ; 
 As fitting best to quittance their deceit, 
 Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery. 
 
 Bed. Coward of France ! — how much he wrongs 
 his fame, 
 Despairing of his own arm's fortitude. 
 To join with witches, and the help of hell. 
 
 Bur. Traitors have never other company. — 
 But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure ! 
 Tal. A maid, they say. 
 
 Bed. A maid ! and be so martial? 
 
 Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere 
 long ; 
 If underneath the standard of the French, 
 She carry armor, as she hath begun. 
 
 Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with 
 spirits : 
 God is our fortress; in whose conquering name. 
 Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 
 Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. 
 Tal. Not all together; better far, I guess. 
 That we do make our entrance several ways; 
 That, if it chance the one of us do fail. 
 The other yet may rise against their force. 
 Bed. Agreed; I'll to yon corner. 
 Bur. A^ii*^ ^ to this. 
 
 Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his 
 grave. — 
 Now, Salisbury ! for thee, and for the right 
 Of English Henry, shall this night appear 
 How much in duty I am iiound to both. 
 [The English scale the walls, crying St. George ! 
 
 A Talbot! and all enter bi/ the Town. 
 Sent.\Within:\ Arm, arm ! the enemy doth make 
 assault ! 
 
 Ttie French leap over the Walls in their Shirts. 
 Enter, several wai/s,B\sr\nt), Alex^on, Rkig- 
 >-iEii, half read;/, and half unreadi/. 
 Alcn. How now, my lords 1 what, all unready so ] 
 Ba^t. Unready 1 ay', and glad we 'scaped so well. 
 Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our 
 beds, 
 Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. 
 ' The same as guard room. 
 
 Alcn. Of all exploits, since first I folio vcd arms 
 Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprize 
 More venturous, or desperate than this. 
 
 Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 
 
 Reig. Ifnotofhell, the heavens, sure, favor him. 
 
 Alen. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he f ped. 
 
 Enter Charles and La Pucelie. 
 Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard 
 
 Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame! 
 Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, 
 Make us partakers of a little gain. 
 That now our loss might be ten times so much? 
 
 Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his 
 friend 1 
 At all times will you have my power alike 1 
 Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail. 
 Or will you blame and lay the fault on me] — 
 Improvident soldiers I had your watch been good, 
 This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. 
 
 Char. Duke of Alen9on, this was your default; 
 That, being captain of the watch to-night, 
 Did look no better to that weighty charge. 
 
 Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, 
 As that whereof I had the government. 
 We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd. 
 
 Bast. Mine was secure. 
 
 Rei<r. And so was mine, my lord 
 
 Clmr. And, for myself, most part of all this night 
 Within her quarter, and mine own precinct,. 
 I was employ'd in passing to and fro. 
 About relieving of the sentinels: 
 Then how, or which way, should they first break inT 
 
 Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case, 
 How, or which way; 'tis sure, they found some place 
 But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. 
 And now there rests no other shift but this, — 
 To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd. 
 And lay new platforms'' to endamage them. 
 Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying A 
 
 Talbot! A Talbot! They fly, leaving theii 
 
 Clothes behind. 
 
 Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. 
 The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ; 
 For I have loaden me with many spoils. 
 Using no other weapon but his name. [ExiU 
 
 SCENE II.— Orleans.— VV7<Am the Town. 
 Enter Talbot, BEUFonn, Buugundt, a Captain 
 and others. 
 Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, 
 Whose pitchy mantle ovcr-veil'd the earth. 
 Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 
 
 [Retreat sounded. 
 Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury ; 
 And here advance it in the market-place. 
 The middle centre of this cursed town. — 
 Now I have paid my vow unto his soul ; 
 For every drop of blood was drawn from him, 
 There hath at least five Frenchmen died to iiight 
 And, that hereafter ages may behold 
 What ruin happen'd in revenge of hira, 
 Within their chicfcst temple I'll erect 
 Plans, scbeme*. 
 
i78 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Acr ll 
 
 S. tomb, wherein his corpse shall bo interr'd : 
 
 Upon the which, that every one may read, 
 
 Bhall be cngrav'd the sack of Orleans ; 
 
 The treacherous manner of his mournful death. 
 
 And what a terror he had been to France. 
 
 But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
 
 I muse' we met not with the dauphin's grace; 
 
 His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc; 
 
 Nor any of his false confederates. 
 
 Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight 
 Degan, 
 Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds. 
 They did, amongst the troops of armed men, 
 Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 
 
 Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern. 
 For smoke, and dusky vapors of the night) 
 Am sure I scar'd the dauphin and his trull; 
 When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, 
 Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves. 
 That could not live asunder day or night. 
 After that things are set in order here, 
 We'll follow them with all the power we have. 
 
 E7iter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. All hail, my lords ! which of this princely 
 train 
 Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts 
 So much applauded through the realm of France? 
 
 Tal, Here is the Talbot ; who would speak with 
 himi 
 
 Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, 
 With modesty admiring thy renown. 
 By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe 
 To visit her poor castle where she lies;* 
 That she may boast she hath beheld the man 
 Whose glory fills the world with loud report. 
 
 Bur. Is it even sol Nay, then, I see, our wars 
 Will turn into a peaceful comic sport, 
 When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. — 
 You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 
 
 Tal. IS^e'er trust me then ; for, when a world of 
 men 
 Could not prevail with all their oratory, 
 Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd : — 
 And therefore tell her, I return great thanks ; 
 And in submission will attend on her. — 
 Will not your honors bear me company ? 
 
 Bed. No, truly, it is more than manners will: 
 And I have heard it said, — Unbidden guests 
 Are often welcomest when they arc gone. 
 
 Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, 
 1 mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
 Come hither, captain. [ Whispeis.^ — You perceive 
 my mind. 
 
 "Cajpt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE HL— Auvergne. Court of the Castle. 
 Enter the Couxtkss and her Porter. 
 
 'Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; 
 And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me. 
 
 Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall outr'^ht, 
 I shall as famous be by this exploit. 
 As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death, 
 •ircat is the rumor of this dreadful knight, 
 And his achievements of no less account: 
 Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, 
 To give their censure' of these rare reports. 
 » Wonder. « Dwells. ' Opinion. 
 
 Enter Messenger and Talbot. 
 
 Mess. Madam, 
 According as your ladyship desired, 
 By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. 
 
 Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man ! 
 
 Mess. Madam, it is. 
 
 Count. Is this the scourge of France ' 
 
 Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad, 
 That with his name the mothers still their babes 1 
 I see report is fabulous and false : 
 I thought, I should have seen some Hercules, 
 A second Hector, for his grim aspect, 
 And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. 
 Alas ! this is a child, a silly dwarf: 
 It cannot be, this weak and writhled*^ shrimp 
 Should strike such terror to his enemies. 
 
 Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you : 
 But, since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
 I'll sort some other time to visit you. 
 
 Count. What means he now? — Go, ask him whi- 
 ther he goes. 
 
 Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves 
 To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 
 
 7al, Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, 
 I go to certify her, Talbot's here. 
 
 Re-enter Porter, with Keys. 
 
 Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisones. 
 
 Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ? 
 
 Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ; 
 
 And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
 Long time thy shadow hath been thrall tome, 
 For in my gallery thy picture hangs: 
 But now the substance shall endure the like. 
 And I will chain these legs and arms of thine. 
 That hast by tyranny, these many years. 
 Wasted our country, slain our citizens. 
 And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 
 
 Tal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall 
 turn to moan. 
 
 Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond,'' 
 To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, 
 Whereon to practise your severity. 
 
 Count. Why, art not thou the man ? 
 
 Tal. I am indeed 
 
 Count. Then have I substance too. 
 
 Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: 
 You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here ; 
 For what you see, is but the smallest part 
 And least proportion of humanity: 
 I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here. 
 It is of such a sj)acious lofty pitch. 
 Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. 
 
 Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;' 
 He will be here, and yet he is not here: 
 How can these contrarieties agree? 
 
 Tal. That will I show you presently. 
 
 He loinds a Horn. Drums heard; then a PealoJ 
 Ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers 
 
 How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded, 
 That Talbot is but shadow of himself? 
 These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, 
 With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, 
 Razeth your cities, and suiiverts your towns. 
 And in a moment makes them desolate. 
 
 Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse t 
 6 Wrinkled. ' Foolish. « For a purpose. 
 
Scene l\ . 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 47C 
 
 I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,' 
 And more thun may be gatlicr'd by thy shape. 
 Let my presumption not provoke tbv wrath ; 
 For I am sorry, that with reverence 
 I did not entertain thee as thou art. 
 
 Tal. Be not dismay'd, fliir lady ; nor misconstrue 
 The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
 The outward composition of his body. 
 What you have done hath not offended me: 
 No other satisfaction do I crave, 
 But only (with your patience) that we may 
 Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have; 
 For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 
 
 Cvunt. With all my heart: and think me honored 
 To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— London. TheTem^le Garden. 
 
 Enier the Earls of Someuskt, Suffolk, and 
 Wauwick; RicHAiiu Plantagenet, Verxon, 
 and another Lawyer. 
 
 Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means 
 this silence ] 
 Dare no man answer in a case of truth"? 
 
 Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud, 
 The garden here is more convenient. 
 
 iVaH. Then say at once. If I maintain'd the truth ; 
 Or, else, vvas wrangling Somerset in the error ? 
 
 Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law ; 
 And never yet could frame my will to it; 
 And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. 
 
 •S'om. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be- 
 tween us. 
 
 War. Between two hawks, wJrich flies the higher 
 pitch. 
 Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, 
 Between two blades, which bears the better temper, 
 Between two horses, which doth bear him best. 
 Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye, 
 I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment: 
 But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, 
 Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 
 
 Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: 
 The truth appears so naked on my side, 
 That any purblind eye may find it out. 
 
 iS'orti. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
 So clear, so shining, and so evident. 
 That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 
 
 Plan, Since you are tongue-ty'd and so loath to 
 speak. 
 In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts: 
 Let him, that is a true-born gentleman. 
 And stands upon the honor of his birth, 
 If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
 From olf this liriar pluck a white rose with me. 
 
 ISoni. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
 Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 
 
 War. I love no colors ; ' and, without all color 
 Of base insinuating flattery, 
 [ pluck this white rose with Plartagenet. 
 
 •S'«/. 1 pluck this red rose, with young Soriersct; 
 And say witiial, I think he held the right. 
 
 Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen: and pluck no more. 
 Till you conclude — that he, upon whose side 
 The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree, 
 Khali yield the other in the right opinion. 
 
 SoiiL. Good master Vernon, it is well objected;'' 
 
 If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 
 
 » Noisod, reported. ' Deceits ; a play on the word. 
 
 * I'roposed. 
 
 Plan. And I. 
 
 Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case 
 I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here. 
 Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
 
 Sam. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; 
 Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red. 
 And fall on my side so against your will. 
 
 Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, 
 Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, 
 And keep me on the side where still I am. 
 
 Som. Well, well, come on: Who else? 
 
 Law. Unless my study and my books be falae, 
 The argument you held, was wrong in you ; 
 
 [To SoMERSST 
 
 In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. 
 
 Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument \ 
 
 Som. Here in my scabbard, meditating that, 
 Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. 
 
 Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit ou! 
 roses ; 
 For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
 The truth on our side. 
 
 Som. No, Plantagenet, 
 
 'Tis not for fear; but anger, — that thy checks 
 Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses; 
 And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 
 
 Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? 
 
 Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? 
 
 Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing to maintain his truth; 
 Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 
 
 Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding 
 roses. 
 That shall maintain what I have said is true, 
 Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 
 
 Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, 
 I scorn thee and thy fiishion, peevish boy. 
 
 Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. 
 
 Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him 
 and thee. 
 
 Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. 
 
 Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole ! 
 We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. 
 
 War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, 
 Somerset ; 
 His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, 
 Third son to the third Edward king of England; 
 Spring crestless yeomen' from so deep a root? 
 
 Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege,' 
 Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 
 
 Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain mv 
 words 
 On any plot of ground in Christendom : 
 Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge, 
 For treason executed in our late king's days ? 
 And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted. 
 Corrupted, and exempt' from ancient gentry ? 
 His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood : 
 And, till.thou be restor'd, tliou art a yeoman. 
 
 Plan. My fixthcr was attached, not attainted ; 
 Condcmn'd to die for treason, hut no traitor; 
 And that I'll prove ou better men than Somerset, 
 Were growing time once ri])en'd to my will 
 For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, 
 I'll note you in my book of memory. 
 To scourge you for this apprehension:'' 
 Look to it well ; and say you are well warn'd. 
 
 Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still 
 
 » i. e. Those who have no right to arms. 
 
 * The Temple, heiug a religious house, was a sanctuarji 
 
 > Excluded. « ODinion 
 
4»U 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 AntI know us, liy these colors, for thy foes ; 
 
 For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. 
 
 Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, 
 As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate. 
 Will I for ever, and my faction wear; 
 Until it wither with nie to my grave, 
 Or tlourish to the height of my degree. 
 
 Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition ! 
 And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. 
 
 Som. Have with thee, Poole. — Farewell, ambi- 
 tious Richard. [Exit. 
 
 Plan, How I am braved, and must perforce en- 
 dure it! 
 
 War. This blot, that they object against your 
 house, 
 6hall be wip'd out in the next parliament, 
 Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster: 
 And, if thou be not then created York, 
 I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 
 Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, 
 Against proud Somerset, and William Poole, 
 Will I upon thy party wear this rose: 
 And here I prophesy, — This brawl to-day, 
 Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden, 
 Shall send between the red rose and the white, 
 A thousand souls to death and deadly night. 
 
 Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, 
 That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. 
 
 Vcr. In your behalf still wilJ I wear the same. 
 
 Law. And so will I. 
 
 J'lun. Thanks, gentle sir. 
 Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say. 
 This quarrel will drink blood another day, [Exetmt. 
 
 SCENE v.— A Room in the Tower. 
 
 Enter MonTiMER, brought in a Chair by two 
 Keepers. 
 
 Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age. 
 Let dying Mortimer here rest iiimself. — 
 Even like a man new haled from the rack, 
 So fare my limbs with long imprisonment: 
 And these grey locks, the pursuivants'" of death, 
 INestor-like aged, in an age of care, 
 Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. 
 These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, 
 Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent:' 
 Weak shoulders, overborne v/ith burd'ning grief. 
 Arid pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
 That droops his sapless branches to the ground : — 
 Yet are these feet, — whose strengthless sta}' is numb, 
 Unable to support this lump of clay, — 
 Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, 
 As witting I no other comfort have. — 
 But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? 
 
 1 Keep. Richard Plaiitagcnct, my lord, will come. 
 We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber; 
 Ar>d answer was return'd, that he will come. 
 
 Mor. Enough ; my soul shall then be satisfied. — 
 Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
 Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
 (Before whose glory I was great in arms,) 
 This loathsome sequestration have I had; 
 And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, 
 Dcpriv'd of honor and inheritance: 
 But now, the arbitrator of despairs, 
 Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries. 
 With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence; 
 
 ' I'uisuivants are officers who attend upon heralds. 
 End. 
 
 I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd. 
 That so he might recover what was lost 
 
 Enter Richard Piantagenet. 
 
 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now d 
 come. 
 
 Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend ! Is he 
 come? 
 
 Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, 
 Your nephew, late-despised Richard comes. 
 
 Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, 
 And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: 
 O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks, 
 That I may kindly givi- one fainting kiss. — 
 And now declare, sweet stem from York's great 
 
 stock. 
 Why didst thou say — of late thou wert despis'd? 
 
 Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mvOM 
 arm? 
 And, in thav ease, I'll tell thee my disease.' 
 This day, in argument upon a case. 
 Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and mt : 
 Among which terms he used his lavish tongue. 
 And did upbraid me with my father's death: 
 Which obloquy sets bars bciorc my tongue. 
 Else with the like I had requited him: 
 Therefore, good uncle, — lor my father's sake. 
 In honor of a true Plantagenet, 
 And for alliance' sake, — declare the cause 
 My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 
 
 Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd 
 me, 
 And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth. 
 Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, 
 Was cursed instrument of his decease. 
 
 P/a/?. Discover more at large what cause that waa: 
 For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. 
 
 Mor. I will ; if that my fading breath permit, 
 And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
 Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, 
 Depos'd his cousin Richard, Edward's son, 
 The first-begotten, and the lawful heir 
 Of Edward king, the third of that descent: 
 During whose reign, the Percies of the north. 
 Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
 Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne : 
 The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this, 
 Was — for that (young king Richard thus removM 
 Leaving no heir begotten of his body) 
 I was the next by birth and parentage ; 
 For by my mother I derived am 
 From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son 
 To king Edward the Third, whereas he. 
 From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree. 
 Being but fourth of that heroic line. 
 But mark ; as, in this haughty great attempt, 
 They labored to plant the rightful heir, 
 I lost my liberty, and they their lives. 
 Long after this, when Henry the Fifth, — 
 Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, — did reign. 
 Thy father, earl of Cambridge, — then deriv'd, 
 From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York," 
 Marrying my sister, that thy mother was. 
 Again, in pity of n>y hard distress. 
 Levied an army ; weening ' to redeem. 
 And have install'd me in the diadem : 
 But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl. 
 And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
 In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. 
 
 » Uneasiness, discontent. » Thinking 
 
4cT III. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 481 
 
 Plan. Of which, my lord, your honor is the last. 
 
 Mor. True ; and thou seest, that I no issue have ; 
 A.nd that my fainting words do warrant death : 
 Thou art my heir ; the rest, I wish thee gather : 
 But yet be wary in thy studious care. 
 
 Plan.Thy grave admonishments prevail with me: 
 But yet, methinks, my father's execution 
 Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 
 
 Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic; 
 Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
 And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. 
 But now thy uncle is removing hence; 
 A.S princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
 With long continuance in a settled place. 
 
 Plan. O, uncle, 'would some part of my young 
 years 
 Might but redeem the passage of your age! 
 
 Mor. Thou dost then wrong me ; as the slaugh- 
 terer doth, 
 Which giveth many wounds, when one will kill. 
 
 Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good: 
 Only, give order for my funeral ; 
 And so farev.'ell; and fair be all tliy hopes! 
 And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war ! [^Die.i. 
 Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul! 
 In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage. 
 And, like a hermit, overpass'd thy days. — 
 Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; 
 And what I do imagine, let that rest. — 
 Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself 
 Will see his burial better than his life. — 
 
 ^Exeunt Keepers, bearii]g out Mchtimb*, 
 Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, 
 Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort: — 
 And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, 
 Which Somerset hath offered to my house, — 
 I doubt not, but with honor to redress ; 
 And therefore haste I to the parliament; 
 Either to be restored to my blood. 
 Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exil 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Parliament House. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Kixfi Hexuy, Exkter, Gi.os- 
 TER, Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk ; the 
 Bishop of Winchester, Rickaud Plantaoe- 
 NET, and others. Gloster offers to put up a 
 Bill;^ Winchester snaiches it, and tears it. 
 
 Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, 
 With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, 
 Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse, 
 Or augVit intend'st to lay unto my charge. 
 Do it without invention suddenly ; 
 As I with sudden and extemporal speech 
 Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 
 
 Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands 
 my patience, 
 Ur thou shouldst find thou hast dishonor'd me. 
 Think not, although ia writing I preferr'd 
 The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes. 
 That therefore I have forged, or am not able 
 Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
 No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedne.'ss. 
 Thy vile, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks. 
 That very infants prattle of thy pride. 
 Thou art a most pernicious usurer: 
 Froward by nature, enemy to peace; 
 Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
 A man of thy profession, and degree; 
 And for thy treachery, what's more manifest-, 
 In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, 
 As well at London bridge, as at the Tower? 
 Besides, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, 
 The. king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
 From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 
 
 Win. Gloster, I do defy thee. — Lords, vouchsafe 
 To give mc hearing what I shall reply. 
 [f I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, 
 As he will have me, how am I so poor! 
 Or how haps it, I seek not to advance 
 Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling ! 
 And for dissension, who prcferreth peace 
 Moic than I do, — except I be provok'd? 
 !V< , good my lords, it is not that offends; 
 
 • t. e. Articles of Accusation. 
 
 It is not that, that hath inccns'd the duke • 
 It is, because no one should sway but he ; 
 No one, but he, should be about the king: 
 And that engenders thunder in his breast. 
 And makes him roar these accusations forth. 
 But he shall know, I am as good 
 
 Glo. As good! 
 
 Thou bastard of my grandfather! — 
 
 Win. Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I pray, 
 But one imperious in another's throne? 
 
 Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest? 
 
 Win. And am I not a prelate of the church" 
 
 Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, 
 And useth it to patronage his theft. 
 
 Win. Unreverent Gloster! 
 
 Glo. Thou art reverent 
 
 Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. 
 
 Win. This Rome shall remedy. 
 
 War. Roam thither, then. 
 
 Som. ?iTy lord, it were your duty to forbear. 
 
 War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 
 
 Som. Methinks, my lord should he religious. 
 And know the office that belongs to such. 
 
 War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler; 
 It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. 
 
 Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. 
 
 War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that? 
 Is not his grace protector to the king? 
 
 Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue; 
 Lest it be said. Speak, sirrah, ivhen you should,- 
 Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? 
 Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Asidt 
 
 K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, 
 The special watchmen of our English weal; 
 I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, 
 To join your hearts in love and amity. 
 O, what a scandal is it to our crown, 
 TliE L two such noble peers as ye should jar ! 
 Belitve me, lords, my tender years can tell, 
 Civil dis.scnsion is a viperous worm, 
 Tbat gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. — 
 
 [.4 noise within,- Down with the tawny coats !^ 
 Wtiat tumult's this? 
 
 War. An uproar, I dare warrant. 
 
 Begun through malice of liic bishop's men. 
 
 \A noise Uf^ain,- Stones ! Stones ' 
 
482 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act III 
 
 Enter the Mayor of London, attended. 
 
 May. 0, my good lords, — and virtuous Henry, 
 Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
 The bishop's and the duke of Gloster's men. 
 Forbidden late to carry any weapon. 
 Have fiU'd their pockets full of pebble-stones; 
 And, banding themselves in contrary parts, 
 Do pelt so fast at one another's pate. 
 That many have their giddy brains knock'd out. 
 Our windows are broke down in every street, 
 And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops. 
 
 Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of Glosteh, 
 and WiNCHESTKR, with bloody pates. 
 
 K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself. 
 To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace. 
 Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, if we be 
 
 Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 
 
 2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. 
 
 [^Skirmish again. 
 Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil. 
 And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. 
 
 3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man 
 Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth, 
 Inferior to none but to his majesty : 
 
 And ere that we will suffer such a prince, 
 
 !So kind a father of the commonweal. 
 
 To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate. 
 
 We, and our wives, and children, all will fight, 
 
 And have our bodies slaughter'd by our foes. 
 
 1 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails 
 Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. 
 
 [Skirmish again. 
 
 Glo. Stay, stay, I say! 
 
 And, if you love me, as you say you do. 
 Let me persuade you to forbear a while. 
 
 K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul ! 
 Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold 
 My sighs and tears, and will not once relent ? 
 Who should be pitiful, if you be not 1 
 Or who should study to prefer a peace. 
 If holy churchmen take delight in broils ? 
 
 War. My lord protector, yield ; — yield, Winches- 
 ter; — 
 Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, 
 To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. 
 You see what mischief, and what murder too. 
 Hath been enacted through your enmity; 
 Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 
 
 Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. 
 
 Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop! 
 Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest 
 Should ever get that privilege of me. 
 
 War. Behold, my lord of Wincliester, the duke 
 Hath banish'd moody, discontented fury. 
 As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: 
 Why look you still so stern, and tragical 7 
 
 Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. 
 
 K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you 
 preach, 
 That malice was a great and grievous sin : 
 And will not you maintain the thing you teach. 
 But prove a chief offender in the samel 
 
 War. Sweet king! — the bishop hath a kindly gird.' 
 For shame, my lord of Winchester ! relent ; 
 What, shall a child instruct you what to do 1 
 
 Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee ; 
 Fiovc for thy love, and hand for hand I give. 
 ■ Feels an emttiou of kindness. 
 
 Glo. Ay ; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.— 
 See here, my friends, and loving countrymen; 
 This token serveth for a flag of truce. 
 Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers ; 
 So help me God, as I dissemble not ! 
 
 Win. So help me God, as I intend it not. [^Asidt 
 K. Heii. loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, 
 How joyful am I made by this contract! — 
 Away, my masters ! trouble us no more ; 
 But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 
 
 1 Serv. Content! I'll to the surgeon's. 
 
 2 Serv. And so will I 
 
 3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern 
 
 affords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, ^c. 
 
 War Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign, 
 Which, in the right of Richard Plantagenet, 
 We do exhibit to your majesty. 
 
 Glo. Well urged, my lord of Warwick ; — for, 
 sweet prince. 
 An if your grace mark every circumstance, 
 You have great reason to do Richard right : 
 Especially, for those occasions 
 At Eltham-place I told your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force 
 Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is. 
 That Richard be restored to his blood. 
 
 War. Let Richard be restored to his blood ; 
 So shall his father's wrongs be recompcns'd. 
 
 Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. 
 
 K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone 
 But all the whole inheritance I give. 
 That doth belong unto the house of York, 
 From whence you spring by lineal descent. 
 
 Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience, 
 And humble service, till the point of death. 
 
 K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against 
 my foot; 
 And, in reguerdon' of that duty done. 
 I girt thee with the valiant sword of York. 
 Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet; 
 And rise created princely duke of York. 
 
 Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may 
 fall! 
 And as my duty springs, so perish they 
 That grudge one thought against your majesty ! 
 
 All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of 
 York! 
 
 Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty. 
 To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France : 
 The presence of a king engenders love 
 Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friejids ; 
 As it disanimates his enemies. 
 
 K, Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Hen 
 ry goes; 
 For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 
 
 Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Exeter 
 
 Exe. Ay, we may march in England, or in Franc<^ 
 Not seeing what is likely to ensue: 
 This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers, 
 Burns under feigned ashes of forged love, 
 And will at last break out into a flame : 
 As fester'd members rot but by degrees, 
 Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away, 
 So will this base and envious discord breed. 
 And now I fear that fatal prophecy. 
 Which, in the time of Henry, named the fifth, 
 * Recompense. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 48d 
 
 Was in the mouth of every sucking babe, 
 
 That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all ; 
 
 A.nd Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all : 
 
 Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish 
 
 His days may finish ere that hapless time. [^Exit. 
 
 SCENE n.— France. Before Rouen. 
 
 Enter La Pccelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed 
 like Countrymen, with Sacks upon their backs, 
 
 Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Roilcn. 
 Through which our policy must make a breach: 
 Take heed, be wary how you place your words; 
 Talk like the vulgar sort of juarket-men. 
 That come to gather money for their corn. 
 If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,) 
 And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
 I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, 
 That Charles the dauphin may encounter them. 
 
 1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, 
 \nd we be lords and rulers over Roiien; 
 Therefore we'll knock. \Knocks. 
 
 Guard, [Within.] Qui est la? 
 
 Puc. Paisans, pauvres gens de France : 
 Poor market-folks, that come to sell their corn. 
 
 Guard. Enter, go in: the market-bell is rung. 
 
 [_Opens the Gates. 
 
 Puc. Now Roiien, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the 
 ground. [Pucelie, ^c. enter the City. 
 
 Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, ALEN90X, 
 and Forces. 
 
 Char. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem ! 
 \nd once again we'll sleep secure in Roiien. 
 
 Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants ;' 
 Now she is there, how will she specify 
 Where is the best and safest passage in ] 
 
 Ale>i. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower ; 
 Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is, — 
 No way to that," for weakness, which she enter'd. 
 
 Enter La Pccelle on a Battlement; holding out 
 a Torch burning. 
 
 Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch, 
 That joineth Roiien unto her countrymen; 
 But burning fatal to the Talbotites. 
 
 Bast. See, noble Charles! the beacon of our 
 friend. 
 The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 
 
 Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
 A prophet to the fall of all our foes ! 
 
 Alen. Defer no time. Delays have dangerous ends ; 
 Enter, and cry — The Dauphin.' — presently, 
 And then to execution on the watch. [They enter. 
 Alarums. Enter Talbot, and certain English. 
 
 Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with 
 thy teiiis, 
 If Talbot but sui vive thy treachery. — 
 PaccUe, that witch, that cursed sorceress, 
 Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares. 
 That hardly we escaped the pride of France. 
 
 [Exeunt to the Town, 
 dlarum; Excursions. Enter from the Tjwn Bed- 
 ford, brought in sick, in a Chair, with Tal- 
 jioT, BuuGUNDT, uud thc English Forces. — 
 Then enter, on the Walls, La Pucelle, 
 Charles, Bastard, Alen^ox, and others. 
 
 Puc Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for 
 bread 1 
 
 I Confederates in stratagems. • t. e. No way equal to that. 
 
 I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast. 
 Before he'll buy again at such a rate : 
 'Twas full of darnel; Do you like the tastel 
 
 Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless cour 
 tezan ! 
 I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own. 
 And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 
 
 Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, befora 
 that time. 
 
 Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge thii 
 treason ! 
 
 Puc. What will you do, good grey -beard ] break 
 And run a tilt at death within a chair 1 [a lance, 
 
 Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite, 
 Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours! 
 Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age. 
 And twit with cowardice a man half dead ? 
 Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again. 
 Or else let Talbot perish with this shame, [peace , 
 
 Puc. Are you so hot, sir? — Yet, Pucelle, hold thy 
 If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. — 
 
 [Talbot, and the rest consult together. 
 God speed the parliament ! who shall be the speaker? 
 
 Tal. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field 1 
 
 Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, 
 To try if that our own be ours, or no. 
 
 Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
 But unto thee, Alencjon, and the rest; 
 Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? 
 
 Alen. Signior, no. 
 
 Tal. Signior, hang! — base muleteers of Franca! 
 Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls ; 
 And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 
 
 Puc. Captains, away: let's get us from the walls; 
 For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks. — 
 God be wi' you, my lord! we came, sir, but to tell 
 That we are here. [you 
 
 [Exeunt La Pucelle, ^c. from the Walls, 
 
 Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, 
 Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! — 
 Vow, Burgundy, by honor of thy house, 
 (Prick'd on by public wrongs, sustain'd in France,) 
 Either to get the town again, or die: 
 And I, — as sure as English Henry lives. 
 And as his father here was conqueror; 
 As sure as in this late betrayed town 
 Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried ; 
 So sure I swear to get the town, or die. 
 
 Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vow8. 
 
 Tal, But, ere we go, regard this dying prince, 
 The valiant duke of Bedford: — Come, my lord. 
 We will bestow you in some better place. 
 Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. 
 
 Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonor me : 
 Here will I sit before the walls of Roiien, 
 And will be partner of your weal, or woe. 
 
 Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade 
 
 you. 
 
 Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once I read, 
 That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick. 
 Came to the field, and vanquished his foes: 
 Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts, 
 Because I ever found them as myself. 
 
 Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! — 
 Then be it so: — Heavens keep old Bedford safe!— « 
 And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 
 But gather we our forces out of hand, 
 And set upon our boasting enemy. 
 
 [Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Forces 
 leaving Bedford, and others. 
 
484 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act lu 
 
 Alarumi . Excursions. Entc? Sir Jonif Fas- 
 TOLFE, and a Captain. 
 
 Cap. Whither away, sir John Fastolfe, in such 
 haste ? 
 
 Fast. Whither away ? to save myself by flight ; 
 We are hke to have tlie overthrow again. 
 
 Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? 
 
 Fust. Ay, 
 
 A.11 the Talbots in the world to save my life. \^Exit. 
 
 Cap. Cowardly knight ! ill fortune follow tbce ! 
 
 [^Exit. 
 Retreat: Excursions. Enter from the 7 own, La 
 
 PucELLE, Alenjon, Chakles, t^c, und cxeuut, 
 
 Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please ; 
 For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
 What is the trust or strength of foolish meni 
 They, that of late were daring with their scofls. 
 Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 
 
 [Dies, and is carried off in his Chair. 
 
 Alarum: Enter Talbot, Burgundt, and others. 
 
 Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again ! 
 This is a double honor. Burgundy: 
 Yet, heavens have glory for this victory ! 
 
 Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy 
 Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects 
 Thy noble deeds, as valor's monument. 
 
 Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle 
 now? 
 I think, her old familiar is asleep: 
 Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his 
 
 gleeks 7 ' 
 What, all a-morti* Roiien hangs her head for grief. 
 That such a valiant company are fled. 
 Now will we take some order' in the town, 
 Placing therein some expert officers ; 
 \nd then depart to Paris, to the king: 
 For there young Harry, with his nobles, lies. 
 
 Bur. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy. 
 
 Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget 
 The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, 
 But see his exequies' fulfill'd in Roiien; 
 A braver soldier never couched lance, 
 A gentler heart did never sway in court: 
 But kings, and mightiest potentates, must die; 
 For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE m.—The Plains near the City. 
 
 Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alen§on, La 
 Pucelle, and Forces. 
 
 Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
 Nor grieve that Roiien is so recovered : 
 (]!are is no cure, but rather corrosive, 
 For things that are not to be remedied. 
 Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while, 
 And like a peacock sweep along his tail 
 We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train, 
 If dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd. 
 
 Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto. 
 And of thy cunning had no diffidence; 
 One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 
 
 Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, 
 And we v,'ill make thee famous through the world. 
 
 Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place, 
 And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint; 
 Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. 
 
 Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan devise: 
 
 ' Scoffs. • Quite dispirited. 
 
 • Make some necessary diftpositions. • Funeral rites. 
 
 By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd word^, 
 We will entice the duke of Burgundy 
 To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. 
 
 Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we co \ld do that, 
 France were no place for Henry's warriors; 
 Nor should that nation boast it so with us, 
 But be extirped from our provinces. 
 
 Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd^ fiom 
 France, 
 And not have title to an earldom here. 
 
 Puc. Your honors shall perceive how I will work, 
 To bring this matter to the wished end. 
 
 [Drums heard. 
 Hark ! by the sound of drum, you may perceive 
 Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. 
 
 An English March. Enter, and pass over at "" 
 distance, Talbot and his Forces. 
 
 There goes the T?'bot, with his colors spread ; 
 And all the troops )f English after him. 
 
 A French March. Enter the Duke of Buhgunuy, 
 and Force?. 
 
 Now in the rearward comes |he duke, and his; 
 Fortune, in favor, makes hit lag behind. 
 Summon a parley, we will dk with him. 
 
 [A parley sounded. 
 
 Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy 1 
 
 Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy coun- 
 tryman. 
 
 Bur. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am 
 marching hence. 
 
 Char. Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with 
 thy words. 
 
 Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France! 
 Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 
 
 Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious. 
 
 Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France 
 And see the cities and the towns defaced 
 By wasting ruin of the cruel foe ! 
 As looks the mother on her lowly babe, 
 When death doth close his tender dying eyes, 
 See, see, the pining malady of France ; 
 Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds. 
 Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast ! 
 0, turn thy edged sword another way; 
 Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help ! 
 One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom, 
 Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign 
 
 gore; 
 Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears, 
 And wash away thy country's stained spots! 
 
 Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her 
 words. 
 Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 
 
 Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaimi 
 on thee. 
 Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. 
 Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation, 
 That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake? 
 When Talbot hath set footing once in France, 
 And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, 
 Who then, but English Henry, will be lord, 
 And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive; 
 Call we to mind, — and mark but this, for proof;- 
 Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe 1 
 And was he not in England prisoner? 
 But, when they heard he was thine enemy, 
 They set him free, without his ransom paid, 
 » Expelled. 
 
Act IV". Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 485 
 
 In spite of Burgundy, and all his fiiends. 
 See then ! thou fight'st against thy countrymen, 
 And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. 
 (Jome, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord; 
 Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms. 
 
 Bur. I am vanquished ; these haughty words of 
 hers 
 Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot. 
 And made me almost yield upon my knees.— - 
 Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen ! 
 And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace : 
 My forces and my power of men are yours; — 
 So. farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee. 
 
 ?uc. Done like a Frenchman, turn, and turn again! 
 
 Char. Welcome, brave duke ! thy friendship 
 makes us fresh. 
 
 Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. 
 
 Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this, 
 And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 
 
 Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our 
 powers ; 
 And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Paris. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King HExnr, Gloster, and oMer Lords, 
 Veiixos-, Basskt, c^-c. To them Taluot, anc? 
 some of his Officers. 
 
 Tal. My gracious prince, — and honorable peers, — 
 Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
 I have a wliile given truce unto my wars, 
 To do my duty to my sovereign : 
 In sign whereof, this arm, — that hath reclaim'd 
 To your obedience fifty fortresses, 
 Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, 
 Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, — 
 Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet ; 
 And, with submissive, loyalty of heart, 
 Ascribes the glory of nis conquest got, 
 First to my God, and next unto your grace. 
 
 K. Hen. Is this the famed lord Talbot, uncle Gloster, 
 That hath so long been resident in France ] 
 
 Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious 
 lord! 
 When I was young, (as yet I am not old,) 
 I do remember how my father said, 
 A stouter champion never handled sword. 
 Long since we were resolved'' of your truth. 
 Your faithful service, and your toil in war; 
 Yet never have you lasted our reward. 
 Or been reguerdon'd' with so much as thanks, 
 Because till now we never saw your face : 
 Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good deseita, 
 We here create you earl of Shrewsbury ; 
 And in our coronation take your place. 
 
 [Exeunt Kinr Heniit, Gloster, Talbot, 
 and Noliles. 
 
 Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea, 
 Disgracing of these colors that I wear 
 In honor of my noble lord of York. — 
 Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'sti 
 
 Bas. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patronage 
 The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
 Against my lord the duke of Somerset. 
 
 Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honor as he is. 
 
 Bas. Why, what is he ? as good a man as York. 
 
 Ver. Hark ye ; not so : in witness, take yc that. 
 
 [Strikes kirn. 
 
 Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such, 
 That, whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death; 
 Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blocd. 
 But I'll unto his majesty, and crave 
 I may have liberty to venge this wrong ; 
 When thou shall see, I'll meet thee to thy cost. 
 
 Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as youj 
 And, after, meet you sooner than you would. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I.— Paris. A Room of State. 
 
 i^nter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, Suf- 
 folk, Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, Tal- 
 bot, the Governor of Paris, and others. 
 Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. 
 Win. God save king Henry, of that name the sixth! 
 Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath, — 
 
 [Governor kneels. 
 
 That you elect no other king but him : 
 
 Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends; 
 
 And none your foes, but such as shall pretend* 
 
 Malicious practices against his state. 
 
 This shall ye do, so help you righteous God ! 
 
 [Exeunt Gov. and his Train. 
 Enter Sin John Fastolfe. 
 Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, 
 
 To hasten unto your coronation, 
 
 A letter was dcliver'd to my hands, 
 
 VV'rit to your grace from the duke of Burgundy. 
 Tal. Shame to the duko of Burgundy, and thee ! 
 
 I vow'd, base knight, when I (hd meet thee next, 
 
 To tear the garter from thy craven's'^ leg, 
 
 [I' lacking it off. 
 
 (Which I have done,) because unworthily 
 
 » Desiga. ' Mean, dastardly. 
 
 Thou wast installed in that high degree. — 
 Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest: 
 This dastard at the battle of Patay, 
 When but in all I was six thousand strong, 
 And that the French were almost ten to one, — 
 Before we met, or that a stroke was given. 
 Like to a trusty squire, did run away; 
 In which assault we lost tvvelve hundred men; 
 Myself, and divers gentlemen beside, 
 V/ere there surpris'd, and taken prisoners. 
 Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss; 
 Or whether that such cowards ought to wear 
 This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no. 
 
 Glu. To say the truth, this fact was infamous. 
 And ill beseeming any common man; 
 Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader 
 
 Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords 
 Knights of the garter were of noble birth ; 
 Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty' courage, 
 Such as were grown to credit by the wars; 
 Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, 
 But always resolute in most extremes. 
 He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort 
 Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight. 
 Profaning this most honorable order; 
 ' Confirmed in opinion. • Rewarded. • Iligh 
 
486 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 .ind r.hould (if I were worthy to be judge) 
 Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
 '■'hat doth presume to boast of gentle blood. 
 
 K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen! thouhear'st 
 
 thy doom: 
 Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight; 
 Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. — 
 
 \_Exif Fastolfe. 
 And now, my lord protector, view the letter 
 Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Glo. What means his grace, that he hath changed 
 
 his style 1 [ Viewing the superscription. 
 No more but, plain and bluntly, — To the king? 
 Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign 1 
 Or doth this churlish superscription 
 Pretend some alteration in good willl 
 What's here? — I have, upon espcciot cause, — 
 
 [Reads. 
 Mdvdwith compassion of my country^s wreck, 
 Together with the pitiful complaints 
 Of such as your oppression feeds upon, — 
 Forsaken your pernicious faction. 
 And joined luith Charles, the rightful king of 
 
 France. 
 
 monstrous treachery ! Can this be so ; 
 That in alliance, amity, and oaths, 
 
 There should be found such false dissembling guile ? 
 K. Hen. What ! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt 1 
 Glo. He doth, my lord; and is become your foe. 
 K. Hen. Is that the worst, this letter doth contain 1 
 Gh). It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. 
 K. Hen. Why then, lord Talbo't there shall talk 
 with him, 
 And give him chastisement for this abuse: — 
 My lord, how say you? are you not content] 
 Tul. Content, my liege] Yes; but that I ana 
 prevented,' 
 
 1 should have begg'd I might have been employ'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto 
 him straight: 
 Let him [jcrceive, how ill we brook his treason ; 
 And what otTence it is, to flout his friends. 
 
 Tal. I go, my lord ; in heart desiring still. 
 You may behold confusion of your foes. [^Exlt. 
 
 Enter Vernon and Basset. 
 
 Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign ! 
 
 Bus. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too ! 
 
 York. This is my servant ; Hear him, noble prince! 
 
 Som. And this is mine; Sweet Henry, favor him ! 
 
 K. Hen. Be patient, lords ; and give them leave 
 to speak. — 
 Bay, gentlemen. What makes you thus exclaim] 
 And wherefjre crave you combat? or with whom] 
 
 Ver. With him, my lord; for he hath done me 
 wrong. 
 
 Ba.i. And I with him ; for he hath done me wrong. 
 
 A". Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both 
 complain] 
 First let me know, and then I'll answer you. 
 
 Bus. Ciossing the sea from England into France, 
 This fellow here, with envious carping tongue. 
 Upbraided me about the rose I wear; 
 Saying — the sanguine color of the leaves 
 Did re{)rescnt my master's blushing cheeks, 
 Whcr stubbornly he did repugn' the truth, 
 4.oout a certain question in the law, 
 Argued betwixt the duke of York and him ; 
 With other vile and ignominious terms: 
 
 8 Anticipated. » Resist. 
 
 In confutation of which rude reproach, 
 And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
 I crave the benefit of law of arms. 
 
 Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord: 
 For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit, 
 To set a gloss upon his bold intent. 
 Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd hy him : 
 And he first took exceptions at this badge, 
 Pronouncing — that the paleness of this flower 
 Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. 
 Yo7-k. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left ] 
 Som. Your private grudge, my lord of Yoik, will 
 out, 
 Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. 
 
 K. Hen. Good Lord ! what madness rules la 
 brain-sick men ! 
 When, for so slight and frivolous a cause. 
 Such factious emulations sliall arise ! 
 Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
 Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 
 
 York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight ; 
 And then your highness shall command a peace. 
 
 Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; 
 Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. 
 
 York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset 
 Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 
 Bas. Confirm it so, mine honorable lord. 
 Glo. Confirm it so] confounded be your strife, 
 And perish ye, with your audacious prate ! 
 Presumptuous vassals ! are you not ashamed, 
 With this immodest clamorous outrage 
 To trouble and disturb the king and us ] 
 And you, my lords, — methinks, you do not well, 
 To bear with their perverse objections; 
 Much less, to take occasion from their mouths 
 To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves; 
 Let me persuade you take a better course. 
 
 Exe. It grieves his highness ; — Good niy lords, 
 
 be friends. 
 K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be com- 
 batants; 
 Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favor, 
 Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause. — 
 And you, my lords, remember v\'here we are; 
 In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation: 
 If they perceive dissension in our looks. 
 And that within ourselves we disagree. 
 How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd 
 To wilful disobedience, and rebel] 
 Beside, what infamy will there arise. 
 When foreign princes shall be certified, 
 That, for a toy, a thing of no reg.ard, 
 King Henry's peers, and chief nobility, 
 Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France] 
 0, think upon the conquest of my father. 
 My tender years; and let us not forego 
 That for a trifle, that was bought with blood ! 
 Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
 I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 
 
 [Putting on a red Rote 
 That any one should therefore be suspicious 
 I more incline to Somerset, than York : 
 Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both: 
 As well they may upbraid me with my crown, 
 Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd 
 But your discretions better can persuade, 
 Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
 And therefore, as we hither came in peace, 
 So let us still continue peace and love. — 
 Cousin of York, we institute your grace 
 
Scene [II. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 48" 
 
 To be our regent in these parts of France: — 
 
 And good my lord of Somerset, unite 
 
 if our troops of horsemen with his bands of foot 
 
 And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors^ 
 
 Go cheerfully together, and digest 
 
 Vour angry cholcr on your enemies. 
 
 Oursclf, my lord protector, and the rest, 
 
 After some respite, will return to Calais; 
 
 From thence to England; where I hope ere long 
 
 To be presented, by your victories, 
 
 With Charles, Alcngon, and that traitorous rout. 
 
 \_FIourish. Exeunt Kinc. Hexut, Glo., Sosr., 
 Wijf., SuF., and Basskt. 
 
 War. My lord of York. I promise you, the king 
 Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 
 
 Yoi k. And so he did; but yet I hke it not. 
 In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 
 
 Wat: Tush! that was but his flancy, blame him 
 not; 
 \ dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. 
 
 York. And, if I wist he did, — But let it rest; 
 Other affiirs must now be managed. 
 
 [Exeunt York, Warwick, «nf/ Vernon. 
 
 Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy 
 voice ; 
 For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
 I fear we should have seen deciphcr'd there 
 More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, 
 Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. 
 But hovvsoe'er, no simple man that sees 
 This jarring discord of nobility, 
 This should'ring of each other in the court, 
 This factious bandying of their favorites. 
 But that it doth presage some ill event. 
 Tis much, when sceptres are in children's hands; 
 But more, when envy breeds unkind division; 
 There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— France. Before Bourdeaux. 
 
 Enter Taliiot, iidth his Forces, 
 fal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter, 
 Summon their general unto the wall. 
 
 Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, 
 the General oy/Ae French Forces, and others. 
 
 English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, 
 Servant in arms to Harry, king of England; 
 And thus he would, — Oj)en your city gates, 
 Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours, 
 And do him homage as obedient subjects. 
 And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power: 
 But, if you frown upon this profl'er'd peace, 
 You tempt the fury of my three attendants, 
 Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire ; 
 Who, in a moment, even with the earth 
 Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, 
 If you liirsake the olfer of their love. 
 
 Gen. 'i'hou ominous and fearful owl of death, 
 Cur nation's terror, and their bloody scourge! 
 The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 
 On us thou canst not enter but by death: 
 For, I protest, we are well fortified. 
 And stroiisj enough to issue out and fight: 
 If thou retire, the dauphin, well appointed. 
 Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee: 
 On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd, 
 To wall thee from the liberty of flight; 
 And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, 
 But death doth front thee with apparent spoil, 
 And pale destrui tion meets thee in the face. 
 
 Ten thousand French have ta'cn the f=a..Tament, 
 
 To rive their dangerous artillery 
 
 Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 
 
 Lo! there thou stand'st, a hrcatl ing valiant man. 
 
 Of an invincible unconqucr'd spirit: 
 
 This is the latest glory of thy praise. 
 
 That I, thy enemy, duc^ thee v\-ithal ; 
 
 For ere the glass, that now begins to run. 
 
 Finish the process of this sandy hour. 
 
 These eyes, that see thee now well colored. 
 
 Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. 
 
 [Drum afar off 
 Hark ! hark ! the dauphin's drum, a warning bell, 
 Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; 
 And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 
 
 [Exeunt General, S(C. from the Walh 
 Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy; — 
 Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. — 
 O, negligent and heedless discipline! 
 How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale; 
 A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
 Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs! 
 If we be English deer, be then in blood:' 
 Not rascal-like,' to fill down with a pinch; 
 But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags. 
 Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel, 
 And make the cowards stand aloof at bay: 
 Sell every man his life as dear as mine. 
 And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. 
 God, and saint George ! Talbot, and England's 
 
 right ! 
 Prosper our colors in this dangerous fight ! 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— Plains in Gascony. 
 
 Enter York, with Forces; to him a Messenger. 
 
 York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again, 
 That dogg'd the mighty army of the dauphin 1 
 
 Mess. They are return'd, my lord ; and give it out, 
 That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power 
 To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along, 
 By your espials ' were discovered 
 Two mightier troops than that the dauphin led : 
 Which join'd with him, and made their march foi 
 Bourdeaux, 
 
 York. A plague upon that villain Somerset; 
 That thus delays my proinised supply 
 Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege ! 
 Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid ; 
 Audi am lov^'ted^ by a traitor villain, 
 And cannot help the noble chevalier* 
 God comfort him in his necessity ! 
 If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 
 
 Enter Sir William Lucy. 
 
 Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English 
 strength. 
 Never so needful on the earth of France, 
 Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot ; 
 Who now is girdled with a waist of iron. 
 And henim'd about with grim destruction: 
 To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York ! 
 Else, farewell 'i'albot, France, and England's honor. 
 
 York. O, God ! that Somerset — who in proud 
 heart 
 Doth stop my cornets — were in Talbot's place ! 
 
 2 Endue, honor. » In high S|.irits. 
 
 « A rascal deer is tho term of cJiaof for lean |ir,or deer 
 
 » Spies. • Vanijuislicd, baffled 
 
488 
 
 FIRST PART 0/ 
 
 Act [7 
 
 Bo should we save a valiant gentleman, 
 By forreitiuR a traitor and a coward. 
 Mad ire, and vvnitlii'ul fury, makes me weep, 
 Tliat thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 
 
 Lucy. O, send some succor to the distress'd lord! 
 
 York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word : 
 We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily ge>,; 
 All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. 
 
 Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's 
 soul ! 
 And on his son, young John ; whom, two hoars 
 
 since, 
 I met in travel toward his warlike father. 
 These seven years did not Talbot see his son ; 
 And now they meet where both their lives are done. 
 
 YorJt, Alas' what joy shall noble Talbot have, 
 To bid his young son welcome to his gravel 
 Away ! vexation almost stops my breath, 
 Thatsunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. — 
 Lucy, farewell : no more my fortune can, 
 But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. — 
 Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, 
 'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [Exit. 
 
 Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition 
 Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, 
 Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
 The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, 
 That ever-living man of memory, 
 Henry the Fifth : — Whiles they each other cross, 
 Lives, honors, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— OMer Plains o/Gascony. 
 
 Enter Somkhskt, with his Forces,- an Officer of 
 Talbot's with him. 
 
 •Sow. It is too late ; I cannot send them now; 
 This expedition was by York, and Talbot, 
 Too rashly plotted ; all our general force 
 Might with a sally of the very town 
 Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot 
 Hath sullied all his gloss of former honor, 
 By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure; 
 York set him on to fight, and die in shame, 
 That,Talbotdead, great York might bear the name. 
 
 Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me 
 Bet from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. 
 
 Enter Sin William Luct. 
 
 Sam. How now, sir William? whither were you 
 sent? 
 
 Lucy. Whither, my lord ? from bought and sold 
 lord Talbot ; " 
 Who, ring'd about ■■ with bold adversity. 
 Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
 To beat assailing death from his weak legions. 
 And whiles the honorable captain there 
 Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs. 
 And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue. 
 You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honor, 
 Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
 Let not your private discord keep away 
 The levied succors that should lend him aid, 
 While he, renowned noble gentleman, 
 ■jfields up his life unto a world of odds : 
 Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, 
 Alen^on, Reignier, compass him about, 
 And Talbot perisheth by your default. 
 
 Som. York set him on, York should have sent 
 him aid. 
 
 ' Encircled. 
 
 Lucy. And York as fast tapon your grace ex 
 claims ; 
 Swearing that you withhold his levied horse, 
 Collected for this expedition. 
 
 Som. York lies ; he might have sent and hj.d th« 
 horse : 
 I owe him little duty, and less love ; 
 And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending. 
 Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of 
 France, 
 Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot: 
 Never to England shall he bear his life ; 
 But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife. 
 
 Sum. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemr. 
 straight : 
 Within six hours they will be at his aid. 
 
 Lucy. Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en <ii 
 slain : 
 For fly he could not, if he would have fled ; 
 And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 
 Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu! 
 Lucy. Hi3 fame lives in the wvrld, his shame in 
 you. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE v.— TAe English Camp,nearBouTdea\i%. 
 
 Enter Talbot, and John his Son. 
 
 Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee 
 To tutor thee in stratagems of war ; 
 That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd, 
 When sapless age, and weak unable limbs. 
 Should bring thy fother to his drooping chair 
 But, — malignant and ill-boding stars ! — 
 Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
 A terrible and unavoidcd' danger: 
 Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse. 
 And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape 
 By sudden flight: come, dally not; begone. 
 
 John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your son? 
 And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, 
 Dishonor not her honorable name, 
 To make a bastard, and a slave of me : 
 The world will say — He is not Talbot's blood, 
 That basely fled when noble Talbot stood. 
 
 Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. 
 
 Jolin. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again. 
 
 Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. 
 
 John. Then let me stay ; and, father, do you fly 
 Your loss is great, so your regard ' should be ; 
 My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 
 Upon my death the French can little boast ; 
 In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
 Flight cannot stain the honor you have won ; 
 But mine it will, that no exploit have done* 
 You fled for vantage, every one will swear; 
 But, if I bow, they'll say — it was for fear. 
 There is no hope that ever I will stay. 
 If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away. 
 Here on my knee, I beg mortality. 
 Rather than life preserv'd with infamy. 
 
 Tul. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one 
 tomb ? 
 
 John Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's 
 womb. 
 
 Tal. Jpon my blessing, I command thee go. 
 
 John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 
 
 Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. 
 
 John. No part of him, but will be shame in me 
 
 Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst nol 
 lose it. 
 
 • For unavoidable. * Yonr care of yonr own «afe*7. 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 489 
 
 John. Yes, your renowned name ; Shall flight 
 
 abuse it? 
 Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from 
 
 that stain. 
 Jnhn. You cannot witness for me, being slain. 
 If death be so apparent, then both fly. 
 
 Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight and 
 die? 
 My age was never tainted with such shame. 
 
 John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? 
 No more can I be severed from your side. 
 That can yourself yourself in twain divide: 
 Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I ; 
 "'or live I will not, if my father die. 
 
 Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, 
 Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
 Come, side by side together live and die ; 
 \nd soul with soul from France to heaven fly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^ Field of Buttle. 
 
 Alarum: Excursions, wherein Talbot's Son is 
 hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 
 
 Tal. Saint George and victory ! fight, soldiers, 
 
 fight: 
 The regent hath with Talbot broke his word, 
 And left us to the rage of France's sword. 
 Where is John Talbot? — pause, and take thy breath; 
 I gave thee life, and rescued thee from death. 
 
 John. twice my father ! twice am I thy son : 
 The life thou gav'st me first, was lost and done; 
 Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate. 
 To my determin'd' time thou gav'st new date. 
 Tal. When firom the dauphin's crest thy sword 
 
 struck fire. 
 It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire 
 Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age, 
 Quickcn'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage, 
 Beat down Alen^on, Orleans, Burgundy, 
 And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee. 
 The ireful bastard Orleans — that drew blood 
 From thee, my boy ; and had the maidenhood 
 Of thy first fight — I soon encountered ; 
 And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed 
 Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace, 
 Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base, 
 And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, 
 Meaii and right poor,- for that pure blood of mine, 
 Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave 
 
 boi/.— 
 Here, purposing the Bastard to destro}'. 
 Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care ; 
 Art not thou weary, John ? How dost thou fare ? 
 Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly. 
 Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry ? 
 Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead; 
 The help of one stands me in little stead. 
 O, too much folly is it, well I wot. 
 To hazard all our lives in one small boat. 
 If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage. 
 To-morrow I shall die with mickle age: 
 By me llioy nothing gain, and if I stay, 
 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day: 
 In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, 
 My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fi.me: 
 .\11 these, and more, we hazard by thy stay ; 
 KW these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away. 
 John. The sword of Orleans hath not mad« me 
 
 smart, 
 
 I Ended. 
 
 These words of yours draw life-blood from niv heart 
 On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
 (To save a paltry life, and slay brigb.t fime,) 
 Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, 
 The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die: 
 Axid like' me to the peasant boys of France; 
 To be shame's scorn, and subject of mis( hance 
 Surely, by all the glory you have won. 
 An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son : 
 Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot 
 If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 
 
 Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire ofCreteu 
 Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet: 
 If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side ; 
 And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VII.— ^77o//ier Part of the same. 
 
 Alarum: Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded^ 
 supported by a Servant. 
 
 Tal. Where is my other life? mine own is 
 gone ;— 
 O, Where's young Talbot? where is valiant John ? — < 
 Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity ! 
 Young Talbot's valor makes me smile at thee : — 
 When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee, 
 His bloody sword he brandish'd over me. 
 And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
 Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience; 
 But when my angry guardant stood alone, 
 Tend'ring my ruin,' and assail'd of none, 
 Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart. 
 Suddenly made him from my side to start 
 Into the clust'ring battle of the French : 
 And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
 His overmounting spirit ; and there died 
 My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 
 
 Enter Soldiers, ieanVi^ the Body of Jons Talbot 
 
 Serv. O, my dear lord! lo, where your son ig 
 
 borne! 
 Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to 
 
 scorn. 
 Anon, from thy insulting tyranny. 
 Coupled in bonds of perpetuity. 
 Two Talbots, winged through the lither* sky, 
 In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality. — 
 O thou whose wounds become hard-favor'd deatli, 
 Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath: 
 Brave death by speaking, whetl.ei he will, or no ; 
 Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe. — 
 Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks ; as who should 
 
 say — 
 Had death been French, then death had died to-day. 
 Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms; 
 My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 
 Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have. 
 Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers a7id Servant, leaving tht 
 two Bodies. Enter Charles, Ai.kx^ox, Brn> 
 GUNur, Bastard, La Puckllk, and Forces. 
 Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, 
 
 We should have found a bloody day of this. 
 Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging 
 wood,* 
 
 Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood! 
 
 » Make me like. 
 
 » Watching me with tendcrn ;9S in my fall 
 
 * Flexible, j-ielding. » Having ma/. 
 
490 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 A: 
 
 Put. Once I en^ounler'd him, and thus I saic, 
 Thou maiden yoiclh, he vanquished by a maid: 
 But — with a proud, majestical, high scorn — 
 He ansvver'd thus; Young Talbot was not hor.i 
 To he the pillage of a giglof wench: 
 So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
 He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. 
 
 Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble 
 knight: 
 See, where he lies inhersed in the arms 
 Of the most bloody nurser of his harms. 
 
 Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asun- 
 der; 
 Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 
 
 Char. O, no ; forbear : for that which we have fled 
 During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 
 
 Enter Sir William Lucy, attended; a French 
 Herald preceding. 
 
 Lucy. Herald^ 
 Conduct me to the dauphin's tent; to know 
 Who hath obtain'd the glorv of the day. 
 
 Char. On what submissive n.eisage art thou senti 
 
 Lucy. Submission, dauphin ! 'tis a mere French 
 word; 
 We English warriors wot not what it means. 
 I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, 
 And to survey the bodies of the dead. 
 
 Char. For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is. 
 But tell me whom thou seek'st. 
 
 Lucy. Where is the great Alcides of the field, 
 Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury — 
 Created, for his rare success in arms, 
 Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence ; 
 Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
 Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, 
 
 Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, lordFuriiiMi! ofSln-l 
 
 field. 
 The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge ; 
 Knight of the noble order of saint George, 
 Worthy saint Michael, and the golden fleece ; 
 Great mareshal to Henry the Sixth, 
 Of all his wars within the realm of France? 
 
 Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed! 
 The Turk, that two-and-fifty kingdoms hath, 
 Writes not so tedious a style as this. — 
 Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles, 
 Stinking and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. 
 
 Lucy. Is Talbot slain; the Frenchmen's oiilj 
 scourge, 
 Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis ? 
 O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd. 
 That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces ! 
 O, that I eould but call these dead to life ! 
 It were enough to fright the realm of France: 
 Were but his picture left among you here. 
 It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
 Give me their bodies that I may bear them hence, 
 And give them burial as beseems their worth. 
 
 Puc. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's gliost, 
 He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. 
 For G od's sake, let him have 'em ; to keep them here, 
 They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 
 
 Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 
 
 Lucy. I'll bear them hence . 
 
 But from their ashes shall be rear'd 
 A phoenix that shall make all France afeard. 
 
 Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what 
 thou wilt. 
 And now to Paris, in this conquering vein ; 
 All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. 
 
 [Extmit 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter. 
 
 K. Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from the 
 pope, 
 The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac? 
 
 Glo. I have, my lord; and their intent is this, — 
 They humbly sue unto your excellence, 
 To have a godly peace concluded of. 
 Between the realms of England and of France. 
 
 K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their mo- 
 tion ? 
 
 Glo. Well, my good lord ; and as the only means 
 To stop effusion of our Christian blood, 
 And 'stablish quietness on every side. 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle ; for I always thought. 
 It was both impious and unnatural, 
 That such immanity' and bloody strife 
 Should reign among professors of one faith. 
 
 Glo. Beside, my lord, — the sooner to effect. 
 And surer bind, this knot of amity, — 
 The earl of Armagnac — near knit to Charles, 
 \ man of great authority in France, — 
 Proffers his only daughter to your grace 
 In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 
 
 K. Hen. Marriage, uncle ! alas ! my years are 
 young; 
 • Wanton. ' Inhumanity. 
 
 And fitter is my study and my books. 
 Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
 Yet, call the ambassadors; and, as you please, 
 So let them have their answers every one : 
 I shall be well content with any choice. 
 Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal. 
 Enter a Legate, and two Ambassadors, with 
 Winchester, in a CardinaVs Habit. 
 
 Exe. What ! is my lord of Winchester install'd 
 And call'd unto a cardinal's degree ? 
 Then, I perceive, that will be verified, 
 Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy, — 
 If once he come to be a cardinal, 
 He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown. 
 
 K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several suiti 
 Have been consider'd and debated on. 
 Your purpose is both good and reasonable : 
 And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd 
 To draw conditions of a friendly peace ; 
 Which, by my lord of Winchester, wo mean 
 Shall be transported presently to France, [ter, — 
 
 Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your ma* 
 I have inform'd his highness so at large, 
 As — liking of the lady's virtuous gifts. 
 Her beauty, and the value of her dower, — 
 He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 
 
 K. Hen. In argument and proof of which coi 
 tr4ct, 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY VI, 
 
 491 
 
 Bear her thisjcwel,[ To /Ae^lirti.] pledge ofmy aficc- 
 A.nd so, my lord protector, see them guarded, [tion. 
 And safely brought to Dover; where, inshipp'd, 
 Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 
 
 ^Exeunt King Henry ««c? Tram ,• Glosteu, 
 Exeter, and Ambassadors. 
 
 Win. Stay, my lord legate ; you shall first receive 
 The sum of money, which I promised 
 Should be deliver'd to his holiness 
 For clothing me in these grave ornaments. 
 
 /.po-. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. 
 
 Win. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow, 
 Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
 Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive, 
 That neither in birth, or for authority, 
 The bishop will be overborne by thee : 
 I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee, 
 Or sack this country with a mutiny. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE H. — France. Plains in Anjou. 
 Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alen90n, La Pu- 
 CELLE, and Forces, marching. 
 Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our 
 drooping spirits : 
 'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt. 
 And turn again unto the warlike French. [France, 
 Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of 
 And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 
 
 Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us ; 
 Else, ruin combat with their palaces ! 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Success unto our valiant general, 
 And happiness to his accomplices ! [speak. 
 
 Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pr ythee, 
 Mess. The English army, that divided was 
 Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one ; 
 And means to give you battle presently. 
 
 Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is ; 
 But we will presently provide for them. 
 
 Bur. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there ; 
 Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 
 
 Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd : — 
 Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine; 
 Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. 
 
 Char. Then on, my lords; And France be for- 
 tunate ! [Exeunt. 
 SCENE m.— Before Angiers. 
 Alarums : Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. 
 
 Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen 
 Now liclp, ye charming spells, and periapts;' [fly. — 
 And ye choice spirits that admonish me, 
 And give me signs of future accidents! [Thunder. 
 You speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
 Under the lordly monarch of the north,' 
 Appear, and aid me in this enterprize ! — 
 
 Enter Fiends. 
 This speedy quick appearance argues proof 
 Of your accustom'd diligence to me. 
 Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd 
 Out of the powerful regions under earth, 
 Help me this once, that France may get the field. 
 [They walk about, and speak not. 
 O, hold me not with silence over-long ! 
 Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, 
 I'll lop a member off, and give it you. 
 In earnest of a further benefit ; 
 So you do condescend to help me now. — 
 
 [They hang their heads. 
 
 ' Charms worn about the person. 
 
 9 Tlie north was supposed to be the particular habitation 
 if bad spirits. 
 
 No hope to have redress 1 — My body shall 
 Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 
 
 [They shake their head* 
 Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice, 
 Entreat you to your wonted furtherance 7 
 Then take my soul ; my body, soul, and all, 
 Before that England give the French the foil. 
 
 [They depart. 
 See! they forsake me. Now the time is come, 
 That France must vail' her lofty-plumed crest. 
 And let her head fall into England's lap. 
 My ancient incantations are too weak, 
 And hell too strong for me to buckle with: 
 Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit* 
 
 Alarums. Enter French and English fighting. 
 La Pucelle and York Jight hand to hand. 
 La Pucelle is taken. The French Jly. 
 Yo?-7t. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast ; 
 Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, 
 And try if they can gain your liberty. — 
 A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
 See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, 
 As if, with Circe, she would change my shape. 
 Puc. Changed to a worser shape thou canst not be. 
 Yo7-k. 0, Charles the dauphin is a proper man : 
 No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 
 
 Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and 
 And may yc both be suddenly surpris'd [thee ! 
 By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds ! 
 York. Fell, banning'* hag I enchantress, hold thy 
 
 tongue. 
 Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse awhile. 
 York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to 
 the stake. [Exeutit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady 
 
 Margaret. 
 Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 
 
 [Gazes on her. 
 
 fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly ; 
 
 For I will touch thee but with reverent hands, 
 And lay them gently on thy tender side, [peace • 
 
 1 kiss these fingers [Kissing her hand.'] for eternal 
 Who art thou ] say, that I may honor thee. 
 
 Mar. Margaret my name; and daughter to a king, 
 The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. 
 
 Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. 
 Be not offended, nature's miracle. 
 Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me : 
 So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, 
 Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings. 
 Yet, if this servile usage once offend. 
 Go, and be free again as Suffolk's friend. 
 
 [She turns away as going. 
 O, stay ! — I have no power to let her pass ; 
 My hand would free her, but my heart says — no 
 As plays the sun upon the glassy streams. 
 Twinkling another counterfeited beam, 
 So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 
 Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak; 
 I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind : 
 Fye, De la Poole ! disable not thyself;' 
 Hast not a tongue 1 Is she not here thy prisoner 
 Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight ? 
 Ay ; beauty's princely majesty is such. 
 Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough 
 
 Mar. Say, carl of Suffolk, — if thy name be so,— 
 What ransom must I pay before I pass 1 
 For I perceive, I am thy prisoner. 
 
 > Lower. * To ban \a to eiuw. 
 
 » Do not represent thyself so weak. 
 
t92 
 
 FIRST PART UF 
 
 Act V 
 
 Siif. How canst thou tcU she will deny thy suit, 
 Before thou make a trial of her love 1 [Aside. 
 
 Mar, Why speak'st thou not 1 what ransom 
 must I pay 1 
 
 Suf. She's beautiful ; and therefore to be woo'd : 
 She is a woman ; therefore to be won. [^Aside. 
 
 Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no ? 
 
 Suf. Fond man ! remember that thou hast a wife ; 
 Then how can Margaret be thy paramour ? [^Asidc. 
 
 Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hear. 
 
 Suf. There all is marr'd ; there lies a cooling card. 
 
 Mar. He talks at random ; sure the man is mad. 
 
 Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 
 
 Mar. And yet I would that you would answerme. 
 
 Suf. I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom 1 
 Why, for my king: Tush! that's a wooden thing.* 
 
 Mar. He talks of wood : It is some carpen ter. 
 
 Suf. Yet so my fancy* may be satisfied, 
 And peace established between these realms. 
 But there remains a scruple in that too : 
 For though her father be the king of Naples, 
 Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, 
 And our nobility will scorn the match. \^Aside. 
 
 Mar. Hear ye, captain 1 Are you not at leisure? 
 
 Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much: 
 Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. — [Aside. 
 Madam, I have a secret to reveal. 
 
 Mar, What though I be enthrall'd ? he seems a 
 knight, 
 And will not any way dishonor me. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. 
 
 Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescued by the French; 
 And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause — 
 
 Mar. Tush! women have been captivate ere now. 
 
 [Aside, 
 
 Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so? 
 
 Mar. I cry j'ou mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. 
 
 Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not sup- 
 pose 
 Your bondage happy, to be made a queen 1 
 
 Mar. To be a queen in bondage, is more vile, 
 Than is a slave in base servility ; 
 For princes should be free. 
 
 Suf And so shall you 
 
 If happy England's royal king be free. 
 
 Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me '.' 
 
 Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen; 
 To put a golden sceptre in thy hand, 
 And set a precious crown upon thy head, 
 If thou '^vilt condescend to be my — 
 
 Mar. What ? 
 
 Suf. His love. 
 
 Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 
 
 Suf. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am 
 To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, 
 Kni have no portion in the choice myself. 
 How say you, madam ; are you so content? 
 
 Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 
 
 Suf. Then call our captains, and our colors forth. 
 And, madam, at your flither's castle walls 
 Wi-'W crave a parley, to confer with him. 
 
 [Troops come forward 
 
 A Parky sounded. Enter Reignier, on the Walls. 
 Suf. See, Reignier, see, thy daughtel prisoner. 
 Reig, 'Co whom ? 
 Suf To me. 
 
 • An iwkward ')usiness, aa undertaking not likely to 
 lucceed^ * Love. 
 
 Reis;. Suffolk, ^-^nat remedy 
 
 I am a soldier; and unapt to wcrp. 
 Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 
 
 Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my loid: 
 Consent, (and for thy honor, give consent,) 
 Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king; 
 Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto, 
 And this her easy-held imprisonment 
 Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 
 
 Rei^. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks ? 
 
 Suf Fair Margaret knows, 
 
 That Suffolk doth not flatter, face,* or feign. 
 
 Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend, 
 To give thee answer of thy just demand. 
 
 [Exit from the WalU, 
 
 Suf And here I will 'ijijiect thy coming. 
 
 Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignieh, below. 
 
 Reig. Welcome, hri"?. earl, into our territories; 
 Command in Anjou '"bat your honor pleases. 
 
 Suf. Thanks, Reifii.i/er, happy for so sweet a 
 child, 
 Fit to be made companion with a king: 
 What answer makes jour grace unto my suit? 
 
 Reig. Since thou dr^st deign to woo her littla 
 worth. 
 To be the princely brads of such a lord; 
 Upon condition I may quietly 
 Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, 
 Free from oppression, or the stroke of war, 
 My daughter shall be Henry's if he please. 
 
 Suf. That is her rtnsom, I deliver her ; 
 And those two counties I will undertake, 
 Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 
 
 Reig. And I again — in Henry's royal name, 
 As deputy unto that gracious king, 
 Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 
 
 Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, 
 Because this is in traffic of a king: 
 And yet, methinks, I could be well content 
 To be mine own attorney in this case. [Aside. 
 I'll over then to England with this news. 
 And make this marriage to be solemniz'd ; 
 So, farewell, Reignier! Set this diamond safe 
 In golden palaces, as it becomes. 
 
 Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 
 The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. 
 
 Mar. Farewell, my lord ! Good wishes, praise, 
 and prayers. 
 Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. 
 
 Suf. Farewell, sweet madam! But hark you, 
 Margaret ; 
 No princely commendations to my king? 
 
 Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, 
 A virgin, and his servant, say to him. 
 
 Suf Words sweetly placed, and modestly di» 
 rected. 
 But, madam, I must trouble you again, — 
 No loving token to his majesty. 
 
 Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure, unspotted heart, 
 Never yet taint v>'ith love, I send Ihe king. 
 
 Suf. And this withal. [Kisses her. 
 
 Mar. That for thysclf;^I will not so presume, 
 To send such peevish"^ tokens to a king. 
 
 [Exeunt Reignier and Margaret 
 
 Suf. O, wert thou for myself ! — But, Suffolk, stay 
 Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth ; 
 There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. 
 
 • Play the hypocrite- • Childish 
 
SCENK IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 493 
 
 Rolicit Henry with her wond'rous praise : 
 Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount; 
 Mad" natural graces that extinguish art ; 
 Itepeat their semblance often on the seas, 
 That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, 
 Tly^u mayst bereave hun of his wits with wonder. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 SChNE IV — Camp of the Duke o/ York in 
 Anjou. 
 
 Enter York, Wauwick, and others. 
 
 York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to 
 burn. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. 
 
 Skep. Ah, Joan ! this kills thy father's heart 
 outright ! 
 Have I sought every countiy far and near, 
 And, now it is my chance to find thee out, 
 Must I behold thy timeless' cruel death 1 
 Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with 
 thee! 
 Puc. Decrepit miser !* base, ignoble wretch ! 
 I am descended of a gentler blood ; 
 Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. 
 
 >Skep. Out, out! — My lords, an please you, 'tis 
 not so ; 
 I did beget her, all the parish knows : 
 Her mother liveth yet, can testify. 
 She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 
 
 War. Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parent- 
 age? 
 York. This argues what her kind of life hath 
 been ; 
 Wicked and vile ; and so her death concludes. 
 S/iep. Fie, Joan ! that thou wilt be so ob- 
 stacle!' 
 God knovi's thou art a coUop of my fiesh ; 
 And for thy sake have I shed many a tear: 
 Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan. 
 
 Puc. Peasant, avaunt ! — you have suborn'd this 
 man, 
 On purpose to obscure my noble birth. 
 
 Shep. "Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest, 
 The morn that I was wedded to her mother. — 
 Kneel down and take my blessing, good my 
 
 girl. 
 Wilt thou not stoop 1 Now cursed be the time 
 Of thy nativity! I would, the milk 
 Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her 
 
 breast. 
 Had beer, a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
 Or else, whei; 'hou didst keep my lambs a-ficld, 
 I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 
 Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? 
 0, burn her, burn her; hanging is too good. 
 
 [Exit. 
 York. Take her away; for she hath liv'd too 
 long, 
 To fill the world with vicious qualities. 
 
 Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have 
 condemn'd : 
 N'ot me lirgottcn of a shepherd swain, 
 I3ut issu'd from the progeny of kings; 
 Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above, 
 
 » ^^il''- 3 Untimely. 
 
 « Mi^er Iicre simply means a miiserablo creature. 
 '.4 corruptioa of obstinate. 
 
 IS a 
 
 By inspiration of celestial grace. 
 
 To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
 
 I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
 
 But you, — tha,. ore polluted with your lusts, 
 
 Stain'd with the gwUlcss blood of innocents, 
 
 Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, — 
 
 Because you want the grace that others have, 
 
 You judge it straight a thing impossible 
 
 To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
 
 No, misconceived !' Joan of Arc hath been. 
 
 A virgin from her tender infancy, 
 
 Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; 
 
 Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously eflus'd, 
 
 Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven, 
 
 York. Ay, ay; — away with her to execution. 
 
 War. And nark ye, sirs ; because she 
 maid, 
 Spare for no faggots, let there be enough : 
 Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, 
 That so her torture may be shorten'd. 
 
 Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting 
 hearts ? — 
 Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity; 
 That warrantcth by law to be thy privilege. — 
 I am with child, ye bloody homicides : 
 Murder not then the fruit within my womb, 
 Although ye hale me to a violent death. 
 
 York. Now heaven forefend ! the holy maid 
 with child 1 
 
 War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought: 
 Is all your strict preciseness come to this 1 
 
 York. She and the dauphin have !)een jug- 
 
 I did imagine what would be her refuge. 
 
 War. Well, go to ; we will have no bastarda 
 live ; 
 Especially since Charles must father it. 
 
 Puc. You are deceiv'd; my child is none oi 
 his ; 
 It was Alen9on, that enjoy'd my love. 
 
 York. Alengon ! that notorious Machiavel ' 
 It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 
 
 Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you ; 
 'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I 
 
 nam'd. 
 But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. 
 War. A maiTied man ! that's most intoleiable. 
 York. Why, here's a girl ! I think, she knows 
 not well. 
 There were so many, whom she may accuse. 
 War. It's sign, she hath been liberal and fiee. 
 York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin 
 pure ! — 
 Strumpet, thy words condemn thy Lrat.. and 
 
 thee: 
 Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 
 
 Puc, Then lead me hence ; — with whom I lca\e 
 my curse : 
 May never glorious sun reflex his beams 
 Upon the country where you make abode ! 
 But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
 Environ you ; till mischief, and despair. 
 Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves ! 
 
 [Exit, guarded. 
 York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to 
 ashes. 
 Thou foul accursed minister of heU 1 
 
 «"Xo, ye misconceivers, ye who mistake me anc m> 
 aualiUeH." 
 
491 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Enter Cardinal Beaufout, attended. 
 
 Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
 With letters of commission from the king. 
 For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
 Mov'd with remorse' of these outrageous broils, 
 Have earnestly implor'd a general peace 
 Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; 
 And here at hand the dauphin, and his train, 
 Approacheth, to confer about some matter. 
 
 York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect ? 
 After the slaughter of so many peers, 
 So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, 
 That in this quarrel have been overthrown, 
 And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, 
 Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace 1 
 Have we not lost most part of all the towns, 
 By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, 
 Our great progenitors had conquered ? — 
 0, Warwick, Warwick ! I foresee with grief 
 The utter loss of all the realm of France. 
 
 War. Be patient, York; if we conclude a 
 peace. 
 It shall be with such strict and severe covenants, 
 As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 
 
 Enter Charles, attended,- ALEN90N, Bastard, 
 Reignier, and others. 
 
 Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus 
 
 agreed. 
 That peaceful truce should be proclaim'd in 
 
 France, 
 We come to be informed by yourselves 
 What the conditions of that league must be. 
 York. Speak, Winchester ; for boiling choler 
 
 chokes 
 The hollow passage of my poison'd voice. 
 By sight of these our baleful enemies. 
 
 Car. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus : 
 That — in regard king Henry gives consent. 
 Of mere compassion, and of lenity. 
 To ease your country of distressful war. 
 And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace — 
 You shall become true liegemen to his crown : 
 And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
 To pay him ^ ' utc, and submit thyself, 
 Thou shalt placed as viceroy under him, 
 And stiU joy thy regal dignity. 
 
 Aleu. iviust he be then a shadow of himself! 
 Adorn his temples with a coronet;' 
 And yet, in substance and authority. 
 Retain but privilege of a private man 1 
 This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 
 
 Char. 'Tis known, already, that I am pos- 
 
 sess'd 
 With more than half the Gallian territories, 
 And therein reverenced for their lawful king : 
 Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd. 
 Detract so much from that prerogative. 
 As to be called but viceroy of the whole ? 
 No, lord ambassador; I'il rather keep 
 That which I have, than, coveting for more, 
 Be cast from possibility of all. 
 
 York. Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret 
 
 means 
 Used intercession to obtain a league ; 
 And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
 Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison 1 
 
 1 Compassion. 
 
 • Coronet is here used for crown. 
 
 Either accept the title thou usurp 'st. 
 
 Of benefit' proceeding from our king, 
 
 And not of any challenge of desert, 
 
 Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 
 
 Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
 To cavil in the course of this contract : 
 If once it be neglected, ten to one, 
 We shall not find like opportunity. 
 
 Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy, 
 To save your subjects from such massacre, 
 And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen 
 By our proceeding in hostility : 
 And therefore take this compact of a truce, 
 Although you break it when your pleasure serres 
 
 [^Aside to CHARLEa 
 
 War. How say'st thou, Charles ] shall our con 
 dition stand ? 
 
 Char. It shall : 
 Only reserv'd, you claim no interest 
 In any of our towns of garrison. 
 
 York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty, 
 As thou art knight, never to disobey. 
 Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
 Thou nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. — 
 [Charles, and the rest, give token* 
 of fealty. 
 So, now dismiss your army when you please ; 
 Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, 
 For here we entertain a solemn peace. [^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE V. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry in confereiice with Suffolk ; 
 Gloster, and Exeter, following 
 
 K. lien. Your wondrous rare description, noble 
 earl. 
 Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me : 
 Her virtues, graced with external gifts, 
 Do breed love's settled passions in my heart: 
 And like as rigor in tempestuous gusts 
 Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide; 
 So am I driven, by breath of her renown, 
 Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive 
 Where I may have fruition of her love. 
 
 Siif Tush ! my good lord ! this superficial talt 
 Is but a preface of her worthy praise • 
 The chief perfections of that lovely dame, 
 (Had I sufficient skill to utter them,) 
 Would make a volume of enticing lines. 
 Able to ravish any dull conceit. 
 And, which is more, she is not so divine, 
 So full replete with choice of all delights, 
 But, with as humble lowliness of mind. 
 She is content to be at your command ; 
 Command, I mean, of virtuous, chaste intents, 
 To love and honor Henry as her lord. 
 
 K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er pi» 
 sume. 
 Therefore, my lord protector, give consent, 
 That Margaret may be England's royal queen. 
 
 Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
 You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
 Unto another ladv of esteem ; 
 How shall we then dispense with that con 
 
 tr^ct 
 And not deface your honor with reproach ? 
 
 Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ; 
 
 » " Be content to lire as the beneficiary of our kinjj." 
 
SOENE V. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 49d 
 
 Or one, that, at a triumph' having vow'd 
 To try his strength, forsakcth yet the lists 
 By reason of his adversary's odds: 
 A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds. 
 And therefore may be broke without offence. 
 
 Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more thin 
 that 1 
 Her fatlicr is no better than an carl. 
 Although in glorious titles he excel. 
 
 Suf. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king, 
 Tiie king of Naples, and Jerusalem ; 
 And of such great nuthority in France, 
 As his alliance will conruin our peace. 
 And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 
 
 Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do, 
 Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 
 
 Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant liberal 
 dower ; 
 While Reignier sooner will receive, than give. 
 
 Suf. A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your 
 king. 
 That he should be so abject, base, and poor, 
 To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
 Henry is able to enrich his queen. 
 And not to seek a queen to make him rich: 
 .S-J worthless peasants bargain for their wives, 
 A3 market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
 Marriage is a matter of more worth. 
 Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; 
 Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects. 
 Must be companion of his nuptial bed ; 
 And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, 
 It most of all these reasons bindeth us. 
 In our opinions she should be preferr'd. 
 Far what is wedlock forced, but a hell, 
 .\n age of discord and continual strife? 
 Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss, 
 And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
 Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, 
 But Margaret, that is daughter to a kingi 
 Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, 
 Approves her fit for none, but for a king; 
 
 A triumph then signified a public exhibiti( n ; such 
 V a mask, or revel. 
 
 Her valiant courage, and undaunted fpirit, 
 
 (More than in women commonly is seen,) 
 
 Will answer our hope in issue of a king; 
 
 For Henry, son unto a conqueror. 
 
 Is likely to beget more concjuerors. 
 
 If with a lady of so high resolve. 
 
 As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love. 
 
 Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me^ 
 
 That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. 
 
 K. Hen. Whether it be through force of youi 
 report. 
 My noble lord of Suffolk ; or for that 
 My tender youth was never yet attaint 
 With any passion of inflaming love, 
 I cannot tell ; but this I am assur'd, 
 I feel such sharp dissension in my breast. 
 Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear. 
 As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 
 Take, tlierefbre, shipping ; post, my lord, to France" 
 Agree to any covenants; and procure 
 That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
 To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd 
 King Henry's faithful and anointed queen* 
 For your expenses and sufficient chargf- 
 Among the people gather up a tenth. 
 Begone, I say; for, till you do return, 
 I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.- 
 And you, good uncle, banish all offence ; 
 If you do censure' me by what you were, 
 Not what you arc, I know it will excuse 
 This sudden execution of my will. 
 And so conduct me, where from company, 
 I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit, 
 
 Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. 
 [Exeunt Glostf.ii and Exeter. 
 
 Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd : and thus ho 
 goes. 
 As did the youthful Paris once to Greece; 
 With hope to find the like event in love. 
 But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
 Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king ; 
 But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. 
 
 [ExU 
 * Jcdge. 
 

 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENHY YL 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 of the King's Party. 
 
 Ki:yG Henry the Sixth. 
 HuMiHiiET, Duke of GlosiQx, his Unck, 
 Cardinal I3EAUFORT,i3tsAo/?o/'Winchester,^rea< 
 
 Uncle to the King. 
 RrcHARD Plantagenet, Duke of York. 
 Edward aiid Richard, his So7is. 
 Duke of Somerset, 
 Duke of Suffolk, 
 Duke of Buckingham, 
 Lord Clifford, 
 Young Clifford, his Son, j 
 Earl of Salisburt, > .^^^ York Faction. 
 Earl of Warwick, ^ "^ 
 Lord Scales, Governor of the Tower. 
 Lord Sat. 
 
 Sir Humphrey St xtfoui), and his Brother. 
 Sir John Stanley. 
 A Sea-Captain, Master, and Master'' s Mate, and 
 
 Walter Whitmore. 
 Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with Suffolk. 
 A Herald. 
 Vaux. 
 
 Hume and Southwell, tivn Priests, 
 
 Doling KROKE, a Conjurer. 
 
 A Spirit raised by him 
 
 Thomas Horner, an Armorer. 
 
 Peter, his Man. 
 
 Clerk of Chatham. 
 
 Mayor of Saint Alban's. 
 
 SiMPcox, an Impostor. 
 
 Two Murderers. 
 
 Jack Cade, a Rebel. 
 
 George, John, Dick, Smith the Weave, M* 
 
 CHAEL, 6(C., his Followers. 
 Alexander Id en, a Kentish Gentleman. 
 
 Margaret, Queen to King Henry. 
 Eleanor, Duchess oy Gloster. 
 Margery JouRDAiN, a Witch. 
 Wife to Simpcox. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, At 
 dcrmcn, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers; Citizens^ 
 Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messen- 
 gers, S(^c. 
 
 SCENE, dispersedly in various Parts of England. 
 
 ACTl. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room of State in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish of Trumpets; then Hautboys. Enter, on 
 one side, King Henry, Duke of Gloster, 
 Salisbury, Warwick, a?zt? Cardinal Beau- 
 fort; on the other. Queen Margaret, /eo? in 
 by Suffolk; York, Somerset, Buckingham, 
 and others, following. 
 
 Suf. As by your high imperial majesty 
 r had in charge, at my depart for France, 
 As procurator to your excellence. 
 To marry princessTVIargaret for your grace; 
 So in the famous ancient city. Tours, — 
 In presence of the kings of France and Sicil, 
 The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, Alengon, 
 Seven earls, twelve barons, twenty reverend bi- 
 shops, — 
 I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd : 
 And humbly now upon my bended knee. 
 In sight of England, and her lordly peers, 
 496 
 
 Deliver up my title in the queen 
 
 To your most gracious hands, thai are the sub« 
 
 stance 
 Of that great shadow I did represent; 
 The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, 
 The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Suffolk, arise. — Welcome, queen Map 
 garet : 
 I can express no kinder sign of love, 
 Thau this kind kiss. — Lord, that lends me life, 
 Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness h 
 For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face^ 
 A world of earthly blessings to my soul. 
 If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. 
 
 Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my gra- 
 cious lord; 
 The mutual conference that my mind hath had — 
 By day, by night, waking, and in my dreams , 
 In courtly company, or at my beads — 
 With you, mine alder-iiefest ' sovereign, 
 » Beloved above all things. 
 
Act I. ScKNE 1. 
 
 KING HENEY VI. 
 
 497 
 
 Makes inc the boliler to salute my king 
 With ruder terms; ; such as my wit affords, 
 Anil over-joy of heart doth minister. 
 
 K. Hen. Her sight did ravish: but her grace in 
 speech, 
 Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, 
 Makes me, from wondering, fall to weeping joys; 
 §uch is the fulness of my heart's content. — 
 Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. 
 All. Long live queen Margaret, England's hap- 
 piness ! 
 Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish. 
 
 ISuf. My lord protector, so it please your grace, 
 Here are the articles of contracted peace, 
 Detwecn our sovereign and the French king Charles, 
 For eighteen months, concluded by consent. 
 
 Glo. \_Reads.'] Imprimis, It is agreed, between the 
 French hing, Charles, and William de la Poole, 
 t)ia)v/uess of Suffolk, ambassador fur Hen7-y, king 
 of England, — that the said Henry shall espouse 
 the lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier,king 
 of Naples, Sicilia, and Jerusalem ; and crown her 
 queen of England, ere the thirtieth of May next 
 
 ensuing. Item, — That the duchy ofAnjou, and 
 
 the county of Maine, shall be released and delivered 
 
 to the king, her father • 
 
 A'. Hen. Uncle, how nowl 
 Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 
 
 Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart. 
 And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. 
 A'. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on. 
 Car. Item, — It is further agreed between them,— 
 that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be re- 
 leased and delivered over to the king, her fat her,- 
 and she sent over of the king of England's own 
 proper cost and charges, without having dowry. 
 K. Hen. They please us well. — Lord marquess,, 
 kneel down ; 
 Wc here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, 
 And girt thee with the sword. — 
 Cousin of York, we here discharge your gTace 
 From being regent in the parts of France, 
 Till term of eighteen months be full expir'd. — 
 Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, and 
 
 Buckingham, 
 Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick ; 
 We thank you all for this great favor done, 
 In entertainment to my princely queen. 
 Come, let us in, and with all speed provide 
 To see her coronation be perform 'd. 
 
 \_Exeunt Kixe, Quken, and Suffolk. 
 Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, 
 To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief. 
 Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
 What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth. 
 His valor, coin, and people in the wars] 
 Did he so often lodge in open field, 
 In \> inter's cold, and summer's parching heat, 
 To conquer France, his true inheritance] 
 And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, 
 To keep by policy what Henry got ] 
 Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
 Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
 Kecciv'd deep scars in France and Normandy] 
 Or hath my uncle Beaufort, and myself, 
 With all the learned council of the realm, 
 Studied so long, sat in the council-house, 
 Early and late, debating to and fro 
 How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe? 
 And hath his highness in his infancy 
 
 Been crowii'd in Pans, in despite of foes? 
 And shall these labors, and these honors, diel 
 Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance. 
 Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die] 
 peers of England, shameful is this league! 
 Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame: 
 Blotting your names from books of memory: 
 Razing the characters of your renown; 
 Defacing monuments of conquer'd France; 
 Undoing all, as all had never been ! 
 
 Car. Nephew, what means this passionate [if 
 course ] 
 This peroration with such circumstance?' 
 For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. 
 
 Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can ; 
 But now it is impossible we should: 
 Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roas^% 
 Hath given the duchies of Anjou and Maine, 
 Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style 
 Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 
 
 Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all, 
 These counties were the keys of Normandy : — 
 But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son] 
 
 War. For grief, that they are past recovery : 
 For, were there hope to conquer them again. 
 My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears 
 Anjou and Maine, myself did win them both; 
 Those provinces these arms of mine did conquei 
 And are the cities that I got with wounds, 
 Deliver'd up again with peaceful words] 
 Mort Dieu ! 
 
 York. For Suffolk's duke — may he be suffocatt, 
 That dims the honor of this warlike isle ! 
 France should have torn and rent my very heart, 
 Before I would have yielded to this league. 
 I never read but England's kings have had 
 Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wive»' 
 And our king Henry gives away his own, 
 To match with her that brings no vantages. 
 
 Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before, 
 That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth, 
 For cost and charges in transporting her ! 
 She should have staid in France, and starv'd in 
 
 Before [France, 
 
 Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot 
 It was the pleasure of my lord the king., 
 
 Glo. My lord of Winchester, I know j'our mind 
 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike. 
 But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you. 
 Rancor will out: Proud prelate, in thy face 
 I see thy fury : if I longer stay, 
 We shall begin our ancient bickerings.' — 
 Lordings, farewell ; and say, when I am gone. 
 I prophesied — France will be lost ere long. [Exit 
 
 Cvr. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
 'Tis known to you, he is mine enemy : 
 Nay, more, an enemy unto you all; 
 And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
 Consider, lords, he is the next of blood. 
 And heir apparent to the English crown; 
 Had Henry got an empire by his marriage. 
 And all the wealthy kingdoms of the w^cst. 
 There's reason be should be displcas'd at it. 
 Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words 
 Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. 
 What though the common jicople favor him. 
 Calling him — Hu mphrey, the good duke of Gloster ) 
 Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice — 
 
 » This spooch, crowded with so many circumstancts ol 
 aggravation. • Skirmishings. 
 
198 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Jesu maintain your royal excellence .' 
 With — God preserve the good duke Humphrey! 
 I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, 
 He will be found a dangerous protector. 
 
 Buck. Why should he then protect our so'^'ereign, 
 He being of age to govern of himself] 
 Cousin of Somerset, join you with me. 
 And all together — with the duke of Suffolk, — 
 We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. 
 
 Car. This weighty business will not brook delay ; 
 I'll to the duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit. 
 
 /S'o7«. Cousin of Buckingham,though Humphrey's 
 And greatness of his place, be grief to us, [pride. 
 Yd let us watch the haughty cardinal ; 
 His insolence is more intolerable 
 Than all the princes in the land beside ; 
 If Gloster be displaced, he'll be protector. 
 
 Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector, 
 Despite duke Humphrey, or the cardinal. 
 
 [^Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset. 
 
 Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
 While these do labor for their own preferment. 
 Behoves it us to labor for the realm. 
 I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster 
 Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
 Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal — 
 More like a soldier, than a man o'the church, 
 As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all, — 
 Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself 
 Unlike the ruler of a commonweal, — 
 Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age ! 
 Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping. 
 Hath won the greatest favor of the commons, 
 Excepting none but good duke Humphrey. — 
 And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
 In bringing them to civil discipline ; 
 Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, 
 When thou wert regent for our sovereign. 
 Have made thee fear'd, and honor'd, of the people : — 
 loin we together, for the public good; 
 In what we can to bridle and suppress 
 The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal. 
 With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition ; 
 And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds. 
 While they do tend the profit of the land. 
 
 War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land. 
 And common profit of his country ! 
 
 York. And so says York,forliehath greatest cause. 
 
 Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look unto 
 
 the main. 
 War. Unto the main ! O father, Maine is lost; 
 That Maine, which by main force Warwick did win. 
 And would have kept, so long as breath did last: 
 Main chance, father, you meant ; but I meant Maine; 
 Which I will win from France, or else be slain. 
 [^Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury. 
 York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French : 
 l*aris is lost; the state of Normandy 
 Stands on a tickle* point, now they arc gone : 
 SuffDlk concluded on the articles ; 
 The peers agreed ; and Henry was well pleas'd, 
 To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. 
 I cannot blame them all ; What is't to them ? 
 'Tis thir.e they give away, and not their own. 
 Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pil- 
 And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, [lage, 
 Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone ; 
 While as the silly owner of the goods 
 Weeps over them, and rings his hapless hands, 
 * For ticklish. 
 
 And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, 
 While all is shar'd, and all is borne away; 
 Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own. 
 So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue. 
 While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold. 
 Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ire. 
 Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood, [land, 
 As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd. 
 Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.' 
 Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French ! 
 Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France, 
 Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
 A day will come, when York shall claim his own ; 
 And therefore I will take the Nevil's part. 
 And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey 
 And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown. 
 For that's the golden mark I seek to hit : 
 Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right. 
 Nor hold his sceptre in his childish fist, 
 Nor wear the diadem upon his head, 
 Whose church-like humors fit not for a crown. 
 Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve : 
 Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep. 
 To pry into the secrets of the state ; 
 Till Henry, surfeiting m joys of love, [queen, 
 
 With his new bride, and England's dear-bought 
 And Humphfoy with the peers be fall'n at jars: 
 Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. 
 With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed ; 
 And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
 To grapple with the house of Lancaster; 
 And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown. 
 Whose bookish rule hath puU'd fair England down. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 SCENE IL— ^ Room in the Duhe of Gloster's House. 
 Enter Gloster and the Duchess. 
 
 Duch.YVhy droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, 
 Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load ] 
 Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows, 
 As frowning at the favors of the world ] 
 Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth. 
 Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight ' 
 What seest thou there 1 king Henry's diadem, 
 Enchas'd with all the honors of the world 1 
 If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy^face. 
 Until thy head be circled with the same. 
 Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : — 
 What, is't too short 1 I'll lengthen it with mine : 
 And, having both together heaved it up, 
 We'll both together lift our heads to heaven ; 
 And never more abase our sight so low, 
 As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 
 
 Glo. Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, 
 Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts: 
 And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
 Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
 Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 
 My troublous dream this night doth make me sad 
 
 Duch. What drcam'd my lord ] tell me, and I'l 
 requite it 
 With .sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 
 
 Glo. Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in 
 court, 
 Was broke in twain, by whom, I have forgot. 
 But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ; 
 And on the pieces of the broken wand 
 Were placed the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset, 
 
 » Meleagpr* whose life was to continue only so Ions; as a 
 certain fire-brand should last. His mother Althea haying 
 I thrown it inlo the fire, he expired in torment. 
 
S(JKNK Jil 
 
 KING IIENli^: VI. 
 
 493 
 
 A;i(l VViiliaii. .!,• Ill I'oole llr.',t duke of Suffolk. 
 This was my diwiin ; what it doth bode, God knowa. 
 
 Diic/i. Tut, this was nothing but an argument, 
 I'hut he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove, 
 Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
 But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke; 
 Methought, I sit in scat of majesty, 
 fn the cathedral church of Westminster, 
 And in that chair where kings and queens are 
 
 crown'd ; 
 Where Henry, and dame Pi-Iargaret, knecl'd to me. 
 And on my head did set the diadem. 
 
 Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: 
 Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor! 
 Art thou not second woman in the realm ; 
 And the protector's wife, belov'd of him 1 
 Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command. 
 Above the reach or compass of thy thought? 
 And wilt thou still be hammering treachery. 
 To tumble down thy husband, and thyself. 
 From top of honor to disgrace's fectT 
 Away from me, and let me hear no more. 
 
 Duch. What, what, my lord! are you so choleric 
 With Eleanor for telling but her dream? 
 Next time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself. 
 And not be check'd. 
 
 Glu. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure, 
 You do ])repare to ride unto Saint Alban's, 
 Whereas" the king and queen do mean to hawk. 
 Glo. I go. — Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us 1 
 Duch. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently. 
 [Exeunt Glosteii and Messenger. 
 Follow I must, I cannot go before, 
 While Gloster bears this base and huml>Ic mind. 
 Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
 F would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks. 
 And smooth my way upon their headless necks : 
 And, being a woman, I would not be slack 
 To play my part in fortune's pageant. 
 Where are you there ] sir John!' nay, fear not, man. 
 We are alone ; here's none but thee, and I. 
 
 Enter Hume. 
 Hume. Jesu preserve your royal majesty! 
 i>t<cA. What say 'st thou, majesty! I am but grace. 
 i/« //if. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's 
 advice. 
 Your grace's title shall be multiplied. 
 
 Duch. What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet 
 conferr'd 
 With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch; 
 And Kogcr Bolingbrokc, the conjurer] 
 And will they undertake to do me good? 
 
 Hti;.)V. This they have promised, — to show your 
 highness 
 A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground. 
 That shall make answer to such <jucstions. 
 As by your grace shall be propounded him. 
 
 Duck. It is enough; I'll think upon the questions : 
 When from Saint Alban's we do make return. 
 We'll see these things clfected to the full. 
 Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man. 
 With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 
 
 [Exit DuciiKss. 
 
 '/(///if. Hume must make merry with the duchess' 
 
 gold ; 
 
 Marry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume ? 
 
 « WLor«. ' A title frequently bestowed on the clergy. 
 
 Seal up your lips, and give no words but— -mum i 
 The business asketh silent secrecy. 
 Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch : 
 Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
 Yet have I gold, flies from another coast : 
 I dare not say from the rich cardinal. 
 And from the great and new-made duke of Suffoli 
 Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain. 
 They, knowing Eleanor's aspiring humor. 
 Have hired me to undermine the duchess, 
 And buz these conjurations in her brain. 
 They say, a crafty knave does need no broker* 
 Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker; 
 Hume, if }'ou take not heed, you shall go near 
 To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. 
 Well, so it stands; And thus, I fear, at last, 
 Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck ; 
 And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall : 
 Sort' how it will, I shall have gold for all. iRxit 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Roo7n in the Palace. 
 Enter Petek, and others, luith Petitions. 
 
 1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close; my lord 
 protector will come this way by-and-by, and then 
 we may deliver our supplications in the quill.' 
 
 2 Pet. Marry, the lord protect him, for he's a 
 good man ! Jesu bless him ! 
 
 Enter Suffolk, and Queen Makgaret. 
 
 1 Pet. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen 
 with him: I'll be the first, sure. 
 
 2 Pet. Come back, fool; this is the duke of 
 Suffolk, and not my lord protector. 
 
 8uf. How now, fellow 7 wouldst any thing with 
 me] 
 
 1 Pet. I pray my lord, pardon me ! I took ye for 
 my lord protector. 
 
 Q. Mar. [Reading the superscription.] To my 
 lord protector! are your supplications to his lord- 
 ship] Let me see them : What is thine] 
 
 1 Pet. Mine is, an't please your grace, against 
 John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping 
 my house, and lands, and wife, and all, from me. 
 
 8uJ'. Thy wife too] that is some wrong, indeed. — 
 What's yours] — What's here! [Reads.'] Against 
 the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of 
 Melford. — How now, sir knave] 
 
 2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of out 
 whole township. 
 
 Peter. [Presenting his petition.'] Against my 
 master, Thomas Horner, forsayiiig, That the duke 
 of York was rightful heir to the crown. 
 
 Q. Mar. What say'st thou ] Did the duke of 
 York say, he was rightful heir to the crown '? 
 
 Peter- That my master was] No, forsooth : my 
 master said. That he was ; and that the king was an 
 usurper. 
 
 Suf. Who is there ? [Enter Servants.]— Take 
 this fellow in, and send tor his master with a pur- 
 suivant presently : — we'll hear more of your matter 
 before the king. [Exeunt Servants ivith Petkji. 
 
 Q. M(n: And as for you, that love to be protected 
 Under the wings of our protector's grace. 
 Begin your suits anew, and sue to hiir.. 
 
 [Tears the Petition, 
 Away, base cullions!' Si:ffolk, let them go. 
 
 Ait. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt PetitionirB 
 
 • Happen. 
 
 ' With prroat exactness and observance of form. 
 
 » Scoundrels. 
 
AOO 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise 
 Is this the fashion in the court of England] 
 [s thib the government of Britain's isle, 
 And this the royalty of Albion's kingl 
 What, shall king Henry be a pupil still, 
 Under the surlji Gloster's governance] 
 Am I a queen in title and in style. 
 And must be made a subject to a dukel 
 I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours 
 Thou ran'st a tilt in honor of my love, 
 And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France; 
 I thought king Henry had resembled thee, 
 In courage, courtship, and proportion: 
 But all his mind is bent to holiness, 
 To number Avc-Maries on his beads; 
 His champions are — the prophets and apostles : 
 His weapons, holy saws' of sacred writ ; 
 His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves 
 Are brazen images of canonized saints. 
 I would, the college of cardinals 
 Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, 
 And set the triple crown upon his head ; 
 That were a state fit for his holiness. 
 
 Suf. Madam, be patient: as I was cause 
 Your highness came to England, so will I 
 In England work your grace's full content. 
 
 Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we 
 Beaufort, 
 The imperious churchman ; Somerset, Buckingham, 
 And grumbling York: and not the least of these. 
 But can do more in England than the king. 
 
 Suf. And he of these that can do most of all. 
 Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: 
 Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers. 
 
 Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so much. 
 As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. 
 She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, 
 More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife; 
 Strangers in court do take her for the queeu • 
 She bears a duke's revenues on her back. 
 And in her heart she scorns her poverty : 
 Shall I not live to be avenged on her ] 
 Contemptuous base-born callat' as she is. 
 She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day. 
 The very train of her worst wearing-gown 
 Was better worth than all my father's lands, 
 * Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 
 Suf. Madam, myself have limed a bush for her; 
 And placed a quire of such enticing birds. 
 That she will light to listen to the lays, 
 And never mount to trouble you again. 
 So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me; 
 For I am bold to counsel you in this. 
 Although we fancy not the cardinal. 
 Yet must we join with him, and with the lords, 
 Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. 
 As fo.- the duke of York, — this late complaint' 
 Will make but little for his benefit : 
 So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last. 
 And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 
 Snter King Henry, York and Somerset conversing 
 roith him; DuKE and Duchess OF Glosteh, Car- 
 dinal Beaufort, Buckingham, Salisbury, and 
 Warwick. 
 
 K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which ; 
 Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me. 
 
 York. If York have ill demean'd himself in France, 
 Then let him be denay'd* the regentship. 
 
 ^ Sayings. a Drab, trull. 
 
 * i. e. The complaint of Peter, the armourer's man, 
 igainst his master. • Denied. 
 
 Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place. 
 Let York bs regent, I will yield to him. 
 
 War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no 
 Dispute not that: York is the worthier. 
 
 Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. 
 War. The cardinal's not my better in the field. 
 Buck. All in this presence, are thy betters, War 
 
 wick. 
 War. Warwick may live to be the bcit of all. 
 
 Sal, Peace, son ; and show some reason, 
 
 Buckingham, 
 Why Somerset should be preicrr'd in this. 
 
 Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. 
 GIo. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
 To give his censure;" these are no woman's matters. 
 Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needsyour grace 
 To be protector of his excellence ] 
 
 Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm ; 
 And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 
 
 Suf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. 
 Since thou wert king, (as who is king but thou 1) 
 The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck : 
 The dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; 
 And all the peers and nobles of the realm 
 Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 
 
 Car. The commons hast thou rack'd; the 
 clergy's bags 
 Are lank and lean with thy extortions. 
 
 Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's 
 attire. 
 Have cost a mass of public treasury. 
 
 Buck. Thy cruelty in execution. 
 Upon offenders, hath exceeded law. 
 And left thee to the mercy of the law. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy sale of otSces, and towns in France, — 
 If they were known, as the suspect is great, — 
 Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. 
 [Exit Glostkii. T/ie Queen drops her fan. 
 Give me my fan: what, minion! can you notl 
 
 l^Gives the Duchess a box on the ear 
 I cry you mercy, madam; Was it you 1 [woman! 
 Duck. Was't I ] yea, I it was, proud French 
 Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
 I'd set my ten commandments in your face.' [will. 
 K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet : 'twas against her 
 Duch. Against her will ! Good king, look to't 
 in time; 
 She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby : 
 Though in this place most master wear no breeches, 
 She shall not strike dame Eleanor unrevenged. 
 
 \^Exit Duchess. 
 Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
 And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: 
 She's tickled now ; her fume can need no spurs. 
 She'll gallop fast enough to her destruction. 
 
 [^Exit Buckingham 
 
 Re-enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown, 
 With walking once about the quadrangle, 
 I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 
 As for your spiteful false objections. 
 Prove them, and I lie open to the law : 
 But God in mercy so deal with-my soul, 
 As I in duty love my king and country ! 
 But, to the matter that we have in hand:— 
 I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
 To be your regent in the realm of France. 
 
 Suf. Before we make election, give me leave 
 
 • Censure here means simple judgment or opinion. 
 1 The marks of her fingers and thumbs. 
 
"^CENE iV 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 bO. 
 
 I'o show some reason, of no little force, 
 That York is most unmeet of any man. 
 
 York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet. 
 First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride : 
 Next, if I be appointed for the place. 
 My lord of Somerset will keep me here, 
 Without discharge, money, or furniture. 
 Till France be won into the dauphin's hands. 
 Last time, I danced attendance on his will. 
 Till Paris was bcsicg'd, famish'd, and lost. 
 
 War. That I can witness, and a fouler fact 
 Did never traitor in the land commit. 
 
 Suf. Peace, head-strong Warwick ! [peace 1 
 
 War. Image of pride, why should I hold my 
 
 Enter Sei-vants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner 
 and Petf,r. 
 
 Siif. Because here is a man accus'd of treason : 
 Pray God the duke of York excuse himself! 
 York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? 
 
 K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? tell me: 
 What are these ? 
 
 ISuf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
 That doth accuse his master of high treason : 
 His words were these ; — that Richard, duke of York, 
 Was rightful heir unto the English crown ; 
 And that your majesty was an usurper. 
 
 K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words 1 
 
 Hot. An't shall please your majesty, I never said 
 nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, 
 I am falsely accused by the villain. 
 
 Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, [Holding up 
 his kands.^ he did speak them to mc in the garret one 
 night, as we were scouring my lord of York's armor. 
 
 York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, 
 I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech : — 
 I do beseech your royal majesty. 
 Let him have all the rigor of the law. 
 
 Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the 
 words. My accuser is my prentice: and when I 
 did correct him for his fault the other day, he did 
 vow upon his knees he would be even with me: 
 I have good witness of this ; therefore, I beseech 
 your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for 
 a villain's accusation. 
 
 K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law 1 
 
 Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge: — 
 Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
 Because in York this breeds suspicion: 
 And let these have a day appointed them 
 For single combat in convenient place ; 
 For he hath witness of his servant's malice: 
 This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. 
 
 K. Hen. Then be it so. My lord of Somerset, 
 We make your grace lord regent o'er the French. 
 
 Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. 
 
 Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. 
 
 Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's 
 Buke, pity my case! the spile of man prevaileth 
 against me. Lord, have mercy upon me ! I shall 
 never be able to fight a blow: O Lord, my heart! 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Away with them to prison, and the day 
 Of combat shall be the last of the next month. — 
 Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. [Exeunt. 
 
 eCENE IV,— T/ie Duke c/Glostkr's Garden. 
 Enter Maugkhy Jouudain, Hume, Southwell, 
 and Boi.ixr.nRDKK. 
 Hume. Come, my masters: t!;c duchess. I tell 
 you, expects performance of your promises. 
 33 
 
 Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore pro 
 vided : Will her ladyship behold and hear ou 
 exorcisms "J" 
 
 Hume. Ay; Whatelsel fear you not her courage 
 Boling. I have heard her reported to be a womar 
 of an invincible .spirit: But it shall be convenient, 
 master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be 
 busy below ; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name, 
 and leave us. [Exit Hume.] Mother Jourdain, be 
 you prostrate, and grovel on the earth: — John 
 Southwell, read you ; and let us to our work. 
 
 Enter Duchess, above. 
 
 Duch. Well said, my masters; and welccme ilL 
 To this gear ;' the sooner the better. 
 
 Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know theu 
 times : 
 Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night. 
 The time of night, when Troy was set on fire ; 
 The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dog&' 
 
 howl. 
 And spirits walk, and ghosts btcak up their graves, 
 That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
 Madam, sit you, and fear not; whom we raise, 
 We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. 
 
 [Here they perform the ceremonies appertaining, 
 and make the circle,- Bolingbroke, or South- 
 well, reads Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and 
 lightens terribly ,- then the Spirit riseth.^ 
 Spir. Adsum. 
 M. Jourd. Asmath, 
 
 By the eternal God, whose name and power 
 
 Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ; 
 
 For, till thou speak, thou shall not pass from henco, 
 Spir. Ask what thou wilt: — That I had said and 
 
 done! 
 Boling. First, of the King. What shall of him 
 become? [Reading out of a paper 
 
 Spir. The dukeyel lives that Henry shall depose, 
 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 
 [^s/Ae Spirit 5/3fafo,SouTnwELL?^'?v7es/Aea?zsz«er 
 Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk? 
 Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end. 
 Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset? 
 Spir. Let him shun castles ; 
 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
 
 Than where castles mounted stand. 
 
 Have done! for more I hardly can endure, [lake: 
 Baling. Descend to darkness, and the burning 
 
 False fiend, avoid ! 
 
 [Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends. 
 
 Enter York and Buckingham, hastily, with their 
 Guards, and others. 
 
 York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their 
 trash. 
 Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch. — 
 What, madam, are you there'' the king and com 
 
 monweal 
 Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: 
 My lord protector will, I doubt it not. 
 See you well guerdon'd' for these good deserts. 
 
 Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king, 
 
 Injurious duke; that threat'st, where is no cause. 
 
 Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call 
 
 you this? [Showing her the papers. 
 
 Away with them ; let them be clapp'd up close, 
 
 • By cxoriiso. Slinksiiearc iuvariaWy means to niiai 
 spirits, and not to lay tlicm ■> Matter or buaucss. 
 
 9 Watfih-doijs. • H«wardod. 
 
j02 
 
 SECOND PART OP 
 
 Act 11 
 
 And kept asunder : — You, madam, shall with us : — 
 Stafford, take her to thee. — 
 
 [Exit DvcaESfi from above. 
 We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming; 
 All. — 'Away ! 
 
 [_Exeuiil Guards, ivith Southwell, Boling- 
 
 BUOKE, S(C. 
 
 York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd 
 her well : 
 A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon ! 
 Now pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. 
 What have we here ? [Reads. 
 
 The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose: 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 V\'hy, this is just, 
 
 Aio te, JEacida, Romanos vincere posse. 
 Well, to the rest: 
 
 Tell me, what fate awaits the duhe of Suffolk? 
 By water shall he die, and take his end. — 
 Wliat shall betide the duke of Somerset? 
 
 Let him shun castles,- 
 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
 
 Than lohere castles mounted stand. 
 
 Come, come, my lords; 
 
 These oracles are hardily attain'd, 
 
 And hardly imderstood. 
 
 The king is now in progress towards Saint AHianX 
 
 With him, the husband of this lovely lady : 
 
 Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry 
 
 them ; 
 A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 
 
 Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord 
 
 of York, 
 To he the post, in hope of his reward. 
 
 York. At your pleasure, my good lord. — Who' 
 within there, ho ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, 
 To su]) with me to-morrow niglit. — Away. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Saint Alban's. 
 tenter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, 
 
 Cardinai,, and Suffolk, with Falconers, holla- 
 ing. 
 
 Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,' 
 I saw not better sport these seven years' day : 
 Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high ; 
 And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. 
 
 K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon 
 And what a pitch she flew above the rest ! — [made. 
 To see how God in all his creatures works ! 
 Yea, man and birds, are fain' of climbing high. 
 
 Suf No marvel, an it like your majesty. 
 My lord protector's hawks do tower so well ; 
 'i'fiey know tlieir master loves to be aloft. 
 And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. 
 
 Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
 That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 
 
 Car. I thought as much ; he'd be above the clouds. 
 
 Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal ; how think you by that? 
 Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven 1 
 
 K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy ! 
 
 Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and 
 thoughts 
 Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart ; 
 Pernicious protector, dangerous peer. 
 That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal ! 
 
 G/o. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown per- 
 Tantsene animis ccelestibus irss? [emptoryl 
 
 Churchmen so hot ? good uncle, hide such malice ; 
 Vvith such holiness can you do it? 
 
 Suf. No malice, sir ; no more than well becomes 
 So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. 
 
 Glo. As who, my lord 1 
 
 Suf. Why, as you, my lord; 
 
 An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 
 
 Glo. Why, Suflbik, England knows thine inso- 
 
 Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. [lence. 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace, 
 
 liood queen ; and whet not on these furious peers. 
 For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 
 
 Car. Let me lie blessed for the peace I make, 
 \ giinst this proud protector with my sword ! 
 
 ' The falconer's term for hawking at water-fowl. 
 » Fond. 
 
 Gh. 'Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to 
 that ! [Aside to the Cardinal. 
 
 Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. [Aside. 
 
 Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter, 
 In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside. 
 
 Cur. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou 
 dar'st. 
 This evening on the east side of the grove. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. How now, my lords ? 
 
 Cur. Believe me, cousin Gloster 
 
 Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly. 
 We had had more sport — Come with thy two- 
 hand sword. [Aside to Gloster. 
 
 Glo. True, uncle. 
 
 Car. Are you advis'd 1 — the east side of the grove ? 
 
 Glu. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, how now now, uncle Gloster 1 
 
 Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. — 
 Now, by God's mother, priest, J'lC shave your 
 
 crown for this. 
 Or all my fence' shall fail. [Atidc. 
 
 Car. Medice, teipsum,- 
 Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. [Aside 
 
 K. Hen. The winds grow high , so do your sto 
 maclis, lords. 
 How irksome is this music to my heart ! 
 When such strings jar, what hope of harmony] 
 I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 
 
 Enter an Inhabitant of Saint Alban's, crying, 
 A Miracle! 
 
 Glo. What means this noise? 
 Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ? 
 
 Inhab. A miracle : a miracle ! 
 
 Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle. 
 
 Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban'a 
 Within this half hour hath rcceiv'd his sight; [shrine, 
 A man, that ne'er saw in his life before. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd ! that to believing 
 Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! [souls 
 Enter the Mayoro/Saint Alhan''s, and his Bi-ethren; 
 
 and SiMPCOx, bm-ne between two Persons in a 
 
 Chair; his^^ik,an da great Multitude following 
 
 Car. Here come the townsmen on procession. 
 To present your highness with the man. 
 ' Fence is the art of defence. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 KING PIENRY VT. 
 
 50b 
 
 K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, 
 Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 
 
 Glf). Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king, 
 His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. 
 
 A". Heti. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance. 
 That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
 What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd! 
 
 Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. 
 
 Wife. Ay, indeed was he. 
 
 Suf. What woman is this ? 
 
 Wife. His wife, an't like your worship. 
 
 Glo. Hadst thou been his mother, thou coaldst 
 have better told. 
 
 K. Hen. Where wert thou born 1 
 
 Simp. At Berwick in the north,an't like your grace 
 
 K. Hen. Poor soul ! God's goodness hath been, 
 great to thee : 
 Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
 But still rememlx-r what the Lord hath done. 
 
 Q. Mur. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here 
 by chance. 
 Or of devotion, to this holy shrine T 
 
 Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being call'd 
 A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep 
 By good Saint Alban; who said, — Simpcox, come,- 
 Come, offer at my shrine, and I ivill help thee. 
 
 Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft 
 Myself have heard a voice to call him so 
 
 Car. What, art thou lame 1 
 
 Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 
 
 Siif. How cam'st thou so ? 
 
 Simp. A fall off a tree. 
 
 Wife. A plum-tree, master. 
 
 Glo. How long hast thou been blind 1 
 
 Simp. O, born so, master. 
 
 Glo. What, and wouldst climb a tree] 
 
 Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. 
 
 Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. 
 
 Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst 
 venture so. 
 
 Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some 
 damsons, 
 .And made me climb, with danger of my life. 
 
 Glo. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not serve. — 
 Let me see thine eyes : — wink now ; — now open 
 
 them ; 
 [n my opinion yet thou seest not well. 
 
 Simp. Yes, master, clear as day ; I thank God, 
 and Saint Alban. 
 
 Glo. Say'st thou me so? What color is this cloak of? 
 
 Simp. Red, master ; red as blood. 
 
 Glo. Why, that's well said: What color is my 
 gown of? 
 
 Simp. Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet. 
 
 K. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what color jet 
 is of? 
 
 Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 
 
 G^. But cloaks and gowns,beforc thisday,a many. 
 
 Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 
 
 Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I know rot. 
 
 Glo. What's liis name? 
 
 Simp. I know not. 
 
 Glo. Nor his ? 
 
 Simp. No, indeed, master. 
 
 Glo. What's thine own namel 
 
 Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you. 
 master. 
 
 GIv. Th ^n, Saundc'-, sit thou there, the lyinges': 
 knave 
 
 In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind 
 Thou mightst as well have known our names, as thus 
 To name the several colors we do wear. 
 Sight may distinguish of colors ; but suddenly 
 
 To nominate them all 's impossible. 
 
 My lords, saint Alban here hath done a miracle; 
 And would ye not think that cunning to be great 
 That could restore this cripple to his legs 1 
 
 Simp. O, master, that you could ! 
 
 Glo. My masters of saint Alban's, have you nj« 
 beadlefe in your town, and things called whips? 
 
 May. Yes, my lord, if it please your g'ace. 
 
 Glo. Then send for one presently. 
 
 May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. 
 
 \_Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Glo, Now fetch me a stool hither by-and-by. [A 
 stool brought oiit.^ Now, sirrah, if you mean to 
 save yourself from whipping, leap me over this 
 stool and run away. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone. 
 You go about to torture me in vain. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, ivitk the Beadle. 
 
 Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your 
 legs. Sirrah Beadle, whip him till he leap over 
 that same stool. 
 
 Bead. I will, my lord. — Come on, sirrah ; off 
 with your doublet quickly. 
 
 Sijnp. Alas, master, what shall I do ? I am not 
 able to stand. 
 
 [^After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps 
 
 over the stool, and rims away; and the 
 
 People follow, and cry, A Miracle! 
 
 K. i/e/2.0 God, seest thou this, andbcar'stsolongi 
 
 Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain run. 
 
 Glo. Follow the knave ; and take this drab away. 
 
 Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 
 
 Glo. Let them be whipped through every market 
 
 town, till they come to Berwick, whence they came. 
 
 l_Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, <S,c. 
 
 Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. 
 
 Suf. True ; made the lame to leap, and fiy away. 
 
 Glo. But you have done more miracles than I ; 
 
 You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 
 
 -E/?/er Buckingham. 
 
 K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Bucking- 
 ham? 
 
 Buck. Sucli as my heart doth tremble to unfold. 
 A sort^ of naughty persons lewdly' bent, — 
 Under the countenance and confederacy 
 Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, 
 The ring-leader and head of all this rout, — 
 Have practis'd dangerously against your state 
 Dealing with witches; and with conjurers: 
 Whom we have apprehended in the fact ; 
 Raising up wicked spirits from under ground. 
 Demanding of king Henry's life and death. 
 And other of your highness' privy council. 
 As more at large your grace shall understand. 
 
 Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means 
 Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
 This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; 
 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 
 
 [^Aside to Glostkii, 
 
 Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave to a/liict my 
 heart ! 
 Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powe''- 
 And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to ihee. 
 Or to the meanest groom. 
 
 » 4. company * Wick«-dli' 
 
504 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act n. 
 
 K. //i?.'7.0God,what mischiefs work the wicked 
 ones; 
 Heaping confusion on their own licads thereby! 
 
 Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest; 
 And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 
 
 O/o. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, 
 How I have lov'd n^y king, and commonweal, 
 And, for my wife, 1 know not how it stands; 
 Sorry I am to hear what I have heard: 
 Noble she is; but if she have forgot 
 Honor, and virtue, and convers'd with such 
 As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
 I banish her my bed and company; 
 And give her, as a prey, to law, and shame. 
 That hath dishonored Gloster's honest name. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose us 
 here : 
 To-morrow, toward London, back again, 
 To look into this business thoroughly, 
 And call these foul offenders to their answers ; 
 And poise* the cause in justice' equal scales, 
 "Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre- 
 vails. \_Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— London. The Duke 0/ York's 
 
 Garden. 
 Enter York, Salisbuht, and Warwick. 
 
 York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and War- 
 wick, 
 Our simple supper ended, give me leave, 
 In this close walk, to satisfy myself, 
 In craving your opinion of my title, 
 Which is infallible to England's crown. 
 
 Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full. 
 
 War. Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good. 
 The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 
 
 York. Then thus: — 
 Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons : 
 The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales; 
 The second, William of Hatfield ; and the third, 
 Lionel, duke of Clarence ; next to whom, 
 Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster: 
 The fifth was Edmund Langley, duke of York ; 
 The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of 
 
 Gloster; 
 "William of Windsor was the seventh and last. 
 Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father; 
 And left behind him Richard, his only son, 
 "Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king; 
 Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, 
 The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
 Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
 Seiz'd on the realm; depos'd the rightful king; 
 Sent his poor queen to France,fi-om whence she came, 
 And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, 
 Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. 
 
 War. Father, the duke hath told the truth ; 
 Tnus g';t the house of Lancaster the crown. 
 
 YorK~ Which now they hold by force, and not by 
 right; 
 1 or Richard, the first son's heir, being dead. 
 The issue of the next son should have reign'd. 
 
 Sal. But William of Hatfield died without anheir. 
 
 York. The third son, duke of Clarence, (from 
 whose line 
 I claim the crown,) had issue — Philippe, a daughter. 
 Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March: 
 Edmund had issue — Roger, earl of March: 
 Roger had issue — Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. 
 • Weigh. 
 
 Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke^ 
 As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; 
 And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, 
 Who kept him in captivity till he died. 
 But, to the rest. 
 
 York. His eldest sister, Anne, 
 
 My mother, being heir unto the crown, 
 Married Richard, earl of Cambridge; who was son 
 To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth sou 
 By her I claim the kingdom : she was heir 
 To Roger, earl of March; who was the son 
 Of Edmund Mortimer; who married Philippe, 
 Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence: 
 So, if the issue of the elder son 
 Succeed before the younger, I am king. 
 
 War. What plain proceedings are more plain 
 than this] 
 Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt. 
 The fourth son ; York claims it from the third. 
 Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : 
 It fails not yet ; but flourishes in thee. 
 And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. 
 Then father Salisbury, kneel we both together : 
 And in this private plot,' be we the first. 
 That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
 With honor of his birthright to the crown. 
 
 Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, Eng 
 gland's king! 
 
 York. We thank you, lords. But I am nr t you 
 king 
 Till I be crown'd: and that my sword be stain'd 
 With heart-blood of the house of Lancast*^ r. 
 And that's not suddenly to be perform 'd; 
 But with advice and silent secrecy. 
 Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days, 
 Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence. 
 At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition. 
 At Buckingham, and all the crew of them. 
 Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, 
 That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey 
 'Tis that they seek: and they, in seeking that. 
 Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. 
 
 Sal. My lord, break we off; we know you' mirft 
 at full. 
 
 War. My heart assures me, that the 1 arl of 
 Warwick 
 Shall one day make the duke of York a king. 
 
 York. And Nevil, this I do assure myself, — 
 Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick 
 The greatest man in England, but the king. [Ex'ttt 
 
 SCENE m.— A Hall of Justice. 
 
 Triimpefa sounded. EntcrKitiG HENUY,QuEENMAn- 
 garet,Gloster,York, Suffolk, and Salisbuut; 
 the Duchess of Gloster, Margery Jourdain, 
 Southwell, Hume, and Bolingbroke, xnider 
 guard. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Co>-ham. 
 Gloster's wife : 
 In sight of God and us, your guilt is great ; 
 Receive the sentence of the law for sins 
 Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. — 
 You four, from nence to prison back again ; 
 
 [7'o JoURDAlX, 4c 
 
 From thence unto the place of execution : 
 The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, 
 And you three shall be strangled on the gallc ws.- 
 You, madam, for you are more nobly bo-n, 
 Despoiled of your honor in your life, 
 ' Si^questered sp"t 
 
Pf'KNE TV. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 bOS 
 
 Shall, after three Jaj's' open penance done, 
 Live in your country here, in banishment. 
 With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. 
 
 Duck. Welcome is banishment, wcicome were 
 my death. 
 
 Glo. E leanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee; 
 ( cannot justify whom the law condemns. — 
 
 \_Excunt the Duchkss, and the oilier Prison- 
 ers, guarded. 
 Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief 
 Ah, Humphrey, this dishonor in thine age 
 Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground ! 
 [ beseech your majesty, give me leave to go ; 
 Sorrow would" solace, and mine age would case. 
 
 K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster: ere 
 thou go. 
 Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself 
 Protector be; and God shall be my hope, 
 My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet ; 
 And go in peace, Humphrey; no less belov'd, 
 Than when thou wert protector to thy king. 
 
 Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years 
 Should be to be protected like a child. — 
 God and king Henry govern England's helm: 
 Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 
 
 Glo. My staff? — here, noble Henry, is my staff; 
 As willingly do I the same resign, 
 As e'er thy father Henry made it mine; 
 And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it. 
 As others would ambitiously receive it. 
 Farewell, good king: When I am dead and gone. 
 May honorable peace attend thy throne ! \_Exil. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Marga- 
 ret queen ; 
 And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself. 
 That bears so shrewd a main ; two pulls at once, — 
 His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; 
 This staff of honor raught:'' — There let it stand. 
 Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 
 
 Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his 
 sprays ; 
 Thus Eleanor's pride (}ios in her youngest days. 
 
 Yo)-k. Lords, let him go. — Please it your majesty, 
 This is the day appointed for the combat; 
 And ready are the appellant and defendant. 
 The armorer and his man, to enter the lists. 
 Bo please your highness to behold the fight. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore 
 Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 
 
 K. Hen. O, God's name, see the lists and all 
 things fit ; 
 Here let them end it, and God defend the right ! 
 
 York. I never saw a fellow worse bested,' 
 Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, 
 The servant of this armorer, my lords. 
 Enter, en one side, Hoiiner, and his Neighbors, 
 
 drinking to him so muck that ke is drunk,- and 
 
 he enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag 
 
 fastened to it ; a drum before him: at the other 
 
 side, Peter, with a drum and a similar staff; 
 
 accompanied by Prentices drinking to him. 
 
 1 Neigh. Here, neighbor Horner, I drink to you 
 m a cup of sack; And fear not, neighbor, you 
 sliall do well enough. 
 
 2 Netgh. And here, neighbor, here's a cup of 
 charneco.* 
 
 3 Neigk. And here's a pot of good double beer, 
 reiglibor: drink, and fear not your man. 
 
 • Wishes for. i Reached. 
 
 • In » worse plight • A sort of sweet wine. 
 
 Hor. Let it come, i'faith, and I'll pledge you all 
 And a fig for Peter! 
 
 1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee ; and b« 
 not afraid. 
 
 2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not i^ y mas- 
 ter; fight for credit of the prentices. 
 
 Peter. I thank you all: drink and pray for me, 
 I pray you; for, I think, I have taken my last 
 draught in this world. — Here, Robin, an if I die, I 
 give thee my apron ; and, Will, thou shalt have my 
 hammer: — and here, Tom, take all the nicriey 
 that I have. O Lord, bless me ; I pray God ! foT 
 I am never able to deal with my master, he hatt\ 
 learnt so much fence ahead}'. 
 
 Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to 
 blows. — Sirrah, what's thy name? 
 
 Peter. Peter, forsooth. 
 
 &al. Peter ! what more 1 
 
 Peter. Thump. 
 
 Sal. Thump ! then see thou thump thy master 
 well. 
 
 Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon 
 my man's instigation, to prove" him a knave, and 
 myself an honest man: and touching the duke of 
 York, — will take my death, I never meant him any 
 ill, nor the king, nor the queen: And, therefore, 
 Peter, have at thee with a downright blow, as Bevis 
 of Southampton fell upon Ascapart. 
 
 York. Despatch: — this knave's tongue begins to 
 double. 
 Sound trumpets, alarum to the combatants. 
 
 [Alarum. Tkey fight, and Pktkr strikes 
 down kis Master. 
 
 Hor. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess 
 treason. \^Dies. 
 
 York. Take away his weapon : — Fellow, thanii 
 God, and the good wine in thy master's way. 
 
 Peter. O God ! have I overcome mine enemies 
 in this presence 1 O Peter, thou hast prevailed in 
 right ! 
 
 K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our 
 For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt: [sight; 
 And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us 
 The truth and innocence of this poor fellow. 
 Which he had thought to have murder'd wrong- 
 fully,— 
 Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. [^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Street. 
 
 Enter Gloster anc? Servants, in mourning cloaks 
 
 Glo. Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a 
 cloud ; 
 And, after summer, ever more succeeds 
 Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold : 
 So cares and joys abound as seasons fleet. — 
 Sirs, what's o'clock? 
 
 Serv. Ten, my lord. 
 
 Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me. 
 To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess 
 Uneath ' may she endure the flinty streets. 
 To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
 Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 
 The abject people, gazing on thy face. 
 With envious looks, still laughing at thy shame 
 That erst di'.l follow thy [iroud chariot wheels, 
 When thou didst ride in (i iumjih through the stre.^ 
 But, soft! I think, she comes; and I'll preparfl 
 My tcar-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. 
 
 > Kot c'a£ilr. 
 
506 
 
 SECOND PAKT OF 
 
 Act it. Scene IV 
 
 Enter the Dpchess of Glostkh, in a lohi.te sheet, 
 with papers pinn'd upon her back, her feet bare, 
 and a taper burnimr in her hand; Sir John 
 Stanley-, a Sherill', and Officers. 
 
 Sen'. So please your grace, we'll take her from 
 the sheriff 
 
 Gh. No, stir not, for your lives ; let her pass by. 
 
 Duck. Come you, my loril, to see my open shame? 
 Now thou (lost penance too. Look, how they gaze ! 
 •See, how the giJtly multitude do point. 
 And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! 
 Ah, Gioster, hide thee from their hateful looks: 
 And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, 
 An<] han^ thine enemies, both mine and thine. 
 
 G/o. Be patient, gentle Nell ; forget tliis grief. 
 
 Duch. Ah, Gioster, teach me to forget myself: 
 For, whilst I think I am thy married wife, 
 And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
 Methinks, I should not thus be led along, 
 Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back ; 
 And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice 
 To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet" groans. 
 The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet: 
 And, when 1 start, the envious people laugh. 
 And bid mc he advised how I tread. 
 Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke ? 
 Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world; 
 Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun 1 
 No ; dark shall be my light, and night ray day ; 
 To thiidi upon my pomp, shall be my hell. 
 Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife; 
 And he a prince, and ruler of the land : 
 Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, 
 As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 
 Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock, 
 To every idle rascal follower. 
 But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame; 
 Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death 
 Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will. 
 For Suffolk,— he that can do all in all 
 With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all, — 
 And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, 
 Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings. 
 And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: 
 But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd. 
 Nor ever seek prevention of thy foes. 
 
 Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry; 
 I must offend, before I be attainted: 
 And had I tv^'enty times so many foes. 
 And each of them had twenty times their power, 
 All these could not procure me any scathe,* 
 So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 
 Wouldst have rae rescue thee from tliis reproach 1 
 Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away. 
 But I in danger for the breach of law. 
 Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell : 
 
 ' Curse, * Deep-fetched. * Harm, misciue£ 
 
 I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience! 
 These few days' wonder will be quickly worn 
 
 Enter a Herald. 
 
 Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's 
 parliament, holden at Bury the first of this next 
 month. 
 
 Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before ! 
 This is close deahng. — Well, I will be there. 
 
 [Exit Herald. 
 My Nell, I take my leave: — and, master sheriff. 
 Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 
 
 Sher. A n't please your grace, here my com 
 mission stays: 
 And sir John Stanley is appointed now. 
 To take her with him to the Isle of Man. 
 
 Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here'' 
 
 Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please you' 
 grace. 
 
 Gto. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray 
 You use her well : the world may laugh again ; 
 And I may live to do you kindness, ii 
 You do it her. And so, sir John, farr well. 
 
 Duch. What, gone, my lord; and bid me not 
 farewell ? 
 
 Glo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. 
 \_Exeunt Glosteh and Scrvaiits. 
 
 Duch. Art thou gone too? All comfort go with 
 thee? 
 For none abides with me : my joy is death ; 
 Death, at whose name I oft have been afeai-'d 
 Because I wish'd this world's eternity. — 
 Stanley, I pr'ythce, go, and take mc hence; , 
 I care not whither, for I beg no favor, 
 Only convey me where thou art commanded. 
 
 Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; 
 There to be used according to your state. 
 
 Duck. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach' 
 And shall I then be used reproachfully? 
 
 Staji. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey'^ 
 lady. 
 According to that state you shall be used. 
 
 Duck. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare ; 
 Although thou hast been conduct' of my shame! 
 
 Sker. It is my office, madam, pardon me. 
 
 Duck. Ay, ay, farewell, thy office is discharged. — 
 Come, Stanley, shall we go? 
 
 Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off thia 
 sheet, 
 And go we to attire you for our journey. 
 
 Duck. My shame will not be shifted with m^ 
 sheet : 
 No, it will hang upon my richest robes, 
 And show itself, attire me how I can. 
 Go, lead tlie way ; I long to see my prison. 
 
 lExeur^ 
 
 • Conductor. 
 
A.CT ni /3CENE I. 
 
 KING HENRY VT. 
 
 507 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SOENE I.— The Abbey at Bury. 
 
 Enter to the Parliament, King HENnv. Queex 
 MAUGAnET, Cardixal BEAUFonx, Suffolk, 
 YonK, Buckingham, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. I muse,' my lord of Glostcr is not come : 
 Tis not his wont to be the hinJmost man, 
 Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 
 
 Q. Mar. Can you not see'? or will you not ob- 
 serve 
 The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? 
 With what a majesty he bears himself; 
 How insolent of late he is become. 
 How proud, peremptory, and unlike himself? 
 We know the time since he was mild and affable; 
 And, if we did but glance a far-off look. 
 Immediately he was upon his knee, 
 That all the court admir'd him for submission : 
 But meet him now, and, be it in the morn. 
 When every one will give the time of day. 
 He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye. 
 And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, 
 Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
 Small curs are not regarded, when they grin ; 
 But great men tremble when the lion roars; 
 And Humphrey is no little man in England. 
 First, note, that he is near you in descent ; 
 And -should you fall, he is the next will mount. 
 Me seemeth, then, it is no policy, — 
 Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears. 
 And his advantage following your decease, — 
 That he should come about your royal person. 
 Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
 By flattery hath he won the commons' heart; 
 And, when he please to make commotion, 
 'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him. 
 Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted ; 
 Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden, 
 And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
 The reverent care, I bear unto my lord. 
 Made me collect' these dangers in the duke. 
 If it be fond,' call it a woman's fear ; 
 Which fear, if better reasons can supplant, 
 I will subscribe and say, — I wrong'd the duke. 
 My lord of Suffolk, — Buckingham, — and York, — 
 Reprove my allegation, if you can ; 
 Or else conclude my words effectual. 
 
 Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke; 
 And, had I first been put to speak my mind, 
 I think, I should have told your grace's tale. 
 The duchess, by his subornation. 
 Upon my life, began her devilish practices: 
 Or if he were not privy to those faults. 
 Yet by reputing of his high descent,' 
 (As next the king he was successive heir,) 
 And such high vaunts of his nobility. 
 Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess. 
 By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 
 Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; 
 \nd in his simple show he harbors treason. 
 Tlie fo\ barks not, when he would steal the lamb. 
 No, no, my sovereign ; Gloster is a man 
 Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. 
 
 « Wonder. ' i. «. Observe. • Foolish. 
 
 » t. e. Valuing himself on his high descent. 
 
 Cur. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
 Devise strange deaths for small offences done T 
 
 Yorh. And did he not, in his protectorship. 
 Levy great sums of money through the realm. 
 For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent iti 
 By means whereof, the towns each day revolted. 
 
 Buck. Tut! these are petty faults to faults un 
 known, 
 Whicli time will bring to light in smooth duk« 
 Humphrey. 
 
 K. Hen. My lords, at once : The care you have 
 of us. 
 To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot. 
 Is worthy praise : But shall I speak my conscience? 
 Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent 
 From meaning treason to our royal person. 
 As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove: 
 The duke is virtuous, mild ; and too well given. 
 To dream on evil, or to work my downfall. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond 
 affiance ! 
 Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd, 
 For he's disposed as the hateful raven. 
 Is he a lamb? his sldn is surely lent him. 
 For he's inclin'd as are the ravenous wolves. 
 Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit? 
 Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 
 Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 
 
 Enter Somerset. 
 Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign ! 
 K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. W^hat news 
 
 from France ? 
 Som. That all your interest in those territories 
 Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 
 
 K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset : But God's 
 
 will be done ! 
 York. Cold news for me ; for I had hope of 
 France, 
 As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
 Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud. 
 And caterpillars eat my leaves away; 
 But I will remedy this gear' ere long. 
 Or sell my title for a glorious grave. \_Aside, 
 
 Enter Glosteh. 
 GIo. All happiness unto my lord the king ! 
 Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long. 
 
 Suf. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art come too 
 soon. 
 Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: 
 I do arrest thee of high treason here. 
 
 Glo. Well, Sufiblk, yet thou shalt not see me 
 blush. 
 Nor change my countenance for this arrest; 
 A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 
 The purest spring is not so free from mud. 
 As I am clear from treason to my sovereign : 
 Who can accuse me ? wherein am I guilty ? 
 York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribej 
 of France, 
 And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay . 
 By means whereof, his highness hath lost France, 
 Glo. Is it but thought so ? What are they that 
 
 think it ? 
 « Gear was a general word for things or matters 
 
!S0^ 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 ActTTI 
 
 [ r.evet robb'd tL."'. soldiers of their pay, 
 
 Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. 
 
 So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, — 
 
 Ay, night by night, — in studying good for England ! 
 
 That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, 
 
 Or any groat I hoarded to my use. 
 
 Be brought against me at my trial day ! 
 
 No ! many a pound of mine own proper store, 
 
 Because I would not tax the needy commons, 
 
 Have I disbursed to the garrisons, 
 
 And never ask'd for restitution. 
 
 Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. 
 Gio. I say no more than truth, so help me God 
 York. In your protectoi .hip, you did devise 
 Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of. 
 That England was defamed by tyranny. 
 
 Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that whiles I was 
 protector. 
 Pity was all the fault that was in me ; 
 For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
 And lowly words were ransom for their fault. 
 Unless it were a bloody murderer. 
 Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers, 
 I never gave them condign punishment: 
 Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd 
 Above the felon, or what trespass else. 
 
 Suf. My lord, these faults are easy,^ quickly an- 
 swer'd : 
 But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge. 
 Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
 I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
 And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
 To keep, until your further time of trial. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope. 
 That you will clear yourself from all suspects ; 
 My conscience tells me, you are innocent. 
 
 Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous ! 
 Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition. 
 And charity chased hence by rancor's hand ; 
 foul subornation is predominant. 
 And equity exiled your highness' land. 
 I know, their complot is to have my life ; 
 And, if my death might make this island happy, 
 And prove the period of their tyranny, 
 I would expend it with all willingness: 
 But mine is made the prologue to their play: 
 For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, 
 Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
 Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, 
 And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; 
 Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue 
 The envious load that lies upon his heart; 
 And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, 
 Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back. 
 By false accuse doth level at my hfe : — 
 And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest. 
 Causeless have laid disgraces on my head; 
 And, with your best endeavor, have stirr'd up 
 My liefest^ liege to be mine enemy; — 
 Ay, all of you have laid your heads together. 
 Myself had notice of your conventicles. 
 [ shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
 Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt ; 
 The ancient proverb will be well affected, — 
 A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. 
 
 Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable : 
 If those that care to keep your royal person 
 From treason's secret knife, and traitors' rage, 
 Ue thus upVaided, chid, and rated at, 
 
 * Easily. > Dnarest. 
 
 And the offender granted scope of speech, 
 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 
 
 Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here 
 With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, 
 As if she had suborned some to swear 
 False allegations to o'erthrow his state] 
 
 Q. Alar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. 
 
 Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant : I lose, indeed; — 
 Beshrew the winners, for they played me false.! 
 And well such losers may have leave to speak. 
 
 Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us Lei* 
 all day: — 
 Ijord cardinal, he is your prisoner. 
 
 Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sune 
 
 Glo. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch, 
 Before his legs be firm to bear his body : 
 Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, 
 And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee firsl 
 Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were ! 
 For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. 
 
 [^Exeunt Attendants, with Gloster. 
 
 K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth 
 best. 
 Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the par 
 liament 1 
 
 K, Hen. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd 
 with grief. 
 Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes 
 My body round engirt with misery ; 
 For what's more miserable than discontent] 
 Ah, uncle Humphrey ! in thy face I see 
 The map of honor, truth, and loyalty; 
 And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come 
 That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. 
 W^hat low'ring star now envies thy estate. 
 That these great lords, and Margaret our queen, 
 Do seek subversion of thy harmlesa life! 
 Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong 
 And as the butcher takes away the calf. 
 And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, 
 Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house; 
 Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence. 
 And as the dam runs lowing up and down, 
 Looking the way her harmless young one went, 
 And can do nought but wail her darling's loss; 
 Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case. 
 With sad unhelpful tears; and with dinmi'd eyes 
 Look after him, and cannot do him good; 
 So mighty are his vowed enemies. 
 His fortunes I will weep ; and, 'twixt each groan. 
 Say, — Who's a traitor, Gloster he is none. [Ex'i, 
 Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with ite 
 sun's hot beams. 
 Henry my lord is cold in great affiiirs, 
 Too full of foclish pity ; and Gloster's show 
 Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile 
 With sorrow snares relenting passengers; 
 Or as the snake, roU'd in a flowering bank. 
 With shining checker'd slough,' doth sting a child 
 That, for the beauty, thinks it excellent. 
 Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, 
 (And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,) 
 This Gloster should be quickly rid the world. 
 To rid us from the fear we have of him. 
 
 Car. That he should die, is worthy policy: 
 But yet we want a color for his death: 
 'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 
 Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy; 
 «Skia. 
 
SCKIVE 1. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 609 
 
 The king will labor still to save his life, 
 The commons haply rise to save his life; 
 And yet we have but trivial argument, 
 More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. 
 York. So that, by this, you would not have him die. 
 Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I. 
 York. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his 
 death. — 
 But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk, — 
 Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, — 
 Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
 To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, 
 Ks place duke Humphrey for the king's protector? 
 Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be suie of death. 
 Suf. Madam, 'tis true : And were't not madness 
 then, 
 To make the fox surveyor of the fold 1 
 Who being accus'd a crafty murderer, 
 His guilt should be but idly posted over, 
 Because his purpose is not executed. 
 No; let him die, in that he is a fox. 
 By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock. 
 Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood; 
 As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. 
 And do not stand on quillets how to slay him : 
 Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty. 
 Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how, 
 So he be dead ; for that is good deceit 
 Which mates ^ him first, that first intends deceit. 
 Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk,'tis resolutely spoke. 
 Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done; 
 For things are often spoke, and seldom meant: 
 But, that my heart accord*h with my tongue, — 
 Seeing the deed is meritorious. 
 And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, — 
 Say but the word, and I will be his priest. 
 
 Car. But I would have him dead, my lord of 
 Suffolk, 
 Ere you can take due orders for a priest: 
 Say, you consent, and censure well the deed, 
 And I'll provide his executioner, 
 I tender so the safety of my liege. 
 
 Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing. 
 Q. Mar. And so say I. 
 
 York. And I: and now we three have spoke it, 
 It skills not greatly "^ who impugns our doom. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain, 
 To signify — that rebels there arc up. 
 And put the Englishmen unto the sword: 
 Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime, 
 Before the wound do grow incurable; 
 For, being green, there is groat hope of help. 
 
 Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient'' stop ! 
 What counsel give you in this weighty rau>;e] 
 
 York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither: 
 'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ 'd; 
 Witness the fortune he hath had in France. 
 
 Som. If York, with all his far-fet' policy. 
 Had boon the regent there instead of me. 
 He never would have staid in France so long. 
 
 York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done: 
 T rather would have lost my life betimes. 
 Than bring a burden of dishonor home, 
 By staying there so long, till all were lost. 
 Show me one scar charicter'd on thy skin : 
 Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win. 
 
 • Matehos. 
 ' ICxpcditious. 
 
 • It is of no itaportance. 
 
 • Far-fetched. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging 
 fire. 
 If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : — 
 No more, good York ; — sweet Somerset, be still ;— 
 Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, 
 Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. 
 
 York. What, worse than naught? nay, then a 
 shame take all ! 
 
 Som. And, in the number, thee, that wishes? 
 shame ! 
 
 Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is 
 The uncivil kernes' of Ireland are in arms, 
 And temper clay with blood of Englishmen: 
 To Ireland will you lead a band of men. 
 Collected choicely, from each county some, 
 And try your hap against the Irishmen? 
 
 York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. 
 
 Suf. Why, our authority is his consent; 
 And, what we do establish, he confirms: 
 Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 
 
 York. I am content: Provide me soldiers, lords 
 Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. 
 
 Suf. A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd. 
 But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. 
 
 Car. No more of him ; for I will deal with him. 
 That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more. 
 And so break off; the day is almost spent: 
 Lord Suffolk, you and I ijiust talk of that event. 
 
 York, My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days. 
 At Bristol I expect my soldiers ; 
 For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. 
 
 Suf. I'll see it truly done, my lord of York. 
 
 [Exeunt all but York 
 
 York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful 
 thoughts. 
 And change misdouoi to resolution: 
 Be that thou hop'st to be ; or what thou art 
 Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying: 
 T^et pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man, 
 And find no harbor in a royal heart. 
 Faster than spring-time showers, comes though* 
 
 on thought ; 
 And not a thought, but thinks on dignity. 
 My brain, more busy than the laboring spider, 
 Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
 Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done. 
 To send mo packing with an host of men : 
 I fearme, you but warm the starved snake, [hearts. 
 Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your 
 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me : 
 I take it kindly ; yet be well assur'd 
 You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
 Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, 
 I will stir up in England some black storm. 
 Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell : 
 And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 
 Until the golden circuit on my head. 
 Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams. 
 Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.' 
 And for a minister of my intent, 
 I have seduced a head-strong Kentishman, 
 John Cade of Ashlbrd, 
 To make commotion, as full well he can. 
 Under the title of Joiin Mortimer. 
 In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 
 Oppose himself against a troop of kernes; 
 And Ibught so long, till that his thighs with darts 
 Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine; 
 And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him 
 » Irish foot-soldiers, light-armed. * A violent gust of wind 
 
^>10 
 
 SECOND PART OV 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Caper upright iike a wild Morisco,' 
 
 Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. 
 
 Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne, 
 
 Hath he conversed with the enemy : 
 
 And undiscover'd come to me again. 
 
 And given me notice of their villanies. 
 
 This devil here shall be my substitute ; 
 
 Fc;r that John Mortimer, which now is dead, 
 
 [n. face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble : 
 
 By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, 
 
 How they affect the house and claim of York. 
 
 Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured : 
 
 I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him. 
 
 Will make him say — I mov'd him to those arms. 
 
 Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,) 
 
 Why then from Ireland come I with my strength, 
 
 And reap the harvest which that rascal sovv'd : 
 
 For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, 
 
 And Henry put apart, the next for me. [^Exit. 
 
 SCENE n.— Bury. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter certain Murderers, hastily. 
 
 X Mar. Run to my lord of Suffolk ; let him know. 
 We have despatch'd the duke as he commanded. 
 
 2 Mur. O, that it were to do ! — What have we 
 done ] 
 Didst ever hear a man so penitent 1 
 
 Enter Suffolk. 
 
 1 Mur. Here comes my lord. 
 
 Suf, Now, sirs, have you 
 
 Despatch'd this thing? 
 
 1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead. 
 
 Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my 
 house ; 
 I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
 The king and all the peers are here at hand : — 
 Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well, 
 According as I gave directions ? 
 
 1 Mur. 'Tis, my good lord. 
 
 Suf. Away, begone ! \_Exeunt Murderers. 
 
 Enter King Henut, Qcef.n MAnoAiiET, Catidi- 
 XAL Beaufort, Somerset, Lords, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Go call our uncle to our presence 
 straight : 
 Say, we intend to try his grace to-day, 
 If he be guilty, as 'tis published. 
 
 Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. \Exit. 
 K. Hen. Lords, take your places ; — And, I pray 
 you all. 
 Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster, 
 Than from true evidence, of good esteem. 
 He be approv'd in practice culpable. 
 
 Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail. 
 That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! 
 Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion ! 
 
 it. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words 
 content me much. — 
 
 Re-enter Suffolk. 
 How now 1 why look'st thou pale 1 why tremblest 
 
 thou ] 
 Where is our uncle 1 what is the matter, Suffolk ? 
 Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord : Gloster is dead. 
 Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend ! 
 Car. God's secret judgment:— I did dream 
 to-night. 
 The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. 
 
 [The Kino swoons. 
 * A Moor in a morris dance. 
 
 Q. Mar. How fares my lord? — Help, lords '.the 
 king is dead. 
 
 Sam. Rear up his body; wring him liy the nose. 
 
 Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help ! — O, Henry, ope 
 thine eyes ! 
 
 Suf. He doth revive again ; — Madam, be patient. 
 
 K. Hen. O heavenly God ! 
 
 Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord ? 
 
 Suf. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henr'^, 
 comfort ! 
 
 K. Hen. What, do'h my lord of Suffolk ccmfort 
 me? 
 Came he right now to sing a raven's note. 
 Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; 
 And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, 
 By crying comfort from a hollow breast. 
 Can chase away the first-conceived sound? 
 Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words, 
 Lay not thy hands on me ; forbear, I say ; 
 Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting. 
 Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight ! 
 Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 
 Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 
 Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding: — 
 Yet do not go away ; — Come, basilisk, 
 And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight: 
 For in the shade of death I shall find joy ! 
 In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead. 
 
 Q Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk 
 Although the duke was enemy to him, [thus 1 
 Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death : 
 And for myself, foe as he was to me, 
 Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, 
 Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 
 I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, 
 Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs, 
 And all to have the noble duke alive. 
 What know I how the world may deem of me 
 For it is knowm, we were but hollow friends ; 
 It may be judg'd, I made the duke away ; 
 So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, 
 And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. 
 This get I by his death ; Ah me, unhappy ! 
 To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy ! 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man ! 
 Q.Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. 
 What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face ? 
 I am no loathsome leper, look on me. 
 What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? 
 Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. 
 Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb ? 
 Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy; 
 Erect his statue then, and worship it, 
 And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
 Was I, for this, nigh wrcck'd upon the sea; 
 And twice by awkward wind from England's back 
 Drove back again unto my native clime? 
 What boded this, but well-forewarning wind 
 Did seem to say, — Seek not a scorpion's nest, 
 Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ? 
 What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts. 
 And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves, 
 And bid them blow towards England's blessed shorn 
 Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? 
 Yet ^olus would not be a murderer, 
 But left that hateful office unto thee: 
 The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me: 
 Knowing, that thou wouldst have me drown'd on 
 
 shore. 
 With tears as salt as sea through thy unkuidness: 
 
 -J 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 51i 
 
 The splitting rooks cower'd in the sinking sands, 
 
 And would not dash me with their ragged sides ; 
 
 Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they. 
 
 Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 
 
 As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs. 
 
 When from the shore the tempest beat us back 
 
 I stood upon the hatches in the storm : 
 
 And when the dusky sky began to rob 
 
 My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, 
 
 I took a costly jewel from my neck, — 
 
 A heart it was, bound in witli diamonds, 
 
 And threw it towards thy land ; — the sea receiv'dit; 
 
 And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart ; 
 
 And even with this, I lost fair England's view, 
 
 And bid mine eyes !)c packing with my heart; 
 
 Andcall'd them blind and dusky spectacles, 
 
 For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 
 
 How often have I tempted Suflblk's tongue 
 
 (The agent of thy foul inconstancy^; 
 
 To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did. 
 
 When he to madding Dido would unfold 
 
 His father's acts, commenced in burning Troy? 
 
 Am I not witch'd like her] or thou not false like 
 
 him ? 
 Ah me, I can no more ! Die, Margaret ! 
 For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long. 
 
 Noise within. £«/er Warwick anrfSALisnuiiT. 
 The Qommons press to the door. 
 
 War. It is reported, mighty sovereign. 
 That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd 
 By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. 
 The commons, like an angry hive of bees, 
 That want their leader, scatter up and down, 
 And care not who they sting in his revenge. 
 Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny. 
 Until they hear the order of his death. 
 
 K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too 
 true ; 
 But how he died, God knows, not Henry: 
 Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse. 
 And comment then upon his sudden death. 
 
 War. That I shall do, my liege: — Stay, Salisbury, 
 With the rude multitude, till I return. 
 
 [Warwick goes into an inner Room, and 
 Salisbury retires. 
 
 K. He7i. O thou that judgest all things, stay my 
 thoughts: 
 My thoughts, that labor to persuade my soul, 
 Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life ! 
 If my suspect be false, forgive me, God ; 
 For judgment only doth belong to thee! 
 Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
 With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain 
 Upon his face an ocean of salt tears ; 
 To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk. 
 And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling: 
 But all in vain are these mean obsequies; 
 And, to survey his dead and earthy image, 
 \\ hat were it but to make my sorrow greater? 
 
 The folding doors of an inner charntjer are thrown 
 open, ««rf Glostkr is discovered dead in his bed: 
 Warwick and others standing by it. 
 
 War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this 
 
 body. 
 K. Hen. That is to sec how deep my grave is 
 made : 
 For, with his soul fled all my worldly solace; 
 For seeing him, I sec my life in death.' 
 
 * i. e. I see my life eodangered by his death. 
 
 War. As surely as my soul intends to live 
 With that dread King that took our state upon him 
 To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, 
 I do believe that violent hands were laid 
 Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 
 
 Suf A dreadful oath.sworn with a solemn tongue, 
 What instance gives lord Warwick fir his vowl 
 
 War. See how the blood is settled in his face ! 
 Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,* 
 Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, 
 Being all descended to the laboring heart; 
 Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, 
 Attracts the same for aidancc 'gainst the enemy; 
 Which with the heart there cools and ne'er retuicetb 
 To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
 But, sec, his fece is black, and full of blood ; 
 His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd, 
 Staring full ghastly like a strangled man : 
 His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd withstrug« 
 
 gling; 
 His hands abroad display 'd, as one that grasp'd 
 And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdued. 
 Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking; 
 His wcll-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged. 
 Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
 It cannot be, but he was murder'd here; 
 The least of all these signs were probable. 
 
 Suf Why, Warwick, who should do the duk« 
 to death] 
 Myself and Beaufort, had him in protection; 
 And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 
 
 War. But both of you were vow'd duke Hum 
 phrey's ibes; 
 And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep: 
 'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend; 
 And 'tis well seen he found an enemy. 
 
 Q. Mar. Then yon, belike, suspect these noblemen 
 As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. 
 War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding 
 fresh. 
 And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, 
 But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughterl 
 Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest. 
 But may imagine how the bird was dead. 
 Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak ? 
 Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 
 
 Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where's 
 your knife ] 
 Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons] 
 Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men; 
 But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease. 
 That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart. 
 That slanders me with murder's crimson badge : — • 
 Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire, 
 That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. 
 
 [^Exeunt Cardixal, Som., and others. 
 War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk 
 
 dare him? 
 Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious 
 spirit. 
 Nor cease to be an arrogant controller. 
 Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand timca. 
 War. Madam, be still ; with reverence may I say; 
 For every word, you s])c:ik in his behalf, 
 Is slander to your royal dignity. 
 
 Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanoi! 
 If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much. 
 Thy mother took int( her blameful bed 
 Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 
 * The body of one irho had died a natural death. 
 
512 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fiuit thou art, 
 And never of the Nevil's noble race. 
 
 War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, 
 And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, 
 Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 
 And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
 I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 
 Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech. 
 And say —it was thy mother that thou meant'st. 
 That thou thyself wast born in bastardy ; 
 And, after all this fearful homage done, 
 Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell. 
 Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men! 
 
 Suf. Thou shalt be waking,while I shed thy blood, 
 [f from this presence thou dar'st go with me. 
 
 War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence : 
 Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee. 
 And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. 
 [^Exeunt Suffolk and Wakwick. 
 
 K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart 
 untainted] 
 Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just ; 
 And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, 
 Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 
 
 [^A noise within. 
 
 Q. Mar. What noise is this ? 
 
 Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their 
 weapons drawn. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, how now, lords 7 your wrathful 
 weapons drawn 
 Here in our presence ] dare you be so bold 1 — 
 Why, what tumultuous clamor have we here ? 
 Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of 
 Bury, 
 Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 
 
 Noise of a Crowd within. Re-enter Salisbury. 
 
 Sal. Sirs, stand apart ; the king shall know your 
 mind. — [^Speaking to those within. 
 
 Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, 
 Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death. 
 Or banished fair England's territories, 
 They will by violence tear him from your palace, 
 And torture him with grievous ling'ring death. 
 They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died ; 
 They say, in him they fear your highness' death ; 
 And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, — 
 Free from a stubborn opposite intent. 
 As being thought to contradict your liking, — 
 Makes them thus forward in his banishment. 
 They say, in care of your most royal person, 
 That, if your highness should intend to sleep. 
 And charge — that no man should disturb your rest, 
 In pain of your dislike, or pain of death ; 
 Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict, 
 Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, 
 That slily glided towards your majesty, 
 it were but necessary, you were waked ; 
 Lest, being suffer'd, in that harmful slumber, 
 The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal: 
 And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, 
 That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no. 
 From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is ; 
 With whose envenomed and fatal sting, 
 Vour loving uncle, twenty times his worth. 
 They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 
 Commons. [ Within.^ An answer from the king, 
 my lord of Salisbury. 
 
 Suf. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds, 
 
 Could send such message to their sovereign: 
 But you, my lord, were glad to be employ 'd, 
 To show how quaint* an orator you are : 
 But all the honor Salisbury hath won, 
 Is — that he was the lord ambassador, 
 Ser.t from a sorf" of tinkers to the king. 
 
 Commons. [W// /»'«.] An answer from the king 
 or we'll break in. 
 
 K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me 
 I thank them for their tender loving care: 
 And had I not been 'cited so by them. 
 Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; 
 For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
 Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means. 
 And therefore, — by His Majesty I swear, 
 Whose far unworthy deputy I am, — 
 He shall not breathe infection in this air 
 But three days longer, on the pain of death. 
 
 [Exit Salisduhi 
 
 Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk 
 
 K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suf 
 folk. 
 No more, I say ; if thou dost plead for him, 
 Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
 Had I but said, I would have kept my word ; 
 But, when I swear, it is irrevocable : — 
 If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found 
 On any ground that I am ruler of. 
 The world shall not be ransom for thy life. — 
 Come, Warwick, come good Warwick, go with me, 
 I have great matters to impart to thee. 
 
 [Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, 4^c. 
 
 Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with 
 Heart's discontent and sour alHiction, [you ! 
 
 Be playfellows to keep you company I 
 There's two of j'ou ; the devil make a third ! 
 And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps ! 
 
 Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, 
 And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave, [wretch ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Fye, coward woman, and soft-hearted 
 Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies 1 
 
 Suf. A plague upon them ! wherefore should I 
 curse them ] 
 Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
 I would invent as bitter-searching terms, 
 As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, 
 Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth. 
 With full as many signs of deadly hate. 
 As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave: 
 My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words: 
 Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; 
 My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract ; 
 Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: 
 And even now my burden'd heart would break, 
 Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! 
 Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste ! 
 Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees ! 
 Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks ! 
 Their softest touch, as sharp as lizards' stings ! 
 Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss! 
 And boding screech-owls make the concert full ! 
 All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell — 
 
 Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment's! 
 thyself; 
 And these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass, 
 Or like an over-charg'd gun — recoil, 
 And turn the force of them upon thyself. 
 
 Suf. You bade me ban,' and will you bid me leave 
 Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, 
 t Dexterous. •Company. 'Cursa 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 61 Ji 
 
 Well could I curse away a winter's night, 
 Though standing naked on a mountain top, 
 Where hiting cold would never let grass grow, 
 And think it but a minute spent in sport. 
 
 Q. Mar. let me entreat thee, cease ! Give me thy 
 That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; [hand. 
 Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, 
 To wash away my woful monuments. 
 O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand ; 
 
 [Kisses Iiis hand. 
 That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, 
 Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for 
 So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; [thee ! 
 'Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by, 
 As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 
 I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd, 
 Adventure to be banished myself: 
 And banished I am, if but from thee, 
 fjfo, speak not to me; even now be gone. — 
 O, go not yet! — Even thus two friends condemn'd 
 Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, 
 Loather a hundred times to part than die. 
 V^et now farewell ; and farewell life with thee! 
 
 Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, 
 Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. 
 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence ; 
 A wilderness is populous enough. 
 So Sullolk had thy heavenly company; 
 For where thou art, there is the world itself, 
 With every several pleasure in the world ; 
 And where thou art not, desolation. 
 I can no more: — live thou to joy thy life; 
 Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. 
 
 Enter Vatjx. 
 
 y. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast 1 what news 
 I pr'ythee? 
 
 Vaux. To signify unto his majesty. 
 That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death: 
 For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 
 That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air. 
 Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. 
 Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost 
 Were by his side; sometime, he calls the king. 
 And whispers to his pillow, as to him, 
 The secret of his overcharged soul : 
 And I am sent to tell his majesty. 
 That even now he cries aloud for him. 
 
 Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. 
 
 [Exit Vaux. 
 Ah me! what is this world? what news are these? 
 But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss. 
 Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ? 
 \\'hy only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, 
 And with the southern clouds contend in tears ; 
 Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows? 
 Now, get thee hence : The king, thou know'st, is 
 
 coming : 
 ff ihou be found by me, thou art but dead. 
 
 Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live : 
 And in thy sight to die, what were it else. 
 But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? 
 Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
 As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, 
 Dying with mother's dug between its lips: 
 Where," from thy sight, I should be raging mau, 
 • Whoreaa. 
 
 And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, 
 To have thee with thy lips to stop my moutl: , 
 So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul. 
 Or I should breathe it so into thy body, 
 And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. 
 To die by thee, were but to die in jest; 
 From thee to die, were torture more than death: 
 O, let me stay, befall what may befall. 
 
 Q. Mar. Away ! though parting be a fretful cor 
 rosive. 
 It is applied to a deathful wound. 
 To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee 
 For wheresoe'cr thou art in this world's globe, 
 I'll have an Iria that shall find thee out. 
 
 Suf. I go. 
 
 Q. Mar, And take my heart with thee. 
 
 Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask 
 That ever did contain a thing of worth. 
 Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we ; 
 This way fall I to death. 
 
 Q, Mar. This way for me. 
 
 [Exeu?it severally 
 
 SCENE III.— London. Cardinal Beaufort's 
 Bed-chamher. 
 
 Enter King Hf.nry, Salisbuiit, Warwick, and 
 others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with 
 kirn. 
 
 K. Hen. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort, 
 to thy sovereign. 
 
 Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England'i 
 treasure, 
 Enough to purchase such another island. 
 So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
 When death's approach is seen so terrible! 
 
 War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee 
 
 Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
 Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? 
 Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no'' — 
 ! torture me no more, I will confess. — 
 Alive again ? then show me where he is; 
 I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. — 
 He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. — 
 Comb down his hair! look! look! it stands upright, 
 Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul . — 
 Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary 
 Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 
 
 K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 
 Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 
 0, beat away the busy meddling fiend. 
 That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul. 
 And from his bosom purge this black despair ! 
 
 War. See how the pangs of death do make him 
 grin. 
 
 Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. 
 
 K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea- 
 sure be! 
 Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
 Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — 
 He dies, and makes no sign; O God, forgive him! 
 
 War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 
 
 K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinneri 
 all.— 
 Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; 
 And let us all to meditation. [Exeiini 
 
S14 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 SCENE I. — Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover. 
 
 Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat a 
 Captain, a Master, a Master's Mate, Walter 
 Whitmouk, and others,- with them Suffolk 
 and other Gentlemen, Prisoners. 
 Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful' day 
 [s crept into tlie bosom of the sea ; 
 And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
 That drag the tragic melancholy night; 
 Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings 
 Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws. 
 Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
 Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize; 
 For, whilst our pinnace' anchors in the Downs, 
 Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, 
 Or with their blood stain this discolor'd shore. — 
 Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; — 
 And thou that art his mate, make boot of this ; — 
 The other, [Pointifig to Suffolk.] Walter Whit- 
 more, is thy share. 
 1 Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me know. 
 Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your 
 
 head. 
 Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes 
 
 yours. 
 Cap. What, think you much to pay two thou- 
 sand crowns, 
 And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? — 
 Cut both the villains' throats; — for die you shall: 
 The lives of those which we have lost in fight, 
 Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. 
 
 1 Gent. I'll give it, sir ; and therefore spare my life. 
 
 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. 
 Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard. 
 
 And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die ; 
 
 [To Suffolk. 
 And so should these, if I might have my will. 
 Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransom, let him live. 
 Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman ; 
 Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. 
 Whit. And so am I ; — my name is — Walter 
 Whitmore. 
 How now 1 why start'st thou ? what, doth death 
 affright] 
 Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is 
 death. 
 A cunning man did calculate my birth, 
 And told me — that by Water I should die: 
 Vet let not this make thee be bloody minded ; 
 Thy name is — Gualtier, being rightly sounded. 
 
 Whit. Guallier, or Walter, which it is, I care not; 
 Xe'er yet did base dishonor blur our name, 
 But with our sword we wiped away the blot; 
 Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, 
 Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, 
 A.nd I proclaim'd a coward through the world ! 
 
 \^Lays hold on Suffolk. 
 Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a prince. 
 The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. 
 
 Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags! 
 Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke ; 
 love sometime went disguis'd, And why not 1 1 
 Cap, But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. 
 Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's 
 blood, 
 * PitifUi. > A ship of small burden. 
 
 The honorable blood of Lancaster, 
 Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.* 
 Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup 
 Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule. 
 And thought thee happy when I shook my head 1 
 How often hast thou waited at my cup. 
 Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board. 
 When I have feasted with queen Margaret ] 
 Rememlier it, and let it make thee tfest-falieii 
 Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride : 
 How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood. 
 And duly waited for my coming forth? 
 This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf. 
 And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. 
 Whit. •Speak,captain, shall I stan the foriorn swain' 
 Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me 
 Suf. Base slave ! thy words aie blunt, and so arl 
 
 thou. 
 Cap. Convey him hence, and on our tong-boat'g 
 Strike off his head. [side 
 
 Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own: 
 
 Cap. Yes, Poole. 
 Suf. Poole 1 
 
 Cap. Poole ? sir Poole ? lord ? 
 
 Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt 
 Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. 
 Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth, 
 For swallowing the treasure of the realm ; 
 Thy lips, that kissed the queen, shall sweep the 
 ground ; [death, 
 
 And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's 
 Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain. 
 Who, in contempt, slwU hiss at thee again : 
 And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, 
 For daring to affy^ a mighty lord 
 Unto the daughter of a worthless king. 
 Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
 By devilish policy art thou grown great, 
 And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd 
 With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. 
 By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France • 
 The false revolting Normans, thorough thee. 
 Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy 
 Hath slain their governors, surpriz'd our forts. 
 And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 
 The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, — 
 Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,— 
 As hating thee, are rising up in arms: 
 And now the house of York — thrust from the crown 
 By shameful murder of a guiltless king. 
 And lofty proud encroaching tyranny — 
 Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colors 
 Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine, 
 Under the which is writ — Invitis nubibus. 
 The commons here in Kent are up in arms: 
 And, to conclude, reproach and beggary 
 Is crept into the palace of our king. 
 And all by thee: — Away; convey him hence. 
 
 Suf O that I were a god, to shoot forth thundei 
 Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! 
 Small things make base men proud : this villain hei e 
 Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
 Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 
 Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives 
 It is impossible, that I should die 
 By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
 
 » A low Mlow. ' To betroth la marrisu<> 
 
SOKNE IT. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 513 
 
 I'liy xvonls move rage, and not remorse, in nie: 
 
 r go of message from the queen to France ; 
 
 I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. 
 
 Cap. Walter, 
 
 Whit. Come, Suffi)lk, I must waft thee to thy death. 
 
 Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus: 'tis thee I fear. 
 
 Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave 
 thee. 
 What, are ye daunted nowl now will ye stoop! 
 
 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him 
 fair. 
 
 iitif. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, 
 Used to command, untaught to plead for favor. 
 Far he it, we should honor such as these 
 Willi humble suit: no, rather let my head 
 Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any 
 Save to the God of heaven, and to my king; 
 And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, 
 'J'liun stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. 
 True nobility is exempt from fear: — 
 More can I bear, than you dare execute. 
 
 Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 
 
 Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, 
 That this my death may never be forgot! — 
 Groat men oft die by vile bezonians:' 
 A Roman sworder and banditto slave, 
 Munler'd sweet Tully ; Brutus' bastard hand 
 Stabb'd Julius Cffisar; savage islanders, 
 Poinpoy the great: and Suffolk dies by pirates. 
 
 \_Exit Suf. ivith Whit, and others. 
 
 Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set, 
 it is our pleasure one of them depart: — 
 Therefore come you with us, and let him go. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the first Gentleman. 
 
 Re-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's Body. 
 
 Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie. 
 Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. 
 
 1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle ! 
 His body will I bear unto the king: 
 If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; 
 So will the queen, that living held him dear. 
 
 [Exit, with the Body. 
 
 SCENE H.— Blackheath. 
 Enter Georre Bevis and John Holland. 
 
 Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made 
 i)f a lath ; they have been up these two days. 
 
 JiiJin. They have the more need to sleep now then. 
 
 Geo. I tell thee. Jack Cade the clothier means to 
 iliTss the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new 
 t;ap upon it. 
 
 John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, 
 I say, it was never merry world in England, since 
 a;eiitlemen came up. 
 
 Geo. miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded in 
 handycrafts-men. 
 
 John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather 
 aprons. 
 
 Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good 
 ivorkmen. 
 
 .John. True ; And yet it is said, — Labor in thy 
 vocation : vyhich is as much to say, as, — let the 
 magistrates be laboring men; and therefore should 
 ne be magistrates. 
 
 Geo. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign 
 jf a bra'-e mind, than a hard hand. 
 
 .JoJin I see them ! I see them ! There's Best's 
 ton, the anncr of Wingham; 
 
 ' Low men 
 
 Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemiei, tt 
 make dog's leather of. 
 
 John. And Dick the butcher, 
 
 Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, ai.d 
 iniquity's throat cut like a calf. 
 
 John. And Smith the weaver. 
 
 Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. 
 
 John. Come, come, let's fall in with them. 
 
 Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Butcher, Smith the 
 
 Weaver, and others in great number. 
 
 Cade. We, John Cade, so termed of oursuppoacJ 
 father, 
 
 Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade of hcnings.' 
 
 [^Asidt 
 
 Cade. — for our enemies shall fall before us, in- 
 spired with the spirit of putting down kings and 
 princes. — Command silence. 
 
 Dick. Silence ! 
 
 Cade. My father was a Mortimer, — 
 
 Dick. He was an honest man, and a good brick 
 layer. [^Aside. 
 
 Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, — 
 
 Dick. I knew her well ; she was a midwife. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. My wife descended of the Lacics, — 
 
 Dick, She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and. 
 sold many laces. [Aside. 
 
 Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with 
 her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade, Therefore am I of an honorable house. 
 
 Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honorable; 
 And there was he born, under a hedge; for his 
 father had never a house, but tlie cage. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. Valiant I am. 
 
 Smith, 'A must needs ; for beggary is valiant. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade, I am able to endure much. 
 
 Dick, No question of that; for I have seen him 
 whipped three market days together. [Aside 
 
 Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. 
 
 Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coa 
 is of proof. [Aside. 
 
 Dick. But, methinks he should stand in fear of 
 fire, being burnt i'the hand for stealing of sheep. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. Be brave, then ; for your captain is brave, 
 and vows reformation. There shall be, in England, 
 seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny : the three- 
 hooped pot shall have ten hoops ; and I will make 
 it felony, to drink small beer ; all the realm shall be 
 in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry go 
 to grass. And, when I am king, (as king I will 
 
 be,) 
 
 j All. God save your majesty ! 
 
 I Cade. I thank you, good people: — there shall 
 
 be no money; all shall cat and drink on my score: 
 
 and I will aj)parel them all in one livery, that they 
 
 mav agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 
 
 Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the. 
 lawyers. 
 
 Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a 
 lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent 
 lamb should be made parchment? that parchment 
 being scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some 
 ' say, the bee stings: but I say, 'tis the bee's wax* 
 for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was nevet 
 mine own man since. How now ; who's there ^ 
 • A barrel of hcrringg. 
 
516 
 
 SECOND PAKT OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Enter some, bringing in the Clerk 0/ Chatham. 
 
 Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write and 
 read, and cast accompt. 
 
 Cade. O monstrous ! 
 
 Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 
 
 Cade. Here's a villain ! 
 
 Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red letters 
 in't. 
 
 Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer. 
 
 Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write 
 court-hand. 
 
 Cade. I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man, 
 on mine honor; unless I find him guilty, he shall 
 not die,— Come hither, sirrah: I must examine 
 thee : What is thy name ? 
 
 Clerk. Emmanuel. 
 
 Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters ; 
 'Twill go hard with you. 
 
 Cade. Let me alone : — Dost thou use to write 
 thy name 1 or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an 
 honest plain-dealing man] 
 
 Cierk Sir, I thank God, I have been so well 
 brought up, that I can write my name. 
 
 All. He hath confessed: away with him; he's a 
 villain, and a traitor. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, I say: hang him with his 
 pen and i«ikhorn about his neck. 
 
 [^Exeunt some with the Clerk. 
 
 Enter Michael. 
 
 Mich. Where's our general] 
 
 Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 
 
 Mich. Fly, fly, fly! sir Humphrey Stafford and 
 his brother are hard by, with the king's forces. 
 
 Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down ; 
 He shall be encountered with a man as good as 
 himself: he is but a knight, is 'al 
 
 Mich. No. 
 
 Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight 
 presently; — Rise up, sir John Mortimer. Now 
 have at him. 
 
 Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford and William 
 his Brother, with Drum and Forces. 
 
 Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 
 Mark'd for the gallows, — lay your weapons down. 
 Home to your cottages, forsake this groom; — 
 The king is merciful, if 3'ou revolt. 
 
 W. Staf. B ut angry, wrathful, and incl in'd to blood, 
 If you go forward: therefore yield, or die. 
 
 Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not;' 
 It is to you, good people, that I speak. 
 O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign ; 
 For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 
 
 Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ; 
 And thou thyself a shearman. Art thou noti 
 
 Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 
 
 W. Staf. And what of that? 
 
 Cade. Marry, this: — Edmund Mortimer, earl of 
 March, 
 Married the duke of Clarence' daughter ; Did he noti 
 
 Staf. Ay, sir. 
 
 Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth. 
 
 W. Staf. That's false. 
 
 Cade. Ay, there's the question, but, I say, 'tis true: 
 The elder of them, being put to nurse, 
 Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away ; 
 /^nd ignorant of his birth and parentage, 
 
 • I pay them no regard. | 
 
 Became a bricklayer, when he camt to age : 
 His son am I; deny it, if you can. 
 
 Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore hti shall be king. 
 
 Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's 
 house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify 
 it; therefore deny it not. 
 
 Staf. And will you credit this base drudge'.* 
 words. 
 That speaks he knows not what! 
 
 All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye gone. 
 
 W. Staf. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taughl 
 you this. 
 
 Cade. He lies ; for I invented it myself. ^^Asidi 
 — Goto, sirrah. Tell the king from me, that— 
 for his father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose timi 
 boys went to span-counter for French crowns — 1 
 am content he shall reign ; but I'll be protector over 
 him. 
 
 Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say'« 
 head for selling the dukedom of Maine. 
 
 Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is England 
 maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my 
 puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, 
 that that lord Sny hath gelded the commonwealth, 
 and made it an eunuch : and more than that, he 
 can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor 
 
 Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance ! 
 
 Cade. Nay, answer if you can : The Frenchmen 
 are our enemies: go to, then, I ask but this; Can 
 he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, he a 
 good counsellor, or no] 
 
 All. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. 
 
 W.Staf. Well, seeinggcntlewordswillnot prevail, 
 Assail them with the army of the king. 
 
 Staf. Herald, away ; and, throughout every town, 
 Proclaim them traitors that arc up with Cade ; 
 That those, which fly before the battle ends. 
 May, even in their wives' and children's sight. 
 Be hang'd up for example at their doors: 
 And you, that be the king's friends, follow me. 
 
 [^Exeunt the two Staffords, and Forces. 
 
 Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow 
 me. — 
 Now show yourselves men, 'tis for liberty. 
 We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : 
 Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon ;'' 
 For they are thrifty honest men, and such 
 As would (but that they dare not) take our parts 
 
 Dick. They arc all in order, and march toward usi 
 
 Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most 
 out of order. Come, march forward. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE m.— Another part of Blackheath. 
 
 Alarums. The two Parties enter and fight, ana 
 both the Staffords are slain. 
 
 Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford ; 
 
 Dick. Here, sir. 
 
 Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, 
 and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been ip 
 thine own slaughter-house : therefore thus will I 
 reward thee, — •The Lent shall be as long again as 
 it is ; and thou shalt have a license to kill for a 
 hundred lacking one. 
 
 Dick. I desire no more. 
 
 Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. 
 This monument of the victory will I bea* • and the 
 bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do 
 come to London, where we will have the mayor's 
 sword borne before us. 
 
 ' Shoes. 
 
^CENE VI. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 5n 
 
 Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break 
 >)pen the gaols, and let out the prisoners. 
 
 Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's 
 march towards London. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Hi^ynr, reading a Supplication ,- the 
 Duke of Buckingham and Loud Sat with 
 him: at a distance, Queen MkUGkHj.-r, mourn- 
 ing over Suffolk's Head. 
 
 Q. Mar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens the 
 mind, 
 And m«kes it fearful and degenerate; 
 riiink therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. 
 But who can cease to weep, and look on thisl 
 Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: 
 But where's the body that I should embrace] 
 
 Buck. What answer makes your grace to the 
 'ebcls' supplication] 
 
 K. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat : 
 For God forbid, so many simple souls 
 Should perish by the sword ! And I myself, 
 Rather than bloody war should cut them short, 
 Will parley with Jack Cade their general. — 
 But stay, I'll read it over once again. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this lovely 
 face 
 Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me ; 
 And could it not enforce them to relent, 
 That were unworthy to behold the same ] 
 
 K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have 
 thy head. 
 
 !^ay. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his. 
 
 K. Hen. How now, madam ] Still 
 Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death ] 
 I fear, my love, if that I had been dead, 
 Thou vvouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. 
 
 Q. Mar. My love, I should not mourn, but die 
 for thee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 K. Hen. How nov/ ! what news ] why com'st 
 thou in such haste ] 
 
 Mess. The rebels are in Southwark ; Fly, my lord! 
 Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer, 
 Descended from the duke of Clarence' house : 
 And calls your grace usurper, openly, 
 And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
 His army is a ragged multitude 
 Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless ; 
 Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death 
 Hath given them heart and courage to proceed : 
 All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen. 
 They call — false caterpillars, and intend their death. 
 
 K. Hen. graceless men ! they know not what 
 they do. 
 
 Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, 
 Until a power be rais'd to put them down. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah ! were the duke of Suffolk now alive, 
 These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, 
 Therefore away witli us to Kenelworth. 
 
 Say. So might your grace's person be in danger ; 
 The sight of me is odious in their eyes: 
 And therefore in this city will I stay, 
 And live alone as secret as I may. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge; 
 the citizens 
 Hy and fnsake their houses : 
 34 
 
 The rascal people, thirsting after prey, 
 Join with the traitor ; and they jointly sweaf, 
 To spoil the city, and your royal court. 
 Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take horse. 
 K. Hen. Come, Margaret , God, our hope, will 
 
 succor us. 
 Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd, 
 K. Hen. Farewell, my lord; [To Lord Sat.] 
 
 trust not the Kentish rebels. 
 Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. 
 Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence, 
 And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exewii. 
 
 SCENE v.— 77«e Tower. 
 Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the Wa!h 
 Then enter certain Citizens, below. 
 Scales. How now ! is Jack Cade slain ] 
 1 at. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; for 
 they have won the bridge, killing all those that 
 withstand them : The lord mayor craves aid of your 
 honor from the Tower, to defend the city from the 
 rebels. 
 
 Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you sliall com- 
 mand ; 
 But I am troubled here with them myself; 
 The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. 
 But get you to Smithfield, and gather head. 
 And thither I will send you Matthew Gough : 
 Fight for your king, your country, and your lives ; 
 And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VI.— Cannon Street. 
 
 Enter Sack Cade, and his Followers. He strikes 
 
 his Staff on London-stone. 
 
 Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. Ant. 
 here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and com- 
 mand, that of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run 
 nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. 
 And now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any 
 that calls me other than — lord Mortimer. 
 Enter a Soldier, running. 
 
 Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! 
 
 Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him. 
 
 Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call you 
 Jack Cade more; I think he hath a very fair warning 
 
 Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered together 
 in Smithfield. 
 
 Cade. Come, then, let's go fight with them : But, 
 first, go and set London-bridge on fire; and if you 
 can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE VII.— Smithfield. 
 Alarum. Enter, on one side. Cade and his Com- 
 
 pany ; on the other, Citizens, and the King's 
 
 Forces, headed by Matthew Gough. They 
 
 fight ; the Citizens are routed, and Matthew 
 
 Gough is slain. 
 
 Cade, So, sirs: — Now go some and pull downtho 
 Savoy; others to the inns of court; down with them all. 
 
 Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 
 
 Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that 
 word. 
 
 Dick. Only that the laws of England may come 
 out of your mouth. 
 
 John. Mass, 'twill be sore law, then; for he was 
 thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not 
 whole yet. [Aside. 
 
 Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law ; forhia 
 breat'i stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Asidt. 
 
olH 
 
 SECOND PAKT OF 
 
 Act I"V 
 
 Cade. I have thought upon it; it shall be so. 
 Away, burn all the records of the realm ; my mouth 
 shall be the parliament of England. 
 
 John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, 
 unless his teeth be pulled out. \_Aside. 
 
 Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in 
 common. 
 
 Enttr a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here's the lord 
 Say, which sold the towns in France ; he that made 
 us pay one and twenty fifteens,' and one shilling to 
 tbe pound, the last subsidy. 
 
 Enter Geobge Bevis, with the Loud ISat. 
 
 Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. 
 — Ah, thou siy, thou serge, nay, thou buckram 
 Iffird ! now art thou within pomt-blank of our juris- 
 diction regal. What canst thou answer to my ma- 
 jesty, for giving up of Normandy unto monsieur Ba- 
 siraecu the dauphin of France 1 Be it known unto 
 thee by these presence, even the presence of lord 
 Mortimer, that I am the besom that must sweep the 
 court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most 
 traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm, in 
 erecting a grammar-school: and whereas, before, 
 our forefathers had no other books but the score 
 and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be 
 used ; and, contrary to the king, his crown and 
 dignity, thou hast built u paper-mill. It will be 
 proved to thy face, that thou hast men about thcc, 
 that usually talk of a noun, and a verb ; and such 
 abominable words, as no Christian ear can endure 
 to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of peace, 
 to call poor men before them about matters they 
 were not able to answer. Moreover, thou bast 
 put them in prison, and because they could not 
 read,' thou hast hanged them ; when, indeed, only 
 (or that cause they have been most worthy to live. 
 I'liou dost ride on a foot-cloth,* dost tliou not 1 
 
 &aif. What of that"! 
 
 Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse 
 wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in 
 their hose and doublets. 
 
 Dick. And work in their shirt, too; as myself, 
 for example, that am a butcher. 
 
 »S«y. You men of Kent, — 
 
 Dick. What say you of Kent? 
 
 Say. Nothing but this: 'Tis buna terra, mala gens. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, away with him! bespeaks 
 Latin. 
 
 Sai/. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you 
 will. 
 Kent, in the commentaries Ctesar writ. 
 Is term'd the civil'st place in all this isle : 
 Sweet is the country, because full of riches; 
 The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy; 
 Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. 
 I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy; 
 Yet to recover them, would lose my life. 
 Justice with favor have I always done; 
 Prayers and tears have movVl me, gifts could never. 
 When have I aught exacted at your hands, 
 Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and youT 
 Large gifts have I bcstow'd on learned clerks. 
 Because my book preferr'd me to the king: 
 And — seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
 
 ' A fifteen was tbe fifteenth part of all the movables or 
 personal property of eaeh subject. 
 • S»y was 1 kind of serge. 
 
 ' ('. e. Because they cmild not claim the benefit of clergy. 
 " A kind oihouvng which covered the body of the horse. 
 
 Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, 
 Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, 
 You cannot but forbear to murder me. 
 This tongue hath parley 'd unto foreign kings 
 For your behoof, — 
 
 Cade. Tut ! when struck'st thou one blow in tin 
 field] 
 
 Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft have 
 I struck 
 Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. 
 
 Geo. O monstrous coward ! what, to come behind 
 folks 1 
 
 Say. These cheeks are pale for watching foi 3 oui 
 good. 
 
 Cade. Give him a box o' the ear, and t])at will 
 make 'em red again. 
 
 Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes 
 Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. 
 
 Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and 
 the pap of a hatchet. 
 
 Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man ] 
 
 Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. 
 
 Cade. Nay, he nods at us ; as who should say, — 
 I'll be even with you. I'll see if his head will stand 
 steadier on a pole, or no: Take him away, and 
 behead him. 
 
 Say. Toll me, wherein I have offended most! 
 Have I afiectcd wealth, or honor; speak] 
 Arc my chests fill'd up with extorted gold ] 
 Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ] 
 Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death] 
 These hands are tree from guiltless blood-shedding,' 
 This breast from harboring foul deceitful thoughts. 
 O, let me live ! 
 
 Cadr. I feci remorse in myself with his words ; 
 but I'll bridle it; he shall die, an it be but foi 
 pleading so well for his life. Away with him ! he 
 has a familiar* under his tongue , he speaks not o 
 God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike 
 off his head presently ; and then break into his son- 
 in-law's house, sir James Cromer, and strike off his 
 head, and bring them both upon two poles hithei. 
 
 All. It shall be done. 
 
 Say. Ah, countrymen ! if, when you make youi 
 God should be so obdurate as j'ourselves, [prayers, 
 How would it fare with your departed souls ] 
 And thcrcibre yet relent, and save my life. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye. 
 ^Exeiait some with Lord Sat. 
 The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a 
 head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; 
 there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay 
 to me her maidcn-hcad ere they have it; Men shall 
 hold of me in capife,- and we charge and com- 
 mand, that their wives be as free as heart can wish, 
 or tongue can tell. 
 
 Dick. My lord, when shall we go to C'heapside, 
 and take up commodities upon our bills ! 
 Cade. Marry, presently. 
 
 All. O brave ! 
 
 Re-enter Rebels, M)i//j the Heads o/Lokd Say aiid 
 his Son-in-law. 
 Cade. But is not this braver? — Let them kiss 
 one another, for they loved well, when they were 
 alive. Now part them again, lest they consult 
 about the giving up of some more towns in France- 
 Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night , for 
 with these borne before us, instead of maces, wiU 
 
 > i. e. Shedding guiltless blood. 
 
 < A demon who was supposed to attend at call. 
 
Scene VIII 
 
 ktnCt henry VI. 
 
 518 
 
 we ride through the streets ; and, at every corner, 
 have them kiss. — Away ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIIL— Soiithwark. 
 
 Alarum. En/er Cadk, and all his Rahhlement. 
 
 Vadc. Up Fish-street ! clown Saint Magnus' cor- 
 ner! kill and knock down! throw them into 
 Thames! — \_A Farley sounded, then a Retreat.'] 
 What noise is this I hear? Dare any he so bold to 
 soiind retreat or parlfy,when I command them kill? 
 
 E, i/cr BucKixGiiAM <Sf oldCi.\yTo\iv,with Forces. 
 
 Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb 
 thcc: 
 Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king 
 Unto the commons, whom thou hast misled ; 
 And here pronounce free pardon to them all. 
 That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. 
 
 Clif. What say ye, countrymen ? will ye relent. 
 And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis ofTer'd you ; 
 Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths] 
 Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon, 
 Fling up his cap, and say — God save his majesty ! 
 M'ho hatcth him, and honors not his father, 
 Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, 
 Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 
 
 All. God save the king! God save the king! 
 
 Cade. What. Buckingham, and Cliflord, are ye 
 so brave 1 — And you, base peasants, do ye believe 
 him 1 will 3'ou needs be hanged with j'our pardons 
 about your necks ] Hath my sword therefore broke 
 through London gates, that you should leave me 
 at the White Hart in Southwarkl I thought, ye 
 would never have given out these arms, till you had 
 recovered your ancient freedom ; but you are all 
 rccicants, and dastards; and delight to live in 
 slavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs 
 with burdens, take your houses over your heads, 
 ravish your wives and daughters before your faces : 
 For me, — I will make shift for one ; and so — God's 
 curse 'light upon you all ! 
 
 All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade. 
 
 Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, 
 That thus 3'ou do exclaim — you'll go with him] 
 W'ill he conduct you through the heart of France, 
 And make the meanest of you carls and dukes] 
 Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to; 
 Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil, 
 Unless by robbing of your friends, and us. 
 Were't not a shame, that whilst 3'ou live at jar, 
 rhe fearful French, whom you late vanquished. 
 Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you] 
 Mithinks, already, in this civil broil, 
 f see them lording it in London streets, 
 Crying — Villageois.' unto all they meet. 
 Hctter, ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry. 
 Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. 
 'I'o Finiu-e, to France, and get what you have lost; 
 S|)arf England, for it is your native coast; 
 flcnry hath money, you arc strong and manly: 
 God on our side, doubt not of victory. 
 
 All. A ClilTord! a ClilTcrd! we'll follow the 
 king and Clillbrd. 
 
 Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and 
 fro, a;; this multitude ] the name of Henry the Fifth 
 !i des them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes 
 •hem leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads 
 together, to surprize me: my sword make way for 
 fiK', for here is no staying. — In despite of the devils 
 ind hell, have through the very midst of you ! and 
 
 heavens and honor be witness, that no want of re 
 solution in me, but only my followers' base and igno- 
 minious treasons, mukes me betake me to my 
 heels. l_Exil 
 
 Buck. W^hat, is he fled] go, some, and follow him ; 
 And he, that brings his head unto the king. 
 Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. 
 
 [Exeunt some of them 
 Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean 
 To recrncile you all unto the king. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX,— Kenelworth Castle. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Qteen Margaret, and So 
 MERSET, 071 the Terrace of the Castle. 
 
 K. Hen.Was ever king thatjoy'd an earthly throne, 
 And could command no more content than I] 
 No sooner was I crept out of my cradle. 
 But I was made a king at nine months old : 
 Was never subject long'd to be a king. 
 As I do long and wish to be a subject. 
 
 Enter Buckingham afid Clifford. 
 
 Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty '. 
 K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor, Cade, 
 surpris'd] 
 Or is he but retir'd to make him strong '! 
 Filter, beloiv, a great number of Cadk's Ful/oiV' 
 ers, with Halters about their Necks. 
 
 Clif. He's fled, my lord, and all his powers do 
 
 yield; 
 And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, 
 Expect your highness' doom of life, or death. 
 K. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting 
 
 gates 
 To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! 
 Soldiers, this day have you rcdcem'd your lives. 
 And show'd how well you love your prince and 
 
 country : 
 Continue still in this so good a mind. 
 And Henry, though he be infortunate. 
 Assure yourselves, will never be unkind: 
 And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, 
 I do dismiss you to your several countries. 
 All. God save the king ! God save the king ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised. 
 The duke of York is newly come from Ireland: 
 And with a puissant, and a mighty power. 
 Of gallowglasses, and stout kernes,' 
 Is marching hitherward in proud array; 
 And still proclaimeth, as he comes along. 
 His arms are only to remove from thee 
 The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 
 
 K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and 
 York distress'd : 
 Like to a ship, that, having 'scaped a tempest. 
 Is straightway calni'd and boarded with a pirate : 
 But now^ is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd; 
 And now is York in arms to second him.— - 
 I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet liim; 
 And ask him, what's the reason of these arms. 
 Tell him, I'll send duke p]dmund to the Tower; — 
 And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither. 
 Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 
 
 Som. My lord, 
 I'll yield myself to prison willingly. 
 Or unto death, to do mj' country good. 
 
 » Two orders of foot soldiers among the Irish 
 » Only just now. 
 
■520 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 K. Hen In any case, be not too rough in terms; 
 For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language. 
 Buck. I will, my lord ; and doubt not so to deal, 
 As all things should redound unto your good. 
 K. Hen. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to go- 
 vern better; 
 For yet may England curse my wretched reign. 
 
 ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.— Kent. Iden's Garden. 
 
 Enter Cade. 
 
 Cade. Fye on ambition! fye on myself; that 
 have a sword, and yet am ready to famish ! These 
 five days have I hid me in these woods; and durst 
 not peep out, for all the country is lay'd for me ; 
 but now am I so hungry, that if I might have a 
 lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay 
 no longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall have I 
 climbed into this garden ; to see if I can eat grass, 
 or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss 
 to cool a man's stomach this hot weather. And, I 
 think, this word sallet was born to do me good : 
 for, many a time, but for a sallet,'' my brain-pan 
 had been cleft with a brown bill; and, many a 
 time, when I had been dry, and bravely march- 
 ing, it hath served me instead of a quart-pot to 
 drink in ; and now the word sallet must serve me 
 "'• feed on. 
 
 Enter Idkx, with Servants. 
 
 Idcn. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court. 
 And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? 
 This small inheritance, my father left me, 
 Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy. 
 I seek not to wax great by others' waning; 
 Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy ; 
 8uHiceth, that I have maintains my state. 
 And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. 
 
 Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize 
 me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without 
 leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get 
 a thousand crowns of the king for carrying my 
 head to him ; but I'll make thee eat iron like an 
 ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere 
 thou and I part. 
 
 Men. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be, 
 I know thee not ; why then should I betray thee ? 
 Is't not enough, to break into my garden, 
 And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds, 
 Climbing my walls in spite of me, the owner. 
 But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms] 
 
 Cade. Brave theeT ay, by the bes\ Wood that evei 
 was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well 
 I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou 
 and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as 
 dead as a door-nail, I pray God, I may never eat 
 grass more. 
 
 Iden. Nay, let it ne'er be said while England 
 That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, [stands^ 
 Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. 
 Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, 
 See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. 
 Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; 
 Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ; 
 Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon ; 
 My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast, 
 And if mine arm be heaved in the air, 
 Thy grave is digged already in the earth. 
 As for more words, whose greatness answers words, 
 Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 
 
 Cade. By my valor, the most complete champion 
 that ever I heard. — Steel, if thou turn the edge, or 
 cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef 
 ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my 
 knees, tliou may'st be turn'd to hobnails. \They 
 fight. Cade falls.~\ O, I am slain ! famine, and nc> 
 other, hath slain me ; let ten thousand devils come 
 against me, and give me but the ten meals I have. 
 lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden : and be 
 henceforth a bury ing-place to all that do dwell in this 
 house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. 
 
 Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous 
 Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, [traitorl 
 And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead : 
 Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point; 
 But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat. 
 To emblaze the honor that thy master got. 
 
 Cade. Iden, farewell ; and be proud of thy vie 
 tory : Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best 
 man, and exhort all the world to be cowards; for 
 I. that never feared any, am vanquished by fa- 
 mine, not by valor. \^Dies. 
 
 Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be 
 my judge. 
 Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee ! 
 And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
 So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. 
 Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels 
 Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave. 
 And there cut off thy most ungracious head ; 
 Which I will bear in triumph to the king. 
 Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. 
 
 [^Exit, dragging out the Body. 
 
 ACTY. 
 
 SCENE I.— Near Saint Alban's. 
 
 The King's Camp on one side. On the other, 
 enter Yokk attended, with Drum and Colors: 
 his Forces at some distance. 
 
 York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim 
 his right. 
 And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head : 
 ting, bells, alovid ; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, 
 To entertain great England's lawful king. 
 Ah, sannta majestas! who would not buy thee dear] 
 Let them obey, that know not how to rule ! 
 ' A kind •5«f helmet. 
 
 This hand was made to handle nought but gold': 
 
 I cannot give due action to my words. 
 
 Except a sword, or sceptre, balance it. 
 
 A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul ; 
 
 On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France 
 
 Enter Buckingham. 
 
 Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me 
 
 The king hath sent him, sure ; I must dissemble 
 
 Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet the( 
 
 well. 
 York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept tb] 
 greeting. 
 Art tho'j a messenger, or come of pleasure t 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 521 
 
 Buck. A messenger from Henry, our tlreatl liege. 
 To knew the reason of these arms in peace ; 
 Or why, thou — being a subject as I am — 
 Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 
 Shouklst raise so great a power without his leave. 
 Or tlare to bring thy force so near the court. 
 
 Yorh. Scarce can I speak, my choler is ' 
 so great. 
 O, I could hew up rocks, and fight with 
 
 flint, 
 I am so angry at these abject terms ; 
 And now, like Ajax Telamonius, 
 On slieep or oxen could I spend my fury! y Aside. 
 I am far better born than is the king; 
 More like a king, more kingly in my 
 
 thoughts : 
 But I must make fair weather yet a while, 
 Till Henry be more weak, and I more 
 
 strong. — 
 
 O Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me. 
 That I have given no answer all this while; 
 My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 
 The cause why I have brought this army hither. 
 Is — to remove proud Somerset from the king. 
 Seditious to his grace, and to the state. 
 
 Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part: 
 But if thy arms be to no other end. 
 The king hath yielded unto thy demand; 
 The duke of Somerset is in the Tower. 
 
 York. Upon thine honor, is he prisoner 1 
 
 Buck. Upon mine honor, he is prisoner. 
 
 York. Then Buckingham, I do dismiss my 
 powers.' — 
 Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; 
 Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, 
 Vou shall have pay, and every thing you wish. 
 And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
 Command my eldest son, — nay, all my sons, 
 As pledges of my fealty and love, 
 I'll send them all as willing as I live; 
 Lands, goods, horse, armor, any thing I have 
 Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 
 
 Buck. York, I commend this kind submission : 
 We twain will go into his highness' tent. 
 
 Enter King Heniit, aitended. 
 
 K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm 
 to us. 
 That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ] 
 
 York. In all submission and humility, 
 York doth present himself unto your highness. 
 
 K. Hen. Then what intend these forces tho 
 dost bring? 
 
 York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence ; 
 .\nd fight against that monstrous rebel. Cade, 
 Who since I heard to be discomfited. 
 
 Enter Iden, ivith Cade's Head. 
 
 Jden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition. 
 May pass into the presence of a king, 
 fjO, I present your grace a traitor's head, 
 The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 
 
 K. Hen. The head of Cade!— Great God, how 
 just art thou! — 
 0, let me view his visage being dead. 
 That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 
 Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew himT 
 
 Iden. I was, an't like your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. How art thou call'd ? and what is thy 
 djffree? 
 
 Men. Alexander Iden, that's my name; 
 A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 
 
 Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amisi 
 He were created knight for his good service. 
 
 K. Hen. Iden, kneel down; [He kneels.'] Rise 
 up a knight. 
 We give thee for reward a thousand marks ; 
 And will, that tliou henceforth attend on us. 
 
 Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
 And never live but true unto his liege! 
 
 K. Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with 
 the queen; 
 Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset. 
 
 Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide 
 his head. 
 But boldly stand, and front him to his fac€. 
 
 York. How now ! Is Somerset at lil>erty 1 
 Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts, 
 And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart 
 Shall I endure the sight of Somerset 1 — 
 False king ! why hast thou broken faith with me, 
 Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? 
 King did I call thee ? no, thou art not king 
 Not fit to govern and rule multitudes. 
 Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. 
 That head of thine doth not become a crown ; 
 Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, 
 And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. 
 That gold m ust round engirt these brows of mine , 
 Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear. 
 Is able with the change to kill and cure. 
 Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up. 
 And with the same to act controlling laws. 
 Give place ; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 
 O'er him, whom heaven created for thy ruler. 
 
 Som. O monstrous traitor! — I arrest thee, York, 
 Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown ■ 
 Obe}^ audacious traitor ; kneel for grace. 
 
 York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask 
 of these. 
 If they can brook I bow a knee to man. — 
 Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail; 
 
 [_Exif an Attendant. 
 I know, ere they will have me go to ward,' 
 They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. 
 
 Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford ; bid him coma 
 amain. 
 To say, if that the bastard boys of York 
 Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 
 
 York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, 
 Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! 
 The sons of York, thy betters in their birth. 
 Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those 
 That for my surety will refuse the boys. 
 
 Enter Edward atid Riciiard Plantagenet. 
 ivith Forces, on one side,- at the other, vrith 
 Forces also, old Clifford, and his S'j7i. 
 
 See, where they come ; I'll warrant they'll make 
 it good. 
 Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their 
 
 bail. 
 Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the 
 king! [Kneels. 
 
 York. I thank the<?, Cliffoid: Say, what newi 
 with thee! 
 Nay, do not fright us with an angry look : 
 ■ Custody. confiDcmeat- 
 
522 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act "V 
 
 We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; 
 For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 
 
 Clif. 'J'his is my king, York, I do not mistake ; 
 But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do: — 
 To Bedlam with him! is the man grown madi 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, Cliflibrd; a bedlam and ambitious 
 humor 
 Makes him oppose himself against his king. 
 
 CUf. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower, 
 And chop away that factious pate of his. 
 
 Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
 His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. 
 
 York. Will you not, sons ? 
 
 Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 
 
 Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons 
 shall. 
 
 Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here ! 
 
 York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so; 
 I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. — 
 (Jail hither to the stake my two brave bears," 
 That, with the very shaking of their chains, 
 They may astonish these fell lurking curs; 
 Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me. 
 
 Drums. Enter Warwick and Salisbuhy, with 
 Forces. 
 
 Clif. Are these thy bears 1 we'll bait thy bears to 
 death, 
 And manacle the bear-ward' in their chains, 
 If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. 
 
 Rick. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur 
 Run back and bite, because he was withheld ; 
 Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell pavr, 
 Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd: 
 And such a piece of service will you do, 
 If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. 
 
 Clif Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump. 
 As crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! 
 
 York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. 
 
 Clif Take heed, lest by your heat you burn 
 yourselves. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to 
 bow? — 
 Uld Salisbury, — shame to thy silver hair, 
 Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! — 
 What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian, 
 And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? 
 O, where is fliith? O, where is loyalty! 
 If it be banish'd from the frosty head. 
 Where shall it find a harbor in the earth 1 
 Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, 
 And shame thine honorable age w^ith blood 1 
 Why art thou old, and want'st experience ] 
 Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it ? 
 For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me, 
 That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 
 
 Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
 The title of this most renowned duke; 
 And in my conscience do repute his grace 
 The rightful heir to England's royal seat. 
 
 K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? 
 
 Sal. I have. 
 
 K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for 
 such an oath 1 
 
 Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin ; 
 But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath. 
 Vho can be bound by any solemn vow 
 To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, 
 
 » The Nevils, earls of Warwick, had a bear and ragged 
 ptati for their crest. ^ Bear-keeper. 
 
 To force a spotless virgin's chastity. 
 
 To reave the orphan of his patrimony, 
 
 To wring the widow from her custom'd right; 
 
 And have no other reason for this wrong, 
 
 But that he was bound by a solemn oath? 
 
 Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 
 
 K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm him 
 self. 
 
 York. Call Buckingham and all the friends thoij 
 I am resolv'd for death or dignity. [hast, 
 
 Clif The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true, 
 
 War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again. 
 To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 
 
 Clif I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm, 
 Than any thou canst conjure up to-day ; 
 And that I'll write upon thy burgonet," 
 Might I but know thee by thy household badge. 
 
 War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's cresti 
 The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staflf. 
 This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, 
 (As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, 
 That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,) 
 Even to affi-ight thee with the view thereof. 
 
 Clif And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, 
 And tread it under foot with all contempt, 
 Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. 
 
 Y. Clif And so to arms, victorious father, 
 To quell the rebels, and their 'complices. 
 
 Rich. Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite, 
 For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. 
 
 Y. Clif Foul stigmatic,' that's more than thou 
 canst tell. 
 
 Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. 
 
 \_Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE n.— Saint Alban's. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick. 
 
 War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls! 
 And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, 
 Now, — when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, 
 And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, — 
 Clifibrd, I say, come forth and fight with me ! 
 I*roud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, 
 Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms 
 
 Enter York. 
 How now, my noble lord ? what, all a-foot ? 
 
 York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steea , 
 But match to match I have encounter'd him. 
 And made a prey for carrion kites and crows. 
 Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. 
 Enter Clifford. 
 
 War. Of one or both of us the time is come. 
 
 York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other 
 For I myself must hunt this deer to death, [chase, 
 
 War. Then, nobly, York ; 'tis for a crown thou 
 As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, [fight'st 
 It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. 
 
 \^Exit Warwick. 
 
 Clif What seest thou in me, York? why dost 
 thou pause? 
 
 York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, 
 But that thou art so fast mine enemy. [esteem, 
 
 Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and 
 But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in treason. 
 
 York. So let it help me now against thy sword, 
 As I in justice and true right express it! 
 
 Clif My soul and body on the action both ! — 
 
 » Helmet. 
 
 * One on whom nature has oet a mark of defomity, ■ 
 
 stigma. 
 
 V 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY YI. 
 
 52S 
 
 YorJc. A (]r<^adful lay !' — address thee instantly. 
 
 [They Jight, and Clifford yh/Zs. 
 
 Clif. La fin couronne les oeuvres. [Dies. 
 
 York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou 
 
 art still. 
 
 Peace with his soul, Heaven, if it be thy will ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Young Clifford. 
 
 Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the rout! 
 Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
 Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell ! 
 Whom angry heavens do make their minister, 
 Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
 Hot coals of vengeance ; — Let no soldier fly : 
 He that is truly dedicate to war, 
 Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself, 
 Hath not essentially, but by circumstance. 
 The name of valor. — O, let the vile world end, 
 
 [Seeing his dead Father. 
 And the premised' flames of the last day 
 Knitearlh and heaven together! 
 Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, 
 Particularities and petty sounds 
 To cease ! — Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, 
 To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
 The silver livery of advised age ; 
 And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus 
 To die in ruffian battle? — Even at this sight, 
 My heart is turn'd to stone; and, while 'tis mine. 
 It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ; 
 No more will I their babes : tears virginal 
 Shall be to me even as the dew to fire ; 
 And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, 
 Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
 Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity : 
 Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
 Into as many gobbets will I cut it, 
 As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: 
 In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 
 Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; 
 
 [Taking up the Body. 
 As did .iEneas old Anchises bear, 
 So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; 
 But then .<Eneas bare a living load. 
 Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit, 
 
 Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset, 
 fighting, and Somerset is killed. 
 
 Rich. So, lie thou there; — 
 For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, 
 The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset 
 Hath made the wizard famous in his death. — 
 Sword, hold thy temper : heart, K> wrathful still : 
 Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter King Henrt, 
 Queen Margaret, and others, retreating. 
 
 Q. Mar. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; for 
 shame, away ! 
 
 K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens ? good Mar- 
 garet, stay. 
 
 Q. Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight, 
 nor fly : 
 \ow is it manhodd, wisdom, and defence, 
 
 » A dreadful wager, a tremendous stake. 
 * Sont before their time. 
 
 To give the enemy way : and to secure us 
 By what we can, which can no more but flv 
 
 [Alarum ajat of 
 If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
 Of all our fortunes : but if we haply 'scape, 
 (As well we may, if not through your neglect,) 
 We shall to London get ; where you are lov'd ; 
 And where this breach, now in our fortunes made, 
 May readily be stopp'd. 
 
 Enter Young Clifford. 
 
 Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief set, 
 I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly ; 
 But fly you must; uncurable discomfit 
 Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.' 
 Away, for your relief! and we will live 
 To see their day, and them our fortune give : 
 Away, my lord, away ! [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— Fields near Saint Alban's. 
 
 Alarum: Retreat. Flourish,- then enter York, 
 Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Sol« 
 diers, ivifh Drum and Colors. 
 
 York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him; 
 That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets 
 Aged contusions and all brush of time;' 
 And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,'' 
 Repairs him with occasion] this happy day 
 Is not itself, nor have we won one foot. 
 If Salisbury be lost. 
 
 Rich. My noble father, 
 
 Three times to-day I holp him to his horse. 
 Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, 
 Persuaded him from any further act : 
 But still, where danger was, still there I met him 
 And like rich hangings in a homely house. 
 So was his will in his old feeble body. 
 But, noble as he is, look, where he comes. 
 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 
 Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought 
 to-day ; 
 By the mass, so did we all. — I thank you, Richard • 
 God knows, how long it is I have to live; 
 And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day 
 You have defended me from imminent death. — 
 Well, lords, we have not got that which we have^ 
 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, 
 Being opposites of such repairing nature.' 
 
 York. I know, our safety is to follow them ; 
 For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
 To call a present court of parliament. 
 Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth : — 
 What says lord Warwick? shall we after them? 
 
 War. After them ! nay, before them, if we can. 
 Now by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day: 
 Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York, 
 Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. — 
 Sound, drums and trumpets : — and to London all : 
 And more such days as these to us befall ! [Exeunt, 
 
 ' For parties. » i. e. The jrradual detrition of time. 
 
 '' i. e. The height of youth ; the brow of a hill is its sum- 
 mit. 
 
 » i. e. We have not secured that which we have acquired, 
 
 9 i. e. Being enemies that are likely so soon to raLly and 
 recover themselves from this defeat. 
 
THIRD PART OP 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henht the Sixth. 
 
 Edwabd, Prince of Wales, his Son. 
 
 Lewis the Eleventh, King of France 
 
 Duke of Somerset, 
 
 Duke of Exeter, 
 
 Earl of Oxford, 
 
 Earl of Northumberland, 
 
 Earl of Westmoreland, 
 
 Lord Clifford, 
 
 Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, 
 
 Edward, Earl of March, afterwards 
 
 King Edward the Fourth, 
 Edmund, Earl of Rutland, 
 Georoe, afterwards Duke of Clarence, 
 Richard, afterwards Duke of Gloster, 
 Duke of Norfolk, 
 MARauis OF Montague, 
 Earl of Warwick, 
 Earl of Pembroke, 
 Lord Hastings, 
 Lord Stafford, 
 Henry, Earl of Richmond, a Youth 
 
 Lords on King 
 Henry's side. 
 
 his Sons. 
 
 of the Duke of York's 
 Party. 
 
 Sir John Mortimer, ) Uncles to the Duke oj 
 
 Sir Hugh Mortimer, 5 York. 
 
 Lord Rivers, Brother to Lady Gret. 
 
 Sir William Stanley. 
 
 Sir John Montgomery. 
 
 Sir John Somerville. 
 
 Tutor to Rutland. 
 
 Mayor of York. 
 
 Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 A Nobleman. 
 
 Two Keepers. 
 
 A Huntsman. 
 
 A Son that has killed his Father. 
 
 A Father that has killed his Son. 
 
 Queen Margaret. 
 
 Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward ikt 
 
 Fourth. 
 Bona, sister to the French Queen. 
 
 Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry and 
 Kiiig Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, S(c. 
 
 'iCENE, during part of the third act, in France ; durins all the rest of the play, in England. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. The Parliament House. 
 
 Drums. Some Soldiers of York's party break in. 
 Then enter the Duke of York, Edward, Rich- 
 ard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and 
 others, with white Roses in their Hats. 
 War. I wonder how the king escaped our hands. 
 York. While we pursued the horsemen of the 
 north. 
 He slily stole away, and left his men : 
 Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, 
 Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 
 Cheer'd up the drooping army ; and himself, 
 Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all a-breast. 
 Charged our main battle's front, and, breaking in. 
 Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. 
 Edw. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Bucking- 
 ham, 
 \a either slain, or wo-inded dangerous: 
 524 
 
 I cleft his beaver with a downright blow, 
 That this is true, father, behold his blood. 
 
 [^Showing his bloody Swora. 
 Mont. And, brother, here's the earl of Wilt- 
 shire's blood, [To York, showing his. 
 Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. 
 
 Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. 
 
 [Throwing down the Duke of Somerset's Head. 
 
 York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.— 
 
 What, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset 1 
 
 Norf Such hope have all the line of John of 
 
 Gaunt ! 
 Rich. Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's 
 
 head. 
 War. And so do L — Victorious prince of York, 
 Before I see thee seated in that throne 
 Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
 I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close. 
 Tliis is the palace of the fearful king. 
 
Act I. Scene i. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 525 
 
 And this the regal seat: possess it, York: 
 For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs'. 
 
 York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will; 
 For hither we have broken in by force. 
 
 Norf. We'll all assist you ; he that flies, shall die. 
 
 Yu7-h. Thanks, gentle Norfolk, — Stay by me, 
 my lords; — 
 And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. 
 
 War. And, when the king comes, offer him no 
 violence. 
 Unless he seek to thrust you out by force. 
 
 [They retire. 
 
 York. The queen, this day, here holds her par- 
 liament. 
 But little thinks we shall be of her council : 
 By words, or blows, here let us win our right. 
 
 Etch. Ann d asweare, let's stay within thishouse. 
 
 War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd. 
 Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king: 
 And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice 
 Hath made us by-words to our enemies. 
 
 York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; 
 I mean to take possession of my right. 
 
 War. rVeither the king, nor he that loves him best. 
 The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
 Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.' 
 I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares : — 
 Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. 
 [Waiiwick leads YonK to the Throne,ivho 
 seats himself. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King Henrt, Clifford, North- 
 
 UMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, ExETER, and 
 
 others, luith red Roses in their Hats. 
 
 K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel 
 sits, 
 Even in the chair of state! belike, he means, 
 (Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,) 
 To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king. — 
 Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father; 
 And thine, lord Clifford ; and you both have vow'd 
 
 revenge 
 On him, his sons, his favorites, and his friends. 
 North. If I be not, heaven be revenged on me! 
 Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in 
 
 steel. 
 West. What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck 
 him down: 
 My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook it. 
 K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. 
 Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he ; 
 He durst not sit there had your father liv'd. 
 My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
 L»2t us assail the family of York. 
 
 North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin ; be it so. 
 K. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city favors them. 
 And they have troops of soldiers at their beck 1 
 Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly 
 
 fly. 
 K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's 
 heart 
 To make a shambles of the parliament-house ! 
 Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, 
 Shall be the war that Henry means to use. — 
 
 [They advance to the Duke. 
 Thou factious duk^ of York, Jescend my throne. 
 And kneel for grace and meny at my feet; 
 I am thy sovereign. 
 
 « Hawks had sometimes little bells hung on them, per- 
 haps to dare tUo birds ; that is, to fright them from rising. 
 
 York. Thou art decei #'d, I am thine. 
 
 Exe. For shame, come down ; he made thee duke 
 
 of York. 
 York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. 
 Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the ci>iwn. 
 War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown, 
 In following this usurping Henry. 
 
 Clif. Whom should he follow, but hif natural 
 
 king? 
 War. True, Clifford ; and that's Richard, Buke of 
 
 York. 
 K. Hen. And shall I stand, and th:)u sit in my 
 
 throne 1 
 York. It must and shall be so. Content thysclE 
 War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king. 
 West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster; 
 And that the lord of Westmoivland shall maintain. 
 War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You f )rget, 
 That we are those, which chas'd you from the field. 
 And slew your fathers, and with colors spread 
 March'd through the city to the palace gates. 
 
 North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief. 
 And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 
 West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons. 
 Thy kinsmen and thy friends, I'll have more lives, 
 Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 
 
 Clif Urge it no more ; lest that, instead of words, 
 I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger, 
 As shall revenge his death, before I stir. 
 
 War. Poor Clifford! how I scorn liis wortlilesa 
 
 threats ! 
 York. Will you, we show our title to the crown t 
 If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 
 K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the 
 crown ? 
 Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York ; 
 Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March 
 I am the son of Henry the Fifth, 
 Who made the dauphin and the French to stoop. 
 And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. 
 
 War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. 
 K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I ; 
 When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. 
 Rich. You are old enough now, and yet methinka 
 you lose: — 
 Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 
 Edw. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your head. 
 Mo7it. Good brother, [To York.] as thou lov'st 
 and honor'st arms. 
 Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus. 
 Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king 
 
 will fly. 
 York. Sons, peace ! 
 K. Hen. Peace thou ! and give king Henry leave 
 
 to speak. 
 War. Plantagenet shall speak first : — hear him, 
 lords ; 
 And be you silent and attentive too, 
 For he, that interrupts him, shall not live. 
 
 K. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my 
 kingly throne. 
 Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat? 
 No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
 Ay, and their colors, — often borne in France, 
 And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow, — 
 Shall be my winding sheet. — Why faint you, lords'! 
 My title's good, and better far than his. 
 
 War. But prove it,Henry,and thou shalt be king. 
 K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the 
 crown. 
 
52(3 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Yorh. 'Twas by relellion against his king. 
 K. Hc7i. I know not what to say; my title's weak. 
 Tell me, may not a lung adopt an heirl 
 York. What then 1 
 
 K. Hen. An if lie may, then am I lawful king: 
 For Richard, in the view of many lords, 
 Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth; 
 Whose heir my father was, and I am his. 
 
 York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, 
 And made him to resign his crown perforce. 
 
 War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd. 
 Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown? 
 
 Exe. No; for he could not so resign his crown, 
 Bjit that the next heir should succeed and reign. 
 K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter? 
 Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 
 York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer 
 
 not? 
 Exe. My conscience tells me, he is lawful king. 
 K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him. 
 North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st. 
 Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd. 
 War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. 
 North, Thou art deceiv'd : 'tis not thy southern 
 power. 
 Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,— 
 Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, — 
 Can set the duke up in despite of me. 
 
 Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, 
 Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: 
 May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, 
 Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father ! 
 K. Hen. Cliflbrd, how thy words revive my 
 
 heart ! 
 York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown : — 
 What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords ? 
 
 War, Do right unto this princely duke of York : 
 Or I will fill the house with armed men, 
 And o'er the chair of state where now he sits, 
 Write up his title with usurping blood. 
 
 [He stamps, and the Soldiers show themselves. 
 K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one 
 word; 
 Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king. 
 
 York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs, 
 And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. 
 K. Hen. I am content: Richard Plantagenet, 
 Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. 
 
 Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your 
 
 son? 
 War. What good is this to England and himself? 
 West, Base, fearful, and despairing Henry ! 
 Clif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us? 
 West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 
 North. Nor L 
 Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these 
 
 news. 
 TVes/. Farewell, faint-hearted and vlegenerate king, 
 fn whose cold blood no spark of honor bides ! 
 
 North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, 
 And die in bands for this unmanly deed ! 
 
 Clif. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome ! 
 Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd ! 
 
 [Exeunt NonTHUMBEnLAND, CLiFFonn, and 
 
 Westmoueland. 
 War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. 
 Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not 
 
 yield. 
 K, Hen. Ah, Exeter ! 
 Wax. Why should you sigh, my lord ? 
 
 K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but mf 
 son. 
 Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. 
 But, be it as it may :— I here entail 
 The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever ; 
 Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
 To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live. 
 To honor me as thy king and sovereign; 
 And neither by treason, nor hostility. 
 To seek to put me down, and reign thyself. 
 
 York. This oath I willingly take, and will per 
 
 form. [Coming from the Throne, 
 
 War. Long live king Henry ! — Plantagenet, em« 
 
 brace him. 
 K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy for« 
 
 ward sons ! 
 
 York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. 
 
 Exe. Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them 
 
 foes ! [The Lords come forward, 
 
 York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I'll to my 
 
 castle. 
 War. And I'll keep London, with my soldiers. 
 Norf And I to Norfolk, with my followers. 
 Mont, And I unto the sea, from whence I came. 
 [Exeunt York, ajid his Sons, WakwicK; 
 Norfolk, Montague, Soldiers, ana 
 Attendants. 
 K, Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the 
 court. 
 
 Enter Queex Mabgaret, and the Prixce of 
 Wales. 
 
 Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray 
 her anger : 
 I'll steal away. 
 
 K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. [Going. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee. 
 
 K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay 
 
 Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes ? 
 Ah, wretched man ! 'would I had died a maid, 
 And never seen thee, never borne thee son. 
 Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father ' 
 Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus ? 
 Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I ; 
 Or felt that pain, which I did for him once ; 
 Or nourish'd him, as I did with my Mood ; 
 Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, 
 Rather than made that savage duke thine heir, 
 And disinherited thine only son. 
 
 Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : 
 If you be king, why should I not succeed ? 
 
 K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret; — pardon me, 
 sweet son; — 
 The earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. 
 
 Q. Mar. Enforced thee ! art thou king, and wih 
 be forced ? 
 I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch' 
 Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me ; 
 And given unto the house of York such head, 
 As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. 
 To entail him and his heirs unto the crown. 
 What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, 
 And creep into it far before thy time ? 
 Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais , 
 Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; 
 The duke is made protector of the realm : 
 And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds 
 The trembhng lamb, environed with wolves. 
 Had I been there, which am a silly woman, 
 The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikei^ 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 521 
 
 Before I would have granted io that act. 
 
 But thou prefcrr'st thy life before thine honor; 
 
 And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, 
 
 Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, 
 
 Until that act of parliament be repeal'd, 
 
 Whereby my son is disinherited. 
 
 Th(; northern lords, that have forsworn thy colors, 
 
 Will follow mine, if once they see them spread : 
 
 And spread they shall be ; to thy foul disgrace, 
 
 And utter ruin of the house of York. 
 
 Thus do I leave thee: — Come, son, let's away; 
 
 Our army's ready; come, we'll after them. 
 
 K Heti. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me 
 
 speak. 
 Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already ; get 
 
 thee gone. 
 K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with 
 
 mel 
 Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. 
 Prince. When I return with victory from the field, 
 ''11 see your grace : till then, I'll follow her. 
 Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we may not linger thus. 
 [Exeu72t Queen Maiisahkt and the Prince. 
 K. Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me, and to her 
 son, 
 Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! 
 Revenged may she be on that hateful duke ; 
 Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, 
 Will cost my crown, and, like an cmj)ty eagle. 
 Tire' on the flesh of me, and of my son ! 
 The loss of those three lords torments my heart ; 
 I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair; — 
 Come, cousin, you shall he the messenger. 
 Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE II.— .4 Room in Sandal Castle, near 
 Wakefield, in Yorkshire. 
 Enter EDWAnn, Richaud, and Montague. 
 
 Rick. Brother, though I be youngest, give me 
 leave. 
 
 Ediu. No, I can better play the orator. 
 
 Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 
 Enter Youk. 
 
 York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a 
 strife 1 
 iVhat is your quarrel"! how began it first? 
 
 Edw. No quarrel but a slight contention. 
 
 York. About whati 
 
 Rich. About that which concerns your grace, 
 and us; 
 The crown of England, father, which is yours. 
 
 York. Mine boy ] not till king Henry be dead. 
 
 Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death. 
 
 Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: 
 By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, 
 \\ will outrun you, father, in the end. 
 
 York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign, 
 
 Edw. 13ut, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken : 
 I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. 
 
 Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be for- 
 
 York. I shall be, if I claim by 0])en war. [sworn. 
 
 Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me 
 speak. 
 
 York. Thou canst not, son ; it is impossible. 
 
 Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took 
 Before a true and lawful magistrate, 
 That hath authority over him that swears: 
 Henry had none, but did usurp the place ; 
 
 Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 
 Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
 Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but thinks 
 How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown* 
 Within whose circuit is Elysium, 
 And al that poets feign of bliss and joy 
 Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest. 
 Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyea 
 Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 
 
 York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, oi Jie*— 
 Brother, thou shalt to London presently. 
 And wlict on Warwick to this enterprise. — 
 Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, 
 And tell him privily of our intent. — 
 You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, 
 With whom the Kcntishmen will willingly rise : 
 In them I trust; for they are soldiers, 
 Witty' and courteous, liberal, full of spirit. — 
 While you are thus employ'd, vi'hat resteth more 
 But that I seek occasion how to rise; 
 And yet the king not privy to my drift. 
 Nor any of the house of Lancaster? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 But, stay; What news? Why com'stthou in such 
 
 post? 
 Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and 
 
 lords, 
 Intend here to besiege you in your castle : 
 She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; 
 And therefore fortify your hold, my lord, 
 
 York. Ay, with my sword. What ? think'st thou, 
 
 that we fear them ? — 
 Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ; — 
 My brother Montague shall post to London: 
 Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest. 
 Whom we have left protectors of the king. 
 With powerful policy strengthen themselves, 
 And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. 
 
 Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: 
 And thus most humbly do I take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Sin Joux and Sir Hugh Mortimer. 
 
 York. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine 
 uncles! 
 You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; 
 The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 
 
 .S';> John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the 
 
 field. 
 York. What, with five thousand men? 
 Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a needi 
 A woman's general; What should we fear? 
 
 [A March afar off. 
 Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men in 
 order ; 
 And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. 
 York. Five men to twenty ! — though the odds be 
 great, 
 I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. 
 Many a battle have I won in France, 
 When as the enemy hath been ten to one; 
 Why should I not now have the like success ? 
 
 [Alarum. Exeunt^ 
 
 SCENE \\\.— Plains near Sandal Castle. 
 
 Alarums : Excursions. Enter Rutland, and hit 
 Tutor. 
 
 Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands 
 Ah, tutor ! look, where bloody Cliiford comes ! 
 ' Of eoiind Judgment. 
 
b28 
 
 THIED PART OF 
 
 Act I 
 
 Enter Clifford, and Soldiers. 
 
 CUf. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy 
 life. 
 As for the brat of this accursed duke, 
 W hose father slew my father, — he shall die. 
 
 Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 
 
 CUf. Soldiers, away with him. 
 
 Tut. Ah, Clifford ! murder not this innocent child, 
 Lest thou be hated both of God and man. 
 
 \_Exit, forced off by Soldiers. 
 
 CUf How now ! is he dead already ? Or is it fear, 
 That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. 
 
 Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
 That trembles under his devouring paws: 
 And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey ; 
 And so he cornea to rend his limbs asunder. — 
 Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword. 
 And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. 
 Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die; 
 I am too mean a subject for thy wrath, 
 Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. 
 
 CUf In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my fa- 
 ther's blood 
 Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 
 enter. 
 
 Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again; 
 He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 
 
 CUf. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine, 
 Were not revenge sufficient for me ; 
 No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, 
 And hung their rotten coffins up in chains. 
 It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
 The sight of any of the house of York 
 Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
 And till I root out their accursed line, 
 And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
 Therefore — [^Lifting his Hand. 
 
 Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death: 
 To thee I pray ; Sweet Clifford, pity me ! 
 
 CUf Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 
 
 Rut. I never did thee harm ; Why wilt thou slay 
 mel 
 
 CUf. Thy father hath. 
 
 Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. 
 
 Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me ; 
 Lest in revenge thereof, — sith God is just, — 
 He be as miserably slain as I. 
 Ah, let me live in prison all my days; 
 And when I give occasion of offence. 
 Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 
 
 CUf. No cause 1 
 Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. 
 
 [CuFFonD stabs him. 
 
 Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuasJ' 
 
 IDics. 
 
 CUf Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! 
 And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade. 
 Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 
 Co.ngeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Yokk. 
 York. The army of the queen hath got the field : 
 Wy uncles both are slain in rescuing me; 
 And all my followers to the eager foe 
 Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, 
 Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. 
 
 1 Ueaven grant that this ma5 ho your greatest boast ! 
 
 Ovid. Epist. 
 
 My sons — Heaven knows what has bechanced 
 
 them : 
 But this I know — th^ have dcmean'd themselves 
 Like men born to renown, by life or death 
 Three times did Richard make a lane to me ; 
 And thrice cried, — Courage, father! fight it out' 
 And full as oft came Edward to my side. 
 With purple flilchion, painted to the hilt. 
 In blood of those that had cncount«r'd him: 
 And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
 Richard cried, — Charge/ and give no foot cj 
 
 ground! 
 And cried, — A crown, or else a glorious tomh! 
 A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre! 
 With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! 
 We bodged ' again ; as I have seen a swan 
 With bootless labor swim against the tide. 
 And spend her strength with overmatching waves. 
 [j4 shoi-t Alarum within 
 Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue : 
 And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: 
 And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury: 
 The sands are number'd that make up my life: 
 Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 
 
 Enter Queen Makgahet, Clifford, Northcm 
 
 BERLANii, and Soldiers. 
 Come, bloody Clifford, — rough Northumberland,-- 
 I dare your quenchless fury to more rage ; 
 I am your butt, and I abide your shot. 
 
 North, Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 
 
 CUf. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm. 
 With downright payment, show'd unto my father 
 Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car. 
 And made an evening at the noontide prick.^ 
 
 Yoi-k. My ashes, as the Phcenix, may bring forth 
 A bird that will revenge upon you all : 
 And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, 
 Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 
 Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear'' 
 CUf. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further, 
 So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; 
 So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives. 
 Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 
 
 York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, 
 And in thy thought o'er-run my former time: 
 And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; 
 And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cow< 
 
 ardice, 
 Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. 
 
 CUf I will not bandy with thee word for word ; 
 But buckle with thee blows twice two for one. 
 
 \_Draws. 
 
 Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand 
 causes, 
 I would prolong awhile the traitor's life : — 
 Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumber- 
 land. 
 
 North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honor him so much 
 To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: 
 What valor were it, when a cur doth grin. 
 For one to thrust his hand between his teeth. 
 When he might spurn him with his foot away ? 
 It is war's prize to take all vantages; 
 And ten to one is no impeach of valor. 
 
 [^Tliey lay hands on York, who struggles 
 
 CUf. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin 
 
 North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 
 
 [York is taken prisoner, 
 lie. We boggled, failed. ^ Noontide point on the dial 
 
Sjene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 52?l 
 
 York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd 
 booty ; 
 Bo true men yield, with robbers so o'er-matched. 
 
 Nurlh. What would your grace have done unto 
 him now ] 
 
 Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northum- 
 berland, 
 Come make him .stand upon this molehill here. 
 That raught" at mountains with outstretched arms, 
 Yet parted hit the shadow with his hand. — 
 What! was it you that would be England's king"! 
 Was't you that rcvell'd in our parliament, 
 And made a preachment of your high descent! 
 Where are your mess of sons to back you now 1 
 The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? 
 And Where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
 Dickey, your boy, that with his grumbling voice. 
 Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies] 
 Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? 
 liook, York ; I stain'd this napkin with the blood 
 That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, 
 Made issue from the bosom of the boy : 
 And, if thine eyes can water for his death, 
 f give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
 Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, 
 [ should lament thy miserable state. 
 I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York; 
 Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. 
 What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails. 
 That not a tear can foil for Rutland's death? 
 Why art thou patient, man? thou should'stbe mad; 
 And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
 Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; 
 York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. — 
 A crown for York; — and, lords, bow low to him. — 
 Hold you his hands, wliilst I do set it on. — • 
 
 [rutting a paper Crown on his Head. 
 Ay, marry, sir, now looks lie like a king ! 
 Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair; 
 And this is he was his adopted heir. — 
 But how is it that great Plantagenct 
 Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? 
 As I bethink me, you should not be king, 
 Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. 
 And will you pale' your head in Henry's glory. 
 And rob his temples of the diadem, 
 IVow in his life, against your holy oath? 
 0, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable ! 
 Oif with the crown ; and with the crown, his head ; 
 And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. 
 
 CUf. That is my office, for my father's sake. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he 
 makes. 
 
 Yorli. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves 
 of France, 
 \A1-.OGe tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! 
 How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex, 
 '1\> tiiumph like an Amazonian trull, 
 Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates? 
 But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, 
 Made impudent with use of evil deeds, 
 I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush: 
 To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd, 
 Were shame enough to shame thee, wert tbou not 
 
 shameless. 
 Thy father bears the type' of king of Naples, 
 Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ; 
 
 • Reached. i Impale, encircle. 
 
 • The distinguishing mark. 
 
 Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
 Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? 
 It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen 
 Unless the adage must be verified, — 
 That beggars, mounted, run their horse to deatb 
 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; 
 But God he knows, thy share thereof is small. 
 'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd ; 
 The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 
 'Tis government,' that makes them seem divine; 
 The want thereof makes thee abominable; 
 Thou art as opposite to every good. 
 As the Antipodes are unto us, 
 Or as the south to the septentrion.' 
 O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide ! 
 How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the cnikl 
 To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, 
 And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? 
 Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; 
 Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 
 Bidst thou me rage ? why, now thou hast thy wish 
 Wouldst have me weep ? why, now thou hast thj 
 
 will: 
 For raging wind blows up incessant showers. 
 And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. 
 These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; 
 And every drop cries vengeance for his death, — 
 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, — and thee, false French- 
 woman. 
 North. Beshrewme,but hispassions^movemeso, 
 That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 
 
 York. That face of his the hungry cannibals 
 Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd 
 
 with blood : 
 But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, — 
 O, ten times more, — than tigers of Hyrcania. 
 See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: 
 This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, 
 And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
 Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this. 
 
 [He gives back the Handkerchief 
 And if thou tcll'st the heavy story right. 
 Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; 
 Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears. 
 And say, — Alas, it was a piteous deed! 
 There, take the crown, and with the crown, my 
 
 curse; 
 And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee, 
 As now I reap at thy too cruel hand ! — 
 Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world; 
 My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 
 
 North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, 
 I should not for my life but weep with him. 
 To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, weeping ripe, my lord Northum- 
 berland ? 
 Thmk but upon the wrong he did us all. 
 And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. 
 
 Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's 
 death. [Stabbing him. 
 
 Q.Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted 
 king. [Stabbing him. 
 
 York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! 
 My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. 
 
 [Dies 
 
 Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on Yorh 
 gates ; 
 So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt, 
 s Regularity of behavior « The north. ^ Sufferings 
 
530 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Plain near Mortimer's C7-oss in 
 Herefordshire. 
 
 Drums. Enter Edward and RicHAiin, with their 
 Forces, marching. 
 Ediv. I wonder, how our princely father 'scaped ; 
 Or whether he be 'scaped away or no, 
 From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; 
 Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; 
 Had he been slain, we should have heard the nevv's; 
 Or, had he 'scaped, methinks, we should have heard 
 The happy tidings of his good escape. — 
 How fares my brother 1 why is he so sad? 
 
 Mich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd 
 Where our right valiant father is become. 
 I saw him in the battle range about; 
 And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. 
 Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, 
 As doth a lion in a herd of neat :^ 
 Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; 
 Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, 
 The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
 So fared our father with his enemies ; 
 So fled his enemies my warlike father; 
 Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. 
 Sec how the morning opes her golden gates, 
 And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! 
 How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
 Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love ! 
 Ediv. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three sunsi 
 Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun ; 
 Not separated with the racking clouds,' 
 But sever'd in a pale clear shining sky. 
 See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss. 
 As if they vow'd some league inviolable: 
 Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
 In this the heaven figures some event. 
 
 Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never 
 I think, it cites us, brother, to the field ; [heard of. 
 That we, the sons of brave Plantagenct, 
 Each one already blazing by our meeds,' 
 Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together. 
 And overshine the earth, as this the world. 
 Whatc'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
 Upon my target three fair shining suns. 
 
 Rich. Nay, bear three daughters; by your leave 
 I speak it. 
 You love the breeder better than the male. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell 
 Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue 1 
 Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on, 
 When as the noble duke of York was slain. 
 Your princely father, and my loving lord. [much. 
 Ediv. O, speak no more ! for I have heard too 
 Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it ail. 
 Mess. Environed he was with many foes; 
 And stood against them as the hope of Troy° 
 Against the Greeks that would have cnter'd Troy. 
 But Hercules himself must yield to odds; 
 And many strokes, though with a little axe. 
 Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. 
 By many hands your father was subdued; 
 Bi\l only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 
 
 » Neat cattle, cows, oxen, &c. 
 
 * i. e. The clouds in rapid tumultuary motion. 
 
 I Merit. » Hector. 
 
 Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : 
 
 Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, 
 
 Liaugh'd in his face ; and, when with grief he wep» 
 
 The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, 
 
 A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
 
 Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slair. 
 
 And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, 
 
 They took his head, and on the gates of York 
 
 They set the same ; and there it doth remain, 
 
 The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. 
 
 Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon 
 Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay ! — 
 O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain 
 The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; 
 And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him. 
 For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee! — 
 Now my soul's palace is become a prison : 
 Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my body 
 Might in the ground be closed up in rest: 
 For never henceforth shall I joy again. 
 Never, O never, shall I see more joy. 
 
 Rich. I cannot weep : for all my body's moisture 
 Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart 
 Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden. 
 For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, 
 Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, 
 And burn me up with flames, that tears would 
 
 quench. 
 To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: 
 Tears, then, for babes; blows and revenge for me ! — 
 Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death. 
 Or die renowned by attempting it. 
 
 Ediv. His name that valiant duke hath left with 
 thee ; 
 His dukedom and his chair with me is left. 
 
 Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, 
 Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : 
 For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say 
 Or that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 
 March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with 
 Forces. 
 
 War. How now, fair lords'? What fare] what 
 news abroad ] 
 
 Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount 
 Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, 
 Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told. 
 The words would add more anguish than the wounds, 
 
 valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. 
 
 Edw. O Warwick ! Warwick ! that PlantageneJ 
 Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption. 
 Is by the stern lord Cliftbrd done to death. 
 
 War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears: 
 And now, to add more measure to your woes, 
 
 1 come to tell you things since then befall'n. 
 After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought. 
 Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, 
 Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, 
 Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. 
 
 I then in London, keeper of the king, 
 Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, 
 And very well appointed, as I thought, 
 March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the 
 
 queen. 
 Bearing the king in my behalf along: 
 For by my scouts I was advertised. 
 That she was coming with a full intent 
 
SCRNE IT. 
 
 KTNa HENRY VI. 
 
 531 
 
 To (lash our late decree in parliament, 
 Touching king Henry's oath and your succession. 
 Short talc to make,— we at Saint Alban's met, 
 Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought : 
 13 ut. whether 'twas the coldness of the king, 
 W ho l.iok'd full gently on his warlike queen, 
 That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen; 
 Or whether 'twas report of her success; 
 Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigor, 
 Who thunders to his captives— blood and death, 
 I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth. 
 Their weapons like to lightning came and went; 
 Our soldiers, -like the night-owl's lazy flight. 
 Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail — 
 Tell gertly down, as if they struck their friends. 
 I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, 
 With promise of high pay, and great rewards : 
 But all in vain; they had no heart to fight. 
 And we, in them, no hope to win the day, 
 So that we fled; the king unto the queen; 
 Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself. 
 In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you; 
 For in the marches here, we heard you were, 
 Making another head to fight again. 
 
 Edw. Where is the duke ofNorfolk, gentle War- 
 wick 1 
 And wb.en came George from Burgundy to Eng- 
 land 1 
 War. Some six miles off the duke is with the 
 soldiers : 
 And for your brother,— he was lately sent 
 From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, 
 With aid of soldiers to this needful war. 
 
 Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick 
 fled: 
 Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit. 
 But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. 
 
 War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou 
 hear : 
 For thoushalt know this strong right hand of mine 
 Can pluck the diadem from foint Henry's head, 
 And wring the awful sceptre from his fist; 
 Were he as famous and as bold in war. 
 As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. 
 
 Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame me not; 
 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. 
 But, in this troublous time, what's to be donel 
 Shall we go throv/ away our coats of steel, 
 And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns. 
 Numb' ring our Ave-Marics with our beads ": 
 Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
 Tell our devotion with revengeful arms] 
 If for the last, say — Ay, and to it, lords. 
 
 W 'ar. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you 
 out; 
 \\vl therefoie comes my brother Montague. 
 Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen. 
 With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, 
 And of their feather many more proud birds, 
 Have wrought the easy melting king like wax. 
 He swore consent to your succession. 
 His oath enrolled in the parliament: 
 And now to London all the crew are gone, 
 To frustrate both his oath, and what beside 
 May make against the house of Lancaster. 
 Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong : 
 Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself, 
 'A'ith all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, 
 \niongst the lo\'ng Welshmen canst procure, 
 U'ill hut amount 'o fiv« and twenty thousand, 
 
 Why, Via.' to London wfll we march amain; 
 And once again bestride our foaming steeds. 
 And once again cry — Charge upon our foes! 
 But never once again turn back and fly. 
 
 Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick 
 speak : 
 Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, 
 That cries— Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. 
 
 Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; 
 And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour !) 
 Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! 
 
 War. No longer earl of March, but duke of \ ork; 
 The next degree is England's royal throne: ^ 
 For king of England shalt thou be prDclaim'd 
 In every borough as we pass along: 
 And he" that throws not up his cap for joy. 
 Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
 King Edward,— valiant Richard,— Montague, — 
 Stay we no longer dreaming of renown. 
 But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 
 
 Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as 
 steel, 
 (As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,) 
 I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. 
 
 Edw. Then strike up, drums; — God, and saint 
 George, for us ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 War. How now] what newsl 
 
 Mess. The duke ofNorfolk sends you word by me 
 The queen is coming with a puissant host; 
 And craves your company for speedy counsel. ^ 
 
 War. Why then it sorts,' brave warriors: Lets 
 away. ^I^xeimz. 
 
 SCENE W.— Before York. 
 Enter King Heniit, Quekn Mahgahet, the 
 Prince of Whales, CLiFF0KD,a?i£/ Nouthusi 
 
 BERLAND, with FoTCCS. 
 
 Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town 
 of York. 
 Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy. 
 That sought to be encompass'd with your crown : 
 Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord 1 
 A'. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that feai 
 their wreck: 
 To see this sight, it irks my very soul. — 
 Withhold revenge, great God ! 'tis not my fault. 
 Not wittingly have I infringed my vow. 
 
 Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity 
 And harmful pity, must bu laid aside. 
 To whom do lions cast their gentle looks 1 
 Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
 Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick 1 
 Not his, that spoils her young before her iicc. 
 Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal eting? 
 Not he, that sets his loot upon her back. 
 . The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on , 
 And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. 
 Ambitious York did level at thy crown, 
 I Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows: 
 He but a duke, would have his son a Kiuc, 
 And raise his issue, like a loving sire, 
 Thou, being a king, biess'd with a goodly son. 
 Didst yield consent to disinherit him. 
 Which argued thee a most unloving father. 
 Unreasonable creatures feed their young : 
 And though man's face be fearful to their eye* 
 Yet, in protection of their tender ones, 
 
 ' Why then things are as tney should be. 
 
532 
 
 THIRD PART 0¥ 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Who hath not seen them (even with those wings 
 
 Which sometime they have used with fearful flight) 
 
 Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, 
 
 Offering their own Hves in their young's defence 1 
 
 For shame, my Hege, make them your precedent ! 
 
 Were it not pity that this goodly boy 
 
 Should lose his birthright by his father's fault ; 
 
 And long hereafter, say unto his child, — 
 
 What my great-grandfather and grandsire got, . 
 
 My careless father fondly' gave away ? 
 
 Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; 
 
 And let his manly face, which promiseth 
 
 Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart. 
 
 To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. 
 
 K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, 
 Inferring arguments of mighty tbrce. 
 But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear, — 
 That things ill got had ever bad success 1 
 And happy always was it for that son, 
 Whose father for his hoarding went to hell 1 
 I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
 And would, my father had left me no more ! 
 For all the rest is held at such a rate. 
 As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep. 
 Than in possession any jot of pleasure. 
 Ah, cousin York ! 'would thy best friends did know. 
 How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! [nigh, 
 
 Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are 
 And this soft courage makes your followers faint. 
 You promis'd knighthood to our forward son : 
 Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently. — 
 Edward, kneel down. 
 
 K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight ; 
 And learn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right. 
 
 Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, 
 I'll draw it as apparent to the crown. 
 And in that quarrel use it to the death. 
 
 CUf. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness : 
 For, with a band of thirty thousand men. 
 Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; 
 And, in the towns as they do march along, 
 Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: 
 Darraign your battle,' for they are at hand. 
 
 CUf. I would your highness would depart the field; 
 The queen hath best success when you are absent. 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our 
 fortune. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too ; therefore 
 I'll stay. 
 
 North. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. 
 
 Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords. 
 And hearten those that fight in your defence : 
 Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Sai7it 
 George.' 
 
 March. £'?rfer EDWAHn,GKORGE, Richard, War- 
 wick, Norfolk, Moxtague, and Soldiers. 
 Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for 
 grace. 
 
 And set thy diadem upon my head ; 
 
 Or bide the mortal fortune of the field 1 
 
 Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! 
 
 Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, 
 
 Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king ? 
 
 Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee ; 
 
 I was adopted heir by his consent: 
 
 Bince when, his oath is broke : for, as I hear, 
 
 » iioolishly. 
 
 » i. e. Arrange your order of battle. 
 
 You — that are king, tho'ijh he do wear th« 
 
 crown — 
 Have caus'd him, by new acts of parliament, 
 To blot out me, and put his own son in. 
 
 Clif And reason too ; 
 Who should succeed the father, but the son '? 
 Rich. Are you there, butcher"! — 0, 1 cannot speak, 
 Clif. Ay, crook-back ; here I stand to answer thee, 
 Or any he the proudest of thy sort. 
 
 Rick. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, waa 
 
 it notT 
 Clif Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 
 Rick, For God's sake, lords, give signal to the 
 
 fight. 
 War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield 
 
 the crown 1 
 Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwickl 
 dare you speak 1 
 When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, 
 Your legs did better service than your hands. 
 War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. 
 Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. 
 War. 'Twas not your valor, Clifford, drove me 
 
 thence. 
 North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make 
 
 you stay. 
 Rick. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently;^ 
 Break off the parle : for scarce I can refrain 
 The execution of my big swoln heart 
 Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 
 
 Clif. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child? 
 Rick. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, 
 As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; 
 But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. 
 K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and 
 
 hear me speak. 
 Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. 
 K. Hen. I pr'y thee, give no limits to my tongue 
 I am a king, and privileged to speak. 
 
 Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting 
 Cannot be cured by words ; therefore be still, [here, 
 Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword : 
 By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd,' 
 That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 
 
 Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no 1 
 A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day. 
 That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. 
 War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head ; 
 For York in justice puts his armor on. 
 
 Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is 
 There is no wrong, but every thing is right, [right, 
 Rick. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; 
 For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 
 
 Q.Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; 
 But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatick, 
 Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided. 
 As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings 
 
 Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,' 
 Whose father bears the title of a king, 
 (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) [fraught, 
 Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art ex- 
 To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ? 
 Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand 
 crowns, 
 To make this shameless called know herself.— 
 Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou. 
 Although thy husband may be Menelaus ; 
 And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 
 By that false woman, as this king by thee. 
 1 It is my firm persuasion. » Gilding. * Diab 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 KING HENRY Vl. 
 
 6Hb 
 
 His father reveli d in tLe he.Tt of France, 
 
 And tamed the king, and n? ide the dauphin stoop; 
 
 And had he match'd according to his state, 
 
 He might have kept tliat glory to this day: 
 
 But, when he took a heggar to his bed, 
 
 And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day ; 
 
 Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, 
 
 That wash'd his fathers fortunes forth of France, 
 
 And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
 
 For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? 
 
 Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; 
 
 And we, in pity of the gentle king. 
 
 Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 
 
 Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy 
 spring. 
 And that thy summer bred us no increase, 
 We set the axe to thy usurping root : 
 And though the edge hath something hit ourselves. 
 Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, 
 We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down. 
 Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. 
 
 Ediv. And, in this resolution, I defy" thee; 
 'Not willing any longer conference, 
 Since thou dcny'st the gentle king to speak. — 
 Sound trumpets! — let our bloody colors wave! — 
 And either victory, or else a grave. 
 
 Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 
 
 Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay; 
 These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. 
 
 \^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— yl Field of Baffle between Towton 
 a?id Saxton in Yorkshire. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick. 
 
 War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, 
 I lay me down a little while to breathe: 
 For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid. 
 Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 
 And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while. 
 
 Enter Edward, running. 
 
 Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle 
 death : 
 For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. 
 War. How now, my lord 1 what hap1 what hope 
 of good ? 
 
 Enter George. 
 Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; 
 Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us : 
 What counsel give you, whither shall we flyl 
 
 Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; 
 And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. 
 
 Enter Richard. 
 
 Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn 
 thyself? 
 Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, 
 Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance : 
 And in the very pangs of death, he cried, — 
 Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, — 
 Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death.' 
 So underneath the belly of their steeds, 
 'J'liat stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 
 Tile noble gentleman gave up the ghost. 
 
 U^«;-. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: 
 I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
 Why stand we like soft-hearted women here. 
 Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage? 
 And look upon, as if the tragedy 
 U'ere play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? 
 36 • 
 
 Here on my knee I vow to God above, 
 I'll never pause again, never stand still, 
 Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine. 
 Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 
 
 Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; 
 And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine;; 
 And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, 
 I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, 
 Thou setter up and plucker down of kings ! 
 Beseeching thee, — if with thy will it stands, 
 That to my foes this body must be prey, — 
 Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 
 And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! — 
 Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, 
 Where'er it be, in heaven or on earth. 
 
 Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; — and, gentle 
 Warwick, 
 Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : — 
 I, that did never weep, now melt with woe, 
 That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 
 
 War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet lords, fare 
 well. 
 
 Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops. 
 And give them leave to fly that will not stay ; 
 And call them pillars, that will stand to us ; 
 And if we thrive, promise them such revv'ards 
 As victors wear at the Olympian games : 
 This may plant courage in their quailing breasts 
 For yet is hope of life, and victory. — 
 Fore-slow' no longer, make we hence amain. 
 
 [Exeum. 
 
 SCENE lY.— The same. Aiwther Part of tlu 
 Field. 
 
 Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. 
 
 Rich, Now, Clitford, I have singled thee alone : 
 Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, 
 And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, 
 Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 
 
 Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone' 
 This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York ; 
 And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; 
 And here's the heart that triumphs in their death, 
 And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire anJ 
 
 brother, 
 To execute the like upon thyself; 
 And so have at thee. 
 
 \_They fight. Warwick e/i/e?-s/ C\.ivvomi fliett 
 
 Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase 
 For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE \.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter Kixg Henry. 
 
 K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's wai 
 When dying clouds contend with growing light; 
 What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails. 
 Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. 
 Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, 
 Forced by the tide to combat with the wind. 
 Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea 
 Forced to retire by fury of the wind ; 
 Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind' 
 Now, one the better; then, another best; 
 Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast 
 Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered: 
 So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
 Here on this molehill will I sit ine down 
 To whom God will, there be the vjctorv ' 
 = Ui» dilatory. 
 
bm 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Ac!T n 
 
 For Margaret, mj queen, and Clifford too. 
 Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both. 
 They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
 Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so : 
 For what is in this world, but grief and woel 
 O God ! methinks, it were a happy life, 
 To be no better than a homely swain ; 
 To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
 Thereby to see the minutes how they run : 
 How many make the hour full complete, 
 How many hours bring about the day, 
 Fow many days will linish up the year, 
 
 ow many years a mortal man may live. 
 When this is known, then to divide the times: 
 So many hours must I tend my flock; 
 So many hours must I take my rest; 
 So many hours must I contemplate; 
 So many hours must I sport myself; 
 So many days my ewes have been with young; 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
 So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: 
 So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, 
 Pass'd over to the end they were created. 
 Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
 Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ! 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 
 Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
 To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery 1 
 O, yes it doth: a thousand fold it doth. 
 And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely cuvds, 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup. 
 His body couched in a curious bed, 
 \N hen care, mistrust, and treason, wait on him. 
 
 Alarum. Enter a Son, that has killed his Father, 
 dragging in the dead Body. 
 Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody. — 
 This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight. 
 May be possessed with some store of crowns: 
 And I, that haply take them from him now. 
 May yet ere night yield both my life and them 
 To some man else, as this dead man doth me. — 
 Who's this ? — O God ! it is my father's face, 
 Whom in this conflict 1 unawares have kill'd. 
 O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
 From London by the king was I press'd forth; 
 My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, 
 Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; 
 And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life. 
 Have by my hands of life bereaved him. — 
 Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! — 
 And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! — 
 My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks • 
 And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. 
 
 K. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times! 
 Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens. 
 Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. — 
 Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; 
 And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, 
 Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. 
 Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with 
 the Body in his arms. 
 
 Path. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me. 
 Give me thy g(ld, if thou hast any gold; 
 
 For I have bought it with an hundred blows. — 
 
 But let mc see: — is this our foeman's face I 
 
 Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! — 
 
 Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee. 
 
 Throw up thine eye ; see, see, what showers arise 
 
 Blown with the windy tempest of my heart. 
 
 Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart ' 
 
 O, pity, God, this miserable age ! — 
 
 What stratagems,* how fell, how butcherly, 
 
 Erroneous, mutinous, and vmnatural. 
 
 This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! — 
 
 boy, thy father gave thee life too soon. 
 
 And hath bereft thee of thy life too late ! 
 
 K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than com- 
 mon grief! 
 O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! 
 O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity ! — 
 The red rose and the white are on his lace, 
 The fetal colors of our striving houses : 
 The one, his purple blood right well resembles* 
 The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present: 
 Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ! 
 If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 
 
 Son. How will my mother, for a father's death, 
 Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied ] 
 
 Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, 
 Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied 1 
 
 K. Hen. How will the country, for these wofuJ 
 chances, 
 Misthink the king, and not be satisfied 1 
 
 Son. Was ever son, so rued a father's death? 
 
 Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son 1 
 
 K. i/£». Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woel 
 Much is your sorrow ; mine, ten times so much. 
 
 Sun. I'll bear thee hence, where I maj' weep my 
 fill. l^Exit, with the Body. 
 
 Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy wind- 
 ing-sheet; 
 My heart, sweet boy. shall be thy sepulchre ; 
 For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go 
 My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell, 
 And so obsequious' will thy fether be. 
 Sad for the loss of thee, having no more. 
 As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 
 I'll bear thee hence ; and let them fight that will. 
 For I have murder'd where I should not kill. 
 
 [^Exii, with the Body 
 
 K.Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with 
 care. 
 Here sits a king more woful than you are. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Marga 
 RET, Pbixce of Wales, CMC? Exkteu. 
 
 Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are dec 
 And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : 
 Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 
 
 Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick 
 post amain: 
 Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds 
 Having the fearful flying hare in sight, 
 With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath. 
 And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands. 
 Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain. 
 
 Exe. Away! for vengea nee comes along with theiu 
 Nay, sta}' not to expostulate, make speed • 
 Or else come after, I'll away before. 
 
 K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good swctf 
 Exeter; 
 
 * i. e. Dreadful events. 
 
 s Csrefnl of obsequies, or funeral rites 
 
Scene VI 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 535 
 
 Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
 
 Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE YI.— T/ie same. 
 
 A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. 
 
 Cllf. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies. 
 Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. 
 0, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow, 
 More than my body's parting with my soul. 
 My love, and fear, glued many friends to thee ; 
 And now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. 
 Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York, 
 The common people swarm like summer flies : 
 And whither fly the gnats, but to the sunl 
 And who shines now but Henry's enemies'! 
 
 Phcebus! hadst thou never given consent 
 That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds. 
 Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth; 
 And Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, 
 Or as thy father, and his father did, 
 
 Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
 They never then had sprung like summer flies; 
 [, and ten thousand in this luckless realm. 
 Had left no mourning widows for our death. 
 And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. 
 For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air 1 
 And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? 
 bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; 
 No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight : 
 The foe is merciless, and will not pity; 
 For, at their haniis, I have deserv'd no pity. 
 The air hath gvit into my deadly wounds, 
 And much effuse of blood doth make me faint: — 
 '^ome, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; 
 
 1 stabb'd your father's bosoms, split my breast. 
 
 [i/e faints. 
 
 Alarum and Retreat, Enter Edward, George, 
 Richard, Montague, Warwick, anc? Soldiers. 
 
 Edw. Now breathe we, lords ; good fortune bids 
 us pause, 
 And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. 
 Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ; — 
 That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 
 As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 
 Command an argosy to stem the waves. 
 But think you, lords, that ClitTord fled with them] 
 
 War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape: 
 For, though before his face I speak the words, 
 Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave : 
 And, wlieresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. 
 
 [Clifford groans and dies. 
 Edu: Whose soul is that which takes her heavy 
 
 leave 1 
 Riclu A deadly groan, like lil» and death's de- 
 parting. 
 Edw. See who it is : and, now the battle's ended. 
 If friend, or foe, let him be gently used. 
 
 A' if //.Revoke that doom of mercy for 'tis Clifford; 
 Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
 In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth. 
 But set his murdering knite unto the root 
 "■'rom whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, 
 mear, your princely father, duke of York. 
 War From off the gates of York fetch down 
 the head. 
 
 Your father's head, which Clifford placed there. 
 Instead whereof, let this supply the room ; 
 Measure lor measure must be answered. 
 
 Ediv. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to oui 
 house. 
 That nothing sung but death to us and ours: 
 Now death shall stoffhis dismal threatening sound, 
 And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 
 
 [Attendants li7-ing the Body forward. 
 
 War. I think his understanding is bereft : — 
 Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee] 
 Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, 
 And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. 
 
 Rich. O, 'would he did ! and so, perhaps, he doth 
 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, 
 Because he would avoid such bitter taunts, 
 Wliich in the time of death he gave our father. 
 
 Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eagei 
 words.^ 
 
 Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace, 
 
 Edw. Cliflbrd, repent in bootless penitence. 
 
 War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. 
 
 Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. 
 
 Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to 
 York. 
 
 Ediv. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. 
 
 Geo.Where's captain Margaret to fence you now] 
 
 War. They mock thee, Clifford ! swear as thou 
 wast wont. 
 
 Rick. What, not an oath ] nay then the world 
 goes hard, 
 When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath :- 
 I know by that he's dead ; And, by my soul, 
 If this right hand would buy two hours' life, 
 That I in all despite might rail at him. 
 This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing 
 
 blood 
 Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst 
 York and young Rutland could not satisfy. 
 
 War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's head, 
 And rear it in the place your father's stands. — 
 And now to London with triumphant march, 
 There to be crowned England's royal king; 
 From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, 
 And ask the lady Bona for thy queen: 
 So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ; 
 And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread 
 The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again ; 
 For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt. 
 Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears 
 First, will I see the coronation ; 
 And then to Britany I'll cross the sea. 
 To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 
 
 Edw. E ven as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be: 
 For on thy shoulder do I build my seat; 
 And never will I undertake the thing, 
 Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. — 
 Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster; — 
 And George, of Clarence — Warwick, as ourse'f, 
 Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. 
 
 Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of 
 Gloster; 
 For Glostcr's dukedom is too ominous. 
 
 War. Tut, that's a foolish observation ; 
 Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London, 
 To see these honors in possession. [^Ereuni 
 
 ' Sour ^ords : vorUs of asperity 
 
536 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act [II 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ Chase in the North of England. 
 Enter two Kecpcrs,iuifk Cross-bows in their hands. 
 
 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll 
 
 Khroud ourselves; 
 For through this laund^ anon the deer will come; 
 \nd in this covert will wc make our stand, 
 Culling the principal of all the deer. 
 
 2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 
 
 1 Keep. That cannot be ; the noise of thy cross- 
 
 bow 
 Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 
 Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: 
 And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 
 I'll tell thee what befell lie on a day. 
 In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 
 
 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be 
 
 past. 
 
 EtiterKiyo liv.s'RY,disgicised,with a Prayer-book. 
 
 K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure 
 love. 
 To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. 
 No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; 
 Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee. 
 Thy balm wash'dolT, wherewith thou wast anointed: 
 No bending knee will call thee Csesar now. 
 No humble suitors press to speak for right. 
 No, not a man comes for redress of thee. 
 For how can I help them, and not myself? 
 
 1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's 
 
 fee: 
 This is the quotidam king; let's seize upon him. 
 
 K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities: 
 For wise men say, it is the wisest course. 
 
 2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon 
 
 him. 
 
 1 Keep. Forbear awhile : Vc'll hear a little more. 
 
 K. Hen. My queen and son, are gone to France 
 for aid ; 
 And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 
 Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
 To wife for Edward : If this news be true. 
 Poor queen and son, your labor is but lost; 
 For Warwick is a subtle orator. 
 And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. 
 By this account, then, Margaret may win him ; 
 For she's a woman to be pitied much: 
 Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; 
 Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ; 
 The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn ; 
 And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 
 To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. 
 Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give: 
 She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry ; 
 He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. 
 She weeps, and says — ber Henry is depos'd ; 
 He smiles, and says — his Edward is install'd ; 
 That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more : 
 Whiles Warwick tells his titles, smooths the wrong, 
 Int rreth arguments of mighty strength; 
 At d, in conclusion, wins the king from her. 
 With promise of his sister, and what else, 
 To strengthen and support king Edward's place. 
 Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor soul, 
 *rf then forsaken as thou went'st forlorn. 
 ' A plain extended between woods. 
 
 2 Keep. Say, what art thou, tha -alk'st of king! 
 
 and queens? 
 K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was 
 born to : 
 A man at least, for less I should not be ; 
 And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 
 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king 
 A'. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind ; and that'a 
 
 enough. 
 2 Keep. But if thou be a king, where is thy 
 
 crown ; 
 K. He7i. My crown is in my heart,not on my head: 
 Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones. 
 Nor to be seen : my crown is call'd, content ; 
 A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. 
 
 2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with 
 content. 
 Your crown content, and you, must be contented 
 To go along with us: for, as we think. 
 You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd; 
 And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance. 
 Will apprehend you as his enemy. 
 
 K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an 
 
 oath? 
 2 Keep. No, never such an oath, nor will not now. 
 K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king 
 
 of England ? 
 2 Keep. Here in this country, where we nov^ 
 
 remain. 
 K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old; 
 My father and my grandfather, were kings; 
 And you were sworn true subjects unto me: 
 And, tell me then, have you not broke your oaths! 
 
 1 Keep. No; 
 For we were subjects but while you were king. 
 K. Hen. Why, am I dead ? do I not breathe a 
 man? 
 Ah, simple men, you know not what you sweai. 
 Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 
 And as the air blows it to me again, 
 Obeying with my wind when I do blow. 
 And yielding to another when it blows. 
 Commanded always by the greater gust; 
 Such is the lightness of you common men 
 But do not break your oaths; for, of that sin 
 My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
 Go where you will, the king shall be commanded 
 And be you kings : command, and I'll obey. 
 
 1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king 
 
 Edward. 
 K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, 
 If he were seated as king Edward is, 
 
 1 Keep. We charge you in God's name, ana in 
 the king's. 
 To go with us unto the officers. 
 
 K. Hen. In God's name lead; your king's name 
 be obey'd : 
 And what God will, then let your king perform; 
 And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [^Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KmG Edwaiid, Glosteh, Clarence, and 
 Ladt Grey. 
 
 K. Ediv. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field 
 This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain. 
 
r 
 
 8CENE II. 
 
 KING HENRY V 
 
 hS^ 
 
 His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror: 
 Her suit is now, to repossess those lands ; 
 Which -we in justice cannot well deny, 
 Because in quarrel of the house of York 
 The worthy gentleman did lose his life. 
 
 Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; 
 It were dishonor, to deny it her. 
 
 A'. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. 
 Glo. Yea ! is it so ? 
 I see, the lady hath a thing to grant. 
 Before the king will grant her humble suit. 
 
 Cla. He knows the game ; How true he keeps the 
 wind ? [Aside. 
 
 (??o. Silence ! [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; 
 And come some other time to know our mind. 
 
 L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: 
 May it please your highness to resolve me now; 
 And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. 
 
 Glo. [Aside.'\ Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you 
 all your lands, 
 Kn if what pleases him, shall pleasure you. 
 Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. 
 Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Glo. God forbid that ! for he'll take vantages. 
 
 [Aside. 
 K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow ? 
 
 tell me. 
 Glar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Glo. Naj', whip me then ; he'll rather give her two. 
 
 [Aside. 
 L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. 
 Glo. You shall have four, ifyou'U berul'd by him. 
 
 [Aside. 
 K. Edw. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's 
 
 land. 
 
 L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. 
 
 K. Edw. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's 
 
 wit. [leave, 
 
 Glo. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have 
 
 nil youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. 
 
 [(jrLOSTER and Clarence retire to the other side. 
 
 K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your 
 
 children ? 
 £. Grcij. Ay, full as dearly as I love mj'self. 
 A". Edw. And would you not do much to do them 
 
 good? 
 L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some 
 harm. [good. 
 
 K.Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do them 
 L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. 
 K. Edio. I'll tell you how these lauds are to be got. 
 L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' 
 
 service. 
 K. Edw. AVhat service wilt thou do me, if I give 
 
 them ? 
 L. Grey. What 3'ou command, that rests in me to 
 
 do. 
 K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. 
 L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. 
 K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. 
 L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace 
 
 commands. 
 Glo. He plies her hard ; and much rain wears the 
 marble. [Aside. 
 
 Clar. As red as fire ! nay, then her wax must melt. 
 
 [Aside. 
 L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my 
 
 ta.^ck ? 
 K. Edw. An easy task : 'tis but to love a king. 
 L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a 
 
 subject. 
 K. Edw'. AVhy then, thy husband's lands I freely 
 give thee. 
 
 L. Grey. I take my Icwe with many thousand 
 
 thanks. 
 Glo. The match is made; she seals it with a curt'sy. 
 K.Edw. But sta J' thee, 'tis the fruits (if love I mean. 
 L. Grey. Tliefruitsof love I mean, my lovingljego. 
 A'^ Edw. Aye, but, I fenr mc, in aiidi^hcr sense. 
 What love, think'st thou, I sue so mucli to get? 
 L. Grey. My love till death, my huuilile thanka, 
 my prayers ; 
 That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants. 
 A'. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such lovo. 
 L. Grey. Why then you mean not as I thought you 
 did. [mind. 
 
 K. Ediv. But now you partly may perceive my 
 L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive 
 Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. 
 
 K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with theo. 
 L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie ia 
 
 prison. 
 K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy hus- 
 band's lands. 
 L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my 
 For by that loss I will not purchase them, [dower ; 
 K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children 
 
 mightily. 
 L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them 
 and mc. 
 But, mighty lord, this merry inclination 
 Accords not with the sadness of my suit; 
 Please you, dismiss me, either with ay, or no. 
 
 K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say ay, to my request : 
 No ; if thou dost say no, to my demand. 
 
 L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end, 
 Glo. The widow likes him not ; she knits her brow.s. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. 
 
 [Aside. 
 K. Edw. [Aside."] Her looks do argue her replete 
 with modesty ; 
 Her words do show her wit incomparable; 
 All her perfections challenge sovereignty : 
 One way, or other, she is for a king; 
 And slic shall bo my love, or else my queen. — 
 Say, tliat king Edward take thee for his queen ? 
 
 L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious 
 I am a subject fit to jest withal, [lord : 
 
 But far unfit to be a sovereign. 
 
 A'. Edic. Sweet widow, by my state I jwear to 
 thee, 
 I speak no more than what my soul intends ; 
 And that is to enjoy thee for my love. 
 
 L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto. 
 I know, I am too mean to be your queen ; 
 And yet too good to be your concubine. 
 
 L. Edw. You cavil, widow ; I did mean my queen. 
 L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my sons should 
 
 call j'ou — father. 
 K. Edw. No more, than when my daughters call 
 theo mother. 
 Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; 
 And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor. 
 Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing 
 To be the father unto many sons. 
 Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. 
 Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. 
 
 [Aside, 
 Clar^ When he was made a shriver, 'twas forf.hiffc. 
 
 [Aside, 
 K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two 
 
 have had. 
 Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks saa. 
 A". Edw. You'd think it strange if I should marry 
 
 her. 
 Clar. To whom, mj'lord? 
 K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. 
 
 Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at tho leosA 
 
b6S 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act TTl 
 
 Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 
 Glo. By so much is the woi.der in extremes. 
 K. Ediv. Well, jest on, i rothers, I can tell you 
 both. 
 Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. 
 
 Enter a Nobleman. 
 
 ISoh. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, 
 And brDught your prisoner to your palace gate. 
 
 K. Edw. Sec that he be convey'd unto the Tower. 
 And go we, brothers, to the man that took him. 
 To question of his apprehension. — 
 Widow, go you along ; lords, use her honorable. 
 [^Exeunt King Edward, Lady Grey, 
 Clarence, and Lord. 
 
 Gh. Ay, Edward will use women honorably. 
 Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, 
 That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring. 
 To cross me from the golden time I look for ! 
 And yet, between my soul's desire and me, 
 (The lustful Edward's title buried,) 
 Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
 And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, 
 To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: 
 A cold premeditation for my purpose ! 
 Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty ; 
 Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
 And spies a far-offshore where he would tread, 
 Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; 
 And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, 
 Saying — he'll lade it dry to have his way : 
 So do I wish the crown, being so far off; 
 And so I chide the means that keep me from it ; 
 And so I say — I'll cut the causes off. 
 Flattering me with impossibilities. — 
 My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, 
 Unless my hand and strength could equal them. 
 Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard ; 
 Wliat other pleasure can the world afford ? 
 I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, 
 I'll deck my body in gay ornaments, 
 And witch swc^'t ladies with my words and looks. 
 O miserable thought! and more unlikely, 
 Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! 
 Why, love foreswore me in my mother's womb: 
 And, for I should not deal in her soft laws. 
 She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe 
 To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; 
 To make an envious mountain on my back, 
 AVhere sits deformity to mock my body; 
 To shape my legs of an unequal size ; 
 To disproportion me in every part. 
 Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp. 
 That carries no impression like the dam. 
 And am I then a man to be belov'd ] 
 O, monstrous fault, to harbor such a thought! 
 Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, 
 But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 
 As are of better person than myself, 
 I'll make my heaven — to dream upon the crown; 
 And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, 
 Until my mis-shap'd trunk, that bears this head. 
 Be round impaled^ with a glorious crown. 
 And yet I know not how to get the crown. 
 For many lives stand between me and home : 
 And I, — like one lost in a thorny wood. 
 That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns ; 
 Becking a way, and straying from the way ; 
 Not knowhig how to find the open air, 
 
 • Enchcled, 
 
 But toiling desperately to find it out, — 
 
 Torment myself to catch the English crown: 
 
 And from that torment I will free myself. 
 
 Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 
 
 Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile, 
 
 And cry, content, to that which grieves my hear^ 
 
 And wet my checks with artificial tears, 
 
 And frame my face to all occasions. 
 
 I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; 
 
 I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; 
 
 I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, 
 
 Deceive more slily than Ulysses could. 
 
 And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. 
 
 I can add colors to the cameleon ; 
 
 Change sha])cs, with Proteus, for advantages, 
 
 And set the murd'rous Machiavcl to school. 
 
 Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? 
 
 Tut I were it further off, I'd pluck it down. [Exit 
 
 SCENE III.— France. A Room in the I'alace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, and 
 Lauy liosx, attended; the King tah-es his state. 
 Then enter Quf.kx MAiiGAiiii-r, Puinck Eii« 
 WAiiii her Sun, and the Eaiil of Oxford. 
 
 K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Mar- 
 garet, \_Rising, 
 Sit down with us; it ill befits thy state. 
 And birth, that thou shouldst stand, while Lewis 
 doth sit. 
 Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France ; now Mar 
 garet 
 Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve. 
 Where kings command. I was, I must confess. 
 Great Albion's queen in former golden days: 
 But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
 And with dishonor laid me on the ground. 
 Where I must take like seat unto my fortune. 
 And to my humble seat conform myself. 
 
 K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs 
 
 this deep despair] 
 Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes 
 with tears, 
 And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in 
 cares. 
 K. Lew. Whate'cr it be, be thou still like thyself 
 And sit thee by our side: yield not thy neck 
 
 [^Seats her by him 
 To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
 Still ride in triumph over all mischance. 
 Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; 
 It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. 
 
 Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my droop 
 ing thoughts, 
 And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. 
 Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, — 
 That Henry, sole possessor of my love. 
 Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, 
 And forced to live in Scotland a forloi'n ; 
 While proud ambitious Edward duke of ^ork. 
 Usurps the regal title, and the seat 
 Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
 This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret, — 
 With this my son, prince Edward, Henry t 
 
 heir, — 
 Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; 
 And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done: 
 Scotland hath will to help, hut cannot help ; 
 Our people and our peers are both misled. 
 Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight, 
 And, as thou seest. ourselves in heavy plight. 
 
i'CENE III. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 539 
 
 K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm 
 the storm, 
 While we bethink a means to break it off. 
 
 Q. Ma?: The more we stay, the stronger gi-o\vs 
 
 our foe. 
 K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll succor thee. 
 Q. Mar. 0, but impatience waitcth on true sorrow: 
 A.nd see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. 
 
 Enter Wakwick, attended. 
 
 K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our 
 presence ] 
 
 Q. Mar. Our carl of Warwick, Edward's greatest 
 friend. 
 
 K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What brings 
 thee to France] 
 [^Descending from his state. Queex MAnoAnET 
 rises. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; 
 For this is he, that moves both wind and tide. 
 
 War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, 
 My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
 I come, — in kindness, and unfeigned love, — 
 First, to do greetings to thy royal person; 
 And, then, to crave a league of amity; 
 And, lastly, to confirm that amity 
 With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
 That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, 
 To England's king in lawful marriage. 
 
 Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. 
 
 War. And, gracious madam, [7b Bona.] in our 
 king's behalf, 
 I am commanded, with your leave and favor. 
 Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
 To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart: 
 Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears. 
 Hath placed thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. 
 
 Q. Mar. King Lewis, — and Lady Bona, — hear 
 me speak, 
 Before you answer Warwick. His demand 
 Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, 
 But from deceit, bred by necessity; 
 For how can tyrants safely govern home. 
 Unless abroad they purchase great alliance 1 
 To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice, — 
 That Henry liveth still : but were he dead. 
 Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son. 
 Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and mar- 
 riage 
 Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonor: 
 For though usurpers sway the rule awhile. 
 Yet heavens are just, and time supprcsseth wrongs. 
 
 War. Injurious Margaret. 
 
 Prince. And why not queen? 
 
 War. Because thy father Henry did usurp; 
 And thou no more art prince, than she is queen. 
 
 Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of 
 Gaunt, 
 Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain; 
 And after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
 Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; 
 And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
 Who by his prowess conquered all France: 
 From these our Henry lineally descends. 
 
 War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth dis- 
 comse, 
 Vou told no*, how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
 All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten] 
 Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that, 
 But for the rest, — You tell a pedigree 
 
 Of three-score and two years, a silly time 
 To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 
 
 Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against 
 thy liege. 
 Whom thou obeyedst thirty-and-six years, 
 And not bewray thy treason witii a blush"? 
 
 War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, 
 Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree] 
 For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king. 
 
 Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom 
 My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, 
 Was done to death ] and more than so my fatlvti, 
 Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years. 
 When nature brought him to the door of death? 
 No, Warwick, no ; while life upholds this arm, 
 This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 
 
 War. And I the house of York. 
 
 K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and 
 Oxford, 
 Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside. 
 While I use further conference with Warwick. 
 
 Q. Mar. Heaven grant that Warwick's words 
 bewitch him not! 
 [Retiring with the Prince and Oxford, 
 
 K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy 
 conscience. 
 Is Edward your true king] for I were loath. 
 To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 
 
 War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honor. 
 
 A'. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye? 
 
 War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. 
 
 K. Lew. Then further, — all dissembling set aside. 
 Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
 Unto our sister Bona. 
 
 Wai: Such it seems, 
 
 As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
 Myself have often heard him say, and swear, — 
 That this his love was an eternal plant; 
 Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground. 
 The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun; 
 Exempt from envy, but not from disdain. 
 Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. 
 
 K. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. 
 
 Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine. 
 Yet I confess, [7'o Waii.] that often ere this day. 
 When I have heard your king's desert recounted, 
 Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 
 
 A'. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus, — Our sistei 
 shall be Edward's; 
 And now forthwith shall articles be drixwn 
 Touching the jointure that your king must make, 
 Which with her dowry shall be countcrpois'd:— 
 Draw near, queen Margaret; and be a witness, 
 That Bona sliall be wife to the English king. 
 
 Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. 
 
 Q.Mar. Deceitful W^arvvick! it was thy device 
 By this alliance to make void my suit; 
 Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. 
 
 K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margaret 
 But if your title to the crown be weak, — 
 As may appear by Edward's good success. — 
 Then 'tis but reason that I be relcas'd 
 From giving aid, whiili late I promised. 
 Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand, 
 That your estate requires, and mine can yield. 
 
 War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his case 
 Where having nothing, nothing he can lose. 
 And as tor you yourself, our quondam queen, — 
 You have a father able to maintain you; 
 And better 'twere you troubled him than Vrance. 
 
MO 
 
 THIRD PART 01 
 
 Act hi. Scene 111 
 
 Q. Ma?: Peace, impudent and shameless War- 
 wick, peace ; 
 Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings ! 
 I will not hence, till with my talk and tears, 
 Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold 
 Thy sly conveyance,' and thy lord's false love; 
 For both of you are birds of self-same feather.^ 
 
 [^ Ho}-n sounded within. 
 K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you; 
 Sent from your brother, marquis Montague. 
 These from our king unto your majesty. — 
 .\nd, madam, these for you ; from whom I know not. 
 l^To MARGARr.T. They all read their Letters. 
 Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress 
 Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. 
 Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he 
 were nettled; 
 I hope all's for the best. 
 
 K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy newsl and 
 
 yours, fair queen 7 
 Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop'd 
 
 joys- 
 War. Mine, full of sonow, and heart's discontent. 
 K. Lew. What ! has your king married the lady 
 Grey 1 
 And now, to soothe your forgery and his. 
 Sends me a paper to persuade me patience 1 
 Fs this the alliance that he seeks with France ? 
 Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? 
 
 Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before: 
 This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's hon- 
 esty. 
 War. King Lewis, I here protest, — in sight of 
 heaven, 
 And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, — 
 That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's; 
 No more my king, for he dishonors me ; 
 But most himself, if he could see his shame. — 
 Did I forget, that by the house of York 
 My father came untimely to his death ? 
 Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece? 
 Did I impale him with the regal crown ? 
 Did I put Henry from his native right; 
 And am I guerdon'd" at the last with shame? 
 Shame on himself! for my desert is honor. 
 And to repair my honor lost for him, 
 I here renounce hitn, and return to Henry: 
 My noble queen, let former grudges pass, 
 And henceforth I am thy true servitor; 
 I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona, 
 And replant Henry in his former state. 
 
 Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have tum'd my 
 hate to love; 
 And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 
 And joy that thou becom'st kmg Henry's friend. 
 
 War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, 
 That, if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us 
 With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
 ['11 undertake to land them on our coast. 
 And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
 "I'is not his new-made bride shall succor him : 
 And as for Clarence, — as my letters tell me, 
 He's very likely new to fall from him ; 
 For matching more for wanton lust than honor, 
 Or than for strength or safety of our country. 
 » Juggling. ' Eewarded. 
 
 Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be re 
 venged. 
 But by thy help to this distressed queen? 
 
 Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Hcnrj 
 live, 
 Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? 
 
 Bona. My quarrel, and this English queen's, arc 
 
 one. 
 War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. 
 K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and 
 Margaret's. 
 Therefore at last, I firmly am resolv'd, 
 You shall have aid. 
 
 Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at 
 
 once. 
 K. Lew. Then England's messenger, return in 
 post; 
 And tell false Edward, thy supposed king. — 
 That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, 
 To revel it with him and his new bride : 
 Thou seest what's past, go fear' thy king withal. 
 Bona, Tell him. In hope he'll prove a widower 
 shortly, 
 I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. 
 
 Q. Mar. Tell him. My mourning weeds are laid 
 aside. 
 And I am ready to put armor on. 
 
 War. Tell him from me. That he hath done ma 
 wrong; 
 And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. 
 There's thy reward: begone. [Exit Mess, 
 
 K. Lew. But, Warwick, thou, 
 
 And Oxford, with five thousand men. 
 Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle 
 And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
 And prince shall follow with a fi-esh supply. 
 Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt; — 
 What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ? 
 
 War. This shall assure my constant loyalty: — 
 That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
 I'll join mine eldest daughter, and my joy, 
 To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 
 
 Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for you 
 motion : — 
 Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, 
 Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick: 
 And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, 
 That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 
 
 Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it : 
 And here to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 
 
 [i/e gives his hand to Waiiwick. 
 K. Lew. Why stay we now ? These soldiers shall 
 be levied. 
 And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral. 
 Shall waft them over with our royal fleet. — 
 I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance, 
 For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Warwick 
 War. I came from Edward as ambassador. 
 But I return his sworn and mortal foe: 
 Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me. 
 But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
 Had he none else to make a stale,' but me? 
 Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
 I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown, 
 And I'll be chief to bring him down again : 
 Not that I pity Henry's misery. 
 But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exii 
 a Frighten. ' A stalking-b wse, a preter.,-e 
 
\CT fV. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 541 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Glosteii, Clahexce, Somerset, Mon- 
 tague, and others. 
 
 Glo. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what thmk 
 you 
 Of this new marriage with the lady Grey ? 
 Hath not our brother made a worthy choice 1 
 
 Clar- Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France; 
 How '■ould he stay till Warwick made return 1 
 So/ii. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes the 
 king. 
 
 Flourish, Enter Kmo 'Edward, attended; Ladt 
 GnET, as Queen,- Pembroke, Stafford, Hast- 
 ings, and others. 
 Glo. And his well-chosen bride. 
 Clar. I xiind to tell him plamly what L'think. 
 A'. Edt), Now, brother of Clarence, how like 
 you our choice. 
 That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? 
 Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl 
 of Warwick ; 
 Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment. 
 That they'll take no offence at our abuse. 
 
 K.Edw. Suppose they take offence without a cause. 
 
 They are but Lewis and Warwick ; I am Edward, 
 
 Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. 
 
 Glo. And you shall have your will, because our 
 
 king: 
 
 \ et hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 
 
 K. Edu>. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended 
 
 too'? 
 Glo. Not I: 
 No; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd 
 Whom God hathjoin'd together: ah, and 'twere pity, 
 To sunder them that yoke so well together. 
 
 K. Edw. Setting your scorns, and your mislike, 
 aside, 
 Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey 
 Should not become my wife, and England's queen: — 
 And you too, Somerset, and Montague, 
 Speak freely what you think. 
 
 Clar. Then this is my opinion, — that king Lewis 
 Becomes your enemy, for mocking him 
 About the marriage of the lady Bona. 
 
 Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, 
 Is now dishonored by this new marriage. 
 
 K. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be 
 appeas'd, 
 B)' such invention as I can devise? 
 
 Mc7it. Yet to have join'd with France in such 
 alliance. 
 Would more have strengthcn'd this our common- 
 wealth 
 'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred mar- 
 riage. 
 Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself 
 tingland is safe, if true within itself? 
 
 Mont. Yes; :ut the safer, when 'tis back'd with 
 
 France. 
 Hast. 'Tis better using France, than trusting 
 France : 
 Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas. 
 Which he hath given for fence impregnable. 
 And with their helps only defend ourselves; 
 [q them, and in ourselves, our safety lies. 
 
 Clar. For this one speech, lord Hastings well 
 deserves 
 To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. 
 
 K. Edw. Ah, what of that? it was my will, and 
 grant; 
 And, for this once, my will shall stand for law. 
 
 Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath n:t 
 done well, 
 To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales 
 Unto the brother of your loving bride; 
 She better would have fitted me, or Clarence- 
 But in your bridj you bury brotherhood. 
 
 Clar. Or else yau would not have bestow'd the he« 
 Of the lord Bonvillc on your new wife's ."on. 
 And leave your brothers to go speed elsewix'-e. 
 
 K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife, 
 That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. 
 
 Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd your 
 judgment; 
 Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
 To play the broker in mine own behalf; 
 And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. 
 
 K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, 
 And not be tied unto his brother's will. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty 
 To raise my state to title of a queen. 
 Do me but right, and you must all confess 
 That I was not ignoble of descent. 
 And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
 But as this title honors me and mine, 
 So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing. 
 Do cloud my joys with danger and with soitow. 
 
 K. Edw. iWy love, forbear to fawn upon theii 
 frowns : 
 What danger, or what sorrow can befall thee, 
 So long as Edward is thy constant friend. 
 And their true sovereign, whom they must obey! 
 Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
 Unless they seek for hatred at my hands: 
 Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe. 
 And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. 
 
 Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the 
 more. \Aside. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what 
 news. 
 From France? 
 
 Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters; and few 
 words. 
 But such as I without your special pardon, 
 Dare not relate. 
 
 K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, iu 
 brief. 
 Tell me their words as near as thou canst guest 
 
 them. 
 What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters! 
 Mess. At my depart these were his very words 
 Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, — 
 That Lewis of France is sending over mashers, 
 To revel it ivith him and his new bride. 
 
 K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave? belike, he thmk 
 me Henry. 
 But what said lady Bona to my marriage? 
 
 Mess. These were her words, utter'd with raild 
 disdain: 
 
042 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Tell htm, in liopt heUl prove a wiaouer shortly, 
 I'll loear the willow garland for his sake. 
 
 K. Echo. I blame not her, she could say little less ; 
 She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen ] 
 For I have heard that she was there in place. 
 
 Mess. Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds 
 are dune. 
 And I am ready to put armor on. 
 
 K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. 
 But what said Warwick to these injuries? 
 
 Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty 
 Than all the rest, discharged me with these words ; 
 Tell him from me, that he hath done vie wrong, 
 And therefore, Til uncrown him, ereH be Imig. 
 
 K. Edw. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out so 
 proud words'! 
 Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd ; 
 They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption. 
 But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? 
 
 Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so link'd 
 in friendship. 
 That young prince Edward marries Warwick's 
 daughter. 
 
 Clar. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the 
 younger. 
 Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, 
 For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter ; 
 That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
 I may not prove inferior to yourself. — 
 You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. 
 
 [Exit CLAnEXCE, and Somerset follows. 
 
 Glo. Not I: 
 My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I 
 Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown. [_Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to 
 Warwick ! 
 Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen; 
 And haste is needful in this desperate case. — 
 Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf 
 Go levy men, and make prepare for war; 
 They are already, or quickly will be landed: 
 Myself in person will straight follow you. 
 
 \_Exeunt Pembroke and Staffohd. 
 But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Montague, — 
 Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 
 Are near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance: 
 Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me? 
 If it be so, then both depart to him ; 
 I rather wish you foes than hollow friends ; 
 But if you mind to hold your true obedience. 
 Give me assurance with some friendly vow. 
 That I may never have you in suspect. 
 
 Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves 
 true! 
 
 Hast. And Hastings, as he favors Edward's 
 cause ! 
 
 K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand 
 by us? 
 
 Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. 
 
 K. Edw. Why so; then am I sure of victory. 
 Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour, 
 Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE n.— ^ Plain in Warwickshire. 
 
 Enter Wauwick and Oxford, with French arid 
 other Forces. 
 
 War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well ; 
 The common people by numbers swarm to us. 
 
 Enter Clarence and Somerset. 
 But, see, where Somerset and Clarence come; — 
 Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends ? 
 
 Clar. Fear not that, my lord. 
 
 War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War 
 wick ; 
 And welcome, Somerset: — I hold it cowardice, 
 To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
 Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; 
 Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother 
 Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings: 
 But welcome, Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. 
 And now what rests, but, in night's coverture, 
 Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, 
 His soldiers lurking in the towns about, 
 And but attended by a simple guard, 
 We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? 
 Our scouts have found the adventure very easy: 
 That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, 
 With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, 
 And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds; 
 So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, 
 At unawares may beat down Edward's guard, 
 And seize himself: I say not — slaughter him, 
 For I intend but only to surprise him. — 
 You, that will follow me to this attempt, 
 Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. 
 
 [They all cry Henry! 
 Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort : 
 For Warwick and his friends, God and saint George! 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE HI.— Edward's Camp near Warwick. 
 Enter certain Watchmen, toguardthe King's Tent. 
 
 1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take 
 
 his stand; 
 The king, by tliis, is set him down to sleep. 
 
 2 W^aich. What, will he not to bed ? 
 
 1 Watch. Why, no: for he hath made a solemn 
 vow 
 Never to lie and take his natural rest, 
 Till Warwick, or himself, be quite suppress'd. 
 
 2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, 
 If Warwick be so near as men report. 
 
 3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that, 
 That with the king here resteth in his tent ? 
 
 1 Watch. 'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chief- 
 
 est fi'iend. 
 3 Watch.O, isitso 1 But why commands the king, 
 That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, 
 While he himself keepeth in the cold field ? 
 
 2 Watch. 'Tis the more honor, because more 
 
 dangerous. 
 
 3 Watch. Ay ; but give me worship and quietness, 
 I like it better than a dangerous honor. 
 
 If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
 'Tis to be doubted, he would waken him. 
 
 1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up his 
 
 passage. 
 
 2 Watch. Ay; wherefore else guard we his roya 
 
 tent, 
 But to defend his person from night-foes? 
 
 £?i^er Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, 
 and Forces. 
 
 War. This is his tent ; and see, where stand hi« 
 guard. 
 Courage, my masters; honor now, or never! 
 But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 
 
iSCKNE V 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 543 
 
 1 Watch. Who goes there? 
 
 2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest. 
 [Warwick, and the rest, cry all — Warwick ! 
 
 Warwick! and set upoti the guard; who fly, 
 crying — Arm J Arm! Warwick, and the 
 rest,Jo/Iuwuig them. 
 The Drum beating, and 'Trumpets sounding, re- 
 enter Warwick, and the rest, bringing the 
 King out in a Gown, sitting in a Chair,- Glos- 
 TKii and Hastings y/y. 
 Som. What are they that fly there 1 
 
 War. Richard, and Hastings: let them go, here's 
 
 the duke. 
 A'. Edw. The duke ! why, Warwick, when we 
 parted last, 
 Thou call'dst me king. 
 
 War. Ay, but the case is alter'd : 
 
 When you disgraced me in my embassade. 
 Then I degraded you from being king, 
 And come now to create you duke of York. 
 Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom. 
 That know not how to use ambassadors; 
 Nor how to be contented with one wife; 
 Nor how to use your brothers brotherly ; 
 Nor how to study for tb.e people's welfare ; 
 Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ? 
 
 X. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here 
 tool 
 Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down. — 
 Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance. 
 Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, 
 Edward will always bear himself as king: 
 Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, 
 My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. 
 
 War. Then, for his mind,' lie Edward England's 
 king: '[Takes off his crown. 
 
 But Henry now shall wear the English crown. 
 And be true king indeed ; thou but the shadow. — 
 My lord of Somerset, at my request, 
 8ee that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd 
 Unto my brother, archbishop of York. 
 When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, 
 I'll follow you, and tell what answer 
 Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him: 
 Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York. 
 K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs 
 abide ; 
 It boots not to resist both wind and tide. 
 
 [Exit King ErwAna, led out,- Somerset 
 ivith him. 
 Orf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do. 
 But march to London with our soldiers 1 
 
 War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do: 
 To free king Henry from imprisonment. 
 And see hirn seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Qukf-n Elizabeth a??^/ Rivers. 
 Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden 
 
 change 7 
 Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn, 
 \' hat late misfortune is befalfn king Edward? 
 ]!iv. What, loss of some jiitch'd battle against 
 
 Warwick 1 
 Q. Eliz. No,but the loss ofhis own royal person. 
 Riv. Then, is my sovereign slain? 
 i^. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, tor he is taken prisoner; 
 EiUier betray 'd by falsehood ofhis guard, 
 
 ' t.e. In bis mind ; as far as his own mind goes. 
 
 Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares ^ 
 And, as I further have to understand. 
 Is new committed to the bishop of York, 
 Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. 
 
 Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of griefi 
 Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may ; 
 Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Till then, liiir hope must hinder life's 
 decay. 
 And I the rather wean me from despair, 
 For love of Edward's offspring in my womb. 
 This is it that makes me bridle passion. 
 And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross ; 
 Ay, ay, tor this I draw in many a tear. 
 And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs. 
 Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drcwn 
 King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. 
 Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then become? 
 
 Q. Eliz. I am informed, that he comes towards 
 London, 
 To set the crown once more on Henry's head • 
 Guess thou the rest ; king Edward's friends must 
 
 down. 
 But to prevent the tyrant's violence, 
 (For trust not him that hath once broken faith,) 
 I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary. 
 To save at least the heir of Edward's right; 
 There shall I rest secure from force, and fraud. 
 Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly ; 
 If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Park near Middleham Castle in 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stan- 
 lei, and others. 
 
 Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William 
 
 Stanley, 
 Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, 
 Into this chiefest thicket of the park. 
 Thus stands the case: You know, our king, my 
 
 brother. 
 Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
 He hath good usage and great liberty ; 
 And often, but attended with weak guard, 
 Comes hunting this way to disport himself. 
 I have advertis'd him by secret means. 
 That if about this hour, he make this way, 
 Under the color of his usual game. 
 He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, 
 To set him free from his captivity. 
 
 Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman. 
 Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way lies the 
 
 game. 
 K. Edw. Nay, this way, man; see, wteie the 
 huntsmen stand. — 
 Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the lest, 
 Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer? 
 
 Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste: 
 Your horse stands ready at the park corner. 
 K. Edw. But whither shall we then? 
 Hast. To Lynn, my lord, and ship from thence 
 
 to Flanders. 
 Glo. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my 
 
 meaning. 
 K. Edw. Staidey, I will requite thy forwardness, 
 Glo. But wherefore stay we ? 'tis no time to talk. 
 K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thoB 
 go along ? 
 
544 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd. 
 Glo, Come then, away; let's have no more ado. 
 K. Edw. Bishop, farewell; shield thee from 
 Warwick's frown ; 
 And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^ Room in the Tower. 
 
 Enter Kino Henut, Claiience, Warwick, So- 
 merset, Young Richmond, Oxford, Monta- 
 gue, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and 
 friends 
 Have shaken Edward from the regal seat; 
 And turn'd my captive state to liberty. 
 My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys; 
 At our enlargement what are thy due fees ? 
 
 Lieut. Subjects may challenge nothing of their 
 sovereigns ; 
 But, if an humble prayer may prevail, 
 I then crave pardon of your majesty. 
 
 K, Hen. For what, lieutenant] for well using mel 
 Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kindness. 
 For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure : 
 Ay, such a pleasure as incagcd birds 
 Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts, 
 At last, by notes of household harmony. 
 They quite forget their loss of liberty. — 
 But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free. 
 And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee ; 
 He was the author, thou the instrument. 
 Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite. 
 By living low where fortune cannot hurt me ; 
 And that the people of this blessed land 
 May not be punished with my thwarting stars ; 
 Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, 
 I here resign my government to thee. 
 For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 
 
 War. Your grace hath still been famed for vir- 
 tuous ; 
 And now may seem as wise as virtuous. 
 By spying and avoiding fortune's malice. 
 For few men rightly temper with the stars :' 
 Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace. 
 For choosing me, when Clarence is in place.* 
 
 Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, 
 To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, 
 Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown. 
 As likely to be blest in peace, and war ; 
 And therefore I yield thee my free consent. 
 
 War. And I choose Clarence only for protector. 
 K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both 
 your hands; 
 Now join your hands, and with your hands, your 
 
 hearts. 
 That 113 dissension hinder government: 
 [ make you both protectors of this land ; 
 While I myself will lead a private life, 
 And in devotion spend my latter days. 
 To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. 
 
 War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's 
 
 will ? 
 Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield con- 
 sent ; 
 F or on thy fortune I repose myself. 
 
 War. Why then, though loath, yet must I be 
 content; 
 We'll yoke together, like a double shadow 
 
 » Few men conform their temper to their destiny. 
 * Present. 
 
 To Henry's body, and supply his place; 
 I mean in bearing weight of government. 
 While he enjoys the honor and his ease. 
 And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful. 
 Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor. 
 And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 
 
 Clar. What else? and that succession be deter 
 
 min'd. 
 War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want hie 
 
 part. 
 K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief 
 affairs, 
 Let me entreat, (for I command no more,) 
 That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, 
 Be sent for to return from France with speed: 
 For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
 My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. 
 
 Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with ali 
 
 speed. 
 K. Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is 
 that. 
 Of whom you seem to have so tender care? 
 
 Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich- 
 mond. 
 K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope: If secret 
 powers, [Lidys his handon his head. 
 
 Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts. 
 This pretty lad' will prove our country's bliss. 
 His looks are full of peaceful majesty; 
 His head by nature framed to wear a crown, 
 His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself 
 Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne. 
 Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he, 
 Must help you more than you are hurt by me. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 War. What news, my friend ? 
 
 Mess, That Edvv'ard is escaped from your brother 
 And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 
 
 War. Unsavory news : but how made he escapel 
 
 Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke of 
 Gloster, 
 And the lord Hastings, who attended him 
 In secret ambush on the forest side. 
 And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him; 
 For hunting v^as his daily exercise. 
 
 W/'.r. My brother was too careless of his 
 charge. — 
 But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
 A salve for any sore that may betide. 
 
 [Exeunt King Henry, War., Clar., Lieut, 
 ai^d Attendants. 
 
 Som. My lord; I like not of this flight of Ed 
 ward's : 
 For, doubtless. Burgundy will yield him help; 
 And we shall have more wars, before't be long. 
 As Henry's late presaging prophecy 
 Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Rich 
 
 mond ; 
 So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts 
 What may befall him, to his harm, and ours: 
 Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst. 
 Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany, 
 Till storms be past of civil enmity. 
 
 Oxf. Ay; for, if Edward repossess the crown, 
 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down 
 
 Som. It shall be so ; he shall to Britany. 
 Come therefore, let's about it speedily. [Exciini 
 
 ' Afterwards Henry vij. 
 
Scene VIII. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 54 fi 
 
 SCENE \ll.— Before York. 
 
 Enter Kino Edwahii, Glostkii, Hastings, awe? 
 Forces. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, 
 and the rest ; 
 iTct thus far fortune maketh us amends. 
 And says — that once more I shall interchange 
 My waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
 Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas. 
 And brought desired help from Burgundy; 
 What then remains, we being thus arriv'd 
 From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, 
 But that we enter, as into our dukedom ? 
 
 Glo. The gates made fost ! — Brother, I like not this; 
 For many men, that stumble at the threshold, 
 Are well Ibretold — that danger lurks within. 
 
 K. Edw. Tush, man ! abodements must not now 
 affright us ; 
 By fair or foul means we must enter in. 
 For hither will our friends repair to us. 
 
 Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more to summon 
 them. 
 
 Enter on the Walls, the Mayor of York, and his 
 Brethren. 
 May. My lords, we were forewarned of your 
 coming. 
 And shut the gates for safety of ourselves; 
 For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. 
 
 K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your 
 king. 
 Vet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. 
 
 Mai/. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less. 
 K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my 
 dukedom ; 
 As being well content with that alone. 
 
 Glu. But when the fox hath once got in his nose. 
 He'll soon find means to make the body follow. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a 
 doubt] 
 Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends. 
 May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be 
 open'd. [Exeunt from above. 
 
 Glo. A wise stout cai>tain, and persuaded soon ! 
 Hast. The good old man would fain that all were 
 well. 
 So 'twere not 'long of him : but, being enter'd, 
 r doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
 Both him and all his brothers unto reason. 
 
 Re-enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below. 
 K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must 
 not be shut. 
 But in the night or in the time of war. 
 What, fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; 
 
 [Takes his keys. 
 For Edward will defend the town and thee, 
 And all those friends that deign to follow me. 
 
 Drum. Enter MoyTGOMEnr and Forces,marching. 
 
 Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery, 
 IT trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. 
 
 A'. Edw. Welcome, sir John! But why come 
 you in arms 1 
 
 Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm, 
 A 3 every loyal subject ought to do. 
 
 K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery: But we 
 now forget 
 Our title to the crown; and only claim 
 Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. 
 
 Mont. Th^n fare you well, for I will hence agani 
 I came to serve a king and not a duke,-^ 
 Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. 
 
 [A March begun. 
 K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while ; and we'll 
 debate. 
 By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. 
 
 Mont. What, talk you of debating] In few words. 
 If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, 
 I'll leave you to your fortune ; and be gone. 
 To keep them back that come to succor you: 
 Why should we fight, if you pretend no title 1 
 Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand youonnioa 
 
 points ] 
 K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'L 
 make our claim: 
 Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. 
 Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now ai-ma 
 
 must rule. 
 Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto 
 crowns. 
 Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ; 
 The bruit' thereof will bring you many friends. 
 
 K. Edw. Then be it as you will ; for 'tis my right. 
 And Henry but usurps the diadem. 
 
 Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like him- 
 self; 
 And now will I be Edward's champion. 
 
 Hast. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here 
 proclaim'd : — 
 Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 
 
 [Gives him a paper. Flourish, 
 Sold. [Reads.l Edward the Fourth, by the grace 
 of God, king of England and France, and lord of 
 Ireland, Sfc. 
 
 Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's 
 right, « 
 
 By this I challenge him to single fight. 
 
 [Throws down his Gauntlet. 
 All. Long live Edward the Fourth ! 
 A'. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery; — and 
 thanks unto you all. 
 If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. 
 Now for this night, let's harbor here in York: 
 And, when the morning sun shall raise his ca>- 
 Above the border of this horizon. 
 We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates. 
 For, well I wot,' that Henry is no soldier. — 
 Ah, froward Clarence ! — how evil it beseems thee, 
 To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother! 
 Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and War- 
 wick. — 
 Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day; 
 And that, once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— London. A Room in the Pakc.e. 
 
 Enter King Henut, Warwick, Ci-AnENCF., 
 
 Montague, Exeteii, and Oxfohd. 
 
 War. What counsel, lords] Edward from Be gia, 
 With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, 
 Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas. 
 And with his troops doth march amain to London 
 And many giddy jjcoplc flock to him. 
 
 Oxf Let's levy men, and beat him back again 
 
 Clar. A little lire is quickly trodden out; 
 Which, being sufler'd, rivers cannot quench. 
 
 War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends 
 Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; 
 
 « Noise. rcDort 
 
 » Know 
 
546 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 Those will I muster up — and thou, son Clarence, 
 Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, 
 The knights and gentlemen to come with thee : — 
 Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
 Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find 
 Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st: 
 And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd, 
 In Oxfordshire shall muster up thy friends. — 
 My sovereign, with the loving citizens, — 
 Tjike to this island, girt in with the ocean, 
 Or modest Dina, circled with her nymphs, — 
 Shall rest in London, till wc come to him. — 
 Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. — 
 Farewell, my sovereign. [true hope. 
 
 K. Sen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's 
 
 Cla. In sign of truth, 1 kiss your highness' hand. 
 
 A'. //e«. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate! 
 
 Motif. Comfort, my lord; — and so I take my 
 leave. 
 
 Oxf. And thus [Kissing Hexrt's hand.^ I seal 
 my truth, and bid adieu. 
 
 K. Hen. Sweet Oxford-, and my loving Montague, 
 And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 
 
 War. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Co- 
 ventry. 
 [Exeunt Wah., Clar., Oxf., and Mont. 
 
 K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while. 
 Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship ? 
 Methinks, the power that Edward hath in field, 
 Should not be able to encounter mine. 
 
 Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest. 
 
 K. Hen. That's not my fear, my meed' hath got 
 me fame. 
 
 I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, 
 Nor posted off their suits with slow delays-, 
 My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds. 
 My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs. 
 My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears : 
 r have not been desirous of their wealth. 
 Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies. 
 Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd , 
 Then why should they love Edward more than mel 
 No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace: 
 And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, 
 The lamb will never cease to follow him. 
 
 [Shout within. A Lancaster! A Lancaster 1 
 Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shouts are 
 these ] 
 
 Enter King EDWAiin, Glosteii, and Soldiers. 
 
 K. Edw. Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear 
 him hence. 
 And once again proclaim us king of England. — 
 You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow; 
 Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry 
 And swell so much the higher by their ebb. — 
 Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak. 
 [Exeunt some with King Henut. 
 And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, 
 Where peremptory Warwick now remains : 
 The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay. 
 Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. 
 
 Gh. Away betimes, before his forces join. 
 And take the great-grown traitor unawares; 
 Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Coventry. 
 
 Enter, upon the Walls, Warwick, the Mayor of 
 Coventry, two Messengers, and others. 
 
 War. Where is the post that came from valiant 
 Oxford] 
 How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow 1 
 
 1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hither- 
 
 ward. 
 War. How far off is our brother Montague] 
 Where is the post that came from Montague ] 
 
 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. 
 
 Enter ^m John Somerville. 
 War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son 1 
 And, by the guess, how nigh is Clarence now ? 
 
 Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces. 
 And do expect him here some two hours hence. 
 
 [Drum heard. 
 War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. 
 Som. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies; 
 riie drum your honor hears, marcheth from War- 
 wick. 
 War. Who should that be ? belike, unlook'd-for 
 
 friends. 
 Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly 
 know. 
 
 Drums. Enter King Edward, Gloster, and 
 
 Forces, marching. 
 
 K. Edio. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound 
 a pa/le. 
 
 » Merit. 
 
 Glo. See, how the ourly Warwick mans the wall. 
 
 War. 0, unbid spito ! is sportful Edward come 1 
 Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced. 
 That we could hear no news of his repair ] 
 
 A'. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city 
 gates. 
 Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee ? — 
 Call Edward — king, and at his hands beg mercy, 
 And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 
 
 War. Nay, rather wilt thou draw thy forces hence, 
 Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down ]•—- 
 Call Warwick — patron, and be penitent. 
 And thou shalt still remain the duke of York. 
 
 Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said — 
 the king; 
 Or did he make the jest against his will ? 
 
 War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift] 
 
 Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give ; 
 I'll do thee service for so good a gift. 
 
 War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy 
 brother. 
 
 K. Edw. Why, then, 'tis mine, if but by War- 
 wick's gift. 
 
 War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight. 
 And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; 
 And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. 
 
 K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's pri- 
 soner: 
 And gallant Warwick, do but answer this, — 
 What is the body when the head is off] 
 
 Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast 
 But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten 
 
::5cENF TT 
 
 KTNG HExNRY IV. 
 
 541 
 
 The king was slily finger'd from the deck P 
 ¥o» left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, 
 cvnd, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. 
 
 K. Edw. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. 
 
 Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, 
 kneel down: 
 Nay. when ] strike now, or else the iron cools. 
 
 \\ ur. I had rather chop this hand oil" at a blow, 
 And with the other fling it at thy face, 
 Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. 
 
 K. EJiu. Sail how thou canst, have wind and 
 tide thy friend ; 
 This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, 
 Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off, 
 Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, — 
 Wind-changi7ig'W arw'ick now can change no more. 
 
 Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colors. 
 
 War. O cheerful colors ! see where Oxford 
 comes ! 
 
 Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! 
 
 [OxFoiiu and his Forces enter the City. 
 
 Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. 
 
 K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs : 
 Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt. 
 Will issue out again, and bid us battle : 
 If not, the city, being but of small defence. 
 We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 
 
 War. 0,"7.elcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. 
 
 Enter Montague, with Drum and Colors. 
 
 Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [//e and his Forces enter the City. 
 Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this 
 treason 
 Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. 
 
 K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory; 
 My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. 
 
 Enter Somerset, UJj7/t Drum and Colors. 
 
 Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the City. 
 
 Glo. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, 
 Have sold their lives unto the house of York; 
 And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 
 
 Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colors. 
 
 War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps 
 Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; [along, 
 With whom an u[)right zeal to right prevails. 
 More than the nature of a brother's love : — 
 Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. 
 
 Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this 
 
 means? [Taking the red rose out of his Cap. 
 
 Look here, I throw my infamy at thee : 
 
 I will not ruinate my father's house. 
 
 Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, 
 
 And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, 
 
 That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt,' unnatural. 
 
 To bend the fatal instruments of wa^ 
 
 Against his brother, and his lawful king? 
 
 Perli;ips, thou wilt object my holy oath: 
 
 To keep that oath, were more impiety 
 
 Than Jcplitha's, when he sacriliced his daughter. 
 
 [ am so sorry for my trespass made. 
 
 That to deserve well at my brother's hands, 
 
 ' here proclaim myself thy mortal ioe; 
 
 With resolution, wluresoe'er I meet thee, 
 
 .As I will nu'ct thee, if thou stir abroad,) 
 
 'A inck of Clint J wao formerly teimeii a deck of cards. 
 ' Insensiblu. 
 
 To plague thee for thy foul misleading me, 
 And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, 
 And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks 
 Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; 
 And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults. 
 For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. 
 
 K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten timd 
 more belov'd. 
 Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. 
 
 Glo. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like. 
 
 War. O passing* traitor, perjui-'d, and unjust! 
 
 K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the 
 town, and fight"! 
 Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ] 
 
 War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence: 
 I will away towards Barnet presently. 
 And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. 
 
 K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads 
 the way : — 
 Lords, to the field; saint George, and victory. 
 
 [March. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE n.— ^ Field of Battle near Barnet. 
 
 Alarums and Excursio7is. Enter Kixe Edward 
 bringing in Warwick wounded. 
 
 K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and die 
 
 our fear; 
 For Warwick was a bug' that fear'd' us all. — 
 Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee. 
 That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. 
 
 [Exit. 
 War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend, or foe, 
 And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick? 
 Why ask I that ? my mangled body shows. 
 My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, 
 That I must yield my body to the earth. 
 And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 
 Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge. 
 Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle. 
 Under whose shade the ramping lion slept; 
 Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, 
 And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful viind. 
 These eyes that now are dimm'd with death's black 
 
 veil. 
 Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun. 
 To search the secret treasons of the world : 
 The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, 
 Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; 
 For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? 
 And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow? 
 Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! 
 My parks, my walks, my manors that I had. 
 Even now forsake me : and, of all my lands. 
 Is nothing left me, but my body's length ! 
 Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? 
 And live we how we can, yet die we must. 
 
 Enter Oxford and Somerset. 
 
 Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wcrt thou aswfl 
 
 arc, 
 We might recover all our loss again ! 
 The queen from France hath brought a puissant 
 
 power ; 
 Even now we heard the news : Ah, couldst thou fly ! 
 Tr«r.Why, then I would not fly. — Ah, Montague, 
 If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, 
 And with thy lips keep in my soul a while ! 
 Thou lov'st me not ; for, brother, if thou didst. 
 Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, 
 
 * Kmincnt, egregious. (Buj^bear. 
 
 • Terrified. 
 
r;48 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 That glues my lips, and will not let me speak. 
 Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. 
 
 Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his 
 last; 
 And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, 
 And said — Commend me to my valiant brother. 
 And more he would have said; and more he spoke, 
 Which sounded like a cannon in a vault. 
 That might not be distinguish'd ; but at last, 
 I well might hear deliver'd with a groan, — 
 0, farewell, Warwick! 
 
 War. Sweet rest to his soul ! — 
 
 ?\y, lords, and save yourselves: for Warwick bids 
 V^ou all farewell, to meet again in heaven. [^Dies. 
 
 Oxf. Avray, away, to meet the queen's great power, 
 [^Exeunt, bearing q^ Warwick's Body. 
 SCENE m.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 nourish. Enter King Edward ot triumph,- with 
 Clarence, Gloster, and the rest. 
 
 K. Edw. Thus flir our fortune keep* an upward 
 course. 
 And we are graced with wreaths of victory. 
 But in the midst of this bright-shining day, 
 I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud. 
 That will encounter with our glorious sun, 
 Ere he attain his easeful western bed: 
 I mean, my lords, — those powers that the queen 
 Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast. 
 And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. 
 
 Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud. 
 And blow it to the source from whence it came : 
 Thy very beams will dry those vapors up ; 
 For every cloud engenders not a storm. 
 
 Glo. The queen is valued thirty thousand strong. 
 And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her; 
 If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, 
 Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 
 
 K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving friends, 
 That they do hold their course towards Tewksbury; 
 We, having now the best at Barnet field. 
 Will thither straight, for willingness rids way ; 
 And, as we march, our strength will be augmented 
 In every county as we go along. — 
 Strike up the drum; cry — Courage! and away. 
 
 [_Exeunt. 
 SCENE IV. — Plains near Tewksbury. 
 
 March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Ed- 
 ward, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers. 
 Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail 
 their loss. 
 But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
 What though the mast be now blown over-board, 
 The cable broke, the holding anchor lost. 
 And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? 
 Yet lives our pilot still : Is't meet that he 
 Shoiild leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, 
 With tearful eyes add water to the sea. 
 And give more strength to that which hath too much; 
 Whiles, in his moan, the ship sphts on the rock, 
 Which industry and courage might have sav'dl 
 Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this ! 
 Say, Warwick was our anchor* What of that 1 
 And Montague our top-mast ; What of him 1 
 Our slaughter'd friends the tackles ; What of these ? 
 Why, is not Oxford here another anchor 1 
 And Somerset another goodly mast' 
 The friends of France our sh.ouds and tacklingsT 
 And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
 ^ n once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge 1 
 
 We will not from the helm, to sit and weep ; 
 But keep our course, though the rough wind say — no 
 From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck 
 As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. 
 And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea 1 
 What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit ] 
 And Richard, but a ragged fatal rockl 
 All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
 Say, you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while ; 
 Tread on the sand ; why there you quickly snifc; 
 Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off. 
 Or else you famish, that's a threefold death. 
 This speak I, lords, to let you understand. 
 In case some one of you would fly from us. 
 That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers. 
 More than with ruthless waves,with sands, and rocka 
 Why, courage, then ! what cannot Le avoided, 
 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. 
 
 Pi-ince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirif 
 Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
 Infuse his breast with magnanimity. 
 And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. 
 I speak not this as doubting any here : 
 For, did I but suspect a fearful man, 
 He should have leave to go away betimes; 
 Lest, in our need, he might infect another 
 And make him of like spirit to himself. 
 If any such be here, as God forbid ! 
 Let him depart, before we need his help. 
 
 Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage ! 
 And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual shame. — 
 0, brave young prince ! thy fiimous grandfather 
 Doth live again in thee; Long mayst thou live. 
 To bear his image, and renew his glories ! 
 
 Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope, 
 Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day. 
 If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ; — sweet Ox- 
 ford, thanks. 
 
 Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing 
 else. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand, 
 Ready to fight; therefore be resolute. 
 
 Oxf I thought no less: it is his policy. 
 To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 
 Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness. 
 Q. Mar. This cheers my heart to see your for- 
 wardness. 
 Oxf. Here pitch our battle, hence we will not 
 budge. 
 
 March. Enter, at a distance, King Edward, 
 Clarence, Gloster, and Forces. 
 
 K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the 
 thorny wood. 
 Which, by the heaven's assistance, and your 
 
 strength. 
 Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 
 I need not add more fuel to your fire. 
 For, well I wot,' ye blaze to burn them out* 
 Give signal to the fight, and to it, lorda. 
 
 Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I 
 should say, 
 My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak, 
 Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. 
 Therefore, no more but this : — Henry, your sove- 
 reign, 
 Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp'd, 
 ' Know. 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 549 
 
 His realm a slaughter house, his subjects slain, 
 His statutes cancelled, and his treasure spent; 
 And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. 
 Vou fight in justice : then, in God's name, lords, 
 Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 
 
 [_Ezeunt both Armies. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Part of the same. 
 Alarums: Excursions; and afterwards a Retreat. 
 Then enter KiNG EdWARD, CLARENCE, GlOSTER, 
 
 and Forces; with Queen Margaret', Oxford? 
 and Somerset, prisoners. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. 
 Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle' straight: 
 For Somerset, off with his guilty head. 
 Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. 
 Oxf For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. 
 iiom. Nor I; but stoop with patience to my fortune. 
 [^Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. 
 Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, 
 To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. 
 
 K. Edw. Is proclamation made, — that, who finds 
 
 Shall have a high reward, and he his life ? [Edward, 
 
 Glo. It is: and. lo, where youthful Edward comes. 
 
 Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward. 
 A". Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him 
 speak : 
 What ! can so young a thorn begin to prick ? 
 Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make. 
 For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects. 
 And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to 1 
 
 P/-mce.Speak like asubject, proud ambitiousYork! 
 Suppose that I am now my father's mouth ; 
 Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou, 
 Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee. 
 Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. 
 Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd ! 
 Glo. That you might still have worn the petticoat. 
 And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 
 
 Prince. Let ^Esop° fable in a winter's night ; 
 His currish riddles sort not with this place. 
 
 Gh. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word. 
 Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. 
 Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. 
 Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back 
 rather. [tongue. 
 
 K. Edu Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your 
 Clar. ' ntutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. 
 Pri^ict. I know my duty; you are all undutiful; 
 Lascivious Edward, — and thou perjur'd George, — 
 And thou mis-shapen Dick, — I tell ye all, 
 I am your better, traitors as ye are ; — 
 And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. 
 K.Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. 
 
 [_Stabs him. 
 Gh. Sprawl'st thou ] take that, to end thy agony. 
 
 [Glo. stabs him. 
 Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury. 
 
 [Clar. stabs him. 
 Q. Mar. O, kill me too ! 
 
 Glo. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her. 
 
 K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we liave done 
 too much. [words'? 
 
 Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with 
 K.Edw. What! doth she swoon 1 use means for 
 
 her recovery. 
 Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother: 
 I'll hc?»ce to London on a serious matter; 
 Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. 
 
 • A castlo in Picanly. 
 
 • TTie prince cjiUs Kicliard. for bis crookcdnees, iEsoo. 
 
 3G 
 
 Clar. Whati what! 
 
 Glo. The Tower, the Tower 1 lExit. 
 
 Q.Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother 
 boy! 
 Canst thou not speak ? — O traitors ! murderers ! — 
 They that stabb'd Cajsar, shed no blood at all. 
 Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame. 
 If this foul deed were by, to equal it. 
 He was a man : this, in respect, a child ; 
 And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 
 What's worse than murderer, that I may name it ' 
 No, no ; my heart will burst, an if I speak : — 
 And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. — 
 Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals ! 
 How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd ! 
 You have no children, butchers ! if you had. 
 The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse : 
 But, if you ever chance to have a child. 
 Look in his youth to have him so cut off, [prince ! 
 As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young 
 K. Edw. Away with her ; go bear her hence per- 
 force, [here ; 
 Q, Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me 
 Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death : 
 What ! wilt thou not 1 — then, Clarence, do it thou. 
 Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. 
 Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do ; sweet Clarence, do 
 thou do it? [doit? 
 Clar. Didst thou not hear me answer, I would not 
 Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself; 
 'Twas sin before,' but now 'tis charity. 
 What ! wilt thou not 1 where is that devil's butcher, 
 Hard-favor'd Richard? Richard, where art thoul 
 Thou art not here : Murder is thy alms-deed ; 
 Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st bacK. 
 
 K. Ediu. Away, I say ; I charge ye bear her hence. 
 Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this 
 prince! [Exit, led out forcibly. 
 
 K. Edw. Where's Richard gone 1 
 Clar. To London all in post ; and, as I guess. 
 To make a bloody supper in the tower. 
 
 K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. 
 Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
 With pay and thanks, and let's away to London, 
 And see our gentle queen how well she fares ; 
 By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — London. A Room in the Tower. 
 King Henry is discovered sitting with a Book in hia 
 Ha7id, the Lieutenant attendi^ig. Enter Gloster. 
 Glo. Good day, my lord ! What, at your book so 
 hardi [rather; 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, my good lord : My lord, I should say 
 'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better ; 
 Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike. 
 And both preposterous ; therefore, not good lord. 
 Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: wt must con- 
 fer, [£0."// Lieutenant. 
 K.Hen.So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf: 
 So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, 
 And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. — 
 What scene of death hath Roscius now to acti 
 
 Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. 
 The thief doth f<-ar each bush an officer. 
 
 K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush, 
 With trembling wings misdoublcth every bush: 
 And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird. 
 Have now the fatal object in my eye, [kill'd. 
 
 Where my poor young was limed, was caught, and 
 > She alludes to the desertion of Clarenca 
 
h50 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 Glo. Why, what a peevish' fool was that of Crete, 
 That taught his son the office of a fowl ] 
 A.nd yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'il. 
 
 K. Hen. I, DfeJalus; my poor boy, Icarus; 
 Thy father, Minos, that denici! jiir course; 
 The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, 
 Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea, 
 Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
 Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words ! 
 My breast can better brook thy dagger's point, 
 Than can my ears that tragic history. — 
 But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life'' 
 
 Glo. Think' st thou, I am an executioner 7 
 
 K. Hen. A persecutor, lam sure, thou art; 
 If murdering innocents be executing, 
 Why, then thou art an executioner. 
 
 Glo. Thy son I kill'd, for his presumption. 
 
 K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou 
 didst presume, 
 Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. 
 And thus I prophesy, — that many a thousand. 
 Which now mistrust no jiarcel of my fear; 
 And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's. 
 And many an orphan's water-standing eye — 
 Men for their sons', wives for their husbands' fate. 
 And orphans for their parents' timeless death, — 
 Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
 The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign ; 
 The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time ; 
 Dogs howrd,and hideous tempests shook down trees; 
 The raven rook'd' her on the chimney's top. 
 And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
 Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain. 
 And yet brought Ibrth less than a mother's hope; 
 To wit, — an indigest deformed lump. 
 Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
 Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born, 
 To signify, — thou cam'st to bite the world : 
 A cd, if the rest be true which I have heard, 
 Thou cam'st — 
 
 Glo. I'll hear no more; — Die, prophet, in thy 
 speech; [Slabs him. 
 
 For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. 
 
 A'. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. 
 
 God ! forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! [Dies. 
 Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 
 
 Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have 
 
 mounted. 
 See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death! 
 
 0, may such purple tears be always shed 
 
 From those that wish the downfall of our house ! — 
 If any spark of life be yet remaining, 
 Down, down to hell ; — and say — I sent thee thither, 
 
 [Stabs him again ■ 
 
 1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. — 
 Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of; 
 .^s I have often heard my mother say, 
 
 1 came into the world with my legs forward: 
 Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, 
 And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right 1 
 The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried, 
 O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth.' 
 And so I was; which plainly signified — 
 
 That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. 
 Then sini'e the heavens have shap'd my body so. 
 Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 
 I have no brother, I am like no brother; 
 And this word — love, which graybeards call divine. 
 Be resident in men like one another, 
 •Childish. ' To rook signified to lodp;e on any thing. 
 
 And not in me; I am myself alone. — 
 
 Clarence, beware ; thou kcep'st me from the light : 
 
 But I will .sort' a pitchy day for thee: 
 
 For I will buz abroad such prophecies. 
 
 That Edward shall be fearful of his life : 
 
 And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. 
 
 King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone: 
 
 Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest; 
 
 Counting myself but bad, till I be best. — 
 
 I'll throw thy body in another room. 
 
 And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit 
 
 SCENE VII.— ^ Room in the Falace. 
 
 King 'Eix^w Kv.n is discovered sitting on\is Th?v'ie, 
 
 QuEKN Elizahkth with the infant Prince 
 
 Clauence, Glosteh, Hastings, and others, 
 
 near him. 
 
 K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royai 
 throne, 
 Ke-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
 What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn. 
 Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride ■* 
 Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd 
 For hardy and undoubted champions: 
 Two Clilibrds, as the father and the son. 
 And two Northumberlands; two braver men 
 Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound: 
 With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon* 
 
 tague. 
 That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, 
 And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
 Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, 
 And made our footstool of security. — 
 Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy: 
 Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself, 
 Have in our armors vv'atch'd the winter's night; 
 Went all a-foot in summer's scalding heat, 
 That thou migritst repossess the crown in peace 
 And of our labors thou shall reap the gain. 
 
 Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were lata, 
 For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
 This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave; 
 And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:- 
 Work thou the way, and thou shalt execute. [Aside 
 
 K. Edw. Clarence and Gloster, love my lovely 
 queen ; 
 And kiss your princely nephew, brother; both 
 
 Clar. The duty, that I owe unto youi majesty, 
 I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 
 
 A'. Ediv. Thanks, noble Clarence ; worthy 
 brother, thanks. [sprang'st, 
 
 Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou 
 Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit : — 
 To saj' the truth, so Judas kiss'd his^ 
 
 master ; I ^^., 
 
 And cried — all hail ! — when as he meant ( 
 — all harm ; J 
 
 K. Ediv. Now am I seated as my soul delights, 
 Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves. 
 
 Clar. What will your grace have done with Mar- 
 Reignier, her fother, to the king of France [garet^ 
 Hath pawii'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
 And hither have they sent it for her ransom. [France. 
 
 A'. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to 
 And now what rests, but that we spend the time 
 With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows. 
 Such as befit the pleasures of the court ? — 
 Sound, drums and trumpets! — farewell, sour annoyl 
 For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. [Exeunt 
 Select. 
 
LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 
 KING EICHAED III. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Sons to (he King. 
 
 Brothers to the 
 Kiiig. 
 
 King Edwakd the FounTn. 
 
 Edwahi), P)-ince of Wales, af- 
 terwards King Edward V., 
 
 Richard, Duke of York, 
 
 George, Duke oj Clarence, 
 
 Richard, Duke of Gloster, af- 
 terwards King Richard III. 
 
 4 young Son of Clarence. 
 
 Henry, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King 
 Henry VII. 
 
 Cardinal Bourciiier, ^rc/zZi/sAop ©/"Canterbury. 
 
 Thomas Rotuerham, Archbishop of York. 
 
 John Morton, Bishop o/"EIy. 
 
 Duke of BrcKiNGHAM. 
 
 Duke of Norfolk. 
 
 Earl of Surrey, his Son. 
 
 E\ui. otRixrhs, Brother to TiT. Edward's Queen. 
 
 MARauis of Dorset, and Lord Grey, her Sotis. 
 
 Earl of Oxford. 
 
 Lord Hastings. 
 
 Lord Stanley. 
 
 Lord Lovel. 
 
 Sir Thomas Vacchan. 
 
 Sir Richard Ratcliff. 
 
 Sir William Catesby. 
 
 Sir James Tyrrel. 
 
 Sir James Blount. 
 
 Sir Walter Herbert. 
 
 Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of tht 
 
 Toioer. 
 Christopher Urswick, a Priest. 
 Another Priest. 
 Lord Mayor of London. 
 Sheriff of Wiltshire. 
 
 Elizabeth, Queen of King Edward IV. 
 Margaret, Widow of King Henry VI. 
 Duchess of York, Mother to King Edward IV., 
 
 Clarence, and Gloster. 
 Lady Anne, Wf/oiw r/Edward, Pmjce 0/ Wales, 
 
 Son to King Henry VI.; afterwards married to 
 
 the Duke of Gloster. 
 A young Daughter of Clarence. 
 
 Lords, and other Attendants,- two Gentlemen, « 
 Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, 
 Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, <^c. 
 
 SC£iV£.— England. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Street. 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of York; 
 And all the clouds, that low'r'd upon our house. 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
 Now arc our brows bound with victorious wreaths; 
 Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; 
 Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, 
 Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.' 
 Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled f- jnt; 
 And now, — instead of mounting barbed' steeds, 
 To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — 
 He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber. 
 To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
 But I, — that am not shaped for sportive tricks, 
 ^'or made to court an amorous looking-glass; 
 ., tiiat am rudely stamp'd. and want love's majesty, 
 « Dances. » Armed. 
 
 To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
 I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, 
 Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
 Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 
 Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
 That dogs bark at me as 1 halt by them ; — 
 Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
 Have no delight to pass away the time ; 
 Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
 And descant on mine own delbrmity; 
 And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
 To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — 
 I am determined to prove a villain. 
 And hate the idle pleasures of these days, — 
 Plots have I laid, inductions' dangerous. 
 By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, 
 To set my brother Clarence, and the king, 
 In deadly hate the one against the other: 
 • PreparatiDus for mischief. 
 551 
 
552 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 A.CT I. 
 
 .\ih1, if king EJward r-e as true and just 
 As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, 
 This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up ; 
 ^boLi a prophecy, which says — that G 
 or Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. 
 Dive, thoughts, down lo my soul ! here Clarence 
 comes. 
 
 Enter Claresce, guarded, and Buakenbtjut. 
 
 Brother, good day : What means this armed guard 
 That waits upon your grace? 
 
 Clar. His majesty, 
 
 Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
 This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 
 G/o. Upon what cause? 
 
 Clar. Because my name is — George. 
 
 Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours ; 
 
 He should, for that, commit your godfothers: 
 
 O, belike his majesty hath some intent. 
 
 That you shall be new christcn'd in the Tower. 
 
 But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? 
 
 Clar. Yea, Richard, when I kuow ; for I protest, 
 As yet I do not: But, as I can learn. 
 He hearkens after prophecies and dreams ; 
 And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
 And says — a wizard told him, that by G 
 His issue disinherited should be; 
 And, for my name of George begins with G, 
 It follows in his thought that I am he : 
 These, as I learn, and such like toys as these, 
 Have mov'd his highness to commit me now 
 Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by 
 women : — 
 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower ; 
 My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she, 
 That tempers him to this extremity. 
 Was it not she, and that good man of worship, 
 Antony Woodeville, her brother there, 
 That made him send lord Hastings to tlie Tower; 
 Prom whence this present day he is deliver'd ? 
 We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe. 
 
 Clar. By heaven. I think, there is no man secure. 
 But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds 
 That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. 
 Heard you not what an humble suppliant 
 Lord Hastings was to he for his delivery 1 
 Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity, 
 Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 
 I'll tell you what, — I think it is our way. 
 If we will keep in favor with the king. 
 To be her men, and wear her livery: 
 The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,' 
 Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. 
 Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. 
 
 Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me; 
 His majesty hath straitly given in charge. 
 That no man shall have private conference. 
 Of what degree soever, with his brother. 
 
 Glo. Even so? an please your worship, Braken- 
 bury. 
 You may partake of any thing we say : 
 We speak no treason, man;— We say, the king 
 Is wise, and virtuous; and his noble queen 
 Well struck in years ; fliir, and not jealous : 
 We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
 A cherry lip, 
 
 A bonny eye, a passnig pleasing tongue ; 
 And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks: 
 Ht w say you, sir? can you deny all this? 
 ■• The queen and Shore. 
 
 Brak.'Wiih this,mylard,myself have nought to ilo 
 
 Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore ? I teli 
 thee, fellow. 
 He that doth naught with her, excepting one, 
 Were best to do it secretly, alone. 
 
 Brak. What one, my lord ? 
 
 Glo. Her husband, knave : — Wouldst thou be* 
 toay me ? [withal, 
 
 Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me ; and, 
 Forbear your conference with the noble dnke. [obey 
 
 Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will 
 
 Glo. We are the queen's abjecta, and must obey. 
 Brother, farewell : I will unto the king ; 
 And whatsoever you will employ me in, — 
 Were it to call king Edward's widow — sister,- 
 I will perform it to enfranchise you. 
 Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood, 
 Touches me deeper than you can imagine. 
 
 Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. 
 
 Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; 
 I will deliver you, or else lie for you : 
 Mean time, have patience. 
 
 Clar. I must perforce ; farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. 
 
 G/o.Go,tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return, 
 Simple, plain Clarence ! — I do love thee so, 
 That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven. 
 If heaven will take the present at our hands. 
 But who comes here ? the new-deliver'd Hastings? 
 Enter Hastings. 
 
 Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord ! 
 
 Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain! 
 Well are you welcome to this open air. 
 How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment ? 
 
 Hast. With patience, noble lord,as prisoners must: 
 But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, 
 That viere the cause of my imprisonment. 
 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt ; and so shall Clarence 
 For they, that were your enemies, are his, [too ; 
 And have prevail'd as much on him as you. 
 
 Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, 
 While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 
 
 Glo. What news abroad ? 
 
 Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home ; — 
 The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, 
 And his physicians fear him mightily. 
 
 Glo. Now, by saint Paul, this news is bad indeed 
 O, he hath kept an evil diet long. 
 And over-much consum'd his royal person ; 
 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. 
 What, is he in his bed ? 
 
 Hast. He is. 
 
 Glo. Go you before, and I will follow yon. 
 
 [^Exit Hastings. 
 He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die. 
 Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven, 
 I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
 With lies well stecl'd with weighty arguments ; 
 And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
 Clarence hath not another day to live : 
 Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy, 
 And leave the world for me to bustle in ! 
 For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.- 
 What though I kill'd her husband, and her fatherl 
 The readiest way to make the wench amends. 
 Is — to become her husband, and her father - 
 The which will I ; not all so much for love, 
 As for another secret close intent. 
 By marrying her, which I must reach unto. 
 But yet I run before my horse to market' 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING RICHARD Hi, 
 
 5)55 
 
 Clarence still breathes; Edward still livcs,and reigns; 
 When they are gone, then must I count my gains, 
 
 \_Exit. 
 SCENE IL— Another Street. 
 
 Unter the Corpse o/"King Henry the Sixth, borne 
 in an open coffin,- Gentlemen bearing Haibenls, 
 to guard it,- and Lady Anne as Mourner. 
 Anne. Set down, set down your honorable load, — 
 If honor may be shrouded in a hearse, — 
 Whilst I a while obsequiously' lament 
 The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. — 
 Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! 
 Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! 
 Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ! 
 Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, 
 To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 
 Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 
 Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these 
 
 wounds ! 
 Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, 
 I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes : — 
 O, cursed be the hand that made these holes ! 
 Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it ! 
 Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence ! 
 More direful hap betide that hated wretch. 
 That makes us wretched by the death of thee, 
 Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, 
 Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives 1 
 If ever he have child, abortive be it, 
 Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, 
 Whose ugly and unnatural asp(;ct 
 May fright the hopeful mother at the view ; 
 And that be heir to his unhappiness ! 
 If ever he have wife, let her be made 
 More miserable by the death of him. 
 Than I am made by my young lord, and thee! — 
 Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load, 
 Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; 
 And still, as you are weary of the weight. 
 Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. 
 [The Bearers take tip the Corpse, and advance. 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 Glo. Stay you that bear the corse, and set it down. 
 ^n72e.What black magician conjures up this fiend, 
 To stop devoted charitable deeds 1 
 
 G/o. Villains, set down the corse; or, by saint Paiil, 
 I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. 
 
 1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and letthc coffin pass. 
 Glo. Unmanner'd dog : stand thou when I corn- 
 Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, [mand. 
 Or, by saint Paul, I'll strike tjiee to my foot, 
 And spurn upon thee, beggar, for tliy boldness. 
 
 [The Bearers set down tlie Coffin. 
 Anne. W'hat, do you tremble 1 arc you all afraid 1 
 .\las, I blame you not; for you arc mortal, 
 And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. — 
 Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! 
 Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, 
 His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, begone. 
 Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 
 Anne. Foul devil, for heaven's sake, hence, and 
 trouble us not; 
 For thou hast made the happy earth tliy hell, 
 Fill'd it witli cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
 If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, 
 Behold this pattern of thy butcheries: — 
 0, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds 
 Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh! — 
 Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; 
 » With becojnins rever ^ncc for the dead. 
 
 For 'tis thy firescnce that exhales this blood 
 From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells 
 Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, 
 
 Provokes this deluge most unnatural. 
 
 God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death i 
 O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death i 
 Either, Heaven, with lightning strike the murderer 
 
 dead. 
 Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick; 
 As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, 
 Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! 
 
 Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity. 
 Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. 
 
 Anne, Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor 
 man; 
 No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of [dty. 
 
 Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no bea^t 
 
 Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth ! 
 
 Glo. More v/onderful, when angels are so angry. — 
 Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, 
 Of these supposed evils, to give me leave. 
 By circumstance, but to acquit myself. 
 
 Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, 
 For these known evils, but to give me leave. 
 By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 
 
 Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me 
 have 
 Some patient leisure tn excuse myself. 
 
 Anne. Fouler than heait can think thee, thou 
 canst make 
 No excuse current but to hang thyself. 
 
 Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. 
 Anne. And,by despairing,shalt thou stand excus'd; 
 For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, 
 That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 
 
 Glo. Say, that I slew them not] 
 
 Anne. Why, then, they are not dead : 
 
 But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. 
 
 Glo. I did not kill your husband. 
 
 Anne. Why, then, he is alive. 
 
 Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. 
 
 Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest: queen 
 Margaret saw 
 Thy murd'rous falchion smoking in his blood; 
 The which thou once didst bend against her breast 
 But thatthj' brothers beat aside the point. 
 
 Gh. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, 
 That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 
 
 Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, 
 That never dreamt on aught but butcheries : 
 Didst thou not kill this king ? 
 
 Glo. I grant ye. 
 
 Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog 1 then God 
 grant me too, 
 Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed ! 
 O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. [him. 
 
 Glo. The fitter for the King of Heaven that hath 
 Anne.Yifi is in heaven,where thou shalt never come, 
 
 Glo. Let him thank mc, that holp to send him thi* 
 For he was fitter for that place than earth, [ther 
 
 Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. 
 
 Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me 
 
 Anne. Some dungeon. [name it. 
 
 Glo. Your bed-chamber. 
 
 Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest . 
 
 Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 
 
 Anne. I hope so. 
 
 Glo. I know so. — But, gentle lady Anne,— 
 To leave this keen encounter of our wits. 
 An 1 fall somewhat into a sKiwer method.- 
 
554 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act L 
 
 Is not the causer of the t.i.lieless deaths 
 
 Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, 
 
 As blameful as tlie executioner ? [effect. 
 
 Anne. Thou wast the cause and most accurs'd 
 
 Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; 
 Your beauty which did haunt me in my sleep, 
 To undertake the death of all the world, 
 So I might Hve one hour in your sweet bosom. 
 
 Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, 
 These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. 
 
 Glo. These eyes coidd not endure that beauty's 
 wreck ; 
 You should not blemish it if I stood by : 
 As all the world is cheered by the sun, 
 So I by that; it is my day, my life. 
 
 Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death 
 thy life ! 
 
 Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art 
 both. 
 
 Anne. I would I were, to be revenged on thee. 
 
 Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, 
 To be revenged on him that loveth thee. 
 
 Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable. 
 To be revenged on him that kill'd my husband. 
 
 Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, 
 Did it to help th(;e to a better husband. 
 
 Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the 
 earth. 
 
 Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he could. 
 
 Anne. Name him. 
 
 Glo. Plantagenet. 
 
 Anne. Why, that was he. 
 
 Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. 
 
 Anne. Where is he? 
 
 Glo. Here : [^Slie spits at hi/n.^ Why 
 
 dost thou spit at me 1 
 
 ^)me. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! 
 
 Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 
 
 Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
 Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes. 
 
 Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. 
 
 Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee 
 dead ! 
 
 Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once ; 
 For now they kill me with a living death. 
 Those eyes of thine from mine hath drawn salt tears, 
 Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops : 
 These eyes, which never shed remorseful ° tear, — 
 Nor when my father York and Edward wept, 
 To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made. 
 When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him ; 
 Nor when thy warlike father, like a child. 
 Told the sad story of my father's death ; 
 And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep, 
 That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, 
 Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time. 
 My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; 
 And what these sorrows could not hence exhale. 
 Thy I'Asiuty hath,and made them blind with weeping. 
 I never sued to friend, nor enemy ; 
 My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word ; 
 But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, 
 My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to 
 speak. l^She looks scornfully at him. 
 
 Teach not thy lip such scorn ; for it was made 
 For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
 If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
 Lo ! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ; 
 WTiich if thou please to hide in this true breast, 
 e Pitying. 
 
 And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 
 
 I lay it naked to the deadly stroke. 
 
 And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 
 
 [i/e lays his Breast open; slie offers at u 
 with his Sword. 
 Nay, do not pause ; for I did kill king Henry ; — 
 But 'twas thy beauty that provok'd me. 
 Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Ed- 
 ward; — [She again offers at his Breast. 
 But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. 
 
 [She lets fall the Sword. 
 Take up the sword again, or take up me. 
 
 Amie. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, 
 I will not be thy executioner. 
 
 Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it 
 
 Anne. I have already. 
 
 Glo. That was in thy rage : 
 
 Speak it again, and, even with the word. 
 This hand, which for thy love, did kill thy love, 
 Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ; 
 To both their deaths shall thou be accessary. 
 
 Anne. I would, I knew thy heart. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue. 
 
 Anne. I fear me, both are false. 
 
 Glo. Then man was never true. 
 
 Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 
 
 Glo. Say then, my peace is made. 
 
 Anne. That shall you know hereafter. 
 
 Glo. But shall I live in hopel 
 
 Anne. All men, I hope, live so. 
 
 Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 
 
 Anne. To take, is not to give. 
 
 [She puts on the Ming, 
 
 Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, 
 Even sc thy breast encloscth my poor heart ; 
 Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. 
 And if thy poor devoted servant may 
 But beg one favor at thy gracious hand, 
 Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 
 
 An7ie. What is it? 
 
 Glo. That it may please you leave these sad de« 
 signs 
 To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, 
 And presently repair to Crosby-place :'' 
 Where — after I have solemnly interr'd, 
 At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king, 
 And wet his grave with my repentant tears, — 
 I will with all expedient duty see you. 
 For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, 
 Grant me this boon. 
 
 Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too, 
 To see you are become so penitent. — 
 Tressel, and Berkley, go along with mo. 
 
 Glo. Bid me farewell. 
 
 An7ie. 'Tis more than you deserve* 
 
 But, since you teach me how to flatter you. 
 Imagine I have said farewell already. 
 [Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berklez 
 
 Glo. Take up the corse, sirs. 
 
 Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord] 
 
 Glo. No, to White Friars ; there attend my coni< 
 ing. [Exeunt the rest, with the Corpse 
 Was ever woman in this humor woo'd? 
 Was ever woman in this humor won? 
 I'll have her, — but I will not keep her long. 
 What ! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father, 
 To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; 
 With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes. 
 The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; 
 ' In Bishopgate-streel. 
 
Scene ill. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 55a 
 
 With God, her conscience, and these bars against 
 
 me. 
 And I no friends to back my suit withal. 
 But the plain devil and dissemblinji: looks, 
 And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing ! 
 Ha! 
 
 Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
 Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since, 
 Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury 1 
 A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — 
 Framed in the prodigality of nature, 
 Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, — 
 The spacious world cannot again afford : 
 And will she yet abase her eyes on me. 
 That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, 
 And made her widow toawoful bed? 
 On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety 1 
 On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus 1 
 My dukedom to a beggarly dernier,' 
 I do mistake my person all this while : 
 Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, 
 Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 
 I'll be at charges for a looking-glass ; 
 And entertain a score or two of tailors, 
 To study fashions to adorn my body ; 
 Since I am crept in favor with myself, 
 I will maintain it with some little cost. 
 But, first, I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; 
 And then return lamenting to my love. — 
 Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass. 
 That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and 
 Lord Gkey. 
 
 Riv. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt 
 his majesty 
 Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 
 
 Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him 
 worse : 
 Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, 
 And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. 
 
 Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of 
 me ■? 
 
 Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. 
 
 Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly 
 son. 
 To be your comforter, when he is gone. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority 
 Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, 
 A man that loves not me, nor none of you. 
 
 Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector! 
 
 Q. Eliz. It is dctermin'd, not concluded yet : 
 But so it must be, if the king miscarry. 
 
 Enter Buckikgham and Stanley. 
 
 Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and 
 
 Stanley. 
 Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace ! 
 Stan. Heaven make your majesty joyful as you 
 
 have been ! 
 Q. Eliz. The counters Richmond, good my lord 
 of Stanley, 
 To your good prayer will scarcely say — amen. 
 Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife. 
 And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd, 
 I hate not you for her proud arrogance. 
 • A small French coin. 
 
 Stan. I do beseech you, eithei not believe 
 The envious slanders of her false accusers; 
 Or, if she be accus'd on true report, 
 Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
 From vi'ayward sickness, and no grounded malice. 
 Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of 
 
 Stanley? 
 Stan. But now the duke of Buckingham, and Ij 
 Are come from visiting his majesty. 
 
 Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, 
 
 lords ? 
 Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks 
 
 cheerfully. 
 Q. Eliz. God grant him health ! Did ^ou con 
 
 fcr with him ? 
 Buck. Ay, madam, he desires to make atonement 
 Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers, 
 And between them and my lord chamberlain ; 
 And sent to warn them to his royal presence. 
 Q. Eliz. Would all were well !— But that will 
 never be; — 
 I fear, our happiness is at the height. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset. 
 
 Gh. They do me wrong, and I will not endure 
 it.— 
 Who are they, that complain unto the king. 
 That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not '^ 
 By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly. 
 That fill his ears with such dissentious rumors. 
 Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair, 
 Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 
 Duck with French nods, and apish courtesy, 
 I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
 Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm. 
 But thus his simple truth must be abus'd 
 By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks ?' 
 
 Grey. To whom, in all this presence speaks you« 
 grace ? 
 
 Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace 
 When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong ? 
 Or thee ? — or thee ? — or any of your faction ? 
 A plague upon you all ! His royal grace, — 
 Whom God preserve better than you would wish' 
 Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while. 
 But you must trouble him with lewd' complaints. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the 
 matter. 
 The king, of his own royal disposition, 
 And not provok'd by any suitor else: 
 Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred. 
 That in your outward action shows itself. 
 Against my children, brothers, and myself, 
 Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather 
 The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. 
 
 Glo. I cannot tell; — The world is grown so bad. 
 That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch 
 Since every Jack became a gentleman. 
 There's many a gentle person made a Jack. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, 
 brother Gloster : 
 You envy my advancement, and my friends' ; 
 Heaven grant, wc never may have need of you ! 
 
 Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have nee» 
 of you ! 
 Our brother is imprison'd by your means. 
 Myself disgraced, and the nobility 
 Held in contempt; while great promotion* 
 Are daily given, to ennoble those 
 
 Low fellow*. « Rude, ignorant. 
 
556 
 
 KING RICHARD 111. 
 
 Acr 1 
 
 That scarce, some two days since, were worth a 
 noble.' 
 
 Q. Eliz. By him that rais'd me to this careful 
 height 
 From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, 
 1 never did incense his majesty 
 Against the duke of Clarence, but have been 
 An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
 My lord, you do me shameful injury, 
 Falself to draw me in these vile suspects. 
 
 GIo. You may deny that you were not the cause 
 Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 
 
 Riv. She may, my lord; for 
 
 Gh. She may, lord Rivers ? — why, who knows 
 not so ? 
 She may do more, sir, than denying that: 
 She may help you to many fair preferments; 
 And then deny her aiding hand therein, 
 And lay those honors on your high desert. 
 What may she not ? She may, — ay, marry may 
 she, — 
 
 Riv. What, marry, may she? 
 
 GIo. W^hat, marry, may she 1 marry with a king, 
 A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: 
 I wis,^ your grandam had a worser match. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, Ihave too long borne 
 Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs: 
 By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty, 
 Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd. 
 I had rather be a country servant-maid, 
 Than a great queen with this condition — 
 To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at : 
 Small joy have I in being England's queen. 
 
 Enter Queex MAnoAREx, behind. 
 
 Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I be- 
 seech thee! 
 Thy honor, state, and seat, is due to me. 
 
 GIo. What ? threat you me with telling of the 
 king ■? 
 Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said 
 I will avouch, in presence of the king : 
 I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
 'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot. 
 
 Q. Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too well : 
 Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, 
 And Edward, my poor son, at 'fewksbury. 
 
 GIo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband 
 king, 
 I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; 
 A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, 
 A liberal rcwarder of his friends; 
 To royalizc his blood, I spilt mine own. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or 
 thine. 
 
 GIo. In all which time, you, and your I'asband 
 Grey, 
 Were factious for the house of Lancaster; — 
 And, Rivers, so were you : — Was not your husband 
 In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? 
 Let me put in your minds, if you forget, 
 What you have been ere now, and what you are ; 
 Withal, what I have been, and what I am. 
 
 Q. Mar. \ murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. 
 
 GIo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father War- 
 wick, 
 /\.y,and forswore himself, — Which Jesu pardon ! — 
 
 Q. Mar. Which God revenge! 
 
 GIo. To fight on Edward'- party, for the crown; 
 « A coin rated at 6s. 8d. a Think. 
 
 And, for this meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up: 
 I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's, 
 Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like ralne; 
 I am too childish-foolish for this world. 
 
 Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leav* 
 this world, 
 Thou cacodaem m!' there thy kingdom is. 
 
 Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy day?. 
 Which here you urge to prove us enemies. 
 We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king ; 
 So should we you, if you should be our king. 
 
 GIo. If I should be? — I had rather be a pedlai: 
 Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! 
 
 Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose 
 You should enjoy, were you this country's king; 
 As little joy you may suppose in me, 
 That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. 
 
 Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; 
 For I am she, and altogether joyless. 
 I can no longer hold me patient. — J^Advancing 
 Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
 In sharing that which you have pill'd* from mc: 
 Which of you trembles not, that looks on me : 
 If not, that I, being queen, you bow like subjects 
 Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels ?— 
 Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away ! 
 
 GIo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in 
 my sight ? 
 
 Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast matr'd 
 That will I make, before I let thee go. 
 
 GIo. Weit thou not banished on pain of death ? 
 
 Q. Mar. I was ; but I do find more pain in ban- 
 ishment, 
 Tlian death can yield me here by my abode. 
 A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me, — 
 And thou a kingdom; — all of you allegiance: 
 This sorrow that I have, by right is yours ; 
 And all the pleasures you usurp arc mine. 
 
 GIo. The curse my noble father laid on thee, 
 When thou didst crown his warlike brows with papei 
 And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes 
 And then to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, 
 Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland; — 
 His curses, then from bitterness of soul 
 Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee, 
 And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. 
 
 Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent 
 
 Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe 
 And the most merciless, that e'er was heard if. 
 
 Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re- 
 ported. 
 
 Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it. 
 Buck. Northumberland,then present,wept to see it 
 
 Q. Mar. What ! were you snarling all, before 1 
 came. 
 Ready to catch each other by the throat. 
 And turn you all your hatred now on me \ 
 Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven, 
 That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, 
 Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, 
 Could all but ansv/er for that peevish brat? 
 Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?-- 
 Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quicl( 
 
 curses ! — 
 Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, 
 As ours by murder, to make him a king ! 
 Edward, thy son, that now is pruice of Wales, 
 For Edward, my son, that was piince of Wales. 
 Die in his youth, by like untimely violence ! 
 
 3 Corrupt devil. 4 Pillaged- 
 
 ■r-V^flS^^Ka^ 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 657 
 
 Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, 
 
 Outlive thy glory like my wretched self! 
 
 Long niayst thou live, to wail thy children's loss ; 
 
 And see another, as I see thee now, 
 
 Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine ! 
 
 Long die thy happy days before thy death; 
 
 And after many lengthen'd hours of grief. 
 
 Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! — 
 
 Rivers, — and Dorset, — you were standers by, — 
 
 And so wast thou, lord Hastings, — when my son 
 
 Was stabb'd with bloody daggers ; God, I pray him. 
 
 That none of you may live your natural age. 
 
 But bv some 'unlook'd accident cut off! 
 
 Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hatetul ^ither'd 
 hag. 
 
 Q. Mar. And leave out thee ? stay, dog, for thou 
 shalt hear me. 
 If heaven have any grievous plague in store, 
 Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, 
 0, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe, 
 And then hurl down their indignation 
 On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace ! 
 The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul! 
 Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, 
 And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends ! 
 No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, 
 Unless it be while some tormenting dream 
 Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
 Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog ! 
 Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
 The slave of nature, and the son of hell i 
 Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb ! 
 Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins ! 
 Thou rag of honor ! thou detested 
 
 Glo. Margaret! 
 
 Q. Mar. Richard ! 
 
 Gh. Ha ? 
 
 Q. Mar. I call thee not. 
 
 Gh. I cry thee mercy, then ; for I did think, 
 That thou hadst called me all these bitter names. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, so I did, but look'd for no reply: 
 0, let me make the period to my curse. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis done by me ; and ends m — Margaret. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse 
 against yourself. [fortune ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my 
 Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,* 
 Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about 1 
 Fool, fool ! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
 The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me 
 To help thee curse this pois'nous hunch-back'd toad. 
 
 Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse ! 
 Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience. 
 
 Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all 
 mov'd mine. 
 
 Riv. W^ere you well serv'd, you would be taught 
 your duty. [duty, 
 
 Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me 
 Teach mc to be your queen, and you my subjects : 
 O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. 
 
 Ours. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. 
 
 Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you arc malapert: 
 Vour fire-new stamp of honor is scarce current:' 
 (), that your young nobility could judge. 
 What 'twere to lose it and be miserable ! 
 They that stand high, have many blasts to shake 
 
 them ; 
 \nd, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 « AUudins to Glostcr's form and venom. 
 » He wa^ just created marquis of Dorset. 
 
 Glo. Good counsel, marry; — learn it, leam it| 
 marquis. 
 
 Dors. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. 
 
 Glo. Ay, and much more : But I was born so high. 
 Our aiery'^ buildelh in the cedar's top. 
 And dallies with the wind, and scorns the Bun. 
 
 Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade; — alas. 
 alas ! — 
 Witness my son, now in the shade of death; 
 Whoee bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath 
 Hath in eternal darkness folded up. 
 Your aierv buildeth in our aiery's nest: — 
 Z iiod, that seest it, do not suffer it; 
 As it was won with blood, lost be it so ! 
 
 Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity. 
 
 Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me ; 
 Uncharitably with me have you dealt. 
 And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. 
 My charity is outrage, life my shame. — 
 And in my shame still lire my soitow's rage ! 
 
 Buck. Have done, have done. 
 
 Q. Mar. princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand. 
 In sign of league and amity with thee: 
 Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house ! 
 Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, 
 Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 
 
 Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never pass 
 The lips of those that breathe them in the air. 
 
 Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky. 
 And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peaoe 
 
 Buckingham, beware of yonder dog; 
 
 Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and, when he bites. 
 His venom tooth will rankle to the death: 
 Have not to do with him, beware of him ; 
 Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him; 
 And all their ministers attend on Iiim. 
 
 Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckinghami 
 
 Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. 
 
 Q. Mar. M'hat, dost thou scorn me for my gentle 
 counsel? 
 And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? 
 O, but remember this another day, 
 When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow ; 
 And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. — 
 Live each of you the subjects to his hate. 
 And he to yours, and all of you to God's ! [^Exit, 
 
 Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her 
 curses. [liberty. 
 
 Riv. And so doth mine; I muse,' why she's at 
 
 Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother, 
 She hath had too much wrong, and I repent 
 My part thereof, that I have done to her. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. 
 
 Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. 
 
 1 was too hot to do somebody good, 
 That is too cold in thinking of it now. 
 Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
 He is frank'd' up to fatting for his pains ; — 
 God pardon them that are the cause thereof! 
 
 7v(t'. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion 
 To pray for them that have done scath' to us. 
 
 Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd; — 
 For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself [^Aside 
 
 Enter Catesbt. 
 
 Call's. Madam, his majesty doth call for you, — 
 And for your grace, — and you, my noble lords. 
 Q. Eliz. Catesby I come ; — Lords, will you gi 
 with mel 
 
 « Nest. ' Wonder. » Put in a s^ 
 
 •Ham 
 
i)58 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your grace. 
 [^Extu7it all but Gloster. 
 
 Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. 
 The secret mischiefs that I set abroach, 
 I lay unto the grievous charge of others. 
 Olarence, — whom I, indeed, have laid in dark- 
 ness, — 
 I do beweep to many simple gulls; 
 Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham ; 
 And tell them — 'tis the queen, and her allies. 
 That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
 Now they believe it ; and withal whet me 
 To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: 
 But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture. 
 Tell them — that God bids us do good for evil: 
 And thus I clothe my naked villany 
 With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ. 
 And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 
 Enter two Murderers. 
 
 But soft, here come my executioners. — 
 How now, my hardy, stout-resolved mates 1 
 Are you now going to despatch this thing? 
 
 1 Murd. We are, my lord ; and come to have 
 the warrant, 
 That we may be admitted where he is. 
 
 Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about 
 me: [^Gives the Warra7it. 
 
 When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. 
 But, sirs, be sudden in the execution. 
 Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ; 
 For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps. 
 May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 
 
 1 Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to 
 prate, 
 Talkers are no good doers ; be assured. 
 We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. 
 
 Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes 
 drop tears: 
 1 like you, lads; — about your business straight; 
 Go, go, despatch. 
 
 1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Room in the Tower. 
 
 Enter Clarence and Brakenburt. 
 
 Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to day? 
 
 Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, 
 i30 full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights. 
 That as I am a Christian faithful man, 
 I would not spend another such a night. 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ; 
 So full of dismal terror was the time. 
 
 Brak. What was your dream, my lord ] I pray 
 you, tell me. 
 
 Clar. Methought that I had broken from the 
 Tower, 
 And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
 And, in my company, my brother Gloster: 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 Upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward England, 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times. 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster 
 That had befallen us. As we paced along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 Methought, that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling, 
 Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 O heaven ! methought, what pain it was to drown! 
 What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 
 Methought, I saw a thousand iearful wrecks; 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon; 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl. 
 Inestimable stones, unvalu'd jewels, 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems. 
 That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 
 Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of dealhi 
 To gaze upon these secrets of the deep 1 
 
 Clar. Alethought, I had ; and often did I strive 
 To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air ; 
 But smother'd it within my panting bulk. 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 
 Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony 1 
 
 Clar. 0, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life 
 0, then began the tempest to my soul ! 
 I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, 
 With that grim ferrymen which poets write of, 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul, 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, 
 Who cry'd aloud — What scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark nwnarchj afford false Clarence? 
 And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by 
 A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud, — 
 Clarence is come,— false, fleeting, perjur'd Ch* 
 
 rence, — 
 That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury,- — 
 Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments/ 
 With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
 Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 
 I trembling waked, and, for a season after. 
 Could not believe but that I was in hell ; 
 Such terrible impression made my dream. 
 
 Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you ; 
 I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 
 
 Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things,— 
 That now give evidence against my soul, — 
 For Edward's sake ; and, see how he requites me !^ 
 
 God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
 But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds. 
 
 Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 
 
 0, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children ! — 
 
 1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 
 My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 
 
 Brak. I will, my lord ; God give your grace good 
 rest ! — 
 [Clarence reposes himself on a Chair, 
 Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours. 
 Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. 
 Princes have but their titles for their glories. 
 An outward honor for an inward toil ; 
 And, for unfelt imaginations. 
 They often feel a world of restless caies: 
 So that between their titles, and low name. 
 There's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
 
 Enter the two Murderers. 
 
 1 Murd. Ho ! who's here 1 
 
 Brak. What wouldst thou, lellow? and how 
 
 cam'st thou hither 1 
 1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I 
 came hither on my legs. 
 
SCENK IV. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 55^ 
 
 Brak. What, so brief? 
 
 2 Murd. O, sir, 'tis belter to be brief than te- 
 dious : — 
 Let him see our commission ; talk no more. 
 
 [^A Paper is delivered to BnAKENuuiiY, 
 who reads it. 
 
 Brali. I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
 The noble duke of Clarence to your hands : — 
 [ will not reason Vv'hat is meant hereby. 
 Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
 Here are the keys ; — there sits the duke asleep : 
 I'll to the king; and signify to him, 
 That I thus have resign'd to you my charge. 
 
 J Murd. You may, sir ; 'tis a point of wisdom : 
 Fare you well. [Exit BRAKENnmY. 
 
 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps] 
 
 1 Murd. No; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, 
 when he wakes. 
 
 2 Murd. When he wakes! why, fool, he shall 
 never wake until the great judgment day. 
 
 1 Murd. Why, then he'll say, we stabb'd him 
 sleeping. 
 
 2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment, 
 hath bred a kind of remorse in me. 
 
 1 Murd. What ! art thou afraid ] 
 
 2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ; 
 but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which 
 no warrant can defend me. 
 
 1 Murd. I thought, thou hadst been resolute. 
 
 2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. 
 
 1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gioster, and 
 tell him so. 
 
 2 Murd. Nay, I pr'y thee, stay a little : I hope, 
 this holy humor of mine will change ; it was wont 
 to hold me but while one would tell twenty. 
 
 1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now ] 
 
 2 Murd. 'Faith some certain dregs of conscience 
 are yet within me. 
 
 1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's 
 done. 
 
 2 Murd. Come, he dies ; I had forgot the reward. 
 
 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now 1 
 
 2 Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse. 
 
 1 Murd. So when he opens his purse to give us 
 cur reward, thy conscience flies out. 
 
 2 Murd. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few, 
 or none, will entertain it. 
 
 1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again? 
 
 2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous 
 thing, it makes a man a coward ; a man cannot steal, 
 but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it 
 checks him ; a man cannot lie with his neighbor's 
 wife, but it detects him : 'Tis a blushing shame-faced 
 spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills one full 
 of obstacles : it made me once restore a purse of gold, 
 that by chance I found; it beggars any man that keeps 
 it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dan- 
 gerous thing ; and every man, that means to live well, 
 endeavors to trust to himself, and live without it. 
 
 1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, 
 persuading me not to kill the duke. 
 
 2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe 
 him not: he would insinuate with thee, but to 
 make thee sigh. 
 
 1 Murd. I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail 
 with me. 
 
 2 Murd. Spoke like a talP fellow, that respects 
 his reputation, ('omc, shall we fall to work? 
 
 1 Murd. Take him over the costard' with the 
 " Brave. » Head. 
 
 hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the 
 malmsey-butt, in the next room. 
 
 2. Murd. O excellent device ! and make a sop 
 of him. 
 
 1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes. 
 
 2 Murd. Strike. 
 
 1 Murd. No, we'll reason with him. 
 
 Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup 
 
 of wine. 
 1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, 
 
 anon. 
 Clar. In God's name, what art thou '' 
 1 Murd. A man, as you are. 
 Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 
 1 Murd. Nor you, as we are, loj'al. 
 Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks ar«« 
 
 humble. 
 1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks 
 
 mine own. 
 Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou 
 speak ! 
 Your eyes do menace me : Why look you pale ? 
 Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? 
 
 Both Murd. To, to, to, 
 
 Clar. To murder me ? 
 Both Murd. Ay, ay. 
 
 Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, 
 And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
 Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? 
 
 1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king 
 Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. 
 
 2 Murd. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die 
 Clar. Are you call'd Ibrth from out a world of men 
 
 To slay the innocent? What is my offence? 
 Where is the evidence that doth accuse me ? 
 What lawful quest' have given their verdict up 
 Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced 
 The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ' 
 Before I be convict by course of law. 
 To threaten me with death is most unlawful. 
 I charge you, as you hope for any goodness. 
 By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins. 
 That you depart, and lay no hands on me; 
 The deed you undertake is damnable. 
 
 1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command. 
 2Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our king. 
 Clar. Erroneous vassal ! the great King of kinga 
 
 Hath in the table of his law commanded. 
 That thou shalt do no murder: Wilt thou then 
 Spurn at His edict, and fulfil a man's ? 
 Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
 To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 
 
 2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl 
 
 on thee, 
 For false forswearing, and for murder too : 
 Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight 
 In quarrel' of the house of Lancaster. 
 
 1 Murd. And like a traitor to the name of God, 
 Didst break that vow; and, with thy treacherous 
 
 blade, 
 Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 
 
 2 Murd. ^Vhom thou wast sworn to cherish and 
 
 defend. 
 1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful 
 law to us. 
 When thou hast broke it in such dear degree 1 
 Clar. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill deed ^ 
 For Edward, for my brother, for his sake • 
 He sends you not to murder me lor ttiis ; 
 » Inquest, jury. » Oa tho part 
 
560 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act J I 
 
 For in that sin he is as deep as I. 
 ff God will be avenged for the deed, 
 0, know you, that he doth it publicly ; 
 Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; 
 He needs no indirect nor lawless course, 
 To cut off those that have offended him. 
 
 1 Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister, 
 When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, 
 That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ? 
 
 Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 
 
 1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy 
 
 fault. 
 Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. 
 
 Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me; 
 lam his brother, and I love him well. 
 If you are hired for meed,* go back again, 
 And I will send you to my brother Gioster; 
 Who shall reward you better for my life, 
 Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 
 
 2 Murd. You arc deceiv'd, your brother Gioster 
 
 hates you. 
 
 Clar. 0, no; he loves me, and he holds me dear: 
 Go you to him from me. 
 
 Both Murd. Ay, so we will. 
 
 Clar. Tell him,when that our princely father York 
 Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm. 
 And charged us from his soul to love each other. 
 He little thought of this divided friendship: 
 Bid Gioster think on this, and he will weep. 
 
 1 Murd. Ay, mill-stones; as he lesson'd us to weep. 
 
 Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. 
 
 1 Murd. Right, as snow in harvest. — Come, you 
 deceive yourself; 
 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. 
 
 Clar. It cannot be ; for he bewept my fortune, 
 And hugged me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, 
 That he would labor my delivery. 
 
 1 Murd. Why so he doth, when he delivers you 
 From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 
 
 2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, 
 
 my lord. 
 Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul. 
 
 To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
 And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind. 
 That thou wilt war with God, by murd'ring me ] 
 Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on 
 To do this deed, will hate vou for the deed. 
 
 2 Murd. What shall we'dol 
 
 Clar. Relent, and save your soula 
 
 1 Murd. Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish. 
 Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish.— 
 
 Which of you, if you were a prince's son, 
 
 Being pent' from liberty, as I am now, — 
 
 If two such murderers as yourselves came to you. • 
 
 Would not entreat for life I — 
 
 My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks; 
 
 O, if thine eye be not a flatterer. 
 
 Come thou on my side, and entreat for me. 
 
 As you would beg, were you in my distress. 
 
 A begging prince what beggar pities noti 
 
 2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 
 
 1 Murd. Take that, and that ; if all this will not 
 
 do, [Slabs him. 
 
 I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 
 
 [Exit with the body. 
 
 2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately de- 
 
 spatch'd ! 
 How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 
 Of this most grievous guilty murder done ! 
 
 Re-enter first Murderer. 
 
 1 Murd. How now] what mean'st thou, that 
 
 thou help'st me not 1 
 By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you 
 have been. 
 
 2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd hia 
 
 brother! 
 Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; 
 For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit. 
 1 Murd. So do not I : go, coward, as thou art. — 
 Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole. 
 Till that the duke give order for his burial : 
 And when I have my meed, I will away ; 
 For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace. 
 
 EnterKiT^G Edward, (ledinsick^ Queen Eliza- 
 beth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Bucking- 
 ham, Grey, and others. 
 
 K. Edw. Why, so: — now have I done a good 
 day's work ; — 
 You peers continue this united league: 
 every day expect an embassage 
 n\\ my Redeemer to redeem me hence; 
 And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven. 
 Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. 
 Rivers, and Hastings, take each other's hand; 
 Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 
 Riv. By heaven, my soul is purged from grudging 
 hate! 
 And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 
 Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like ! 
 K. Edw. Take heed, you dally not before your 
 king; 
 Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings, 
 
 « Reward. 
 
 Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
 Either of you to be the other's end. 
 
 Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! 
 
 Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! 
 
 K.Edw. Madam,yourself are not exempt in this,— 
 Nor your son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you; — 
 You have been factious one against the other. 
 Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand , 
 And what you do, do it unfeignedly. 
 
 Q. Eliz. There, Hastings; — I will never more 
 remember 
 Our former hatred; So thrive I, and mine! 
 
 K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him, — Hastings, love 
 lord marquis. 
 
 Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest. 
 Upon my part shall be inviolable. 
 
 Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces Dorset. 
 
 K. Edw. Now princely Bucldngham, seal thoii 
 this league. 
 With thy embracements to my wife's allies, 
 And make me happy in your unity. 
 
 > .Shut UP 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 KING RICHARD IIL 
 
 561 
 
 Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate 
 Upon vour grace, [To the Quekn.] but with all 
 
 duteous love 
 Doth cherish 3'ou, and yours, God punish me 
 With hate in those where I expect most love ! 
 When I have most need to employ a friend, 
 And most assured that he is a friend. 
 Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, 
 Be he unto me! this do I beg of heaven, 
 When I am cold in love to you or yours. 
 
 [Embracing Ririiis, ^c 
 
 K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Bucking- 
 ham, 
 [s this thy vow unto my sickly heart. 
 There wanteth now our brother Gloster here. 
 To make the blessed period of this peace. 
 
 Buck. And, in good time, here comes the noble 
 duke. 
 
 Enter GLosTF.n. 
 
 Glo »,iood morrow to my sovereign king, and 
 queen; 
 .\ii(l, p-inccly peers, a happy time of day ! 
 
 K. Ediv. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the 
 day : — 
 Brother, we have done deeds of charity; 
 Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, 
 Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 
 
 Glo. A blessed labor, my most sovereign liege. — 
 Among this princely heap, if any here, 
 By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, 
 Hold me a foe; 
 
 If I unwittingly, or in my rage, 
 Have aught committed that is hardly borne 
 By any in this presence, I desire 
 To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 
 'Tis death to me to beat enmity; 
 I hate it, and desire all good men's love. — 
 First, madam, I entreat true peace of you. 
 Which I will purchase with my duteous service; — 
 Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, 
 If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us; 
 ()f you, lord Rivers, — and, lord Grey, of you, 
 That all without desert have frown'd on me ; — 
 Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of all. 
 r do not know that Englishman alive, 
 With whom my soul is any jot at odds. 
 More than the infant that is born to-night; 
 I thank my God for my humility. 
 
 Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept here- 
 after. 
 I would to God all strifes were well com- 
 pounded. — 
 My sovereign lord, 1 do beseech your highness 
 To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 
 
 Gin. Why, madam, have I ofTer'd love for this. 
 To be so flouted in this royal presence? 
 Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead ? 
 
 [They all start. 
 You do him injury to scorn his corse. 
 
 K. Edw. Who knows not lie is dead ! who 
 knows he is ] 
 
 Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! 
 
 lliick. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest] 
 
 Dor. Ay, my good lord ; and no man in the pre- 
 sence, 
 B .t his red color hath forsook his cheek. 
 
 K. Edw. Is Clarence dead ? the order was re- 
 vers'd. 
 
 Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died, 
 %nd that a winged Mercury did bear ; 
 
 Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, 
 That came too lag to see him buried : 
 God grant, that some, less noble, and less royal, 
 Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood. 
 Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, 
 And yet go current from suspicion ! 
 
 Enter Stanlet. 
 
 Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service dona 
 
 K. Edw. I pr'y thee, peace ; my soul is full of 
 sorrow. 
 
 Sla7i. I will not rise unless your highness hear me 
 
 K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou re 
 request'st. 
 
 Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life 
 Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman. 
 Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. 
 
 A'. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother'i 
 death, 
 And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave ! 
 My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought, 
 And yet his punishment was bitter death. 
 Who sued to me for him ? who, in my wrath, 
 Kncel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised 1 
 Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love? 
 Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake 
 The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me^ 
 Who told me, in the field of Tewksbury, 
 When Oxford had me down, he rescued me. 
 And said. Dear brother, live, and be a king! 
 Who told me, when we both lay in the field. 
 Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
 Even in his garments; and did give himself. 
 All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? 
 All this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
 Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you 
 Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 
 But when your carters or your waiting-vassals, 
 Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced 
 The precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
 You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon, 
 And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. — 
 But for my brother, not a man would speak,— 
 Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself 
 For him, poor soul. — The proudest of you all 
 Have been beholden to him in his life ; 
 Yet none of you would once plead for his life. 
 O God! I fear thy justice will take hold 
 On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this 
 Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. 0. 
 Poor Clarence! 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queen, Hastings, Rivers, 
 Dorset, and Grey. 
 
 Glo. This is the fruit of rashness! — Mark'd yoa 
 not, 
 How that the guilty kindred of the queen 
 Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' deatW 
 0! they did urge it still unto the king; 
 Heaven will revenge it. Come, lords ; will you go, 
 To comfort Edward with our company? 
 
 Buck. We wait upon your gi-ace. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE JL— The same. 
 
 Enter the DriiiEss of York, with a Son aiid 
 
 Daughter of Clahknce. 
 
 Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead ? 
 Duch. No, ooy. 
 
 Daugh. Why do you weep so oft] and beaf 
 your breast ; 
 Aid cry — O Clarence, my unliappy aonf 
 
562 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act H 
 
 iSb/i.Why do you look on us, and shake your head, 
 And call us — orphans, wretches, cast-aways, 
 If that our noble father be alive 1 
 
 Duck. My pretty cousins, j'ou mistake me both. 
 I do lament the sickness of the king, 
 As loath to lose him, not your father's death; 
 It were lost sorrow, to wail one that's lost. 
 
 Son. Then, grandam,you conclude that he is dead. 
 The king my uncle is to blame for this. 
 God will revenge it; whom I will importune 
 With earnest prayers all to that eflect. 
 
 Daiigk. And so will I. 
 
 Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love 
 Incapable* and shallow innocents, [you well: 
 
 You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. 
 
 Son. Grandam,we can ; for my good uncle Gloster 
 Told me, the king, provok'd to't by the queen, 
 Devised impeachments to imprison him: 
 And when my uncle told me so, he wept, 
 And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; 
 Bade me rely on him, as on my father. 
 And he would love me dearly as his child. 
 
 Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle 
 And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice ! [shapes. 
 He is my son, ay, and therein my shame, 
 Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit 
 
 iS'o?i. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, gran- 
 
 Duch, Ay, boy. [dam 1 
 
 Son. I cannot think it. Hark ! what noise is thisi 
 
 '^nter Queest Elizabeth, distractedly ; Rivers 
 and Dorset, following her. 
 
 Q. Ellz. Ah ! who shall hinder me to wail and 
 weepi 
 To chide my fortune, and torment myself? 
 I'll join with black despair against my soul. 
 And to myself become an enemy. 
 
 TJucA. What means this scene of rude impatience] 
 
 Q. Ellz. To make an act of tragic violence : — 
 Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. 
 Why grow the branches, when the root is gone 1 
 Why wither not the leaves, that want their sap 1 — 
 If you will live, lament; if die, be brief; 
 That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's ; 
 Or, like obedient subjects, follow him 
 To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. 
 
 Duch. Ah. so much interest have I in thy sorrow, 
 As I had title in thy noble husband ! 
 I have bewept a worthy husband's death, 
 And liv'd by looking on his images: 
 But now two mirrors of his princely semblance 
 Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death; 
 And I for comfort have but one false glass, 
 That grieves me when I sec my shame in him. 
 Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, 
 And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: 
 But death hath snatch'd my husband from my arms. 
 And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands, 
 Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I, 
 (Thine being but a moiety of my grief,) 
 To over-go thy plaints, and drown thy cries ! 
 
 Son. Ah, aunt ! you wept not for our father's 
 death ; 
 How can we aid you with our kindred tears 1 
 
 Z)fl;«o-/j. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd, 
 V^our widow-dolor likewise be unwept ! 
 
 (}. Ellz. Give me no help in lamentation, 
 [ am not barren to bring forth laments : 
 All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes 
 • Ignorant. 
 
 That I, being govern'd by the wat'ry moon, 
 May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world 
 Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward ! 
 
 Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Cla 
 rence ! 
 
 Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and 
 Clarence ! 
 
 Q. Ellz. What stay hid I, but Edward 1 and 
 he's gone. 
 
 Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence? and 
 he's gone. 
 
 Duch. What stays had I, but they ? and they ara 
 gone. 
 
 Q. Ellz. Was never widow, l.ad so dear a Icsjs. 
 
 Chil. Were never orphans, hud so dear a loss 
 
 Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss, 
 Alas! I am the mother of these griefs; 
 Their woes arc parcell'd,'' mine are general. 
 She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; 
 I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: 
 These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I: 
 I for an Edward weep, so do not they : 
 Alas! you three, on me, threefold distress'd. 
 Pour all your tears; I am your sorrow's nurse, 
 And I will pamper it with lamentations. 
 
 Dor. Comfort, dear mother; God is much dis 
 pleas'd. 
 That you take with unthankfulness his doing ; 
 In common worldly things, 'tis called — ungrateful 
 With dull unwillingness to repay a debt, 
 Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; 
 Much more to be thus opposite with heaven. 
 For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 
 
 Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother 
 Of the young prince your son: send straight lor him 
 Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: 
 Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's gravi^i 
 And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, Hast- 
 ings, Ratcliff, and others. 
 
 Glo. Sister, have comfort: all of us have cause 
 To wail the dimming of our shining star; 
 But none can cure their harms by wailing them. — 
 Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy, 
 I did not see your grace : — Humbly on my k Bee 
 I crave your blessing. 
 
 Duch. God bless thee ; and put meekness in thy 
 breast. 
 Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! 
 
 Glo. Amen ; and make me die a good old man ! — 
 That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing ; [^Aside, 
 I marvel that her grace did leave it out. 
 
 Buck. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing 
 peers. 
 That bear this mutual heavy load of moan. 
 Now cheer each other in each other's love : 
 Though we have spent our harvest of this king. 
 We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
 The broken rancor of your high-swoln hearts, 
 But lately splinted, knit, and join'd together. 
 Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept: 
 Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, 
 Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd 
 Hither to London, to be crown'd o»ir king. 
 
 Riv. Why with some little train, my lor<l of 
 Buckingham? 
 
 Buck. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude. 
 The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out 
 ' Divided. 
 
r^CLNE iV 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 563 
 
 Which wouk be so much the more dangerous, 
 By how much the estate is green, and yet ungo- 
 
 vern'd : 
 Where every horse bears his commanding rein. 
 And may direct his course as please himself, 
 As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, 
 In my opinion, ought to be prevented. 
 
 Glo. I hope, the king made peace with all of us ; 
 And the compact is firm, and true, in me. 
 
 Riv. And so in me ; and so, I think, in all : 
 yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
 To no apparent likelihood of breach. 
 Which, haply, by much company might be urged: 
 Therefore I gay, with noble Buckingham, 
 That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. 
 
 Hast. And so say I. 
 
 Glo. Then be it so; and go we to determine 
 Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. 
 Madam, — and you my mother, — will you go 
 To give your censures' in this weighty business? 
 [^Exeunt all but Buckingham and Glosteh. 
 
 Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince. 
 For God's sake, let not us two stay at home : 
 For, by the way, I'll sort occasion. 
 As index' to the story we latetalk'd of, 
 To part the queen's proud kindred from the prince. 
 
 Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistory. 
 My oracle, my prophet! — My dear cousin, 
 r, as a child, will go by thy direction. 
 Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Street. 
 
 Enter two Citizens, meeting. 
 
 1 Cit. Good-morrow, neighbor: Whither away 
 
 so fast ? 
 
 2 Cit. I promise you, I scarcely know myself : 
 Hear you the news abroad ? 
 
 1 Cit. Yes ; the king's dead. 
 
 2 Cit. Illnews, by'riady; seldom comes thebetter: 
 ^ fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy world. 
 
 Enter another Citizen. 
 
 3 Cit. Neighbors, God speed ! 
 
 1 Cit, Give you good-morrow, sir. 
 3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Ed- 
 ward's death] 
 
 2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while ! 
 
 3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. 
 
 1 Cit. No, no ; by God's good grace, his son shall 
 
 reign. 
 3 C;7.Woe to that land, that's govcrn'd by a child! 
 
 2 Cit. In him there is a hope of government; 
 That in this nonage,' council under him. 
 
 And, in his full and ripen'd years, himself. 
 
 No doubt, shall thc7i, and till then, govern well. 
 
 1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry the Sixth 
 Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. 
 
 3 Cit. Stood the state so 1 no, no, good friends. 
 
 God wot;^ 
 For then this land was famously enrich'd 
 With politic grave counsel; then the king 
 Had virtuous (incles to protect his grace. 
 
 1 Ct/. Vvhy, so hath this, both by his father and 
 mother. 
 
 3 Cit. Better it were they all came by his father ; 
 Or, by his father, there were none at all: 
 For emulation now, v^'ho shall be nearest, 
 Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. 
 '1, full of danger is the duke of Gloster; 
 
 *0piniCD8. 'i i Preparatory. « Minority. ^Knowf. 
 
 And the queen's sons, anil brothers, haught and 
 
 proud: 
 And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, 
 This sickly land might solace as before. 
 
 1 Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst ; all will b« 
 
 well. 
 3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put oi 
 their cloaks; 
 When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; 
 When the sun sets, who dolh not look for niglit? 
 Untimely storms make men expect a dearth; 
 All may be well; but, if heaven sort it so, 
 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of feai 
 You cannot reason" almost with a man 
 
 That looks not heavily, and full of dread. 
 
 3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so: 
 By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust 
 Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see 
 
 The water swell before a boist'rous storm. 
 But leave it all to God. Whither way] 
 
 2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 
 
 3 Cit. And so was I ; I'll bear you company. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enterthe AncH.BisHopoF Yoixv., the young'DvTi'& 
 OF YonK, Queen ELizABETii,a?it?//ieDucuES9 
 or YoHK. 
 
 Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony- 
 Stratford ; 
 And at Northampton they do rest to-night: 
 To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 
 
 Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince 
 I hope, he is much grown since last I saw him. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But I hear no; they say my son of York 
 Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. 
 
 York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so. 
 
 Duch. Why, my good cousin! it is good to grow. 
 
 York. Grandam,onenight, aswedidsit at supper, 
 My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow 
 More than my brother; Ay, quoth my uncle Gloster, 
 Small herbs have grace, great iveeds do grow apace: 
 And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast. 
 Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make 
 haste. 
 
 Duch. 'Good faith, 'good faith, the saying did 
 not hold 
 In him that did object the same to thee : 
 He was the wretched'st thing, when he was young, 
 So long a growing, and so leisurely, 
 That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. 
 
 Arch. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam 
 
 Duch. I hope, he is ; but yet let mothers doubt. 
 
 York. Now,by my troth, if I had been remember'd, 
 I could have given my uncle's grace a llout, 
 To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine. 
 
 Duch. How. my young York ! I pr'ythee, let me 
 hear it. 
 
 York. Marrjs they say my uncle grew so fast, 
 That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old; 
 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
 Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. 
 
 Duch. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told you this' 
 
 York. Grandam, his nurse. 
 
 Duch. His nurse 7 why, she was dead ere thou 
 
 wast born. 
 York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me 
 
 3 Convern-i. 
 
564 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act Hi 
 
 Q. Eliz. A parlous boy: Go to, you are too shrewd. 
 Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the child. 
 Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Arck. Here comes a messenger: 
 
 What news'! 
 
 Mess. Such news, my lord, 
 
 As grieves mc to unfold. 
 
 Q. Eliz. How doth the prince 1 
 
 Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 
 
 Duck. What is thy news 1 
 
 Mess. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, are sent to 
 Pom fret. 
 With them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. 
 
 Duch. Who hath committed them 1 
 
 Mess. The mighty dukes, 
 
 Gloster and Buckingham. 
 
 Q. Eliz. For what offence ? 
 
 Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd; 
 Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, 
 [s all unknown to me, my gracious lady. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house ! 
 The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind : 
 Insulting tyranny begins to jut 
 Upon the innocent and aw less throne : — 
 
 Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre ! 
 I see, as in a map, the end of all. 
 
 Duch. Accursed and unquiet, wrangling day*.' 
 How many of you have mine eyes beheld 1 
 My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
 And often up and down my sons were tost, 
 For me to joy and weep, their gain and loss 
 And being seated, and domestic broils 
 Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors. 
 Make war upon themselves; brother to brother. 
 Blood to blood, self 'gainst self: — O, preposterous 
 And frantic courage, end thy wicked spleen ! 
 Or let me die, to look on death no more ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanc- 
 tuary. — 
 Madam, farewell. 
 
 Duch. Stay, I will go with you. 
 
 Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 
 
 Arch. My gracious lady, go^ 
 
 \_To the QuEEK. 
 And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
 For my part, I'll resign unto your grace 
 The seal I keep; And so betide me, 
 As well I tender you, and all of yours! 
 Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. 
 
 [ExeuriU 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 StJENE I.— A Street. 
 
 The Trumpets sound. Enter the Prince of Wales, 
 Glosteh, Buckingham, Cart^j'na/ BouRCHiEn, 
 and others. 
 
 Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to 
 
 your chamber. 
 Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove- 
 reign : 
 The weary way hath made you melancholy. 
 
 Prince. No, uncle ; but our crosses on the way 
 Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy : 
 I want more uncles here to welcome me. 
 
 Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your 
 years 
 Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit : 
 No more can you distinguish of a man. 
 Than of his outward show; which, heaven knows. 
 Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart. 
 Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous; 
 Your grace attended to their sugar'd words. 
 But look'd not on the poison of their hearts: 
 Heaven keep you from them, and from such false 
 friends ! 
 Prince. Heaven keep me from false friends ! but 
 
 they were none. 
 Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to 
 greet you. 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor and his Train. 
 May. God bless your grace with health and 
 
 hanpy days ! 
 Prince. I thank you, good my lord, — and thank 
 you all. — ^Exeunt Mayor, &c. 
 
 I thought my mother, and my brother York, 
 Would long ere this have met us on the way : 
 Fye, what a slug is Hastings ! that he comes not 
 To tell us, whether thev will come, or no. 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 
 Buck. And in good time, here comes the sweat- 
 ing lord. 
 
 Prince. Welcome, my lord ; What, will our mo- 
 ther come? 
 
 Hast. On what occasion, God heknows, not I, 
 The queen your mother, and your brother York, 
 Have taken sanctuary: The tender prince 
 Would fain have come with me to meet you< 
 
 grace, 
 But by his mother was perforce withheld. 
 
 Buck. Fye ! what an indirect and peevish course 
 Is this of hers? — Lord cardinal, will your grace 
 Persuade the queen to send the duke of York, 
 Unto his princely brother presently? 
 If she deny, — lord Hastings, go with him. 
 And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. 
 
 Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak 
 oratory 
 Can from his mother win the duke of York, 
 Anon expect him here ; But if she be obdurate 
 To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid 
 We should infringe the holy privilege 
 Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land, 
 Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. 
 
 Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lorcj, 
 Too ceremonious, and traditional : 
 Weigh it but with the grossness of this age. 
 You break not sanctuary in seizing him. 
 The benefit thereof is always granted 
 To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place, 
 And those who have the wit to claim the place : 
 This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it, 
 And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it : 
 Then, taking him from thence, that is not there. 
 You break no privilege nor charter there. 
 Oft have I heard of sanctuary men; 
 But sanctuary children, ne'er till now. 
 
?OENE I. 
 
 KING RICHARD 111. 
 
 665 
 
 [^Aside. 
 
 Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for 
 once. — 
 Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with mel 
 
 Hast. I go, my lord. 
 
 Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you 
 may. [^Exeunt Cardinal o??c? Hastings. 
 Say, uncle Glostcr, if our brother come, 
 Where shall we sojourn till our coronation 1 
 
 GIo. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
 If I may counsel you, some day or two, 
 your highness shall repose you at the Tower : 
 Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit 
 For your best health and recreation. 
 
 Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place : — 
 Did Julius Cffisar build that place, my lord? 
 
 Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place : 
 Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. 
 
 Pri7ice. Is it upon record] or else reported 
 Successively from age to age he built it? 
 
 Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord. 
 
 Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd ; 
 Methinks, the truth should live from age to age, 
 As 'twere retail'd to all posterity. 
 Even to the general all-ending daj'. 
 
 GIo. So wisf «o young, they say, do ne'er live 
 long. [^Aside. 
 
 Prince. What say you, uncle 1 
 
 Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives long. 
 Thus like the formal' vice. Iniquity, 
 I morahze two meanings in one word 
 
 Prince. That Julius Caesar was a famous man ; 
 With what his valor did enrich his wit, 
 His wit set down to make his valor live : 
 Death makes no conquest of this conqueror ; 
 For now he lives in fame, though not in life. — 
 I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham, — 
 
 Buck, What, my gracious lord 1 
 
 Prince. An if I live until I be a man, 
 I'll win our ancient right in France again, 
 Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king. 
 
 Glo. Short summers lightly' have a forward 
 spring. [^Aside, 
 
 Enter Yohk, Hastixgs, and the Cardinal. 
 
 Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke 
 of York. 
 
 Prince. Richard of York ! how fares our loving 
 brother 1 
 
 York. Well, my dread lord ; so must I call you 
 now. 
 
 Prince. Ay, brother ; to our grief, as it is yours ; 
 Too late° he died, that might have kept that title, 
 WMiich by his death hath lost much majesty. 
 
 Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York ? 
 
 York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, 
 You said, that idle weeds are fost in growth : 
 The prince, my brother, hath outgrown me far. 
 
 Glo. He hath, my lord. 
 
 York. And therefore is he idlel 
 
 Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. 
 
 York. Then is he more beholden to you, than I. 
 
 Glu. He may command mc, as my sovereign ; 
 But you have power in me as in a kinsman. 
 
 York. I pray you, uncle, then, give mc this dagger. 
 
 Glo. My dagger, little cousin ! with all my heart. 
 
 Prince A beggar, brother! 
 
 York Of my kind uncle, that I know will give; 
 And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 
 
 * Sensible Vice, the buffoon in the old plays. 
 
 • Commouly. _ « Lately 
 
 3< 
 
 Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin 
 
 York. A greater gift ! 0, that's the sword to it 1 
 
 Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 
 
 York. O then, I see, you'll part but with light gifts; 
 In weightier things you'll say a beggar, nay. 
 
 Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. 
 
 York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 
 
 Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little 
 lord ] 
 
 York. I would, that I might thank you as you 
 call me. 
 
 Glo. How? 
 
 York. Little. 
 
 Prince. My lord of York will still he cross in 
 talk ; — 
 Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 
 
 York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with 
 me: — 
 Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me ; 
 Because that I am little, like an ape. 
 He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. 
 
 Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons! 
 To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, 
 He prettily and aptly taunts himself: 
 So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. 
 
 Glo. My gracious lord, wilFt please you pass 
 along? 
 Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham, 
 Will to your mother ; to entreat of her. 
 To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 
 
 York. What, will you go unto the Tower, mv 
 lord! 
 
 Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 
 
 Yu7-k. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower 
 
 Glo. Why, sir, what should you fear? 
 
 York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost; 
 My grandam told me, he was murder'd there. 
 
 Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 
 
 Glo. Nor none that live, I hope. 
 
 Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fear. 
 But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart. 
 Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 
 
 [jExei<«/PniNCF,,YoHK, Hastings, Cardinal, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York 
 Was not incensed' by his subtle mother, 
 To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously 1 
 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt ; O, 'tis a parlous boy ; 
 Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable f 
 He's all the mother's, from the top to toe. 
 
 Buck. Well, let them rest. — 
 Come hither, gentle Catesby ; thou art sworn 
 As deeply to ell'cct what we intend, 
 As closely to conceal what we impart : 
 Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way ; - 
 What think'st thou, is it not an easy matter 
 To make William lord Hastings of our mind, 
 For the instalment of this noble duke 
 In the seat royal of this famous isle 'J 
 
 Cate. He for his fother's sake so loves the prince. 
 That he will not be won to aught against him. 
 
 Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley 1 will 
 not hel 
 
 Cute. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. 
 
 Buck. Well then, no more but this: Go, gentla 
 Catesby, 
 And, as it were far ofl', sound thou lord Hastings. 
 How he doth stand aflected to our purpose ; 
 And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, 
 ' Incited. ' Intelligent. 
 
566 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act IU 
 
 To sit about the coronation. 
 
 [f thou dost find him tractable to us, 
 
 Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons: 
 
 [f ho be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, 
 
 Be thou so too; and so break off the talk, 
 
 And give us notice of his inclination: 
 
 For we to-morrow hold divided' councils, 
 
 Wherein thyself shall highly be employ'd. 
 
 Glo. Commend me to lord William: tell him, 
 Catesby, 
 His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries 
 To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle ; 
 And bid my friend for joy of this good news, 
 Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. 
 Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this business 
 
 soundly. 
 Gale. My good lords both, with all the heed I 
 
 can. 
 Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we 
 
 sleep 1 
 Gate. You shall, my lord. 
 
 Glo. At Crosby-place, there shall you find us 
 both. [Exit Catesby. 
 
 Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we 
 perceive 
 Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots ? 
 Glo. Chop off his head, man : — somewhat we 
 will do: — 
 And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me 
 The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables 
 Whereof the king my brother was possess'd. 
 -8«c/i". I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand. 
 Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kind- 
 ness. 
 Come, let us sup betimes; that afterwards 
 We may digest our complots in some form. [Exewit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Before Lwd Hastings's House. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, — • [Knocking. 
 
 Hast. [Witkin.'] Who knocks? 
 
 Mess. One from lord Stanley. 
 
 Hast. [Within.'] What is't o'clock ? 
 
 Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 
 Hast. Cannot thy master sleep the tedious nights? 
 
 Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say. 
 First he commends him to your noble lordship. 
 
 Hast. And then, — 
 
 Mess. And then he sends you word, he dreamt 
 To-night the boar had rased off his helm : 
 Besides, he says, there are two councils held ; 
 And that may be determin'd at the one, 
 Which may make you and him to rue at the other. 
 Therefore he sends to know your lordship's plea- 
 sure, — 
 If presently, you will take horse with him, 
 And with all speed post with him toward the north, 
 To shun the danger that his soul divines. 
 
 Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; 
 Bid him not fear the separated councils: 
 His honor, and myself, are at the one ; 
 And, at the other, is my good friend Catesby; 
 Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us. 
 Whereof I shall not have intelligence. 
 Tell him, his fears are shallow, wanting instance :' 
 And for his dreams — I wonder, he's so fond' 
 • "Soparat ?. ' E'^ample. * Weak. 
 
 To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers: 
 To fly the boar, before tho boar pursues. 
 Were to incense the boar to follow us. 
 And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase. 
 Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ; 
 And we will both together to the Tower, 
 Where he shall see, the boar' will u&e us kindl\ 
 
 Mess. I'll go, my lord, £nd tell him what you sa . 
 
 [Exit 
 Enter Catesbt. 
 
 Gate. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! 
 
 Hast. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early 
 stirring : 
 What news, what news, in this our tottering state' 
 
 Gate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; 
 And, I believe, will never stand upright. 
 Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. 
 
 Hast. How ! wear the garland ? dost thou mean 
 the crown ? 
 
 Cute. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Hast. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my 
 shoulders, 
 Before I'll see the crown so foul misplaced. 
 Bi'f canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? 
 
 Gate. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you foi 
 ward 
 Upon his party, for the gain thereof; 
 And thereupon, he sends you this good news, — 
 That, this same very day, your enemies. 
 The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfiret. 
 
 Hdst. Indeed, I am no mourner for that new.s, 
 Because they have been still my adversaries : 
 But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side. 
 To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
 God knows, I viiW not do it, to the death. 
 
 Gate. God keep your lordship in that graciouM 
 mind ! 
 
 Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month 
 hence. 
 That they, who brought me in my master's hati;, 
 I live to look upon their tragedy. 
 Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, 
 I'll send some packing, that yet think not on't. 
 
 Gate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, 
 When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it. 
 
 Hast. O monstrous, monstrous ! and so falls it out 
 With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do 
 With some men else, who think themselves as safe 
 As thou, and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
 To princely Richard, and to Buckingham. 
 
 Gate. The princes both make high account ofyou,— 
 For they account his head upon the bridge. [Aside. 
 
 Hast. I know, they do; and I have well deserv'd it! 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear, man? 
 Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided? 
 
 Stan. My lord, good morrow; and good morrow, 
 Catesby : — 
 You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,' 
 I do not like these several councils, I. 
 
 Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours, 
 And never, in my life, I do protest, 
 Was it more precious to me than 'tis now: 
 Think you, but that I know our state secure, 
 I would be so triumphant as I am ? 
 
 Stan. ThS lords at Pomfret, when they rode frooi 
 liOndon, 
 Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were surQ 
 » i. e. Gloster, who had a boar for his arms. ♦ Cros* 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 56Y 
 
 And tbey, ind'^ed. had no cause to mistrust; 
 But yet, you see, liow soon the day o'er-cast. 
 This sudden stab of rancor I misdoubt; 
 Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward ! 
 What, shall we toward the Tower ? the day is spent. 
 Hast. Come, come, have with you. — Wot' you 
 
 what, ir.y lord 1 
 To-day, the lords you talk of are beheaded. 
 Stan. They for their truth, might better wear their 
 
 heads. 
 Than some, that have accus'd them, wear their hats. 
 But come, my lord, let's away. 
 
 Enter a Pursuivant. 
 Hast. Go on before, I'll talk with this good fellow. 
 yExemit Stanlet and Catesbt. 
 How now, sirrah, how goes the world with thee? 
 Purs. The better that your lordship please to ask. 
 Hast. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now, 
 Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet : 
 Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, 
 By the suggestion of the queen's allies; 
 But now I tell thee, (keep it to thyself,) 
 This day those enemies are put to death, 
 And I in better state than e'er I was. 
 
 Purs. God hold it, to your honor's good con- 
 tent ! 
 Hast. Gramercy, fellow: There drink that for 
 me. [Throwing him his Purse. 
 
 Purs. I thank your honor. [Exit Pursuivant. 
 
 Enter a Priest. 
 
 fr. W^ell met, my lord ; I am glad to see your 
 
 honor. 
 Hast, I thank thee, good sir John, with all my 
 heart. 
 I am in your debt for your last exercise ; 
 Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. 
 Enter Buckingham. 
 
 Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord chamber- 
 Iain ? 
 Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest; 
 Vour honor hath no shriving" work in hand. 
 
 Hast. 'Good faith, and when I met this holy man, 
 The men you talk of came into my mind. 
 What, go you toward the Tower ? 
 
 Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I cannot stay there : 
 I shall return before your lordship thence. 
 
 Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. 
 
 Buck. And supper too, although thou know'st it 
 not. [Aside. 
 
 Come, will you go"? 
 
 Hast. I'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Pomfret. Before the Castle. 
 
 F.nter Ratcltff, ivith a Guard, conducting Ri- 
 
 TERs, GuET, a«rf Vaughan, to Execution. 
 
 Rat. Come, brim;: forth the prisoners. 
 
 Riv. Sir Richard RntclilV, let me tell thee this, — 
 To-day, shalt thou behold a subject die. 
 For truth, for duty, and (or loyalty. 
 
 Grey. God keep the prince from all the pack ofyou! 
 \ knot you are of damned blood-suckers. [after. 
 
 Vaugh. You live, that shall cry woe fortius hcre- 
 
 Uat. Despatch; the limit of your lives is out. 
 
 Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison, 
 fatal and ominous to noble peers! 
 Within the guilty closure of fhy walls, 
 Richard the Second here was hack'd to death: 
 » Know. c Confesgion. 
 
 And, for more slander to thy dismal seat. 
 We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. 
 
 Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon oui 
 heads. 
 When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, 
 For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. 
 
 Riv. Then curs'd she Hastings, curs'd she Buck- 
 ingham, 
 Then curs'd she Richard : — O, remember, God, 
 To hear her prayers for them, as now for us ! 
 And for my sister, and her princely sons, — 
 Be satisfied, great God, with our true bloods. 
 Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt ! 
 
 Rat. Make haste, the hour of death is expiate.' 
 
 Riv. Come, Grey, — come, Vaughan, — let us here 
 embrace : 
 Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Tower. 
 
 Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the Bishop 
 OP Ely, Catesbt, Lovel, and others, sitting at 
 a Table: Officers of the Council attending. 
 
 Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met 
 Is — to determine of the coronation : 
 In God's name speak, when is the royal dayl 
 
 Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time' 
 
 Stan. They are ; and wants but nomination. 
 
 Ely. To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day. 
 
 Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind 
 herein ] 
 Who is most inward' with the noble duke? 
 
 Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know 
 his mind. 
 
 Buck. We know each other's faces ; for our 
 hearts, — 
 He knows no more of mine, than I of yours 
 Nor I, of his, my lord, than you of mine : — 
 Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. 
 
 Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well 
 But, for his purpose in the coronation, 
 I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
 His gracious pleasure any way therein : 
 But you, my noble lord, may name the time ; 
 And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice. 
 Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Ely. In happy time, here comes the duke himself. 
 
 Glo. My noble lords and cousins, all, good morrow: 
 I have been long a sleeper ; but, I trust, 
 My absence doth neglect no great design, 
 Which by my presence might have been concluded. 
 
 Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, 
 William lord Hastings had pronounced your part, — 
 I mean, your voice, — for crowning of the king. 
 
 Glo. Than my lord Hastings, no man might be 
 bolder ; 
 His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.- 
 My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, 
 I saw good strawberries in your garden there : 
 I do beseech you, send for some of them. 
 
 Ely. Marry, and will, mv lord, with all my heart 
 
 [Exit Ely 
 
 Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 
 
 [Takes him aside 
 Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business' 
 And finds the testy gentleman so hot. 
 That he will lose his head, ere give consent 
 ^ Expiated, completed. ' iDtimate. 
 
^b8 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act III 
 
 rtis master's child, as worshipful y he terms it, 
 Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. 
 
 ^iuck. Withdraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you. 
 [^Exeiint Glosteh and Buckingham. 
 Stan.'We have not yet set down this day of triumph. 
 To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden; 
 Foi I myself am not so well provided, 
 As else I would be were the day prolong'd. 
 Re-enter Bishop of Ely. 
 Ely. Where is my lord protector 7 I have sent 
 For these strawberries. 
 
 Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this 
 morning ; 
 There's some conceit' or other likes him well. 
 When he doth bid good morrow with such spirit. 
 I think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom, 
 Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he ; 
 For by his face straight shall ye know his heart. 
 
 Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his face. 
 By any likelihood he show'd to-day ] 
 
 Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is of- 
 fended ; 
 For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. 
 
 Re-enter GhosTY.u and Bdckinoham. 
 
 Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve, 
 That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
 Of damned witchcraft; and that have prevail'd 
 Upon my body with their hellish charms? 
 
 Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, 
 Makes me most forward in this noble presence 
 To doom the offenders : Whosoe'er they be, 
 I say, my lord, they have deserved death. 
 
 Glo. Then beyour eyes the witness of their evil. 
 Look how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm 
 Is, like a i)lasted sapling, wither'd up: 
 And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch. 
 Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore, 
 That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. 
 
 Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble 
 lord,— 
 
 Glo. If! thou protector of this damned strumpet, 
 Talk'st thou to me of ifs ? — Thou art a traitor : — 
 Off with his head: — now, by saint Paul I swear, 
 I will not dine until I see the same. — 
 Lovel, and Catesby, look that it be done; 
 The rest that love me, rise, and follow me. 
 
 [Exeimt Council, loith Glosteh and 
 Buckingham. 
 
 Hast. Woe, woe, for England ! not a whit for me ; 
 For I, too fond, might have prevented this: 
 Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his helm ; 
 But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly. 
 Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble. 
 And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, 
 As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. 
 O, now I want the priest that spake to me : 
 I now repent I told the pursuivant. 
 As too triumphing, how mine enemies 
 To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd. 
 And I myself secure in grace and favor. 
 0, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse 
 Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. 
 
 Caie. Despatch, my lord, the d»ke would be at 
 dinner; 
 Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head. 
 
 Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men, 
 Which we more hunt for thain the grace of God ! 
 Who builds his hope in air of your fail looks, 
 » Thought. 
 
 Lives like a drunken sahor on a mast; 
 Ready, with every nod, to tumble down 
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 
 
 Lov. Come, come, despatch; 'tis bootless to £5 
 claim. 
 
 Hast. O, bloody Richard ! — miserable England 
 I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee. 
 That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. — 
 Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head; 
 They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE Y.—The Tower Walls. 
 
 Enter Gloster a7id Buckingham, in rusty At 
 mar, marvellous ill-favor'd. 
 
 Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change 
 thy color 1 
 Murder thy breath in middle of a word, — 
 And then again begin, and stop again. 
 As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror' 
 
 Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian ; 
 Speak, and look back, and pry on every side, 
 Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, 
 Intending' deep suspicion : ghastly looks 
 Are at my service, like enforced smiles ; 
 And both are ready in their offices. 
 At any time, to grace my stratagems. 
 But what, is Catesby gone"? 
 
 Glo. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor along 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor and Catesby. 
 Buck. Let me alone to entertain him. — Lord 
 
 mayor, 
 
 Glo. Look to the draw-bridge there. 
 
 Buck. Hark, hark! a drum. 
 
 Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. 
 
 Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent for 
 you, 
 
 Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. 
 
 Buck. God and our innocence defend and guard 
 us ! 
 Enter Lovel and Ratcliff, with Hastings's 
 Head. 
 
 Glo. Be patient, they are friends ; Ratcliff, and 
 Lovel. 
 
 Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, 
 The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 
 
 Glo. So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep 
 I took him for the plainest harmless't creature, 
 That breath'd upon the earth a Christian; 
 Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded 
 The history of all her secret thoughts : 
 So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue, 
 That, his apparent open guilt omitted, — 
 I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, — 
 He liv'd from all attainder of suspect. 
 
 Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'^ 
 traitor 
 That ever liv'd. — Look you, my lord mayor, 
 Would you imagine, or almost believe, 
 (Were't not, that by great preserv'ation 
 We live to tell it you,) the subtle traitor 
 This day had plotted in the council-house 
 To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster? 
 
 May. What! had he so? 
 
 Glo. What ! think you we are Turks, or infidcPa' 
 Or that we would, against the form of law, 
 Proceed thus rashly in tlie villain's death 
 ' Pretendint;, 
 
r 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 56^ 
 
 But that the extreme peril of the case, 
 
 The peace of England, and our persons' safety, 
 
 Enforced us to this execution? 
 
 May. Now, fair befall you ! he deserv'd his death ; 
 And your good graces both have well proceeded, 
 To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
 I never look'd for better at his hands, 
 After he once fell in with mistress Shore. 
 
 Buck. Yet had we not dctcrmin'd he should die, 
 Until your lordship came to see his end; 
 Which now the loving haste of these our friends, 
 Somewhat against our meaning, hath prevented : 
 Because, my lord, we would have had you heard 
 The traitor speak, and timorously confess 
 The manner and the purpose of his treasons; 
 That you might well have signified the same 
 Unto the citizens, who, haply, may 
 Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. 
 
 May. But, my good lord, your grace's word shall 
 serve, 
 As well as I had seen, and heard him speak : 
 And do not doubt, right noble princes both, 
 But ril acquaint our duteous citizens 
 With all your just proceedings in this case. 
 
 Glo. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here, 
 To avoid the censures of the carping world. 
 
 Buck. But since you came too late of our intent. 
 Yet witness what you hear we did intend; 
 And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. 
 
 ^Exit Lord Mayor. 
 
 Glo. Go after, after, cousin Buckingham. 
 The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post: — 
 There, at your meetest vantage of the time. 
 Infer the bastardy of Edward's children: 
 Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen. 
 Only for saying — he would make his son 
 Heir to the crown ; meaning indeed his house. 
 Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so. 
 Moreover, urge his hateful luxury. 
 And bestial appetite in change of lust; 
 Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, 
 
 wives. 
 Even where his raging eye, or savage heart, 
 Without control, listed to make his prey. 
 Nay, for a need, thus ixr come near my person : — 
 Tell them, when that my motiicr went with child 
 Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, 
 My princely father, then had wars in France ; 
 And, by just computation of the time. 
 Found, that the issue was not his begot; 
 Which well appeared in his lineaments, 
 Being nothing like the noble duke my liithcr: 
 Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off; 
 Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives. 
 
 Buck. Doubt not, my lord ; Til play the orator, 
 As if the golden fee, for which I plead. 
 Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu. 
 
 Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's 
 castle ; 
 Where you shall find me well accompanied, 
 vVith reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops. 
 
 Buck. I go; and, towards three or four o'clock, 
 Ijook for the news that the Guildhall affords. 
 
 [ Exit B u c K I N R n A ?i . 
 rrla. Go, Level, with all speed to doctor Shaw, — 
 Go thou [7b Cat.] to friar Penker; — bid them both 
 Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle. 
 
 [^Exetint LoTEL and Catesht. 
 Now will I in, to take some privy order 
 To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight; 
 
 And to give notice, that no manner of person 
 Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. [^Exii, 
 
 SCENE VL— ^ Sired. 
 Enter a Scrivener. 
 Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord 
 Hastings ; 
 Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd. 
 That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. 
 And mark how well the sequel hangs together:— 
 Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, 
 For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me • 
 The precedent^ was full as long a doing: 
 And yet within these five hours Hastings UtM, 
 Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. 
 Here's a good world the while! — Who is so gross, 
 That cannot see this palpable device ? 
 Yet who so bold, but says — he sees it not] 
 Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought. 
 When such bad dealing must be seen in thought. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE Vn.— Co«r/ o/ Baynard's Castle, 
 Enter Gloster and Buckingham, meeting. 
 
 Glo. How now, how now? what say the citizens'? 
 
 Buck. Now by the holy mother of our Lord, 
 The citizens are mum, say not a word. [dren 1 
 
 Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's chil» 
 
 Buck. 1 did ; with his contract with lady Lucy, 
 And his contract by deputy in France: 
 The insatiate greediness of his desires. 
 And his enforcement of the city wives; 
 His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, — 
 As being got, your father then in France; 
 And his resemblance, being not like the duke. 
 Withal, I did infer your lineaments, — 
 Being the right idea of your father. 
 Both in your form and nobleness of mind • 
 Laid open all your victories in Scotland 
 Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, 
 Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; 
 Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose, 
 Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. 
 And, when my oratory grew to an end, 
 I bade them, that did love their country's good, 
 Ciy — God save Richard, England's royal king! 
 
 Glo. And did they sol 
 
 Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a 
 word; 
 But like dumb statues, or breathless stones, 
 Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. 
 Which when I saw I reprehended them; 
 And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful sllcncei 
 His answer was, — the people were not as'd 
 To be spoke to, but by the recorder. 
 Then he was urged to tell my tale again : 
 Thus sailh the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'dt 
 But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. 
 When he had done, some followers of mine own, 
 At lower end o'tlie hall, hurl'd up their caps, 
 And some ten voices cried, God save king Richard/ 
 And thus I took the vantage of those few, — 
 Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth I; 
 This general applause, and cheerful shout, 
 Ai-gues your wisdom, and your love to Richard- 
 And even here l)rake olfand came away. 
 
 Glo. What tongueless blocks were they ! Would 
 hey not speak 1 
 AA'ill not the mayor then, and his 'irethren, cornel 
 'Original draft. 
 
670 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act IV. Scene VI 
 
 Buck The mayoi Is here at hand: intend' some 
 Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit : [fear : 
 And look you, get a prayer-book in your hand. 
 And stand between two churchmen, good my lord; 
 For on Ihat ground I'll make a holy descant: 
 And be not easily won to our requests ; 
 Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 
 
 Glo. I go; and if you plead as well for them, 
 As I can say nay to thee for myself, 
 No doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue. 
 
 Buck. Go, go, up to the leads ; the lord mayor 
 knocks. \_Exit Glosteh. 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens. 
 
 Welcome, my lord; I dance attendance here; 
 I think the duke will not be spoke withal. — 
 Enter, from the Castle, Gates bt. 
 Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request? 
 
 Caie. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord. 
 To visit him to-morrow, or next day : 
 He is within with two right reverend fathers, 
 Divinely bent to meditation ; 
 And in no worldly suit would he be raov'd, 
 To draw him from his holy exercise. 
 
 Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke: 
 Tell him, myself, the mayor, and aldermen. 
 In deep designs, in matter of great moment, 
 No less importing than our general good. 
 Are come to have some conference with his grace. 
 
 Ca!e. I'll signify so much unto him straight. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an 
 Edward ! 
 He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, 
 But on his knees at meditation; 
 Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, 
 But meditating with two deep divines; 
 Not sleeping to engross' his idle body. 
 But praying to enrich his watchful soul: 
 Happy were England, would this virtuous prince 
 Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: 
 But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it 
 
 May. Marry, God defend, his grace should say 
 us nay ! 
 
 Buck. I fear, he will: Here Catesby comes 
 again ; — 
 
 Re-enter Gates bt. 
 
 Now, Catesby, what says his grace? 
 
 Gate. He wonders to what end you have assembled 
 Such troops of citizens to come to him ; 
 His grace not being warn'd thereof before, 
 He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. 
 
 Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should 
 Suspect me, that I mean no good to him : 
 By heaven, we come to him in perfect love; 
 And so once more return and tell his grace. 
 
 [Exit Catesbt. 
 Whentoly and devout religious men 
 Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence ; 
 Bo sweet is zealous contemplation. 
 
 Enter Glosteh, in a Gallery above, between two 
 Bishops. Gates BT returns. 
 
 May. See, where his gra:e stands 'tween two 
 
 clergymen ! 
 Buck. Two props of virtue for a christian prince, 
 To stay him from the fall of vanity : 
 
 > Pretend. « Fatten. 
 
 And, see, a book of prayer in his hand; 
 True ornaments to know a holy man. — 
 Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 
 Lend favorable ear to our requests ; 
 And pardon us the interruption 
 Of thy devotion, and right-christian zeal. 
 
 Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology 
 I rather do beseech you pardon me. 
 Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
 Neglect the visitation of my friends. 
 But, leaving this, what is your grace's- pleasure'' 
 5wcA:. Even that, I hope, which pleascth Goa 
 above. 
 And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. 
 
 Glo. I do suspect I have done some offence, 
 That seems disgracious in the city's eye; 
 And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 
 Buck. You have, my lord; Would it might pleas« 
 your grace. 
 On our entreaties to amend your fault ! 
 
 Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a christian land 1 
 Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign 
 The supreme seat, the throne majestical, 
 The sceptred office of your ancestors. 
 Your state of fortune, and your due of birth, 
 The lineal glory of your royal house. 
 To the corruption of a blemish'd stock : 
 Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 
 (Which here we waken to our country's good,) 
 The noble isle doth want her proper limbs; 
 Her face defaced with scars of infamy. 
 Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants. 
 And almost shoulder'd' in the swallowing gulf 
 Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. 
 Wliich to recure,^ we heartily solicit 
 Your gracious self to take on you the charge 
 And kingly government of this your land: 
 Not as protector, steward, substitute. 
 Or lowly factor for another's gain : 
 But as successively, from blood to blood. 
 Your right of birth, your empery,' your own. 
 For this, consorted with the citizens. 
 Your very worshipful and loving friends. 
 And by their vehement instigation. 
 In this just suit come I to move your grace. 
 Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence. 
 Or bitterly to speak in your reproof. 
 Best fitteth my degree, or your condition: 
 If, not to answer, — you might haply think. 
 Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded 
 To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty. 
 Which fondly you would here impose on me: 
 If to reprove you for this suit of yours, 
 So season'd with your faithful love to me. 
 Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. 
 Therefore — to speak, and to avoid the first ; 
 And, then in speaking, not to incur the last, — 
 Definitely thus I answer you. 
 Your love deserves my thanks; but my deser* 
 Unmeritable, shuns your high request. 
 First, if all obstacles were cut away. 
 And that my path were even to the crown, 
 As the ripe revenue and due of birth ; 
 Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, 
 So mighty, and so many my defects. 
 That I would rather hide me from my greatnesn • 
 Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, — 
 Than in my greatness covet to be hid, 
 And in the vapor of my glory smother'd. 
 
 » Thrust into. » Recover. ' Empire. 
 
A.C1 IV. Scene I. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 571 
 
 But God be thaiik'il, there is no need of me; 
 
 (^And much I need' to help you, if need were;) 
 
 The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, 
 
 Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, 
 
 Will well become the seat of majesty, 
 
 And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 
 
 On him I lay what you would lay on me, 
 
 The right and fortune of his happy stars, — 
 
 Which, God defend, that I should wring from him ! 
 
 Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your 
 grace; 
 But the respects thereof are nice' and trivial, 
 Ail circumstances well considered. 
 5fou say, that Edward is your brother's son ; 
 So say we too, but not by Edward's wife: 
 For first he was contract to lady Lucy, 
 Your mother lives a witness to his vow ; 
 And afterwards by substitute betroth'd 
 To Bona, sister to the king of France. 
 These both put by, a poor petitioner, 
 ,\ care-craz'd mother to a many sons, 
 A beauty-waning and distressed widow. 
 Even in the afternoon of her best days. 
 Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye. 
 Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts 
 To base declension and loath'd bigamy: 
 By her, in his unlawful bed, he got 
 This Edward, whom our manners call — the prince. 
 More bitterly could I expostulate. 
 Save that, for reverence to some alive, 
 I give a sparing limit to my tongue; 
 Then, good my lord, take to your royal self 
 This proffer'd benefit of dignity : 
 If not to bless us and the land withal. 
 Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry 
 From the corruption of abusing time. 
 Unto a lineal true-derived course. 
 
 May. Uo, good my lord: your citizens entreat you. 
 
 Buck. Refuse not,mightly lord, this profier'd love. 
 
 Cate. make them joyful, grant their lawful suit. 
 
 Glo. Alas,why would you heap those cares onme'? 
 I am unfit for state and majesty : — 
 I do beseech you, take it not amiss; 
 I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you. 
 
 Buck. If you refuse it, — as in love and zeal, 
 Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ; 
 
 As well we know your tenderness of heart, 
 And gentle, kind, eflcminate remorse,' 
 Which we have noted in you to your kindred. 
 And equally, indeed, to all estates, — 
 Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no. 
 Your brother's son shall never reign our king; 
 But we will plant some other in your throne. 
 To the disgrace and downfall of your house. 
 And, in this resolution here we leave you ; 
 Come, citizens, we will entreat no more. 
 
 [Exeu7il Buckingham and Citizens 
 
 Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept theii 
 suit; 
 If you deny them, all the land will rue it. 
 
 G/o. Will you enforce me to a world of cares ' 
 Well, call them again ; I am not made of stone, 
 But penetrable to your kind entreaties, 
 
 l^Exit Catesbt. 
 Albeit against my conscience and my soul. — 
 
 Re-enter BucKiifGHAM and ike rest. 
 
 Cousin of Buckingham, — and sage, grave men, — 
 
 Since you will buckle fortune on my back, 
 
 To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no, 
 
 I must have patience to endure the load : 
 
 But if black scandal, or foul-faced reproach. 
 
 Attend the sequel of your imposition. 
 
 Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
 
 From all the impure blots and stains thereof: 
 
 For God he knows, and you may partly see, 
 
 How far I am from the desire of this. 
 
 May. God bless your grace ! we see it, and will 
 say it. 
 
 Gh. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. 
 
 Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title, — 
 Long live king Richard, England's worthy king! 
 
 All. Amen. 
 
 Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be 
 crown'd 1 
 
 Glo. Even when you please, since you will have 
 it so. 
 
 Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your grace: 
 And so, most joyfully we take our leave. 
 
 Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again: — 
 
 [7b /Ae Bishops. 
 Farewell, good cousin ; — farewell, gentle friends. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before the Tower. 
 
 Enter, on one side. Queen Elizabeth, Duchess 
 OF York, and MAnauis of Dorset: on the 
 other, Anne, Duchess of G\osicr, leading Ladt 
 Mahgahet Plantagenet, Clarence's young 
 Daughter. 
 
 Z)«c/t. Who meets us here — my niece Plantagenet 
 Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster? 
 Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower, 
 On pure heart's love to greet the tender prince. — 
 Daughter, well met. 
 
 Anne, Heaven give your graces both 
 
 A happy and a joyful time of day ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister ! Whither 
 away? 
 
 Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I guess, 
 • Want ability. > Minute. 
 
 Upon the like devotion as yourselves. 
 To gratulate the gentle princes there. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks ; we'll enter all to- 
 gether : 
 
 Enter Brakenburt. 
 
 And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.— 
 Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave. 
 How doth the prince, and my young son of York 1 
 
 Brak. Rightwcll, dear madam: By yourpaticncei 
 I may not sulTer you to visit them; 
 The king hath strictly charged the contrary. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The king! who's that] 
 
 Brak. I mean the lord protector 
 
 Q. Eliz. The J>ord nrotect him from that kinglj 
 title ! 
 Hath he set bounds between their love, and me* 
 I am their mother, who shall bar me from themi 
 'Pity. 
 

 572 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act I\ 
 
 Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them. 
 Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their 
 mother : 
 T'hen bring me to their sights ; I'll bear thy blame, 
 And take thy office from thee, on thy peril. 
 
 Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so; 
 I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 
 
 [^Exit JSrakenbuut. 
 Enter Stanley. 
 Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, 
 And I'll salute your grace of York as mother. 
 And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. 
 Come, madam, yos must straight to Westminster. 
 [To the Duchess of Glosteh. 
 There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder ! 
 That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, 
 Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. 
 Anne. Despiteful tidings ! O unpleasing news! 
 Dor. Be of good cheer: Mother, how fares your 
 
 grace ] 
 Q. Eliz. Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone. 
 Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ; 
 Thy mother's name is ominous to children: 
 If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas. 
 And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. 
 Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house. 
 Lest thou increase the number of the dead ; 
 And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, — 
 Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 
 Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, 
 madam : — 
 Take all the swift advantage of the hours ; 
 You shall have letters from me to my son 
 In your behalf, to meet you on the way : 
 Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. 
 
 Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery! — 
 O my accursed womb, the bed of death ; 
 A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, 
 Whose unavoided eye is murderous ! 
 
 Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was 
 
 sent. 
 Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. — 
 O, would to God that the inclusive verge 
 Of golden metal, that must round my brow, 
 Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ! 
 Anointed let me be with deadly venom ; 
 And die, ere men can say — God save the queen! 
 Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory ; 
 To feed my humor, wish thyself no harm. 
 
 Anne. No ! whyl — When he, that is my husband 
 now, 
 Came to me, as I foUow'd Henry's corse ; 
 When scarce the blood was well-wash'd from his 
 
 hands. 
 Which issued from my other angel husband, 
 \ nd that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd ; 
 O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, 
 Tliis was my wish, — Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd, 
 For making me so young, so old a ividow! 
 And, when thou ived'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; 
 And be thy wife (if any be so mad) 
 More miserable by the life of thee, 
 Than thou hast made me by my dear lord 's death.' 
 Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again. 
 Even in so short a space, my woman's heart 
 Grossly grew captive to his honey words, 
 'Vnd prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse : 
 Which evei since hath held mine eyes from rest; 
 For never yet one hour in his bed 
 
 Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, 
 But with his timorous dreams r/as sti/1 awak'd. 
 Besides, he hates me for my k.her Warwick; / 
 And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining 
 
 A^nne. No more than with my soul I mourn foi 
 yours. 
 
 Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory ! 
 
 Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! 
 
 Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune 
 guide thee ! — [To Dorset. 
 
 Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee ! — 
 
 [To Anne. 
 Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess 
 thee! — [To Q. Elizabeth. 
 
 I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! 
 Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen. 
 And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen." 
 
 Q. Eliz. Stay yet ; look back, with me, unto the 
 Tower. — 
 Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes. 
 Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls ! 
 Rough cradle for such little pretty ones ! 
 Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow 
 For tender princes, use my babies well ! 
 So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish of Trumpets. Richard, as King, upon 
 his Throne,- Buckingham, Catesbt, a Page, 
 
 and others. 
 
 K. Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin of Bucking 
 
 ham, 
 
 Buck. My gracious sovereign. 
 A'. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by th; 
 advice, 
 And thy assistance, is king Richard seated: — 
 But shall we wear these glories for a day 1 
 Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them 1 
 
 Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last ! 
 K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play tha 
 touch,' 
 To try if thou be current gold, indeed : — 
 Young Edward lives ; — Thinic now what I would 
 speak. 
 Buck. Say on, my loving lord. 
 K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be 
 
 king. 
 Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege. 
 K. Rich. Ha ! am I king? 'Tis so : but Edward 
 
 lives. 
 Buck. True, noble prince. 
 K. Rich. O bitter consequence, 
 
 That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince! — 
 Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull : 
 Shall 1 bo plain 7 I wish the bastards dead ; 
 And I would have it suddenly performed. 
 What say'st thou now 1 speak suddenly, be brief. 
 Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 
 K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness 
 freezes : 
 Say, have I thy consent, that th ^y shall die T 
 Buck. Give me some breath, some little pausp, 
 dear lord. 
 Before I positively speak in this • 
 I will resolve your grace immediately. 
 
 [Exit Buckingham 
 Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip. 
 
 [AsidA 
 a Sorrow. » Touchstone. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 575 
 
 K, Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, 
 [Descends from his Throne. 
 And unrespective* boys : none are for me, 
 That look into me with considerate eyes ; 
 High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. 
 Boy, 
 
 Page. My lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting 
 gold 
 Would tempt unto a close exploit' of death ? 
 
 Page. I know a discontented gentleman. 
 Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: 
 Gold were as good as twenty orators, 
 And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. 
 
 K.Rich. What is his name? 
 
 Page. His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel. 
 
 K. Rich. I partly know the man ; Go, call him 
 hither, boy. [^Exit Page. 
 
 The deep-revolving witty^ Buckingham 
 No more shall be the neighbor to my counsels: 
 Hath he so long held out with me untir'd. 
 And stops he now for breath T — well, be it so. — 
 
 Enter SxAifLET. 
 
 How now, lord Stanley ? what's the news 1 
 
 Stan. Know, my loving lord. 
 
 The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled 
 To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. 
 
 K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumor it abroad. 
 That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; 
 I will take order for her keeping close. 
 Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman. 
 Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter : 
 The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. — 
 Look, how thou dream 'st ! — I say again, give out, 
 That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die : 
 About it ; for it stands me much upon,' 
 To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me. — 
 
 \Exit Catesbt. 
 I must be married to my brother's daughter, 
 Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass : 
 Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! 
 Uncertain way of gain! But I am in 
 So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. 
 Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. — 
 
 Re-enter Page, with Tthhei. 
 
 Js thy name Tyrrel T 
 
 Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient sub- 
 ject. 
 K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ] 
 Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of 
 
 mine? 
 Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two ene- 
 mies. 
 K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep enemies! 
 Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, 
 Are they that I would have thee deal' upon ; 
 Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. 
 
 Ti/r. Let me have open means to come to them, 
 And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. 
 K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come 
 hither, Tyrrel ; 
 Go, by this token: — Rise, and lend thine ear: 
 
 l_Whispt.rs. 
 There is no more but so: — Say, it is done, 
 \nd I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. 
 
 Tyr. I will despatch it straight. [Exit. 
 
 • Inconsiderate. • Secret act. • Cunning. 
 
 It is of ijreat corsequence to my designs. • Act. 
 
 Re-enter Buckingham. 
 
 Buck. My lord, I have considered in my mind 
 The late demand that you did sound me in. 
 
 A'. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to 
 Richmond. 
 
 Buck. I hear the news, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son : — Well, 
 look to it. 
 
 Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by 
 promise. 
 For which your honor and your faith is pawn'd ; 
 The earldom of Hereford, and the movables. 
 Which you have promised I shall possess. 
 
 K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey 
 Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. 
 
 Buck. What says your highness to my just re- 
 quest 1 
 
 K. Rich. I do remember me, — Henry the sixth 
 Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king. 
 When Richmond was a little peevish' boy. 
 A king ! — perhaps 
 
 Buck. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at 
 that time, 
 Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him ? 
 
 Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom', — 
 
 K. Rich. Richmond! — When last I was at 
 Exeter, 
 The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle. 
 And call'd it — Rouge-Mont: at which name, I 
 
 started ; 
 Because a bard of Ireland told me once, 
 I should notiive long after I saw Richmond, 
 
 Buck. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock 1 
 
 Buck. I am thus bold 
 
 To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock? 
 
 Buck. Upon the stroke 
 
 Often. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let it strike. 
 
 Buck. Why, let it strike ! 
 
 K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack,' thou keep'sl 
 the stroke 
 Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. 
 I am not in the giving vein to-day. 
 
 Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no. 
 
 K. Rich. Thou troublcst me ; I am not in the vein. 
 [Exeunt King Richahd and Train, 
 
 Buck. And is it thus ? repays he my deep service 
 With such contempt? made I him king for this? 
 O, let me think on Hastings ; and begone 
 To Brecknock,' while my fearful head is on. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE m.— The same 
 
 Enter Ttrrel. 
 
 Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done ; 
 The most arch deed of piteous massacre. 
 That ever yet this land was guilty of. 
 Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
 To do this piece of ruthless butchery. 
 Albeit they were flcsh'd villains, bloody dogs. 
 Melting with tenderness and mild compassion. 
 Wept like two children, in their death's sad story 
 thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes,- 
 
 9 Fooli?h. 
 
 ' A Jack of the clocJc-house is an image like those at St. 
 Dunptan'sciiurch in Fleet-street, anil was theo 9 commoa 
 apf onJago to clocks. 
 
 ' Uis ciistle in Waleg. 
 
574 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act rV 
 
 Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another, 
 
 Within their alabaster innocent arms: 
 
 771 eir lips were four red roses on a stalk. 
 
 Which in their summer beauty kissed each other, 
 
 A book of prayers on their pillow lay. 
 
 Which once, quoth Forrest, almost changed my 
 
 jnind, 
 But, O, the devil — there the villain stopp'd; 
 When Dighton thus told on, — ive smothered 
 The most replenished sweet work, of nature, 
 That, from the prime creation, ere she framed. 
 Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse. 
 They could not speak; and so I left them both. 
 To bear these tidings to the bloody king. 
 
 Enter King Richard. 
 
 And here he comes: — All licalth, my sovereign lord! 
 
 K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel ! am I happy in thy news 7 
 
 Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge 
 Beget your happiness, be happy then, 
 For it is done. 
 
 A'. Rich. But didst thou see them dead] 
 
 Tyr. I did, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrell 
 
 Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; 
 But where, to say the truth, I do not know. 
 
 K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper. 
 When thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
 Mean time, but think how I may do thee good, 
 And be inheritor of thy desire. 
 Farewell, till then. 
 
 Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd 
 up close ; 
 His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; 
 The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom., 
 And Anne my wife hath bid the world good-night. 
 Now, for I know the Bretagne' Richmond aims 
 At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 
 And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, 
 To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. 
 
 Enter Gates by. 
 Cate. My lord, — 
 K. Rich. Good news, or bad, that thou com'st in 
 
 so bluntly? 
 Cate. Bad news, my lord: MortonMs fled to 
 Richmond; 
 And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, 
 Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. 
 A'. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more 
 near, 
 Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. 
 Come, — I have learn'd, that fearful commenting 
 Is leaden servitor to dull delay ; 
 Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary : 
 Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
 Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king ! 
 Go, muster men : My counsel is my shield ; 
 V'^e must be brief, when traitors brave the field. 
 
 [Exemit. 
 
 SCENE lY.— Before the Palace. 
 Enter Queen Mahgahet. 
 Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow. 
 And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
 Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, 
 To watch the waning of mine enemies. 
 A dire induction am I witness to, 
 
 * The country in which Richmond had taken refuge. 
 
 * Bishop of lily. 
 
 And will to France ; hoping the cons*<]uencc 
 Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
 Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret ! Who comeg 
 here] 
 
 Enter QuEEN ELIZABETH and the DuCHESS OF YoRK, 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender 
 babes ! 
 My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ! 
 If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, 
 And be not fixed in doom perpetual, 
 Hover about me with your airy wings, 
 And hear your mother's lamentation ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right for light 
 Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 
 
 Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice. 
 That my woe-weaiied longue is still and mute, — 
 Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead] 
 
 Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet. 
 Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentie 
 And throw them in the entrails of the wolf] |lambs, 
 When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done] 
 
 Q.Mar.yV\icn holy Harry died, and my sweetson. 
 
 Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living 
 ghost, [usurp'd, 
 
 Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due, by life 
 Brief abstract and record of tedious days, 
 Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, 
 
 [^Sitting down. 
 Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a 
 As thou canst yield a melancholy seat; [grave, 
 Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here ! 
 Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we ] 
 
 [Sitting down by her, 
 
 Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent, 
 Give mine the benefit of seniory.' 
 And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. 
 If sorrow can admit society, 
 
 [Sitting down with them. 
 Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine: — 
 I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd liim; 
 I had a husband, till a Richaixi kill'd him : 
 Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; 
 Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. 
 
 Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill 
 I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. [him ; 
 
 Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard 
 kill'd him. 
 From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
 A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death : 
 That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, 
 To worry 1 imbs, and lap their gentle blood ; 
 That foul defacer of God's handy-work ; 
 That excellent grand tyrant of the earth. 
 That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, 
 Thy womb let loose to chase us to our grave*.— 
 O upright, just, and true-disposing God, 
 How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur 
 Preys on the issue of his mother's body, 
 And makes her pew-fellow' with others' moan ! 
 
 Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes; 
 God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 
 
 Q. Mar. Bear with me, 1 am hungry for revenge, 
 And now I cloy me with beholding it. 
 Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward: 
 Thy other Edward dead to quit my Edward; 
 Young York he is but boot,'' because both they 
 Match not the high perfection of my loss. 
 i Seniority. « Companion. ' Thrown into the bargain 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 57t 
 
 Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward; 
 
 And the beholders of this tragic play, 
 
 The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, 
 
 Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 
 
 Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; 
 
 Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls, 
 
 And send them thither: But at hand, at hand, 
 
 Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : 
 
 Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
 
 To have him suddenly convey 'd from hence: — 
 
 Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray. 
 
 That I may live to say, The dog is dead ! 
 
 Q. EUz. O, thou didst prophesy the time would 
 come, 
 That I should wish for thee to help me curse 
 That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. 
 
 Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my 
 Ibrtune ; 
 I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; 
 The presentation of but what I was. 
 The flattering index of a direful pageant, 
 One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below; 
 A mother only mock'd with two fair babes; 
 A dream of what thou wast, a garish' flag, 
 To be the aim of every dangerous shot ; 
 A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble ; 
 A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. 
 Where is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers ? 
 Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy] 
 Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the 
 
 queen ] 
 Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee 1 
 Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee 1 
 Decline all this, and see what now thou art. 
 For happy wife, a most distressed widow ; 
 For joyful mother, one that wails the name; 
 For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; 
 For queen, a very caitiff' crown'd with care ; 
 For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me ; 
 For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one; 
 For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 
 Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about. 
 And left thee but a very prey to time ; 
 Having no more but thought of what thou wert. 
 To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 
 Thou didst usurp my place ; and dost thou not 
 Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? 
 Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke ; 
 From which even here I slip my wearied head. 
 And leave the burden of it all on thee. 
 Farewell, York's wife, — and queen of sad mis- 
 chance, — 
 These English woes shall make me smile in France. 
 
 Q. EUz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while. 
 And teach me how to curse mine enemies! 
 
 Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the 
 day ; 
 Compare dead happiness with living woe ; 
 Think that thy babes were fairer than they were. 
 And he that slew them, fouler than he is: 
 Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; 
 Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. 
 
 Q. EUz. My words arc dull, O quicken them 
 with thine! 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and 
 pierce like mine. [^KxH Q. MAnoAUET. 
 
 Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? 
 
 Q.EUz. Windy attornies to their client woes, 
 ^ry feucceedtTS ?f mtestate joys, 
 » Flarins. 
 
 Poor breathing orators of miseriec ! 
 
 Let them have scope : though what they do impart 
 
 Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. 
 
 Duch. If so, then be not tongue-tyed: go with me, 
 And in the breath of bitter words let's smother 
 My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd 
 
 [Drum within. 
 I hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims. 
 
 Enter King Richaiid, and hisTrain, marching. 
 
 K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition ''. 
 
 Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee. 
 By strangling thee in her unhappy womb, 
 From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done 
 
 Q. EUz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golder, 
 crown, 
 Where should be branded, if that right were right, 
 The slaughter of the prince that ow'd' that crown, 
 And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? 
 Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children? 
 
 Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy bro- 
 ther Clarence ? 
 And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? 
 
 Q. EUz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, 
 Grey ? 
 
 Duch. Where is kind Hastings ? 
 
 K.Rich. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum 
 drums ! 
 Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
 Rail on the Lord's anointed : Strike, I say. — 
 
 [Flourish. Alarum.'! 
 Either be patient, and entreat me lair. 
 Or with the clamorous report of war 
 Thus will I drown your exclamations. 
 
 Duch. Art thou my son? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay ; I thank God, my father, and you* 
 self. 
 
 Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your coM' 
 dition,^ 
 That cannot brook the accent of reproof. 
 
 Duch. O, let me speak. 
 
 K. Rich. Do, then, but Fll not hear 
 
 Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. 
 
 K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in 
 haste. 
 
 Duch. Art thou so hasty ? I have staid for thee, 
 riod knows, in torment and in agony. 
 
 A'. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you ! 
 
 Duch. No, by the holy rood,' thou know'st it well, 
 Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. 
 A grievous burden was thy birth to me ; 
 Tetchy' and wayward was thy infancj^ ; 
 Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and 
 
 furious; 
 Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturoua, 
 Thy age confirm'd, proud, sui)tle, sly, and Moody, 
 More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: 
 What comfbrlable hour canst thou name. 
 That ever graced me in thy company ? 
 
 K. i^(V^. 'Faith none, but Humphrey Hour, that 
 call'd your grace 
 To breakfast once, forth of my company. 
 If I be so disgracious in your sight. 
 Let me march on, and not offend you, madam 
 Strike up the drum. 
 
 Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak. 
 
 K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. 
 
 • Owned. 
 » Cross, 
 
 » Disposition. 
 « Touchy, fretful. 
 
576 
 
 KING RICHARD Hi. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Duch, Hear me a word ; 
 
 For I shall never speak to thee again. 
 K.Ricfu So. 
 
 Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi- 
 nance, 
 Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror : 
 Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish, 
 And never look upon thy face again. 
 Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse ; 
 Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more, 
 Than all the complete armor that thou wear'st ! 
 My prayers on the adverse party fight; 
 And there the little souls of Edward's children 
 Whisper the spirits of thine enemies. 
 And promise them success and victory. 
 Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; 
 Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less 
 
 spirit to curse 
 
 .Abides in me; I say amen to her. [Going. 
 
 K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with 
 
 you. 
 Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood, 
 For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, — 
 They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; 
 And therefore level not to hit their lives. 
 
 K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd — Elizabeth, 
 Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 
 
 Q. Eliz. A nd must she die for this? O, let her live, 
 And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; 
 Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed ; 
 Throw over her the veil of infamy : 
 So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
 I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 
 K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood . 
 Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say— she is not so. 
 K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth. 
 Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers. 
 X.Rich. Lo, at their births, good stars were 
 
 opposite. 
 Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con- 
 trary. 
 K. Rich. All unavoided' is the doom of destiny. 
 Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny: 
 My babes were destined to a fairer death, 
 If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. 
 
 K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my 
 
 cousins. 
 Q.E/tz.Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd 
 Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
 Whose hands soever lanced their tender hearts, 
 Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction: 
 No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt, 
 Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, 
 To revel in the entrails of my lambs. 
 But that stilF use of grief makes wild grief tame, 
 My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys, 
 Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; 
 And I, in such a desperate bay of death. 
 Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft. 
 Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize, 
 And dangerous success of bloody wars. 
 As I intend more good to you and yours, 
 Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd ! 
 Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of 
 heaven, 
 To be discover'd, that can do me good ] 
 
 ' Unavoidable • Constant. 
 
 K. Rich. The advancement of your children, 
 gentle lady. [heads 1 
 
 Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their 
 
 K. Rich. No, to the dignity and heigl t of fortune, 
 The high imperial type of this earth's glory. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it •, 
 Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honor, 
 Canst thou demise' to any child of mine] 
 
 K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all, 
 Will I withal endow a child of thine ; 
 So in the Lethe of thy angry soul 
 Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs. 
 Which thou supposest, I have done to thee. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kind- 
 Last longer telling than thy kindness' date, [nesa 
 
 K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I love 
 thy daughter. [soul. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her 
 
 K. Rich. What do you think 1 [thy soul. 
 
 Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter from 
 So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers, 
 And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it. 
 
 K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning: 
 I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, 
 And do intend to make her queen of England. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall 
 be her king 1 
 
 K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen: Whr 
 else should be 1 
 
 Q. Eliz. What, thou 1 
 
 K. Rich. Even so : What think you 
 
 of it, madam 1 
 
 Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her ! 
 
 K, Rich. That I would learn of you, 
 
 As one being best acquainted with her humor. 
 
 Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ? 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart 
 
 Q. Elie. Send to her, by the man that slew her bro- 
 A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave, [thcrs, 
 Edward, and York; then, haply," will she weep: 
 Therefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret 
 Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, — 
 A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain 
 The purple sap from her sweet brother's body, — 
 And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. 
 If this inducement move her not to love, 
 Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ; 
 Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, 
 Her uncle Rivers ; ay, and for her sake, 
 Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. 
 
 K. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not the 
 To win your daughter. [way- 
 
 Q. Eliz. There is no other way ; 
 
 Unless thou couldst put on some other shape. 
 And not be Richard that hath done all this. 
 
 K.Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her 1 
 
 Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose 
 but have thee. 
 Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. 
 
 K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now 
 Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, [amended 
 Which after-hours give leisure to repent. 
 If I did take the kingdom from your sons, 
 To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. 
 If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, 
 To quicken your increase, I will beget 
 Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. 
 A grandam's name is little less in love, 
 Than is the doting title of a mother ! 
 
 tBeqneatb. 'Perhapg. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 577 
 
 They are as children, but one step below. 
 Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; 
 Of all one pain, — save for a night of groans 
 Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. 
 Vour children were vexation to your youth, 
 But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 
 The loss you have, is but — a son being king. 
 And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen. 
 1 cannot make you what amends I would, 
 Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 
 Dorset, your son, that with a fearful soul. 
 Leads discontented steps in foreign soil. 
 This fiiir alliance quickly shall call home 
 To high promotions and great dignity: 
 The king, that calls your beauteous daughter — wife, 
 Familiarly shall call thy Dorset — brother ; 
 Again shall you be mother to a king, 
 And all the ruins of distressful times 
 Repair'd with double riches of content. 
 What ! we have many goodly days to see : 
 The liquid drops of tears that you have shed. 
 Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl ; 
 Advantaging their loan, with interest 
 Of ten-times double gain of happiness. 
 Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go ; 
 Make bold her bashful years with your experience ; 
 Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale : 
 Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame 
 Of golden sovereignty ; acquaint the princess 
 With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys : 
 And when this arm of mine hath chdstised 
 The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, 
 Bound with triumphant garlands will I come, 
 And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ! 
 To whom I will retail my conquest won, 
 And she shall be sole vict'ress, Caesar's Ca;sar. 
 
 Q. Eliz. What were I best to say 1 her father's 
 brother 
 Would be her lord 1 Or shall I say, her uncle 1 
 Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles 1 
 Under what title shall I woo for thee. 
 That God, the law, my honor, and her love, 
 Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ? 
 
 Tr.fo'c/j. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still last- 
 ing war. 
 
 K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command, 
 entreats. 
 
 Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King 
 forbids.^ 
 
 A'. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty 
 queen. 
 
 Q. Eliz. To wail the title as her mother doth. 
 
 K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last ■* 
 
 A" Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. 
 
 Q Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life 
 last] 
 
 K. Rich. As long as heaven,and nature, length- 
 ens it. 
 
 Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it 
 
 A'. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sove- 
 reignty. 
 
 K. Rich. Be eloquent, in my behalf, to her. 
 
 <j. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plain- 
 ly told. 
 
 K. Fich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving 
 tale. 
 ■ In the LeTitical Law, chap. ZTiii. 14. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style. 
 
 K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow, and too 
 quick. 
 
 Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and 
 dead ; — 
 Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. 
 
 K. Rick. Harp not on that string, madam, that z\ 
 past. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings 
 break. 
 
 K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter,' and 
 my crown, — 
 
 Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonor'd, and the third 
 usurp'd. 
 
 K. Rich. I swear. 
 
 Q. Eliz. By nothing; for this is no oath. 
 
 Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honor ; 
 Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue ; 
 Thy crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory : 
 If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, 
 Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. 
 
 K. Rich. Now, by the world, — 
 
 Q. Eliz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. 
 
 K. Rich. My father's death, — 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonor'd. 
 
 A'. Rich. Then, by myself, — 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-misused. 
 
 A'^. Rich. Why then, by God,— 
 
 Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all 
 
 If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him. 
 The unity, the king thy brother made, 
 Had not been broken, nor my brother slain ; 
 If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him. 
 The imperial metal, circling now thy head. 
 Had grac'd the tender temples of my child; 
 And both the princes had been breathing here, 
 Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust. 
 Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. 
 What canst thou swear by now ] 
 
 K. Rich. By the time to come. 
 
 Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the timf 
 o'erpast ; 
 For I myself have many tears to wash 
 Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. 
 The cliildren live, whose parents thou hast slaugh- 
 
 tcr'd, 
 Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age : 
 The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd 
 Old barren plants, to wail it in their age : 
 Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast 
 Misused, ere used, by times ill-used o'er-past. 
 
 K. Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent, 
 So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 
 Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! 
 Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours ! 
 Day yield me not thy light; nor night, thy rest I 
 Be opposite all planets of good luck 
 To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love, 
 Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
 I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter! 
 In her consists my hajjpiness, and thine; 
 Without her, follows to myself, and thee. 
 Herself, the land, and many a christian soul. 
 Death, desolation, ruin, and decay- 
 It cannot be avoided, but by this; 
 It will not be avoided, but by this. 
 Therefore, dear mother, (1 must call you so,) 
 Be the attorney of my love to her. 
 Plead what I will be, not what I have been ; 
 • The ensiKus of the Order of the Qarter 
 
678 
 
 KING RICHARD ITI. 
 
 Act IV. ScENF. IV 
 
 Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : 
 
 Urge the necessity and state of times, 
 
 And be not peevish" found in great designs. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus 1 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Sliall I forget myself to be myself 1 
 
 K. Rick. Ay, if yourself 's remembrance wrong 
 yourself. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children, [them: 
 
 K. Rick. But in your daughter's womb I bury 
 Where, in that nest of spicery,' they shall breed 
 Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will ? 
 
 K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I go. — Write to me very shortly, 
 And you shall understand from me her mind. 
 
 K. Rick. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so 
 farewell. [^Kissing her. Exit Q. Eliz. 
 Relenting fool, and shallow, changing — woman ! 
 How now 1 what news 1 
 
 Enter Ratcliff; Catesby following. 
 
 Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast 
 Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore 
 Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, 
 Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back : 
 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral ; 
 And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
 Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore. 
 
 K. Rick. Some light-foot friend post to the duke 
 of Norfolk :— 
 Ratcliff, thyself, — or Catesby ; where is he 1 
 
 Gate. Here, my good lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke. 
 
 Gate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. 
 
 K. Rich. Ratclilf, come hither : Post to Salisbury ; 
 When thoucom'st thither, — Dull unmindful villain, 
 
 [7'o Catesby. 
 Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke 1 
 
 Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' 
 pleasure, 
 What from your grace I shall deliver to him. 
 
 K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby; — Bid him levy 
 straight 
 The greatest strength and power he can make, 
 And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. 
 
 Cate. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at 
 Salisbury 1 [I go ? 
 
 K. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there, before 
 
 Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 K. Rich. My mind is changed. — Stanley, what 
 news with you 1 
 
 Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with 
 the hearing ; 
 Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. 
 
 K, Rich. Heyday, a riddle ! neither good nor bad ! 
 What need'st thou run so many miles about 
 When thou mayst tell the tale the nearest way ? 
 Once more, what news 1 
 
 Stan. Richmond is on the seas. 
 
 K. Rick. There let him sink, and be the seas on 
 White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there T [him ! 
 
 Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. 
 
 K. Rick. Well, as you guess ? [Morton, 
 
 Afan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and 
 lie makes for England, here to claim the crown. 
 
 K. Rick. la the chair empty 1 is the sword un- 
 sway'd ? 
 * Foolish. • Th" Poenix's nest. 
 
 Is the king dead 1 the empire unpossess'd ? 
 What heir of York is there alive, but we '• 
 And who is England's king, but great York's heir 1 
 Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seasi 
 
 Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 
 
 K. Rick. Unless for that he comes to be your liege, 
 You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. 
 Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 
 
 Stati. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not 
 
 K. Rick. Where is thy power then, to beat hira 
 back ] 
 Where be thy tenants, and thy followers? 
 Are they not now upon the western shore, 
 Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships'? 
 
 Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in tha 
 north. 
 
 K. Rich. Cold friends to me : what do they in the 
 north. 
 When they should serve their sovereign in the west? 
 
 Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty 
 king: 
 Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, 
 I'll muster up my friends ; and meet your grace, 
 Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be one to join with 
 Richmond: 
 I will not trust you, sir. 
 
 Stan. Most mighty sovereign. 
 
 You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful ; 
 I never was, nor never will be false. 
 
 K. Rick. Well, go, muster men. But, hear you, 
 leave behind 
 Your son, George Stanley ; look your heart be firm, 
 Or else his head's assurance is but frail. 
 
 Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. 
 
 \_Exit Stanley. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, 
 As I by friends am well advertised, 
 Sir Edward Courteney, and the haughty prelate. 
 Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother. 
 With many more confederates, are in arms. 
 
 Enter anotker Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in 
 
 ariris; 
 And every hour more competitors' 
 Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong 
 
 Enter anotker Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess, My lord, the army of great Bucking- 
 
 ham — 
 
 K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of 
 
 death ? [i/e strikes kiin. 
 
 There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 
 
 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty. 
 Is, — that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
 Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd; 
 And he himself wander'd away alone. 
 No man knows whither. 
 
 K. Rich. O, I cry you mercy 
 
 There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. 
 Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd 
 Reward to him that brings the traitor in ? 
 
 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my 
 liege. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 i Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marqui* 
 Dorset, 
 
 3 Associates. 
 
ACT Y. Scene 1 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 5/» 
 
 Tis said, my liege, ii. Yorkshire are in arms. 
 Dut this gooJ comfort hring I to your high- 
 ness, — 
 The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempests: 
 Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 
 [Into the shore, to aslc those on the banks, 
 If they were his assistants, yea, or no; 
 Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham 
 Upon his party ; he, mistrusting them, 
 Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bre- 
 tagne. 
 K, Rich. March on, march on, since we are up 
 in arms; 
 If not to fight with foreign enemies, 
 Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. 
 Enter Catf.sbt. 
 
 Ca/e. My hege, the duke of Buckingham is taken. 
 That is the best news; Tliat the earl of Richmond 
 Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
 Is colder news, but yet they must be told. 
 
 K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we rea- 
 son here, 
 A royal battle might be won and lost: — 
 Some one take order, Buckingham be brought 
 To Salisbury ; — the rest march on with me. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Room in I-ort? Stanley's House 
 Enter Stanley, and Sin Christopher Urs. 
 
 WICK.' 
 
 Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from 
 me: — 
 That, in the sty of this most bloody boar. 
 My son George Stanley is frank'd" up in hold; 
 If I revolt, oil' goes young George's head ; 
 The fear of that withholds my present aid. 
 But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now ? 
 
 Chris. At Peni hroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales 
 
 Sta}i. What men of name resort to him ? 
 
 Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; 
 Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley ; 
 Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt, 
 And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew • 
 And many other of great fame and worth: 
 And towards London do they bend their coursd 
 If by the way they be not fought withal. 
 
 Stati. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me to 
 him ; 
 Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented 
 He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
 These letters will resolve him of my mind. 
 Farewell. [^Gives Papers to Sir Christopher. 
 
 [Exeuni. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Salisbury. An open Place. 
 
 Enter the SheriiT, a?id Guard, iviih Buckingham, 
 led to Execution. 
 
 Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with 
 him? 
 
 Sher. No, my good lord ; therefore be patient. 
 
 Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children,»Rivers, 
 Grey, 
 Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
 Vai.ghan, and all that have miscarried 
 By underhand corrupted foul injustice; 
 If that your moody discontented souls 
 Do through the clouds behold this present hour. 
 
 Even for revenge mock my destruction ! 
 
 This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not ? 
 
 Sher. It is, my lord. 
 
 Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's 
 doomsday. 
 This if the day, which, in King Edward's time, 
 I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found 
 False to his children, or his wife's allies : 
 This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall 
 By the false faith of him whom most I trusted: 
 This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul. 
 Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs.'' 
 That high All -seer which I dallied with. 
 Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head. 
 And given in earnest what I bcgg'd in jest. 
 Thus d )th he force the swords of wicked men 
 To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms: 
 Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, — 
 When he, quoth she, shall .yilit thij heart ivith sor- 
 row, 
 Ueincmber Margaret loas a prophetess. — 
 Dome, sirs, convey me to the block of shame, 
 V ronghath .ut wrong, and blame the due of blame. 
 [^Exeunt Buckingham, <!S-c. 
 • Injurious practices. 
 
 SCENE II. — Plain near Tamwoitn. 
 
 Enter, with Brum and Colors, Richmond, Oxford, 
 Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and 
 others, joith Forces, marching. 
 
 Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving 
 Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, [friends, 
 Thus far into the bowels of the land 
 Have we march'd on without impediment ; 
 And here receive we from our father Stanley 
 Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
 The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar. 
 That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines, 
 Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his 
 In yourembowell'd bosoms, this foul swine [trough 
 Lies now even in the centre of this isle, 
 Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : 
 From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march. 
 In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, 
 To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
 By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 
 
 Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand 
 To light against that bloody homicide, [swords, 
 
 Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. 
 
 Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends for 
 Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. [fear ; 
 
 Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's 
 name, march : 
 True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings, 
 Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 
 
 \^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Bosworth Field. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and Forces ; the Duke op 
 Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, and others. 
 
 K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even herein Bos« 
 worth field. — 
 My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ? 
 
 I Clmplain to the countess of Richmond. 
 
 8 A trunk Is a sty in which hoes are fattened. 
 
580 
 
 KING RiCHARD ill. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. 
 
 K. Rick. My lord of Norfolk, 
 
 Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 
 
 h Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; Ha! 
 must we not] 
 
 Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie to- 
 night. 
 
 [^Soldiers begin to set up the Kino's tent. 
 But where, to-morrow] — Well, all's one for that. — 
 Who hath descried the number of the traitors 1 
 
 Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that account : 
 Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, 
 Which they upon the adverse faction want. 
 Up with the tent. — Come, noble gentlemen, 
 Let us survey 'he vantage of the ground; — 
 Call for some men of sound directions: — 
 Let's want no discipline, make no delay ; 
 For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. 
 Enter, on the other Side of the Field, Richmond, 
 
 Sin William Brandon, Oxford, and other 
 
 TiOrds. Some of the Soldiers pitch Richmond's 
 
 Tent. 
 
 Richm. The weary svin hath made a golden set, 
 And, by the bright track of his fiery car, 
 Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — 
 Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. — 
 Give me some ink and paper in my tent; 
 I'll draw the form and model of our battle, 
 Limit each leader to his several charge. 
 And part in just proportion our small power. 
 My lord of Oxford, — you, sir William ISrandon. — 
 And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me : 
 The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment; 
 Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, 
 And by the second hour in the morning 
 Desire the earl to see me in my tent: — 
 Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me ; 
 Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know ] 
 
 Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colors much, 
 (Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done,) 
 His regiment lies half a mile at least 
 South from the mighty power of the king. 
 
 Richm. If without peril it be possible. 
 Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak 
 
 with him. 
 And give him from me this most needful note. 
 
 Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it; 
 And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! 
 
 Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come, 
 gentlemen. 
 Let us consult upon to-morrow's business ; 
 In to my tent, the air is raw and cold. 
 
 [They ivithdraw into the Tent. 
 
 Enter, to his Tent, King Richard, Norfolk, 
 Ratcuff, and Catesbt. 
 
 K. Rich. What is't o'clock? 
 
 Caie. It's supper time, my lord: 
 
 It's nine o'clock. 
 
 K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. — 
 
 Give me some ink and paper. — 
 What, is my beaver easier than it was? — 
 A.nd all my armor laid into my tenti 
 
 Gate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in readi- 
 ness 
 
 K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; 
 Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. 
 
 Nor. I go, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentla 
 Norfolk. 
 
 Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit 
 
 K. Rich. Ratclitr, 
 
 Rat. My lord] 
 
 K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms 
 
 To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power 
 Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall 
 Into the blind cave of eternal night. — 
 Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch :'' — 
 
 [To Catesbt. 
 Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. — 
 Look that my staves* be sound, and not too heavy. 
 Ratcliff, 
 
 Rat. My lord] 
 
 K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord North 
 umberland] 
 
 Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself, 
 Much about cock-shut' time, from troop to troop 
 Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. 
 
 K. Rich. I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine • 
 I have not that alacrity of spirit, 
 Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. — 
 So, set it down. — Is ink and paper ready ] 
 
 Rat. It is, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Bid my guard watch; leave me. 
 
 About the mid of night, come to my tent, 
 And help to arm me. — Leave me, I say. 
 
 [Kino Richard retires into his Tent. Exeunt 
 Ratcliff and Catesbt. 
 
 Richmond's Tent opens, and discovers Mm, and 
 his Officers, ^c. 
 Enter Stanlet. 
 
 Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm ! 
 
 Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford, 
 Be to thy person, noble father-in-law ! 
 Tell me, how fares our loving mother] 
 
 Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother^ 
 Who prays continually for Richmond's good: 
 So much for that. — The silent hours steal oxi. 
 And flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
 In brief, for so the season bids us be. 
 Prepare thy battle early in the morning ; 
 And put thy fortune to the arbitrement 
 Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war. 
 I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot,^ 
 With best advantage will deceive the time, 
 And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms 
 But on thy side I may not be too forward, 
 Lest, being seen, thy brother tender George 
 Be executed in his father's sight. 
 Farewell: The leisure and the fearful time 
 Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love. 
 And ample interchange of sweet discourse. 
 Which so long-sunder'd friends should dwell upon* 
 God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 
 Once more, adieu: — Be valiant, and speed well. 
 
 Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment 
 I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap; 
 Lest leaden slumber peise' me down to-morrow. 
 When I should mount with wings of victory : 
 Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen, 
 [Exeunt Lords, 4"c. icith Stanlex. 
 O Thou ! whose captain I account myself. 
 Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 
 Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, 
 That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
 
 ' A watch-light. 
 » XwUiaht. 
 
 » Wood of the lances. 
 •Weigh. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 581 
 
 The usurping helmets of our adversaries! 
 Make us thy ministers of chastisement, 
 That we may praise thee in thy victory ! 
 To thee I do commend my watchful soul, 
 Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes; 
 Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still ! [^Sleeps. 
 
 The Ghost of Piiince Edwaiid, son to Henut 
 THE Sixth, rises between the two Tents. 
 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 
 
 \_To King Richakd. 
 Think, how thou stab'dstme in my prime of youth 
 At Tewksbury ; Despair, therefore, and die ! — 
 Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls 
 Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf: 
 King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. 
 
 The Ghost of Knaa Henut the Sixth rises. 
 
 Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 By thee was punched full of deadly holes: 
 Think on the Tower, and me ; Despair, and die ! 
 Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die. — 
 Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king, 
 Doth comfort thee in thy sleep ; Live, and flourish ! 
 
 The Ghost o/'Clahence rises. 
 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! 
 
 [To King Richakd. 
 I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine. 
 Poor Clarence, by thy guile bctray'd to death ! 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me, 
 And fall thy edgeless sword; Despair, and die! — ■ 
 Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee ; 
 Good angels guard thy battle ! Live, and flourish ! 
 
 The Ghosts of Riveiis, Grey, and Vaughan, rise. 
 
 Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, 
 
 [7b King Richard. 
 Rivers, that died at Pomfret! Despair, and die! 
 Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair ! 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 Vaugh. Think upon Vaughan; and, with guilty 
 fear, 
 Let fall thy lance! Despair, and die! — 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 All. Awake ! and think, our wrongs in Richard's 
 bosom [To Richmond. 
 
 Will conquer him; — Awake, and win the day! 
 
 The Ghost oy Hastings rises. 
 
 Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake; 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 And in a bloody battle end thy days ! 
 'Iliink on lord Hastuigs ; and despair, and die ! — 
 Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake ! 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake ! 
 
 The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. 
 
 Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother 'd in the 
 Tower ; 
 Let t:s be lead within thy bosom, Richard, 
 And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! 
 Thv nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die. — ■ 
 88 
 
 Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy, 
 Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy ! 
 Live, and beget a happy race of kings ! 
 Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 
 The Ghost of Queen Anne rises. 
 
 Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anno 
 thy wife. 
 That never slept a quiet hour with thee, 
 Now fills thy sleep with perturbations: 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me, 
 And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die !-~ 
 Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep ; 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 Dream of success and happy victory ; 
 Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 
 
 The Ghost q/" Buckingham rises. 
 
 Ghost. The first was I, that help'd thee to the 
 crown; [To King Richard. 
 
 The last was I, that felt thy tyranny: 
 O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
 And die in terror of thy guiltiness ! 
 Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death; 
 Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath! - 
 I died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid : 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd: 
 God, and good angels, fight on Richmond's side ; 
 And Richard falls in height of all his pride. 
 
 [The Ghosts vanish. King Richard starti 
 out of his Dream. 
 K. Rich. Give me another horse, — bind up my 
 wounds, — 
 Have mercy, Jesu! — Soft; I did but dream. — 
 
 coward conscience, how dost thou afllict me ! — 
 The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight. 
 Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
 What do I fear 1 myself] there's none else by : 
 Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am L 
 
 Is there a murderer here ] No ; — Yes ; I am - 
 Then fly, — What, from myself] Great reason: 
 
 Why] 
 Lest I revenge. What] Myself on myself] 
 
 1 love myself. Wherefore ] for any good. 
 That I myself have done unto myself] 
 O, no: alas, I rather hate myself. 
 
 For hateful deeds committed by myself. 
 
 I am a villain: Yet I lie, I am not. 
 
 Fool, of thyself speak well: — Fool, do not flatter. 
 
 My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 
 
 And every tongue brings in a several tale, 
 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
 
 Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree. 
 
 Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; 
 
 All several sins, all used in each degree. 
 
 Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty! guilty J 
 
 I shall despair. — There is no creature loves me , 
 
 And, if I die, no soul will pity me: — 
 
 Nay, wherefore should they ] since that I myself 
 
 Find in myself no pity to myself. 
 
 Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd 
 
 Came to my tent : and every one did threat 
 
 To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
 
 Enter Ratcliff. 
 
 Rat. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. Who's there! 
 Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. 
 cock 
 
 The early villag* 
 
582 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act V 
 
 I lath twice done salutation to the morn; 
 
 Your friends are up, and buckle on their armor. 
 
 li. Rich. 0, Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful 
 dream ! 
 What thinkest thou ] will our friends prove all true] 
 
 Rat. No doubt, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. RatcliiT, I fear, I fear, — 
 
 Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of sha- 
 dows. 
 
 K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, 
 Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers. 
 Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. 
 It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; 
 Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, 
 To hear, if any mean to shrink from me. 
 
 [^Exeunt King Richard and Ratcliff. 
 
 Richmond wakes. Enter Oxford a7id others. 
 
 Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. 
 
 Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentle- 
 men. 
 That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. 
 
 Lords. How have you slept, my lord 1 
 
 Richm, The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding 
 dreams. 
 That ever enter'd in a drowsy head. 
 Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
 Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard mur- 
 
 der'd, 
 Came to my tent, and cried — On ! victory ! 
 I promise you, my heart is very jocund 
 In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
 How far into the morning is it, lords 1 
 
 Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 
 
 Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give di- 
 rection. — [Tfe adva7ices to the Troops. 
 More than I have said, loving countrymen, 
 The leisure and enforcement of the times 
 Forbids to dwell on : Yet remember this, — 
 God, and our good cause, fight upon our side ; 
 The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, 
 Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces ; 
 Richard except, those, whom we fight against. 
 Had rather have us win, than him they follow. 
 For what is he they follow] truly, gentlemen, 
 A bloody tyrant and a homicide ; 
 One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd; 
 One that made means to come by what he hath. 
 And slaughter'd those that were the means to help 
 
 him ; 
 A base foul stone, made precious by the foil 
 Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; 
 One that hath ever been God's enemy : 
 Then, if you fight against God's enemj'^, 
 Gjd will vouclisafe to ward^ you as his soldiers ; 
 [f yju do sweat to put a tyrant down. 
 You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; 
 If you do fight against your country's foes, 
 Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire ; 
 If you do fight in safeguard of your wives. 
 Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; 
 If you do free your chilJren from the sword, 
 Your children's children quit' it in your age. 
 Then, in the name of God, and all these rights. 
 Advance your standards, draw your willing swords: 
 For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
 8hall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; 
 But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt 
 ' Guard. » Eeq^uite. 
 
 The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
 Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully 
 God, and Saint George ! Richmond, and victorv ! 
 
 [^Exeunt 
 
 Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants- 
 und Forces. 
 
 K. Rich. What said Northumberland, as touching 
 Richmond ] 
 
 Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. 
 
 K. Rich. He said the truth : And what said Surrey 
 then? 
 
 Rat. Hesmil'd and said, the better for our purpose 
 
 K. Rich. He was i' the right; and so, indeed, it is 
 
 [Clock strikes 
 Tell the clock there. — Give me a calendar. — 
 Who saw the sun to-day ] 
 
 Rat. Not I, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine ; for, by the 
 book. 
 He should have brav'd the east an hour age r 
 A black day will it be to somebody. — 
 Ratclifl!; 
 
 Rat. My lord ] 
 
 K. Rich. The sun will not be seen 1 o-day ; 
 The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
 I would, these dewy tears were from the ground. 
 Not shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me, 
 More than to Richmond] for the self-same heaven 
 That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. 
 
 Enter Norfolk. 
 
 Nor. Arm, arm, my lord ; the foe vaunts in the 
 
 field. 
 K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle ; — Caparison my 
 
 horse ; 
 Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: — 
 I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain. 
 And thus my battle shall be ordered. 
 My foreward shall be drawn out all in length. 
 Consisting equally of horse and foot; 
 Our archers shall be placed in the midst : 
 John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey, 
 Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. 
 They thus directed, we ourself will follow 
 In the main battle ; whose puissance on either side 
 Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 
 This, and Saint George to boot ! — What think'st 
 
 thou, Norfolk ] 
 Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. — 
 This found I on my tent this morning. 
 
 [Giving a Scroll. 
 K. Rich. Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold, [Reads. 
 For Dickon * thy master is bought and sold 
 A thing devised by the enemy. — 
 Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge: 
 Let not our babbling dreams aflfright our souls : 
 Conscience is but a word that cowards use. 
 Devised at first to keep the strong in awe ; 
 Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law 
 March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell; 
 If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.~ — - 
 What shall I say more than I have inferr'd ] 
 Remember whom you are to cope withal ;— 
 A sort' of vagabonds, rascals, and run-awaya 
 A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants. 
 Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth 
 To despeiate ventures and assured destruction. 
 You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest; 
 ' The ancient familiarization of Kichard. • Company 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 58*d 
 
 STou having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, 
 They would restrain the one, distain the other. 
 And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow, 
 Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's costi 
 A milk-sop, one that never in his life 
 Felt so much cold as over shoes in snowl 
 Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again ; 
 Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, 
 These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives ; 
 Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, 
 For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd them- 
 selves ; 
 If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us, 
 And not these bastard Bretagnes ; whom our fathers 
 Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, 
 And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. 
 Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives 1 
 Ravish our daughters 1 — Hark, I hear their drum. 
 
 l^Dnini afar off. 
 Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! 
 Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ! 
 Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; 
 Amaze the welkin with your broken staves! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 What says lord Stanley] will he bring his powerl 
 
 Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. 
 
 K. Rick. Offinstantly with his son George's head. 
 
 Nor. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh ; 
 After the battle let George Stanley die. 
 
 K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within 
 my bosom : 
 Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; 
 Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
 Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
 Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. [_Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarum: Excursions. Enter Nohfolk, and 
 Forces; to him Catesbt. 
 
 Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue ! 
 The king enacts more wonders than a man. 
 Daring an opposite to every danger : 
 His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights. 
 Becking for Richmond in the throat of death : 
 Uesru»!, fair lord, or else fhe day is lost ! 
 
 Alarum. Enter King Richahd. 
 
 K, Rich. A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a 
 
 horse ! 
 Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse. 
 S". Rich. Slave, I havs set my life upon a cast, 
 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die : 
 I think there be six Richmonds in the field; 
 Five have I slain to-day instead of him : — 
 A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! 
 
 [^Exeunt, 
 
 Alarums. Enter Kixg RiciiAiin and Richmond ; 
 and exetmt fighting. Retreat, and Flourish. 
 Then enter Richmond, Stanley, bearing the 
 Crown, luith divers other Lords, and Forces. 
 
 Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victorious 
 friends ; 
 The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. 
 
 Sta?i. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou 
 acquit thee ! 
 Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty, 
 From the dead temples of this bloody wretch 
 Have I pluck'd off to grace thy brows withal; 
 Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 
 
 Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all: — 
 But, tell me first, is young George Stanley living" 
 
 Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, 
 Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. 
 
 Richm. What men of name are slain on either sidel 
 
 Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers, 
 Sir Robert Brackenbury, and sir William Brandon. 
 
 Richm. Liter their bodies as becomes their births. 
 Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled. 
 That in submission will return to us ; 
 And, then, as we have ta'eii the sacrament. 
 We will unite the white rose with the red: 
 Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 
 That long hath frown'd upon their enmity !— 
 What traitor hears me, and says not — Amen 1 
 England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself 
 The brother blindly shed the brother's blood. 
 The father rashly slaughter'd his own son. 
 The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire; 
 All this divided York and Lancaster, 
 Divided, in their dire division. — 
 O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, 
 The true succeeders of each royal house. 
 By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! 
 And let their heirs, (God, if thy will be so,) 
 Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace, 
 With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days! 
 Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
 That would reduce these bloody days again. 
 And make poor England weep in streams of blood! 
 Let them not live to taste this land's increase, 
 That would with treason wound this fair land's peacci 
 Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again; 
 That she may long live here, God say — Amen. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
KING HENRY VI 11. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Kino Henry the Eighth. 
 
 (yATlDINAL WOLSET. 
 
 (Jardinai. Campeius. 
 
 Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor 
 
 Charles V. 
 Cranmeb, Archbishop 0/ Canterbury. 
 Duke of Norfolk. 
 Duke of Buckingham. 
 Duke of Suffolk. 
 Earl of Surrey. 
 Lord Chamberlain. 
 Lord Chancellor. 
 
 Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. 
 Bishop of Lincoln. 
 Lord Abergavenny. 
 Lord Sands. 
 Sir Henry Guildford. 
 Sir Thomas Loyell. 
 Sir Anthony Denny. 
 Sir Nicholas Vaux. 
 Secretaries to Wolsey. 
 Cromwell, Servant to Wolsey. 
 
 Griffith, Gentleman-usher to Queen Kalharina 
 
 Three other Gentlemen. 
 
 Doctor Butts, Physician to the King. 
 
 Garter King at Arms. 
 
 Surveyor to the Duke o/" Buckingham. 
 
 Brandon, ai^d a Sergeant at Arms. 
 
 Door-keeper of the Council-clmmber. 
 
 Porter and his Man. 
 
 Page to Gardiner. 
 
 A Crier. 
 
 Queen Katharine, Wife to King Henry, after- 
 wards divorced. 
 
 Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honor,- aflerwardi 
 Queen. 
 
 An old Lady, Friend to Anne Bullen. 
 
 Patience, Woman to Queen Katharine. 
 
 Several Lords and Ladies in the dumb sliowst 
 Women attending upon the Queen; Spirits, 
 which appear to her,- Scribes, Officers, Guardt 
 and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, chiefly in London and Westminster ; once at Kimbolton. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 I come no more to make you laugh ; things now, 
 Tliat bear a weighty and a serious brow. 
 Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, 
 Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, 
 We now present. Those that can pity, here 
 May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; 
 The subject will deserve it. Such as give 
 Their money out of hope they may believe, 
 May here find truth too. Those, that come to see 
 Only a show or two, and so agree. 
 The play may pass ; if they be still and willing, 
 I'll undertake, may see away their shilling 
 Richly in two short hours. Only they. 
 That come to hear a merry, wanton play, 
 A noise of targets ; or to see a fellow 
 In a long motley coat, guarded ' with yellow, 
 • Lflcpd. 
 584 
 
 Will be deceiv'd; for, gentle hearers, know, 
 To rank our chosen truth with such a show 
 As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting 
 Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 
 (To make that only true we now intend,^) 
 Will leave us never an understanding friend. 
 Therefore, for goodness' sake, and asyou are known 
 The first and happiest hearers of the town, 
 Be sad, as we would make ye : Think, ye see 
 The very persons of our noble story. 
 As they were living ; think you see them great, 
 And follow'd with the general throng, and sw saV 
 Of thousand friends: then, in a moment, see 
 How soon this mightiness meets misery ! 
 And, if you can be merry then, I'll say, 
 A man may weep upon his wedding day. 
 » Pretend. 
 
' '^•"--'■^"'■"^ -f^^:-. 1-1 ■■-,-' t- — I ----n. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 585 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 6CENE I. — London. An Ante-chamber in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter the Duke of NonroLK, a^owe docyr; at the 
 other the Duke of Buckingham, ant^/Ae Lord 
 
 ABF.nGATENNT. 
 
 Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have 
 you done, 
 ^3ince last we saw in France 1 
 
 Nor. I thank your grace : 
 
 Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
 Of what I saw there. 
 
 BiicJi. An untimely ague 
 
 Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 
 Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,' 
 Met in the vale of Arde. 
 
 Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: 
 
 [ was then present, saw them salute on horseback ; 
 Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung 
 In their cmbracement, as they grew together; 
 Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have 
 
 weigh'd 
 Such a compounded one? 
 
 Buck. All the whole time 
 
 I was my chamber's prisoner. 
 
 Nor. Then you lost 
 
 The view of earthly glory: Men might say, 
 Till this time, pomp was single ; but now married 
 To one above itself. Each following day 
 Became the next day's master, till the last 
 Made former wonders its: To day, the French, 
 All clinquant,^ all in gold, like heathen gods, 
 Shone down 'he English : and, to-morrow, they 
 Made Britain, India: every man that stood, 
 Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 
 As cherubin, all gilt: the madams too, 
 Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
 The pride upon them, that their very labor 
 Was to them as a painting: now this mask 
 Was cry'd incomparable ; and the ensuing night 
 Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings. 
 Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, 
 As presence did present them ; him in eye, 
 Still him in praise: and, being present both, 
 'Twas said, they saw but one; and no discerner 
 Durst wag his tongue in censure.' When these suns 
 (For so they phrase them) fay their heralds chal- 
 lenged 
 The noble spirit* to arms, they did perform 
 Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous 
 
 story. 
 Being now seen possible enough, got credit, 
 That Be vis* was believ'd. 
 
 Buck. O, you go far. 
 
 Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect 
 In honor honesty, the tract of every thing 
 VVould by a good discourser lose some life, 
 Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; 
 To the disposing of it nought rebell'd, 
 Order gave each thing view ; the office did 
 Distinctly his full function. 
 
 Buck. Who did guide, 
 
 I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
 Of this great sport together, as you guess] 
 
 TIcnry VIII, and Francis I, king of France. 
 ' Glittering, shining. = In opinion, which was most noble. 
 !iir Berifi, an old romance. 
 
 Nor. One, certes' that promises no element* 
 In such a business. 
 
 Buck, I pray you, who, my lordl 
 
 Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion 
 Of the right reverend cardinal of York. 
 
 Buck. The devil speed him! no man's pie istfree'd 
 From his ambitious finger. What had he 
 To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder, 
 That such a keech' can with his very bulk 
 Take up the rays o'the beneficial sun. 
 And keep it from the earth. 
 
 Nor. Surely, sir, 
 
 There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends. 
 For, being not propp'd by ancestry, (whose graca 
 Chalks succes.sors their way,) nor call'd upon 
 For high feats done to the crown ; neither allictl 
 To eminent assistance, but, spider-like, 
 Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, 
 The force of his own merit makes his way ; 
 A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys 
 A place next to the king. 
 
 Aber. I cannot tell 
 
 What heaven hath given him, let some graver eye 
 Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride 
 Peep through each part of liim : Whence has he 
 
 that? 
 If not from hell, the devil is a niggard; 
 Or has given all before, and he begins 
 A new hell in himself. 
 
 Buck. Why the devil, 
 
 Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, 
 Without the privity o'the king, to appoint 
 Who should attend on him ? He makes up the file 
 Of all the gentry ; for the most part such 
 Too, whom as great a charge as little honor 
 He meant to lay upon : and his own letter ' 
 The honorable board of council out. 
 Must fetch him in the papers. 
 
 Aber. I do know 
 
 Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that havt 
 By this so sicken'd their estates, that never 
 They shall abound as formerly. 
 
 Buck. 0, many 
 
 Have broke their backs with laying manors on theia 
 For this great journey. What did this vanity, 
 But minister communication of 
 A most poor issue ? 
 
 Nor. Grievingly I think 
 
 The peace between the French and us not valuai 
 The cost that did conclude it. 
 
 Buck. Every man, 
 
 After the hideous storm that follow'd, was 
 A thing iiispir'd : and, not consulting, broke 
 Into a general prophecy, — That this tempest. 
 Dashing the garment of thi.« peace, aboded 
 The sudden breach or't. 
 
 Nor. Which is budded out; 
 
 For France hath ilavv'd the league, and hath attach a 
 Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. 
 
 Aber. Is it therelbra 
 
 The ambassador is silenced ? 
 
 Nor. Marry, is't 
 
 Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and f rare his'd 
 At a superfluous rate ! 
 
 » Certainly. « Practice. i Lump of fat 
 
 • Sets down in his letter without consuHing the counoU. 
 
586 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Buck. Why, all this business 
 
 Our reverend cardinal carried.' 
 
 Nor. 'Like it, your grace, 
 
 The state takes notice of the private diflerence 
 Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise yof], 
 (And take it from a heart that wishes towards you 
 Honor and plenteous safety,) that you read 
 The cardinal's malice and his potency 
 Together: to consider further, that 
 What his high hatred would effect, wants not 
 A minister in his power: You know his nature. 
 That he's revengeful ; and I know, his sword 
 Hath a sharp edge : it's long, and, it may be said. 
 It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend. 
 Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel. 
 You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock. 
 That I advise your shunning. 
 
 Enter Cardinal Wolset, (the Purse borne he- 
 fore him,) certain of the Guard, and two Sec- 
 retaries with Papers. The Cahdinal in his 
 passage jixeth his eye on Buckingham, and 
 Buckingham on him, both full of disdain. 
 
 Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor T ha ] 
 Where's his examination^ 
 
 1 Seer. Here, so please you. 
 
 Wol. Is he in person ready 1 
 1 Seer. Ay, please your grace. 
 
 Wol. Well, we shall then know more ; and Buck- 
 ingham 
 Shall lessen this big look. 
 
 [^Exeunt Wolset, and Train. 
 Buck. This butcher's cur' is venom-mouth'd, 
 and I 
 Have not the power to muzzle him : therefore best 
 Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book 
 Out-worths a noble's blood. 
 
 Nor. What, are you chafed] 
 
 Ask God for temperance ; that's the appliance 
 
 only. 
 Which your disease requires. 
 
 Buck. I read in his looks 
 
 Matter against me; and his eye revil'd 
 Me, as his abject object: at this instant 
 He bores ^ me with some trick: He's gone to the king; 
 I'll follow, and out-stare him. 
 
 Nor. Stay, my lord. 
 
 And let your reason with your choler question 
 What 'tis you go about: To climb steep hills 
 Requires slow pace at first: Anger is like 
 A full-hot horse ; who being allow'd his way. 
 Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
 Can advise me like you ; be to yourself 
 \s you would to your friend. 
 
 Buck. I'll to the king. 
 
 And from a mouth of honor quite cry down 
 This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim. 
 There's difference in no persons. 
 
 Nor. Be advis'd: 
 
 Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
 That it do singe yourself: We may out-run, 
 By violent swiftness, that which we run at, 
 And lose by over-running. Know you not. 
 The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er. 
 In seeming to augment it, wastes it! Be advis'd: 
 I say again, there is no English soul 
 More stronger to direct you than yourself; 
 If with the sap of reason you would quench, 
 Or but allay, the fire of passion. 
 » Conducted . « Wc^sey waa the son of a butcher. » Stabs. 
 
 Buck. Sir, 
 
 I am thankful to you : and I'll go along 
 By your prescription : — but this top-proud fellow 
 (Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but 
 From sincere motions,) by intelligence. 
 And proofs as clear as founts in July, when 
 We see each grain of gravel, I do know 
 To be corrupt and treasonous. 
 
 Nor. Say not, treasonous. 
 
 Buck. To the king I'll say't ; and make my vouch 
 as strong 
 As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, 
 Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous, 
 As he is subtle; and as prone to mischief, 
 As able to perform it: his mind and place 
 Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,) 
 Only to show his pomp as well in France 
 As here at home, suggests' the king our master 
 To this last costly treaty, the interview. 
 That swallow'd so much treasure, and, like a glasa^ 
 Did break i'the rinsing. 
 
 Nor. 'Faith, and so it did. 
 
 Buck. Pray, give me favor, sir. This cunning 
 cardinal 
 The articles of the combination drew, 
 As himself pleas'd ; and they were ratified. 
 As he cried. Thus let be: to as much end. 
 As give a crutch to the dead : But our count-cardina 
 Has done this, and 'tis well ; for worthy Wolsey, 
 Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, 
 (Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy 
 To the old dam, treason,) — Charles the emperoi, 
 Under pretence to see the queen his aunt, 
 (For 'twas indeed, his color; but he came 
 To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation : 
 His fears were, that the interview, betwixt 
 England and France, might, through their amity 
 Breed him some prejudice ; for from this league 
 Peep'd arms that menaced him : He privily 
 Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, — 
 Which I do well ; for, I am sure, the emperoi 
 Paid ere he promis'd ; whereby his suit was granted, 
 Ere it was ask'd ; — but when the way was made. 
 And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd ;- 
 That he would please to alter the king's course 
 And break the aforesaid peace. Let the king know, 
 (As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal 
 Does buy and sell his honor as he pleases. 
 And for his own advantage. 
 
 Nor. I am sorry 
 
 To hear this of him ; and could wish, he were 
 Something mistaken in't. 
 
 Buck. No, not a syllable; 
 
 I do pronounce him in that very shape. 
 He shall appear in proof. 
 
 Enter Brandon : a Sergeant-at-Arms before run 
 and two or three of the Guard. 
 
 Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it. 
 
 Serg. Sir, 
 
 My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl 
 Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I 
 Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
 Of our most sovereign king. 
 
 Buck. Lo you, my lord. 
 
 The net has fallen upon me ; I shall perish 
 Under device and practice.' 
 
 Bra7i. I am sorry 
 
 To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
 
 ' Excites. ■> Unfair stratagem. 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 581 
 
 The business present: 'Tis his highness' pleasure 
 Vou shall to the Tower. 
 
 Buck. It will help me nothing, 
 
 To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on me, 
 Which makes my whitest part black. The will of 
 
 heaven 
 Be done in this and all things! — I obey. — 
 
 my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well. 
 
 Bran. Nay, he must bear you company : — The 
 king [To Abergavexnt. 
 
 Is picas'd, you shall to the Tower, till you know 
 How he determines further. 
 
 Aher. As the duke said. 
 
 The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure 
 By me obey'd. 
 
 Bran. Here is a warrant from 
 
 The king, to attach lord Montacutc ; and the bodies 
 Of the duke's confessor, John de la Court, 
 One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — 
 
 Buck. So, so ; 
 
 These are the limbs of the plot: no more, I hope. 
 
 Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux. 
 
 Buck. 0, Nicholas Hopkins'! 
 
 Bran. He. 
 
 Buck. My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal 
 Hath show'd him gold : my life is spann'd already ; 
 
 1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham; 
 Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, 
 By dark'ning my clear 6un. — My lord, farewell. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The Council-chamber. 
 
 Cornets. Enter Kino Henht, Cardinal Wol- 
 
 SET, the Lords of the Council, Sir Thomas 
 LovELL, Officers and Attendants. The Kins 
 enters, leanii^g on the Cardinal's shoulder. 
 
 K. Hen. My life itself and the best heart of it, 
 Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level 
 Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks 
 To you that chok'd it — Let be call'd before us 
 That gentleman of Buckingham's : in person 
 I'll hear him his confessions justify ; 
 And point by point the treasons of his master 
 He shall again relate. 
 
 7%e Ki Tia takes his State. The Lords of the Council 
 take their several Places. The C abd i n a l places 
 himself under /Ae King's Feet, 07i his right Side. 
 
 A Noise ivithin, crying, Room for the Queen. Enter 
 the Queen, tisher'd by the Dukes or Nor- 
 folk and Suffolk: she kneels. The King 
 riseth from his S'aie, takes her up, kisses, and 
 placeth her by him. 
 
 Q. Kath. Nay, y/c must longer kneel ; I am a 
 
 suitor. 
 K. Hen. Arise, or A take place by us: Half your suit 
 Never name to vs, you have half our power: 
 The ether moiety, ere you ask, is given; 
 Repeat your wilL and take it. 
 
 Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. 
 
 That you wouW love yourself; and, in that love. 
 Not unconsidfi/'d leave your honor, nor 
 The dignity of your office, is the point 
 Of my petit'on. 
 
 K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 
 
 Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, 
 And those of true condition, that your subjects 
 .\re in great grievance: there hath been commissions 
 Sent down among them, which hath flaw'd the heart 
 Lif all their loyalties: — wherein, although, 
 
 My good lord cardinal, they vent reproachea 
 Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
 Of these exactions, yet the king our master, 
 (Whose honor Heaven shield from soil :") even h* 
 
 escapes not 
 Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
 The sides of loyalty, and almost appears, 
 In loud rebellion. 
 
 Nor. Not almost appears. 
 
 It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, 
 The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
 The many to them 'longing, have put off 
 The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, 
 Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger 
 And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
 Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar 
 And danger serves among them. 
 
 K. Hen. Taxation ! 
 
 Wherein 1 and what taxation 1 — My lord cardinal 
 You that are blam'd for it alike with us, 
 Know you of this taxation] 
 
 Wol. Please you, sir, 
 
 I know but of a single part, in aught 
 Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file 
 Where others tell steps with me.'' 
 
 Q. Kath. No, my lord. 
 
 You know no more than others : but you frame 
 Things that are known alike ; which are not whole- 
 some 
 To those which would not know them, and yet must 
 Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, 
 Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
 Most pestilent to the hearing; and to bear them, 
 The back is sacrifice to the load. They say. 
 They are devis'd by you ; or else you suffer 
 Too hard an exclamation. 
 
 K. Hen. Still exaction ! 
 
 The nature of it? In what kind, let's know, 
 Is this exaction] 
 
 Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 
 In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden J 
 Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's griel 
 Comes through commissions, which compel from 
 
 each 
 The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 
 Without delay ; and the pretence for this 
 Is nam'd, your wars in France: This makes bold 
 
 mouths : 
 Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freezo 
 Allegiance in them ; their curses now, 
 Live where their prayers did ; and it's come to pa^a 
 That tractable obedience is a slave 
 To each incensed will. I would, your liighness 
 Would give it quick consideration, for 
 There is no primer^ business. 
 
 K. Hen. By my life. 
 
 This is against our pleasure. 
 
 Wol. And for me, 
 
 I have no farther gone in this, than by 
 A single v>iicc; and that not pass'd me, bui 
 By learned approbation of the judges. 
 If I am traduced by tongues, which neither know 
 My faculties, nor person, yet will be 
 The chronicles of my doing, — let me say, 
 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake' 
 That virtue must go through. We must not stinl 
 Our necessary actions, in the fear 
 To cope' malicious censurers; which eve;. 
 
 « I am only one among the other counsellors. 
 
 ■> More important. • Thicket of thorni. » Encoiutar 
 
588 
 
 KING HENRY VlH. 
 
 Ac? i. 
 
 As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
 
 That is new trimin'd ; but benefit no further 
 
 Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
 
 By sick interpreters, once' weak ones, is 
 
 Not ours, or not allow'd ;^ what worst, as oft, 
 
 Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
 
 For our best act. If we shall stand still. 
 
 In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
 
 We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
 
 State statues only. 
 
 K. Hen, Things done well, 
 
 And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; 
 Things done without example, in their issue 
 Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
 Of this commission 1 I believe, not any. 
 We must not rend our subjects from our laws. 
 And stick tliem in our will. Sixth part of each? 
 A trembling contribution ! Why, we take. 
 From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber ; 
 And though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd. 
 The air will drink the sap. To every county. 
 Where this is question'd, send our letters, with 
 Free pardon to each man that has denied 
 The force of this commission: Pray, look to't; 
 I put it to your care. 
 
 Wol. A word with you. [To the Secretary. 
 
 Let there be letters writ to every shire. 
 Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd com- 
 mons 
 Hardly conceive of me; let it be nois'd, 
 That,through our intercession, this revokement 
 And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you 
 Further in the proceeding. [jExit Secretary. 
 
 Enter Surveyor. 
 
 Q. Kath. I am sorry that the duke of Buckingham 
 Is run in your displeasure. 
 
 A'. Hen. It grieves many: 
 
 The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker. 
 To nature none more bound; his training such, 
 That he may furnish and instruct great teachers. 
 And never seek for aid out of himself. 
 Yet see 
 
 When these so, noble benefits shall prove 
 Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, 
 They turn to vicious form.s, ten times more ugly 
 Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, 
 Who was cnroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we. 
 Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find 
 His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady. 
 Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 
 That once were his, and is become as black 
 As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us : you shall hear 
 (This was his gentleman in trust) of him 
 Things to strike honor sad. — Bid him recount 
 The fore-recited practices ; whereof 
 We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 
 
 Wol. Stand forth ; and with bold spirit relate what 
 you. 
 Most like a careful sYibject, have collected. 
 Out of the duke of Buckingham. 
 
 K. Hen. Speak freely. 
 
 Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day 
 It would infect his speech, That if the king 
 iJhould without issue die, he'd carry it so 
 To make the sceptre his : These very words 
 I have heard him utter to his son-in-law, 
 Lord Aberga'ny ; to whom by oath he menaced 
 Revenge upon the cardinal. 
 
 ' Sometime. » ApproTcd. 
 
 Wol. Please your highness. noU 
 
 This dangerous conception in this point. 
 Not friended by his wish, to your high person 
 His will is most malignant; and it stretcher 
 Beyond you, to your friends. 
 
 Q. Kath. My learn'd lord carJiiul 
 
 Deliver all with charity. 
 
 K. Hen. Speak on : 
 
 How grounded he his title to the crown. 
 Upon our fail 1 to this point hast thou heard him 
 At any time speak aught 1 
 
 Surv. He was brought lo this 
 
 By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. 
 
 K. Hen. What was that Hopkins 1 
 
 Surv. Sir, a Chartrcijc friar 
 
 His confessor, who fed him every minute 
 With words of sovereignty. 
 
 K. Hen. How know'st thou lhi.=! 1 
 
 Surv. Not long before your highness speci w 
 France, 
 The duke being at the Rose,' within the parish 
 Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand 
 What was the speech amongst the Londoners 
 Concerning the French journey : I replied. 
 Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious. 
 To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
 Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed ; and that he doubted, 
 'Twould prove the verity of certain words 
 Spoke by a holy monk; That oft, says he. 
 Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit 
 John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour 
 To hear from him a matter of some moment: 
 Whom after under the confessio7i's seal 
 He solenmly had sworn, that what he spoke. 
 My chaplain to no creature living, but 
 To me, should utter, with demure confidence 
 This pausingly ensued, — Neither the king, norhu 
 
 heirs, 
 {Tell you the duke,) shall prosper: bid him strive 
 To gain the love of the commonalty,- the duke 
 Shall govern England. 
 
 Q. Kath. If I know you well. 
 
 You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office 
 On the complaint o' the tenants: Take good heed, 
 You charge not in your spleen a noble person. 
 And spoil your nobler soul ! I say, take heed ; 
 Yes, heartily beseech you. 
 
 K. Hen. Let him on : — 
 
 Go forward. 
 
 Su7-v. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. 
 I told my lord the duke. By the devil's illusions 
 The monk might be deceiv'd ; and that 'twas dan 
 
 gerous for him. 
 To ruminate on this so far, until 
 It forged him some design, which, being believ'd, 
 It was much like to do : He answer'd, Tusk! 
 It can do me no damage: adding further, 
 That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd. 
 The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads 
 Should have gone oflT. 
 
 K. Hen. 
 
 Ha! what, so rank? Ah, ha, 
 
 -Canst thou say 
 
 There's mischief in this man:- 
 further 1 
 Surv. I can, my liege. 
 K. Hen. Proceed. 
 
 Surv. Being at Grfcnwicn, 
 
 After your highness had reprov'd the duke 
 About sir William Blomer, — 
 
 K. Hen. I remembex, 
 
 * Now Merchant Taylors' School. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 58«j 
 
 Of such a time . — being my servant sworn, 
 
 The duke retain'd him his. — But on ; What hence'! 
 
 Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been committed, 
 As to the Tower, I thought, — 1 would have play' d 
 The part my father meant to act upon 
 The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury, 
 Made suit to come in his presence; which if granted, 
 As he made semblance of his duty, would 
 Have put his knife into him. 
 
 K. Hen. A giant traitor ! 
 
 WoL Now, madam, may his liighness hve in 
 freedom, 
 And this man out of prison! 
 
 Q. Kath. God i»end al! ! 
 
 K. Hen. There's something more would out of 
 thee ; What say'st 1 
 
 fiurv. After — the duke his father, — with the 
 knife, — 
 He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger. 
 Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes, 
 He did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenor 
 Was, — Were he evil used, he would out-go 
 His father, by as much as a performance 
 Does an irresolute purpose. 
 
 K. Hen. There's his period, 
 
 To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd ; 
 Call him to present trial : if he may 
 Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none. 
 Let him not seek't of us : By day and night, 
 He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt, 
 
 C5CENE in. — A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain, and Loud Sattds. 
 
 Cham. Ls it possible, the spells of France should 
 juggle 
 Men into such strange mysteries 1 
 
 Sands. New customs. 
 
 Though they be never so ridiculous. 
 Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 
 
 Cham. As far as I see, all the good our EngUsh 
 Have got by the late voyage, is but merely 
 A fit' or two o'the face ; but they are shrewd ones ; 
 For when they hold them, you would swear directly. 
 Their very noses had been counsellors 
 To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so. 
 
 Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones ; 
 one would take it. 
 That never saw them pace before, the spavin, 
 A springhalt' reign'd among them. 
 
 Cham. Death ! my lord. 
 
 Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
 That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How 
 
 now? 
 Wha; news, sii Thomas Lovell 1 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Lovell» 
 
 Lot'. 'Faith, my lord, 
 
 I hear of none but the new proclamation 
 That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 
 
 Cham. What is't for? 
 
 Lav. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, 
 That fdl the court with (juarrels, talk, and tailors. 
 
 Cham. I am glad, 'tis there ; now I would pray 
 our monsicurs 
 To think an English courtier may be wise. 
 And never see the Louvre.' 
 
 lav. They must cither 
 
 •Qrimace. 'Disease inciicD'^ to horses. 
 
 * A palace at Paris. 
 
 (For so run the conditions) leave these remnante 
 
 Of fool, and feather, that they got in France, 
 
 With all their honorable points of ignorance, 
 
 Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fireworks; 
 
 Abusing better men than they can be. 
 
 Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean 
 
 The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, 
 
 Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, 
 
 And understand again like honest men; 
 
 Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, 
 
 They may, cum privilegio,'' wear away 
 
 The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd it. 
 
 Sands. 'Tis time to give them physic, their diseases 
 Are grown so catching. 
 
 Cham. What a loss our ladies 
 
 Will have of these trim vanities ! 
 
 Lov. Ay, marry. 
 
 There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons 
 Have got a speedy trick to lay down ladies ; 
 A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow, [going; 
 
 Saiids. The devil fiddle them ! I am glad, they're 
 (For, sure, there's no converting of them ;) nov? 
 An honest country lord, as I am, beaten 
 A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song, 
 And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r-lady. 
 Held current music too. 
 
 Cham. Well said, lord Sands t 
 
 Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. 
 
 Sa7ids. No, my lord ; 
 
 Nor shall not, while I have a stump. 
 
 Cham. Sir Thomas. 
 
 Whither were you a going 1 
 
 Lov. To the cardinal's , 
 
 Your lordship is a guest too. 
 
 Cham. O, 'tis true : 
 
 This night he makes a supper, and a great one. 
 To many lords and ladies ; there will be 
 The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. 
 
 Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind ii» 
 A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; [deed, 
 His dews fall every where. 
 
 Cham. No doubt, he's noble : 
 
 He had a black mouth, that said other of him. 
 
 Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal ; 
 in him 
 Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine; 
 Men of his way should be most liberal. 
 They are set here for examples. 
 
 Cham. True, they are so ; 
 
 But few now give so great ones. My barge stays* 
 Your lordship shall along. — Come,good sir Thomas, 
 We shall be late else : which I would not be, 
 For I was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildford, 
 This night to be comptrollers. 
 
 Sa7ids. I am your lordsliip's. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.—TTie Presence-Chamber in York- 
 Place. 
 
 Hautboys. A small Table under a State for the 
 Cardinal, a longer Table fur the Guests. Enter 
 at one door Anne Bullen, and divers Lords, 
 Ladies, «nc? Gentlewomen, as Guests,- at a'wther 
 Door, enter Siii Hexiiit Guilpfobd. 
 
 Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his giaci 
 Salutes ye all: This night he dedicates 
 To fair content, and you : none here, he hopes, 
 In all this noble bevy," has brought with her 
 One care abroad ; he would have all &-'■ merry 
 ' With authoritv • Company 
 
590 
 
 KING HENKY YIII. 
 
 Act I. Scene ["V 
 
 As first-good company, good wine, good welcome, 
 Can make good people — O, my lord, you arc tardy ; 
 
 Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir 
 
 Thomas Lovell. 
 The very thought of this fair company 
 Clapp'd wings to me. 
 
 Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford. 
 
 Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal 
 But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these 
 Should find a running banquet ere they rested, 
 I think, would better please them : By my life, 
 They are a sweet society of fair ones. 
 
 Lov. O, that your lordship were but now con- 
 To one or two of these ! [fessor 
 
 Sands. I would I were ; 
 
 They should find easy penance. 
 
 Lov. 'Faith, how easy 1 
 
 Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. 
 
 Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit "Y Sir 
 Harry, 
 Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this : 
 His grace is ent'ring. — Nay, you must not freeze; 
 Two women placed together makes cold weather: — 
 My lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking; 
 Pray, sit between these ladies. 
 
 Sands. By my faith, [ladies ; 
 
 And thank your lordship. — By your leave, sweet 
 [Seats himself between Asne Bdllen a?id 
 another Lady. 
 If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ; 
 I had it from my father. 
 
 Anne. Was he mad, sir 1 
 
 Sands. 0, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too : 
 But he would bite none ; just as I do now, 
 He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her. 
 
 Cham. Well said, my lord. — 
 
 So, now you are fairly seated. — Gentlemen, 
 The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies 
 Pass away frowning. 
 
 Sands. For my little cure, 
 
 Let me alone. 
 
 Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, attended; 
 and takes his State. 
 
 WoL You are welcome, my fair guests ; that no- 
 Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, [ble lady. 
 Is not my friend : This, to confirm my welcome ; 
 And to you all good health. [Drinks. 
 
 Sands. Your grace is noble ; — 
 
 Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, 
 And save me so much talking. 
 
 Wol. My lord Sands, 
 
 I am beholden to you : cheer your neighbors. — 
 Ladies, you are not merry ; — Gentlemen, 
 Whose fault is this ? 
 
 Sands. The red wine first must rise 
 
 [n their fair cheeks, my lord ; then we shall have 
 Talk us to silence. [them 
 
 Ayne. You are a merry gamester. 
 
 My lord Sand). 
 
 Sands. Yes, if I make my play." 
 
 Here's to your ladyship ; and pledge it, madam, 
 For 'tis to such a thing, — 
 
 Ajine. You cannot show me. 
 
 Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon. 
 [Drum and Trumpets within: Chambers^ 
 disehari^ed. 
 
 Wol. ^ What's that? 
 
 Cham. Look out there, some of you. 
 
 [Exit a Servant. 
 • Choosi! my game « Small cannon. 
 
 Wol. What warlike voic« 
 
 And to what end is this 1 — Nay, ladies, fear noJ 
 By all the laws of war you are privileged. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Cham. How now ? what is't 1 
 
 Serv. A noble troop of strangers , 
 
 For so they seem : they have left their barge, and 
 And hither make, as great ambassadors [landed : 
 From foreign princes. 
 
 Wol. Good lord chamberlain, [tongue , 
 
 Go, give them welcome, ycu can speak the French 
 And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them 
 Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
 Shall shine at full upon them: — Some attend him. — 
 [Exit Chamberlain, attended. All arise, 
 and Tables removed. 
 You have now a broken banquet: but we'll mend it 
 A good digestion to you all : and, once more, 
 I shower a welcome on you ; Welcome all. 
 
 Hautboys. Enter the King, and twelve others, aa 
 Maskers, habited like Shepherds, ivith sixteen 
 Torch-bearers, ■ usheredby the LordChamberlain. 
 They pass directly before the Cardinal, and 
 gracefully salute him. 
 
 A noble company ! what are their pleasures 1 
 
 Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they 
 pray'd 
 To tell your grace : — That, having heard by fame 
 Of this so noble and so fair assembly 
 This night to meet here, they could do no less, 
 Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, 
 But leave their flocks ; aird, under your fair conduct 
 Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat 
 An hour of revels with them. 
 
 Wol. Say, lord chamberlain. 
 
 They have done my poor house grace; for which I 
 
 pay them [sures. 
 
 A thousand thanks, and pray them take their plea- 
 
 [Ladies chosen for the dance. The King 
 
 chooses Anne Bullen. 
 
 K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touched ! O, 
 beauty. 
 Till now I never knew thee. [Music. Dance. 
 
 Wol. My lord, 
 
 Cham. Your grace ? 
 
 Wol. Pray tell them thus much from me : 
 
 There should be one amongst them, by his person, 
 More worthy this place than myself; to whom, 
 If I but knew him, with my love and duty 
 I would surrender it. 
 
 Cham. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Cham, goes to the Company, a7id returns. 
 
 Wol. What say they 1 
 
 Cham. Such a one, they all confess 
 
 There is indeed ; which they would have your grace 
 Find out, and he will take it. 
 
 Wol. Let me see, then. — [Comes from his State. 
 By all your good leave, gentlemen ; — Here I'll make 
 My royal choice. 
 
 K. Hen. You have found him, cardinal 
 
 [Unmasking 
 You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord : 
 You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, 
 I should judge now unhappily.' 
 
 Wol. I am glad 
 
 Your grace is grown so pleasant. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord chainbeilaiu 
 
 Pr'ythee, come hither : What fair lady's that "* 
 a Mischievous. 
 
A CI' II Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 59^ 
 
 Cliam, An't please your grace, sir Thomas Bul- 
 len's daughter, 
 The viscount Rochfort, one of her highness' women. 
 
 A'. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — 
 I were unmannerly to take you out, [Sweetheart, 
 And not to kiss you. — A health, gentlemen, 
 Let it go round. 
 
 Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready 
 r the privy chamber 1 
 
 Lov. Yes, my lord. 
 
 WoL Your grace, 
 
 I fear with dancing is a little heated. 
 
 A'. Hen. I fear too much. 
 
 Wol. There's fresher air, my lord. 
 
 In the next chamber. 
 
 K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. — Swcci 
 partner, 
 I must not yet forsake you : Let's be merry : — 
 Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen health* 
 To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure* 
 To lead them once again; and then let's dream 
 Who's best in favor. — Let the music knock it. 
 
 [Exeunt, with Trumpets 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE \.—A Street. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gent. Whither away so fast ? 
 
 2 Gent. O, — God save you, sir. 
 Even to the hall, to hear what shall become 
 
 Of the great duke of Buckingham. 
 
 1 Gent. I'll save you 
 That labor, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony 
 Of bringing back the prisoner. 
 
 2 Gent. Were you there 1 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 
 
 2 Gent. Pray speak, what has happen'd 1 
 
 1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. 
 
 2 Gent. Is he found guilty 1 
 
 1 Gei^t. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it. 
 
 2 Gent. I am sorry for't. 
 
 1 Gent. So are a number more. 
 
 2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it? 
 
 1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke 
 Came to the bar ; where, to his accusations, 
 
 He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged 
 
 Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. 
 
 The king's attorney, on the contrary. 
 
 Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions. 
 
 Of divers witnesses ; which the duke desired 
 
 To him brought, viva voce, to his face : 
 
 At which appear'd against him, his surveyor; 
 
 Sir Gilbert Peck, his chancellor ; and John Court, 
 
 Confessor to him : with that devil-monk, 
 
 Hopkins, that made this mischief. 
 
 2 Gent. That was he 
 That fed him with his prophecies 1 
 
 1 Gent. The same. 
 All these accused him strongly; which he fain 
 Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could 
 
 not: 
 And so his peers, upon this evidence, 
 Have fc x::i him guilty of high treason. Much 
 He spoke, and learnedly, for life: but all 
 Was either jiitiedin him, or forgotten. 
 
 2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself] 
 
 1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, — 
 
 to hear 
 His knell rung out, his judgment, — he was stirr'd 
 With such an agony, he sweat extremely. 
 And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty: 
 But he fell to himself again, and, sweetly. 
 In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. 
 
 2 (hnt. I do not think he fears death. 
 
 1 Gent. Sure, he does not, 
 He never was so womanish; the cause 
 
 He may a little grieve at. 
 
 2 Gent. Certainly, 
 The cardinal is the end of this. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis likely. 
 By all conjectures: First, Kildare's attainder, 
 Then Deputy of Ireland ; who remov'd. 
 
 Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, 
 Lest he should help his father. 
 
 2 Gent. That trick of state 
 Was a deep envious one. 
 
 1 Gent. At his return, 
 No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted, 
 And generally ; whoever the king favors. 
 The cardinal instantly will find employment. 
 And far enough from court too. 
 
 2 Gent. All the commons 
 Hate him perniciously, and o' my conscience. 
 Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much 
 They love, and dote on ; call him, bounteous Buck 
 
 ingham, 
 The mirror of all courtesy ; — 
 
 1 Gent. Stay there, sir, 
 And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. 
 
 Enter Buckingham from his Arraignment ,- Tip- 
 staves before him, the Axe with the Edge to- 
 wards him,- Halberds on each Side: with him 
 Sir Thomas Lovell, Sin Nicholas Vaux, 
 Sir William Sands, and common People, 
 
 2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. 
 Buck. All good people, 
 
 You that thus far have come to pity me, 
 
 Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 
 
 I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment. 
 
 And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witnesS] 
 
 And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me, 
 
 Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful ! 
 
 The law I bear no malice for my death. 
 
 It has done, upon the premises, but justice : 
 
 But those that sought it, I could wish more Chri» 
 
 tians: 
 Be what they will, I heartily forgive them : 
 Yet let them look they glory not in mischief. 
 Nor build their evils on the graves of great men , 
 For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. 
 For further life in this world I ne'er hope, 
 Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies 
 More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'J 
 
 me. 
 And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
 His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave 
 Is only bitter to him, only dying. 
 Go, with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
 And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me. 
 Make of your praj'crs one sweet sacrifice. 
 And lift mv soul to heaven. — Lead on, o' GoJ' 
 
 name. 
 
 ■ Dance. 
 
-' — ■ T 
 
 b\)'J 
 
 KING HENRY Vlll. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Iaiv. I do beseech your grace, for charity, 
 If ever any malice in your heart 
 Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. 
 
 Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, f as free forgive you, 
 As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; 
 There cannot be those numberless offences 
 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with: no black envy 
 Shall make my grave. — Commend me to his grace; 
 And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him. 
 You met him half in heaven : my vows and prayers 
 Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake me. 
 Shall cry for blessings on him : May he live 
 Lor.ger than I have time to tell his years ! 
 Ever belov'd, and loving, may his lule be! 
 And, when old time shall lead him to his end, 
 Goodness and he fill up one monument ! 
 
 Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace ; 
 Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, 
 Who undertakes you to your end. 
 
 Vaux. Prepare there, 
 
 The duke is coming : see, the barge be ready; 
 And fit it with such furniture, as suits 
 The greatness of his person. 
 
 Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas, 
 
 Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me. 
 When I came hither, I was lord high constable. 
 And duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward 
 
 Bohun: 
 Yet I am richer than my base accusers, 
 That never knew what truth meant : I now seal it ; 
 And with that blood will make them one day groan 
 
 for't. 
 My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, 
 Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, 
 Flying for succor to his servant Banister, 
 Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd. 
 And without trial fell ; God's peace be with him ! 
 Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
 My father's loss, like a most royal prince, 
 Restor'd me to my honors, and, out of ruins. 
 Made my name once more noble. Now his son, 
 Henry the Eighth, life, honor, name, and all 
 That made me happy, at one stroke has taken 
 For ever from the world. I had my trial. 
 And, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes me 
 A little happier than my wretched father; 
 Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: — Both 
 Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most ; 
 A most unnatural and faithless service ! 
 Heaven has an end in all : Yet, you that hear me. 
 This from a dying man receive as certain ; 
 Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels. 
 Be sure, you be not loose; for those you make friends. 
 And give your hearts to, when they once perceive 
 The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
 Like water from ye, never found again 
 But where they mean to sink ye. All good people. 
 Pray for me ! I must now forsake ye ; the last hour 
 Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
 Farewell : 
 
 And when you would say something that is sad. 
 Speak how I fell. — I have done ; and God forgive 
 me! [^Exeunt Buckingham and Train. 
 
 1 Gent. O, this is full of pity ! — Sir, it calls, 
 I fear, too many curses on their heads, 
 
 That were the authors. 
 
 2 Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 
 Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling 
 
 Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, 
 Orcater than thi.s. 
 
 1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us ! 
 Where may it be ■? you do not doubt my faith, sir ■? 
 
 2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill requira 
 A strong faith to conceal it. 
 
 1 Gent. Let me have it; 
 I do not talk much. 
 
 2 Gent. I am confident; 
 
 You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear 
 A buzzing, of a separation 
 Between the king and Katharine? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, but it held not 
 For when the king once heard it, out of anger 
 He sent command to the lord mayor straight 
 To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues 
 That durst disperse it. 
 
 2 Gent. But that slander, sir, 
 Is found a truth now : for it grows again 
 Fresher than e'er it was ; and held for certain, 
 The king will venture at it. Either the cardina 
 Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
 
 To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple 
 That will undo her: To confirm this too. 
 Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately; 
 As all think, for this business. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal; 
 And merely to revenge him on the emperor. 
 For not bestowing on him, at his asking. 
 
 The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 
 
 2 Gent. I think, you have hit the mark : but is'l 
 
 not cruel. 
 That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal 
 Will have his will, and she must fall. 
 
 1 Geiit. 'Tis woful 
 
 We are too open here to argue this ; 
 Let's think in private more. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — An Ante-chamber in the Palace. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a Letter. 
 
 Cham. My lord, — The horses your lordship sent 
 for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, rid- 
 den, and furnished. They were young and hand- 
 some,- and of the best breed in the north. V^'hen 
 they were ready to set out for Lo7ido7i, a man of 
 my lord cardinal's, by commission, and main pow- 
 er, took 'em from me,- with this reason, — His mas- 
 ter ivould be served before a subject, if not befort 
 the king; which stopp' d our mouths, sir. 
 I fear, he will, indeed ; Well, let him have theiu 
 He will have all, I think. 
 
 Enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Nor. Well met, my good 
 
 Lord chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good day to both your graces 
 
 Suf. How is the king employ'd ? 
 
 Cham. I left him private. 
 
 Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 
 
 Nor. What's the cause ^ 
 
 Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's 
 wife 
 Has crept too near his conscience. 
 
 Suf. No, his conscience 
 
 Has crept too near another lady. 
 
 Nor. 'Tis so: 
 
 This is the cardinal's doing, the kmg-cardinal: 
 That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune. 
 Turns what he lists. The king will know him one 
 day. 
 
 Suf Pray God, he do ! he'll never knc w biva.- 
 self else. 
 
Scene II 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 593 
 
 Nor. How holily he works in all his business ! 
 A.nd with what zeal ! For, now he has crack'd the 
 
 league 
 Between us and the emperor, the queen's great 
 
 nephew, 
 He dives into the king's soul; and there scatters 
 Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience. 
 Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage : 
 And, out of all these to restore the king, 
 He counsels a divorce : a loss of her, 
 That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years 
 About his neck, yet never lost her lustre: 
 Of her, that loves him with that excellence 
 That angels love good men with ; even of her 
 That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, 
 Will bless the king : And is not this course pious 1 
 
 Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ! 'Tis 
 most true. 
 These news are every where ; every tongue speaks 
 
 them. 
 And every true heart weeps for't : All, that dare 
 Look into these affairs, see this main end, — 
 The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open 
 The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon 
 This bold bad man. 
 
 Suf. And free us from his slavery. 
 
 Nor. We had need pray. 
 And heartily, for our deliverance ; 
 Or this imperious man will work us all 
 From princes into pages: all men's honors 
 Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
 Into what pitch he please. 
 
 Suf. For me, my lords, 
 
 [ love him not, nor fear him ; there's my creed : 
 As I am made without him, so I'll stand, 
 If the king please ; his curses and his blessings 
 Touch me alike, they are breath I not believe in. 
 I knew hira, and I know him ; so I leave him 
 To him, that made him proud, the pope. 
 
 Nor. Let's in; 
 
 And, with some other business, put the king 
 From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon 
 
 him: — 
 My lord, you'll bear us company 1 
 
 Cham. Excuse me; 
 
 The king hath sent me other-where : besides. 
 You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: 
 Health to your lordships. 
 
 Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 
 
 \_Exlt Lord Chamberlain. 
 Norfolk opens a Folding-door. The Kink is dis- 
 covered sitting and reading pcnsiveli/. 
 
 Suf. How sad he looks ! sure, he is much afflicted. 
 
 K.Hen. Who is there? ha? 
 
 Nor. 'Fray God, he be not angry. 
 
 K. Hen. ^A'ho's there, I say 1 How dare you 
 thrust yourselves 
 Into my private meditations? 
 Who ami? ha? 
 
 Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences 
 Malice ne'er meant : our breach of duty, this way. 
 Is business of estate; in which, we come 
 To know your royal pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. You are too bold ; 
 
 Go to ; I'll make ye know your times of business : 
 Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha? — 
 
 Enter W^olsf.y and Campkius. 
 
 Who's there ? my good lord cardinal ? — O my 
 Wolsey, 
 
 The quiet of my wounded conscience. 
 Thou art a cure fit for a king. — You're welcome, 
 
 [7o Campeiu8. 
 Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom ; 
 Use us, and it: — My good lord, have great care 
 I be not found a talker. [^To Wolset. 
 
 Wol. Sir, you cannot. 
 
 I would your grace would give us but an hoiur 
 Of private conference. 
 
 K. Hen. We are busy ; go. 
 
 [To Norfolk arid Scffolk, 
 
 Nor. This priest has no pride in him ? 
 
 Suf. Not to speak of; 
 
 I would not be so sick though,' for his 
 
 „ ,.. I''^'=^-\ . VAsule, 
 
 But this cannot contmue. 
 
 Nor. If it do, 
 
 I'll venture one heave at him. I 
 
 Suf. I another. J 
 
 [Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom 
 Above all princes, in committing fi-eely 
 Your scruple to the voice of Christendom : 
 Who can be angry now ? what envy reach you ? 
 The Spaniard, tied by blood and favor to her. 
 Must now confers, if they have any goodness, 
 The trial just and noble. All the clerks, 
 I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms. 
 Have their free voices ; Rome, the nurse of judgment, 
 Invited by your noble self, hath sent 
 One general tongue unto us, this good man. 
 This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius ; 
 Whom, once more, I present unto your highness. 
 
 K. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms, I bid 
 him welcome. 
 And thank the holy conclave for their loves ; 
 They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd 
 for. 
 
 Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all stran- 
 gers' loves. 
 You are so noble : To your highness' hand 
 I tender my commission; by whose virtue, 
 (The court of Rome commanding,) — you, my lord 
 Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant, 
 In the impartial judging of this business. 
 
 K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be 
 acquainted 
 Forthwith, for what you come; — Where's Gardinerl 
 
 Wol. I know your majesty has always lov'd her 
 So dear in heart not to deny her that 
 A woman of less place might ask by law, 
 Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her. 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, and the best she shall have ; and my 
 favor 
 To him that does best ; God forbid else. Cardinal. 
 Pr'ythce, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary; 
 I find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolset. 
 
 Re-enter W^olset, with Gardiner. 
 
 Wol. Give me your hand : much j oy and favoi 
 to you ; 
 You are the king's now. 
 
 Gard. But to be commanded 
 
 For ever by your grace, %vhose hand has rais'd me. 
 
 [Aside. 
 K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. 
 
 [They converse apart 
 Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctoi Pac« 
 In this man's place before him? 
 
 * So sick as he is proud. 
 
694 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act n. 
 
 Wol, Yes, he was. 
 
 Cam. Was he not held a learned man 1 
 
 Wol. Yes, surely. 
 
 Cam. Believe me,there's an ill opinion spread then 
 Even of yourself, lord cardinal. 
 
 Wol. How ! of me 1 
 
 Cam. They will not stick to say you envied him ; 
 And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous. 
 Kept him a foreign man' still ; which so griev'd him. 
 That he ran mad, and died. 
 
 Wol. Heaven's peace be with him ! 
 
 That's Christian care enough : for living murniurers, 
 There's places of rebuke. He was a fool ; 
 For he would needs be virtuous: That good fellow. 
 If I command him, follows my appointment; 
 I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, 
 We live not to be griped by meaner persons. 
 
 K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. 
 
 [Exit Gardiner. 
 The most convenient place that I can think of, 
 For such receipt of learning, is Black-Friars; 
 There ye shall meet about this weighty business: — 
 My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. — O my lord. 
 Would it not grieve an able man, to leave 
 So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience, — 
 O, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE ni. — An Ante-chamber in the Queen's 
 Apartments. 
 
 Mnter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady. 
 
 Anne. Not for that neither; — Here's the pang 
 that pinches: 
 His highness having liv'dso long with her: and she 
 So good a lady, that no tongue could ever 
 Pronounce dishonor of her, — by my life. 
 She never knew harm-doing; — O now, after 
 So many courses of the sun enthron'd, 
 Still growing in a majesty and pomp, — the which 
 To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than 
 'Tis sweet at first to acquire, — after this process, 
 To give her the avaunt I it is a pity 
 Would move a monster. 
 
 Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 
 
 Melt and lament for her. 
 
 Anne. O God's will ! much better. 
 
 She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal. 
 Yet, if that quarrel," fortune, do divorce 
 It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging 
 As soul and body severing. 
 
 Old L. Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 She's a stranger now again. 
 
 An7ie. So much the more 
 
 Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 
 I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, 
 And range with humble livers in content. 
 Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
 And wear a golden sorrow. 
 
 Old L. Our content 
 
 Is our best having.'' 
 
 Anne. By my troth, and maidenhead, 
 
 I would not be a queen. 
 
 Old L. Beshrew me, but I would. 
 
 And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you. 
 For all this spice of your hypocrisy : 
 You, that have so fair parts of woman on you. 
 Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet 
 Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty ; 
 
 ' Out of the king's presence. 
 • Qaarreller. 
 
 ' Possession. 
 
 Which, to say sooth,' are blessings: and which gift, 
 (Saving your mincing,) the capacity 
 Of your soft cheveril" conscience would receive. 
 If you might pleas'? to stretch it. 
 
 Anne. Nay, good trcth,— 
 
 Old L. Yes, troth, and troth, — You would not 
 
 be a queen? 
 Atme. No, not for all the richoa under heaven. 
 Old L. 'Tis strange, a three-pence bow'd' would 
 hire me. 
 Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you. 
 What think you of a duchess? have you limbs 
 To bear that load of title ? 
 
 Anne. No, in truth. [little • 
 
 Old L. Then you are weakly made : Pluck off a 
 I would not be a young count in j'jur way. 
 For more than blushing comes to : if your back 
 Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak 
 Ever to get a boy. 
 
 Anne. How you do talk ! 
 
 I swear again, I would not be a queen 
 For all the world. 
 
 Old L. In faith, for little England 
 
 You'd venture an emballing : I myself 
 Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd 
 No more to the crown but that. Lo, who cornea 
 here ? 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth 
 The secret of your confidence ? [to know 
 
 Anne. My good lord. 
 
 Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
 Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 
 
 Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
 The action of good women : there is hope, 
 All will be well. 
 
 Anne. Now, I pray God, amen ! 
 
 Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 
 blessings 
 Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady. 
 Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note 's 
 Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
 Commends his good opinion to you, and 
 Does purpose honor to you no less flowing 
 Than marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title 
 A thousand pound a year, annual support, 
 Out of his grace he adds. 
 
 Anne. I do not know. 
 
 What kind of my obedience I should tender; 
 More than my all is nothing : nor my prayers 
 Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
 More worth than empty vanities ; yet prayers, and 
 
 wishes. 
 Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship. 
 Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience^ 
 As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness ; 
 Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. 
 
 Cham. Lady, 
 
 I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit' 
 The king hath of you. — I have perus'd her well; 
 
 [^Aside, 
 Beauty and honor in her are so mingled. 
 That they have caught the king : and who knows yet 
 But from this lady may proceed a gem. 
 To lighten all this isle? — I'll to the king, 
 And say, I spoke with you. 
 
 Anne. My honor'd lord- 
 
 \_Exit Lord Chamberlaia 
 Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see ! 
 
 • Truth. » KidHBkin. > Crook'd. ^ Opinion. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 59 S 
 
 I have been begging sixteen years in court, 
 
 (Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could 
 
 Come pat betwixt too early and too late, 
 
 For any suit of pounds : and you, (O fate !) 
 
 A very fresh-fish here, (fye, fye upon 
 
 This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fdl'd up, 
 
 Before you open it. 
 
 Anne. This is strange to me. 
 
 Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter ] forty pence, no. 
 There was a lady once, ('tis an old story,) 
 That would not l/C a queen, that would she not. 
 For all the mud in Egypt: — Have you heard it? 
 
 Anne. Come, you arc pleasant. 
 
 Old L. With your theme, I could 
 
 O'ermountthe lark. The marchioness of Pembroke! 
 A thousand pounds a year! for pure respect; 
 No other obligation : By my life, 
 That promises more thousands: Honor's train 
 Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time, 
 I know, your back will bear a duchess ; — Say, 
 Are you not stronger than you were? 
 
 Anne. Good lady, 
 
 Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 
 And leave me out on't. 'Would I had no being, 
 If this salute my blood a jot ; it faints me, 
 To think wha* fellows. 
 The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
 In our long absence: Pray, do not deliver 
 What here you have heard, to her. 
 
 Old L. What do you think me 1 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Hall in Black-Friars. 
 
 Trumpets, Sennets," and Comets. Enter two Ver- 
 gers, with short silver Wands,- next them, two 
 Scribes, in the habits of Doctors,- after them the 
 Archbishop OF Canterbuht, alone,- after him, 
 the Bishops OF LijfcoLX, Ely, Rochester, c/jc? 
 Saint Asaph; next them, with some small dis- 
 tance, folloivs a Gentleman bearing the Purse, 
 with the great Seal, a??</ a Cardinal's Hat,- then 
 two Priests, bearing each a silver Cross,- then a 
 Gentleman-Usher bare-headed, accompanied 
 with a Sergeant at Arms bearing a silver Mace,- 
 then two Gentlemen, bearing two great silver 
 Pillars,-* after them, side by side, the two Cardi- 
 nals, WoLSET, and Campeius; two Noblemen 
 icith the Sword and Mace. Then enter the King 
 and Queen, and their Trains. The King takes 
 place under the Clothof State,- //;e /wo Cardinals 
 sit under him as Judges. The Queen takes 
 place at some distance from the King. The Bi- 
 shops place themselves on each side of the Court, 
 in manner of a Consistory,- between them, the 
 Scribes The Lords sit next tiie Bishops. The 
 Crier and the rest of the Attendants stand in con- 
 i^tnient order about the Stage. 
 U'or Whilst our commission from Rome is read, 
 
 Let sileicc be commanded. 
 K. Ht.^ What's the need ? 
 
 It hath already publicly been read, 
 
 And on all sides the authority allow'd; 
 
 Vou may then spare that time. 
 
 Wol. Be't so :— Proceed. 
 
 Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into 
 
 the court. 
 Crier. Henry king of England, &c. 
 K Hen. Here. 
 
 • Flourish on cornets. 
 
 » Ensigns of dignity -arrioU before cardinals. 
 
 Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come 
 
 into court. 
 Crier. Katharine queen of England, &c. 
 
 [^The Queen makes no answer, nseo out of her 
 Chair, goes about the Court, comes to the riiHQ, 
 and kneels at his feet; then speaks. 
 
 Q. Kath. Sir, I desireyou do me right and justice-, 
 And to bestow your pity on me ; for 
 I am a most poor woman, and a stranger. 
 Born out of your dominions; having here 
 No judge indilfercnt, nor no more assurance 
 Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, f.ir, 
 In what have I olTcnded you? what cause 
 Hath my behavior given to your displeasure. 
 That thus you should proceed to put mo off. 
 And take your good grace from me? Heaven witneaaj 
 I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
 At all times to your will comformable : 
 Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, 
 Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry 
 As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour, 
 I ever contradicted your desire. 
 Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your friends 
 Have I iiOt strove to love, although I knew 
 He were mine enemy 1 what friend of mine 
 That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 
 Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice 
 He was from thence discharged ? Sir, call to mind 
 That I have been your wife, in this obedience. 
 Upward of twenty years, and have been bles; 
 With many children by you : If, in the course 
 And process of this time, you can report. 
 And prove it too, against mine honor aught, 
 My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 
 Against your sacred person, in God's name, 
 Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 
 Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
 To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir 
 The king, your father, was reputed for 
 A prince most prudent, of an excellent 
 And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, 
 My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one 
 ""hfl wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many 
 A yea. before: It is not to be question'd 
 That they hau gcther'd a wise council to them 
 Of every realm, that did debate this business, 
 Who dcem'd our marriage lawful • Wherefore I 
 
 humbly 
 Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 
 Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose counsel 
 I will implore : If not, i' the name of God, 
 Your pleasure be fuUill'd ! 
 
 Wol. You have here, lady, 
 
 (And of your choice,) these reverend fathers; men 
 Of singular integrity and learning. 
 Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled 
 To plead your cause : It shall be therefore bootlesa," 
 That longer you desire the court; as well 
 P'or your own quiet, as to rectify 
 What is unsettled in the king. 
 
 Cam. His grace 
 
 Hath spoken well and justly : Therefore, madanh 
 It's fit this royal session do proceed; 
 And that, without delay, their arguments 
 Be now produced and heard. 
 
 Q. Kath. Lord cardinal,- 
 
 To you I speak. 
 
 Wol. Your pleasure, madam ' 
 
 * Uselesa. 
 
596 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act II. Scene 1"V 
 
 Q. Kath. Sir, 
 
 [ am about to weep; but, thinking that 
 We are a queen, (or long have dream'd so,) certain 
 The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
 I'll turn to sparks of fire. 
 
 Wol. Be patient yet. 
 
 Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble; nay, before. 
 Or God will punish me. I do believe. 
 Induced by potent circumstances, that 
 You are mine enemy ; and make my challenge, 
 You shall not be my judge: for it is you 
 Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, — 
 Which God's dew quench ! — Therefore, I say 
 
 again, 
 I utterly abhor, yea, fi-om my soul, 
 Refuse you for my judge ; whom, yet once more, 
 I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
 At all a friend to truth. 
 
 Wol. I do profess 
 
 You speak not like yourself; who ever yet 
 Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects 
 Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
 O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me 
 
 wrong: 
 I have no spleen against you; nor injustice 
 For you or any : how far I have proceeded. 
 Or how far further shall, is warranted 
 By a commission from the consistory, 
 Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me, 
 That I have blown this coal : I do deny it : 
 The king is present: if it be known to him. 
 That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound. 
 And worthily, my falsehood? yea, as much 
 As you have done my truth. But if he know 
 That I am free of your report, he knowf\ 
 I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 
 It lies, to cure me; and the cure is, to 
 Remove those thoughts from you: The which before 
 His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 
 You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking, 
 And to say so no more. 
 
 Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 
 
 I am a simple woman, much too weak 
 To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and 
 
 humble-mouth'd; 
 You sign your place and calling, in full seeming. 
 With meekness and humility ; but your heart 
 Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
 You have by fortune, and his highness' favors. 
 Gone slightly o'er low steps; and now are mounted 
 Where powers are j'our retainers : and your words. 
 Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please 
 Yourself pronounce their oflice. I must tell you. 
 You tender more your person's honor, than 
 Your high profession spiritual : That again 
 I do refuse you for my judge ; and here. 
 Before you all, appeal unto the pope. 
 To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness. 
 And to be judged by him. 
 
 [.S'Ae curfsies to the King, and offers to depart. 
 
 Cam. The queen is obstinate. 
 
 Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
 Disdainful to be try'd by it; 'tis not well. 
 Bhe's going away. 
 
 K. Hen. Call her again. 
 
 Crier. Katharine, queen of England, come into 
 the court! 
 
 Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. 
 
 Q. K-ith. What need you note it] pray you, 
 keep your way: 
 
 When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help 
 They vex me past my patience ! — Pray you, pass on 
 I will not tarry: no, nor ever more. 
 Upon this business, my appearance make 
 In any of their courts. 
 
 '[Exeunt Queex, Griffith, and her other 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate: 
 
 That man i' the world who shall report he has 
 A better wife, let him not be trusted. 
 For speaking false in that: Thou art, alone, 
 (If thy rare quahties, sweet gentleness. 
 Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, — 
 Obeying in commanding, and thy parts 
 Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,) 
 The queen of earthly queens : — She is noble born 
 And, hke her true nobility, she has 
 Carried herself towards me. 
 
 Wol. Most gracious sir. 
 
 In humblest manner I require your highness, 
 That it shall please you to declare in hearing 
 Of all these ears, (for where I'm robb'd and bound. 
 There must I be unloos'd ; although not there 
 At once and fully satisfied,) whether ever I 
 Did broach this business to your highness ; or 
 Laid any scruple in your way, which might 
 Induce you to the question on'tl or ever 
 Have to you, — but with thanks to God for such 
 A royal lady, — spake one the least word, might 
 Be to the prejudice of her present state, 
 Or touch of her good person? 
 
 A'. Hen. My lord cardinal, 
 
 I do excuse you, yea, upon mine honor, 
 I free you from't. You are not to be taught 
 That you have many enemies, that know not 
 Why they are so, but, like to village curs. 
 Bark when their fellows do: by some of these 
 The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd: 
 But will you be more justified 1 you ever 
 Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never 
 Desir'd it to be stirr'd ; but oft have hinder'd ; oft 
 The passages made^ toward it ; — on my honor, 
 I speak, my good lord cardinal, to this point. 
 And thus far clear him. Now, whatmov'd me to't, — 
 I will heboid with time and your attention: — 
 Then mark the inducement. Thus it came ; — give 
 
 heed to't. 
 My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness. 
 Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd 
 By the bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; 
 Who had been hither sent on the debating 
 A marriage, 'twixt the duke of Orleans and 
 ur daughter Mary : I' the progress of this business 
 Ere a determinate resolution, he 
 (I mean the bishop) did require a respite; 
 Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 
 Whether our daughter were legitimate. 
 Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, 
 Sometime our brother's wife This respite shook 
 The bosom ot my conscience, enter'd me, 
 Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble 
 The region of my breast; which forced such way, 
 That many maz'd considerings did throng, 
 And press'd in with this caution. First, methought, 
 I stood not in the smile of heaven ; vv'ho had 
 Commanded nature, that my lady's womb. 
 If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should 
 Do no more ofiices of life to't than 
 The grave does to the dead ; for her male issue 
 « Closed, or fastened. 
 
Act III. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 597 
 
 Or (lied where they were ma J, or shortly after 
 
 Tliis world had air'd them ; hence I took a thought 
 
 This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom, 
 
 Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not 
 
 Be gladded in't by me: Then follows, that 
 
 I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in 
 
 By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me 
 
 Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling'' in 
 
 The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer 
 
 Toward this remedy, whereupon we are 
 
 Now present here together : that's to say, 
 
 ' meant to rectify my conscience, — which 
 
 1 then did feel full sick, and yet not well, — 
 
 By all the reverend fathers of the land. 
 
 And doctors learn'd. — First, I began in private 
 
 With ymt, my lord of Lincoln; you remember 
 
 How under my oppression I did reek,' 
 
 When I first raov'd you. 
 
 Lin. Very well, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself 
 to say 
 How far you satisfied me. 
 
 Lm. So please your highness, 
 
 Th3 questioh did at first so stagger me, — 
 B<'aring a state of mighty moment in't. 
 And consequence of dread, — that I committed 
 I'he daring'st counsel which I had, to doubt; 
 And did entreat y"ur highness to this course, 
 Which vou are running here. 
 
 K. Hen. I then mov'd you, 
 
 My lord of Canterbury; and got your leave 
 To make this present summons : — Unsolicited 
 I left no reverend person in this court; 
 But by particular consent proceeded, 
 Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on: 
 For no dislike i' the world against the person 
 Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points 
 Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: 
 Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life, 
 And kingly dignity, we are contented 
 To wear our mortal state to come, with her, 
 Katharine our queen, before the primest creature 
 That's paragon'd' o' the world. 
 
 Cam. So please your highnesa, 
 
 The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness 
 That we adjourn this court till further day • 
 Mean while must be an earnest motion 
 Made to the queen, to call back her appeal 
 She intends unto his holiness. \They rise to depart. 
 
 K. Hen. I may perceive, [^Aside, 
 
 These cardinals trifle with me : I abhor 
 This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. 
 My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, 
 Pr'ythee return ! with thy approach, I know, 
 My comfort comes along. Break up the court: 
 I say, set on. 
 
 [^Exeunt, in ma7iner as they entered 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Palace at Bridewell. A Room in 
 the Queen's Apartment. 
 
 The Queen, and some of her Women at Work. 
 
 Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows 
 sad with troubles ; 
 Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave 
 working. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees, 
 And the mountain-tops, that freeze. 
 
 Bow themselves, lulien he did sing: 
 To his music, plants, and flowers, 
 Ever sprung; as suii, and showers. 
 
 There had been a lasting spring. 
 Every thing that heard him play, I 
 
 Even the billows of the sea, I 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
 In sweet music is such art; 
 Killing care, and grief of heart, 
 
 Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Q. Kath. How now] 
 
 Gent. An't please your grace, the two great car- 
 dinals 
 Wait in the presence.' 
 
 Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ? 
 
 Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 
 Q. hath. Pray thoir graces 
 
 To come near. [_Exit Gent.] What can be their 
 business 
 
 • Waste, or wear away. 
 
 Floating without guidance, 
 * Presence chamber. 
 
 39 
 
 With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n fi-om favor 1 
 I do not like their coming, now I think on't. 
 They should be good men; their affairs as righteous* 
 But all hoods make not monks. 
 
 Enter Wolset ajid Campeius. 
 
 Wol. Peace to your highness ' 
 
 Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a 
 housewife ; 
 I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
 What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords 1 
 
 Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to with 
 draw 
 Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
 The full cause of our coming. 
 ' Q. Kath. Speak it here; A 
 
 There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscienceA 
 Deserves a cornerj/ 'Would all other women 
 Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
 My lords, I care not (so much I am happy 
 Above a number) if my actions 
 Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them- 
 Envy and base opinion set against them, 
 I know my life so even: If your busmcss 
 Seek me out, and that way I am wife in. 
 Out with it boldly; Truth loves open dealing. 
 
 Wol. Tanta est erga ie mentis integrita.i, r^ 
 gina sei-enissinut, — 
 
 <^. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ; 
 I am not such a truant since my coming. 
 As not to know the language I havf. liv'd in: 
 A strange tongue makes my cause more strangle 
 suspicious; 
 
 ' Without compare. 
 
598 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act in. 
 
 Pray, speak m English : here are some will thank 
 
 you, 
 If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; 
 Believe me, she has had much wrong: Lord cardinal, 
 The willing'st sin I ever yet committed. 
 May be absol"'d in English. 
 
 Wol. Noble lady, 
 
 I am sorry, my integrity should breed 
 (And service to his majesty and you) 
 So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
 We come not by the way of accusation. 
 To taint that honor every good tongue blesses 
 Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ; 
 You have too much, good lady : but to know 
 How you stand minded in the weighty difference 
 Between the king an I you ; and to deliver, 
 Like free and honest men, our just opinions, 
 And comforts to your cause. 
 
 Cam. Most honor'd madam, 
 
 My lord of York, — out of his noble nature. 
 Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace; 
 forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
 Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) — 
 Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
 His service and his counsel. 
 
 Q. Kath. To betray me. \^Aside. 
 
 My lords, I thank you both for your good wills. 
 Ye speak like honest men, (pray (xod ye prove so !) 
 But how to make you suddenly an answer. 
 In such a point of weight, so near mine honor, 
 (More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit, 
 And to such men of gravity and learning. 
 In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
 Among my maids; full little, God knows, looking 
 Either for such men, or such business. 
 For her sake that I have been, (for I feel 
 The last fit of my greatness,) good your graces, 
 Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause; 
 Alas! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless. 
 
 '^Vol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these 
 fears ; 
 Your hopes and friends are infinite. 
 
 Q. Kath. In England, 
 
 But little for my profit: Can you think, lords, 
 That any Englishman dare give me counsel ? 
 Orbe a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, 
 (Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,) 
 And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends. 
 They that must weigh out^ my afihctions, 
 They that my trust must grow to, live not here ; 
 They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, 
 In mine own country, lords. 
 
 Cam. I would, your grace 
 
 Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 
 
 Q. Kath. How, sir? 
 
 Cam. Put your main cause into the king's pro- 
 tection ; 
 He's loving, and most gracious; 'twill be much 
 Both for your honor belter, and your cause; 
 For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you. 
 You'll part away disgraced. 
 
 Wol. He tells you rightly. 
 
 Q. Kath. Ye tell me v^'hat ye wish for both, my ruin: 
 Is this your christian counsel? out upon ye! 
 Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a Judge, 
 That no king can corrupt. 
 
 Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 
 
 Q. Kath. The more shame for ye ; holy men I 
 thought ye, 
 
 ' Outweigh. 
 
 Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues: 
 But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye: 
 Mend them for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort'' 
 The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady ? 
 A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd ? 
 I will not wish ye half my miseries, 
 I have more charity: But say, I warn'd ye; 
 Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at onci 
 The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye 
 
 Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; 
 You turn the good we offer into envy. 
 
 Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing: Woe upon ye. 
 And all such false professors ! Would ye have mt 
 (If you have any justice, any pity; 
 If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits) 
 Put my sick cause into his hands that hates nie ! 
 Alas ! he has banish'd me his bed already ; 
 His love, too, long ago : I am old, my lords. 
 And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
 Is only my obedience. What can happen 
 To me, above this wretchedness? all your studies 
 Make me a curse like this. 
 
 Cam. Your fears are worse. 
 
 Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long — (let me speak 
 myself. 
 Since virtue finds no friends) — a wife, a true one' 
 A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory) 
 Never yet branded with suspicion? 
 Have I with all my full affections 
 Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey'd 
 
 him ? 
 Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him ? 
 Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
 And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. 
 Bring me a constant woman to her husband, 
 One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; 
 And to that woman, when she has done most. 
 Yet will I add an honor, — a great patience. 
 
 Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at 
 
 Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so 
 guilty. 
 To give up willingly that noble title 
 Your master wed me to; nothing l)ut death 
 Shall e'er divorce my dignities. 
 
 Wol. 'Pray, hear niL 
 
 Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this Englisi 
 earth. 
 Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! 
 I Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts J 
 What will become of mc now, wretched ladyl 
 I am the most unhappy woman living. — 
 Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes'! 
 
 [To her Women. 
 Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity. 
 No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me, 
 Almost no grave allow'd me : — Like the lily, 
 VPhat once was mistress of the field, and flourislVd, ] 
 I'll hang my head and perish. 
 
 Wol. If your grace 
 
 Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest. 
 You'd feel more comfort: why should we, good lad) 
 Upon what cause, wrong you? alas! our places, 
 The \vay of our profession is against it; 
 ^Ve are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them. 
 For goodness' sake, consider what you do; 
 How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
 Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage 
 The hearts of princes kiss obedience. 
 So much they love it; but, to stubborn spirits. 
 They swell, and grow as terrible as storm.«L 
 
SOTTNE 11. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII 
 
 59£ 
 
 I ki:ow, you have a gentle, noble temper, 
 \ soul as even as a calm : Pray, thinlc us 
 Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, anJ ser- 
 vants. 
 Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your 
 virtues 
 With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit. 
 As yours was put into you, ever casts 
 &uc!i doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves 
 
 you; 
 Beware you lose it not: For us, if you please 
 To trust us in your business, we are ready 
 To use our utmost studies in your service. 
 
 Q. Kal/i. Do what ye will, iny lords : And, pray, 
 forgive me, 
 If I have uscd^ myself unmannerly ; 
 You know, I am a woman, lacking wit 
 To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
 Pray, do my service to his majesty: 
 He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers. 
 While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers. 
 Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs, 
 That little thought, when she set footing here, 
 She should have bought her dignities so dear. 
 
 SCENE \l.— Ante-chamber to the Kixft's Apart- 
 ment. 
 Enter the Duke of Norfolk, /Ac Duke of Suf- 
 folk, the Eaui. of Suiirf.t, and the Lord 
 
 Chamberlain. 
 
 Nor. Ifj'ouwill now unite in your complaints. 
 And force* thtm with a constancy, the cardinal 
 Cannot stand under them: If you omit 
 The ofler of this time, I cannot promise, 
 But that you shall sustain more new disgraces. 
 With these you bet^T already. 
 
 Sur. I am joyful 
 
 To meet the least occasion, that may give me 
 Remembrance of my tat^er-in-law, the duke, 
 To 1)6 revenged on him. 
 
 Suf. Which of the peers 
 
 Have uncontemn'd gone b)' him, or at least 
 Strangely neglected ] when did he regard 
 The stamp of nobleness in a/iy person. 
 Out of himself? 
 
 Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures : 
 What he deserves of you and me, I know ; 
 What we can do to him, (though now the time 
 Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot 
 Bar his access to the king, never attempt 
 Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft 
 Over the king in his tongue. 
 
 Nor. O, fear him not ; 
 
 His spell in that is out: the king hath found 
 Matter against him, that for ever mars 
 The honey of his language. No, he's settled, 
 Ni)l to come oil', in his displeasure. 
 
 Sur. Sir, 
 
 I should he glad to hear such news as this 
 Once every hour. 
 
 A"^;;-. Believe it, this is true. 
 
 Iti the divorce, his contrary proceedings 
 Are all unfolded; wherein he aj.j^ars, 
 As I could wish mine enetiiy. 
 
 Sur. How came 
 
 His practices to light? 
 
 Suf. Most strangely. 
 
 Sur. O, how, how 7 
 
 Suf. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried, 
 » Behaved. * Eaforce. 
 
 Anu came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read. 
 
 How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
 
 To stay the judgment o' the divorce: For if 
 
 It did take place, / do, quoth he, perceive 
 
 My king is tangled in affection to 
 
 A creature of the (jueen's, lady Anne Bulleii. 
 
 Sur. Has the king this? 
 
 Suf. Believe it. 
 
 Sur. Will this work'- 
 
 Cham. The king in this perceives him how h* 
 coasts. 
 And hedges, his own way. But in this point 
 All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
 A fter his patient's death : the king already 
 Hath married the fair lady. 
 
 Sur. 'Would he had! 
 
 Suf. May you be happy in your wish, my lord ! 
 For, I profess, you have it. 
 
 Sur. Now all my joy 
 
 Trace' the conjunction ! 
 
 Suf. My amen to't ! 
 
 Nor. All men's 
 
 Suf. There's order given for her coronation • 
 Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left 
 To some ears unrecounted. — But, my lords 
 She is a gallant creature, and complete 
 In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her 
 Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
 In it be memoriz'd.^ 
 
 Sur. But, will the king 
 
 Digest this letter of the cardinal's ? 
 The Lord forbid ! 
 
 Nor. Marry, amen ! 
 
 Suf. No, no ; 
 
 There be mort wasps that buz about his nose, 
 Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campenii" 
 Is stolen away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave ; 
 Has left the cause o'the king unhandled; and 
 Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal. 
 To second all his plot. I do assure you. 
 The king cry'd, ha ! at this. 
 
 Cham. Now, heaven mcense him^ 
 
 And let him cry, ha, louder! 
 
 Nor. But, my lord, 
 
 When returns Cranmer? 
 
 Suf. He is rcturn'd, in his opinions; whicii 
 Have satisfied the king for his divorce. 
 Together with all famous colleges 
 Almost in Christendom : shortly, I believe. 
 His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 
 Her coronation. Katharine no more 
 Shall be call'd queen ; but princess-dowager. 
 And widow to prince Arthur. 
 
 Nor. This same Cranmer''6 
 
 A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
 In the king's business. 
 
 Suf. He has ; and we shall see tiim 
 
 For it, an archbishop. 
 
 Nor. So I hear. 
 
 Suf. 'Tis so. 
 
 The cardinal — 
 
 Enter Wolskt and Cromwell. 
 
 Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody. 
 
 Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king ; 
 Crom. To his own hand, in his bcd-chamb<T. 
 Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper? 
 Crom. Presentlj 
 
 He did unseal them : and the first he view'd, 
 > I'ollow. * Made memorable- 
 
coo 
 
 KIi\G HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act Hi 
 
 He did it witn a serious mind; a heed 
 Was in his countenance: You, he bade 
 \ttend him lieie this morning. 
 
 Wol. Is he ready 
 
 To come abroad ? 
 
 Croin. I think, by this he is. 
 
 Will. Leave me a while. — [Exit Cromwell. 
 It s!i;ill he to the duchess of Alengon, 
 The French king's sister: he shall marry her. — 
 Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Builens for him: 
 There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen ! 
 No, we'll no Builens. — Speedily I wish 
 To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pem- 
 broke ! 
 
 Nor. He's discontented. 
 
 »S'«/. May be, he hears the king 
 
 Does whet his anger to him. 
 
 '^ur. Sharp enougli, 
 
 Lord, for tiiy justice ! 
 
 WuL Tlie late queen's gentlewoman ; a knight's 
 daugliter, 
 To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! — 
 This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snulfit; 
 Then, out it goes. — What though I know her vir- 
 tuous, 
 And well-deserving? yet I know her for 
 A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to 
 Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of 
 Our haid-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up 
 An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one 
 Ilalh cravvl'd into the favor of the king, 
 And is his oracle. 
 
 Nor. He is vex'd at something. 
 
 Suf. I would, 'twere something that would fret 
 the string, 
 The master-cord of his heart ! 
 
 Enter the Ki no, reading a Schedule,- and Loykll. 
 
 Suf. The king, the king. 
 
 K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated 
 To his own portion ! and what expense by the hour 
 Seems to flow from him ! How,i'the name of Christ, 
 Does he rake this together? — Now, my lords; 
 Saw you the cardinal ? 
 
 Nor. My lord, we have 
 
 Stood lierc observing him ; Some strange commotion 
 Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; 
 Stojjs on a sudden, looks upon the ground. 
 Then, lays his finger on his temj)le; straight. 
 Springs out into fast gait;' then, stops again. 
 Strikes his breast hard; and anon, he casts 
 His eye against the moon : in most ."trange postures 
 We have seen him set himself. 
 
 K. Hen. It may well be; 
 
 There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning 
 r.jpers of state he sent me to peruse. 
 As I requir'd; and wot' you, what I found 
 There; on my conscience, put unwittingly? 
 Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, — 
 'I'he several parcels of his plate, his treasure. 
 Rich stuffs and ornaments of household; which 
 I find at such proud rate, that it outspeaks 
 Possession of a subject. 
 ^ ^or. It's heaven's will; 
 
 Some spirit put ihis paper in the packet, 
 To bless your eye withal. 
 
 /^- Hen. If we did think 
 
 His contemplation were above the earth. 
 And lix'd on spiritual object, he should still, 
 ' Steps. ( Know. 
 
 Dwell in his musings: but, I am afraid. 
 
 His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
 
 His serious considering. 
 
 [//e takes his Scat, and whispers Lotjih 
 
 who goes to WoLSET. 
 
 Wol. Heaven forgive me! 
 
 Ever God bless your highness! 
 
 K. Hen. Good, my lord. 
 
 You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the in 
 
 ventory 
 Of your best graces in your mind; the which 
 You are now running o'er; you have scarce time 
 'i'o steal from sijiritual leisure a brief span, 
 To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that 
 I deem you an ill husband; and am glad 
 To have you therein my companion. 
 
 Wol. Sir, 
 
 For holy offices I have a time; a time 
 'J'o think upon the part of bnsiness, which 
 I bear i' the state; and nature docs require 
 Her times of preservation, which, perforce, 
 I, lier frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
 Must give my tendance to. 
 
 K. Hen. You have said well. 
 
 Wol. And ever may your highness yoke together 
 As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
 With my well saying! 
 
 A'. Hen. 'Tis well said again: 
 
 And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well: 
 And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you : 
 He said, he did ; and with his deed did crown 
 His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
 I hav(? kei)t you next my heart; have not alone 
 Employ 'd you where high profits might come home, 
 But ])ar'd my present havings, to bestow 
 ]\Iy bounties npon you. 
 
 Wol. What should this mean T 
 
 Sur. The Lord increase this business! [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. Have I not made you 
 
 The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell mc, 
 If what I now pronounce, you have found true: 
 And, if you may confess it, say witlial. 
 If j'ou are bound to us, or no. What say you'' 
 
 Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, 
 Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could 
 My studied pur])oses requite; which went 
 Beyond all man's endeavors: — my endeavors 
 Have ever come too short of my desires. 
 Yet, fil'd with my abilities: Mine own ends 
 Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed 
 To the good of your most sacred person, and 
 The profit of the state. For your great graces 
 Hcap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I 
 Can nothing render but allegiant thanks; 
 My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty. 
 Which ever has, and ever shall be growing, 
 Till death, that winter, kill it. 
 
 K. Hen. Fairly answer'd; 
 
 A loyal and obedient subject is 
 Therein illustrated: The honor of it 
 Does pay the act of it; as, i' the contrar}', 
 The foulness is the punishment. I presume, 
 That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
 My heart drop])'d love, my power rain'd ho.itof 
 
 more 
 On you, than any ; so your hand, and heart, 
 Your brain, and every function of your power, 
 Should, notwithstanding that your bond of djty 
 As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
 To mc, your friend, than any 
 
r 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 fiOl 
 
 Wol. I Jo proft'ss, 
 
 That for your highness' good I ever lahor'd 
 More than mine own; that am, have, and will he, 
 Though all the world should crack their duty to you, 
 And throw it tVoni their soul: though perils did 
 Abound, as thick as thought could make thein, and 
 Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty. 
 As doth a rock against the chiding flood, 
 Should the approach of this wild river break. 
 And stand unshaken yours. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken : 
 
 Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, 
 For you have seen him opcn't. — Read o'er this ; 
 
 \_Givwg him I'apcrs. 
 And, after, this: and then to breakfast, with 
 What appetite you have. 
 
 [Exit Viwo, frown'mg upon Cardinal Wol- 
 
 set: the Nobles throng after him, smiling, 
 
 and whispering, 
 Wvl. What should this mean 1 
 
 What sudden anger's this] how have I reap'd it? 
 He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
 Lcap'd from his eyes : So looks the chafed lion 
 Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; 
 Then makes him nothing. I nnist read this paper; 
 I fear, the story of his anger. — 'Tis so; 
 This paper has undone me: — 'Tis the account 
 Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
 For mine own cn<ls; indeed, to gain the popedom. 
 And fee my friends in Home. negligence. 
 Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil 
 Made me put this main secret in the packet 
 I sent the kingi Is there no way to cure this T 
 No new device to beat this from his brains 1 
 [ know, 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
 A way, if it take right, in s])itc of fortune 
 Will bring me offagain. What's this — To the Pope? 
 The letter, as I live, with all the business 
 [ writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell! 
 I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness ; 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 I haste now to my setting: I shall fall 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see mc more. 
 
 Re-enter the DvKv.a of Nokfolk and Suftot.k, the I 
 Eaul of SuniiKY, and the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 N(/r. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal ; who 
 commands you 
 To render up the great seal presently 
 [nto our hands; and t® confine yourself 
 To Ashcr-House,' my lord of VV'inchester's, 
 'J'ill you hear further from his highness. 
 
 Wol. Stay, 
 
 Where's your commission, lords 1 words cannot 
 
 carry 
 Authority so weighty. 
 
 Stif. Who dare cross them? 
 
 Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? 
 Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it, 
 (I mean your malice.) know, oflirious lords, 
 I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel 
 Of vi'hat coarse metal ye arc moulded — envy. 
 How eagerly yc follow my disgraces. 
 As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton 
 V'e appear in every thing may bring my ruin ! 
 Follow your envious coutjCs, men of malice; 
 Vou have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt, 
 hi time will find their fit rewards. That seal. 
 
 ' Esber in Surrtr. 
 
 You ask with such a violence, tl.e king 
 (Mine anil your master) with his own hand gave me ' 
 Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honors, 
 During my life; and, to confirm his goodness, 
 Tied it by letters patent: Now, who'll take it? 
 
 Siir. The king, that gave it. 
 
 Wol. It must be himself then, 
 
 Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 
 
 Wol. Proud lord, thou licet 
 
 Within these forty hours, Surrey durst better 
 Have burnt that tongue, than said so. 
 
 Sur. Thy ambition^ 
 
 Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
 Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law : 
 'J'he heads of all thy brother cardinals, 
 (With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,) 
 Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy ! 
 You sent me deputy for Ireland ; 
 Far from his succor, from the king, from all 
 That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him 
 Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
 Absolv'd him with an axe. 
 
 Wol. This, and all else 
 
 This talking lord can lay ufion my credit, 
 I answer, is most false. The duke by law 
 Found his deserts: how iiniocent I was 
 From any private malice in his end, 
 His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
 If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell yon. 
 You have as little honesty as honor; 
 That I, in the way of loyally and truth 
 Toward the king, my ever royal master, 
 Dare mate' a sounder man than Surrey can bp, 
 And all that love his follies. 
 
 Sur. By my soul. 
 
 Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shoulds* 
 
 icel 
 My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. — My lords 
 Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? 
 And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely, 
 To be thus jaded ' by a piece of scarlet. 
 Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, 
 And dare us with his cap, like larks.' 
 
 Wol. All goodness 
 
 Is poison to thy stomach. 
 
 Sur. Yes, that goodness 
 
 Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, 
 Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion; 
 The goodness of your intercepted packets. 
 You writ to the popc.against the king; your goodness, 
 Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. — 
 My lord of Norfolk, — as you are truly noble. 
 As you respect the common good, the state 
 Of our desjjis'd nobility, our issues. 
 Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, — 
 Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 
 Collected from his life: — I'll startle you 
 Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench 
 Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 
 
 Wol. IIow much, melhinks, I could despise this 
 But that I am boimd in charity r.gainst it! [man. 
 
 Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king'u 
 hand : 
 But, thus much, they are foul ones. 
 
 \Vul. So much fairer, 
 
 And spotless, shall mine innocence arise 
 When the king knows my truth, 
 
 » Equal. ' Kiddcn down. 
 
 • A cariliniU'p l.at is scarlet, nnil (ho method of daiing 
 larks is by small mirrors on soai-kt oloth. 
 
602 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 ACI m. SCEKK 11 
 
 I 
 
 Sur. This cannot save you : 
 
 1 thank my memory, I yet remember 
 Some of these articles ; and out they shah. 
 Now, if you can, blush, and cry guilty, cardinal, 
 You'll show a little honesty 
 
 Wol. Speak on, sir : 
 
 I dare your worst olijections: If I blush. 
 It is, to see a nobleman want manners. 
 
 Su7: I'd rather want those, than my head. Have 
 at you. 
 First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge, 
 You wrought to be a legate; by which power 
 You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 
 
 Nur. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else 
 To foreign princes, Ego et Rex mens 
 Was still inscrib'd ; in which you brought the king 
 To be your servant. 
 
 Suf. Then, that without the knowledge 
 
 Eitlier of king or council, when you went 
 Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
 To carry into Flanders the great seal. 
 
 Sur. Item, you sent a large commission 
 To Gregory Hi Cassalis, to conclude, 
 Without the king's will, or the state's allowauce, 
 A league between his highness and Ferrara. 
 
 Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd 
 four holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. 
 
 .S'wr. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- 
 stance, 
 (By what means got, I leave to your own con- 
 science,) 
 To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways 
 You have for dignities ; to the mere^ undoing 
 Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ; 
 Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
 I will not taint my mouth with. 
 
 Cham. O my lord. 
 
 Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue: 
 His faults lie open to the laws; let them, 
 Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him 
 So little of his great self. 
 
 Sur. I forgive him. , 
 
 Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure 
 is,— 
 Because all those things, you have done of late 
 By your power Icgatine within this kingdom. 
 Fall into the compass of a prasmunire,^ — 
 That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
 To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, 
 Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
 Out of the king's protection: — This is my charge. 
 
 Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations 
 How to live better. For your stubborn answer, 
 About the giving back the great seal to us, 
 The king shall know it, and no doubt, shall thank 
 
 you. 
 So fort you well, my little good lord cardinal. 
 
 [^Exeunt all hut Wolset. 
 
 Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honors thick upon him: 
 The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
 And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 His greatness is a ripening — nips his root. 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory; 
 
 • Absolute. 8 A writ incurring a penalty. 
 
 But far beyond my depth: my high-blov/n pride 
 At length broke under me; and now has left mc 
 Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me 
 Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; 
 I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again. — 
 
 Enter Chomweli, amazedly. 
 
 Why, how now, Cromwell '.- 
 
 Cram. I have no power to speak, sir. 
 
 Wol. What, amaz'd 
 
 At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder, 
 A great man should decliriel Nay, an you weep 
 I am fallen indeed. 
 
 Crom. How does your grace 1 
 
 Wol. Why, well; 
 
 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
 I know myself now; and I feel within me 
 A peace above all earthly dignities, 
 A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, 
 I humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders, 
 These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
 A load would sink a navy, too much h' nor; 
 O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden. 
 Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 
 
 Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right 
 use of it. 
 
 Wol. I hope, I have: I am able now, methinks, 
 (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) 
 To endure more miseries, and greater far, 
 Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
 What news abroad? 
 
 Crom. The heaviest and the worst. 
 
 Is your displeasure with the king. 
 
 Wol. God bless him ! 
 
 Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen 
 Lord chancellor in your place. 
 
 Wol. That's somewhat sudden : 
 
 But he's a learned man. May he continue 
 Long in his highness' favor, and do justice 
 For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones, 
 When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
 May have a tomb of orphans' tears'" wept on 'cm ! 
 What more? 
 
 Crom. That Cranmerisreturn'd with v/elcome, 
 Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Wol. That's news indeed. 
 
 Crom. Last, the lady Anne, 
 
 Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
 This day was view'd in open, as his queen. 
 Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
 Only about her coronation. 
 
 Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down 
 O Cromwell, 
 The king has gone beyond me, all my glories 
 In that one woman I have lost for ever: 
 No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors. 
 Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
 Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell 
 I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
 To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ; 
 That sun, I pray, may never set ! I have told hiiu 
 What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee 
 ' The chancellor is the guardian of orphans. 
 
\ 
 
Act IV . Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 603 
 
 Somo little memory )f me will stir him 
 
 (I know his noble nature) not to let 
 
 Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell, 
 
 Neglect him not; make use' now, and provide 
 
 For Ihine own future safety. 
 
 Crom. O, my lord, 
 
 Must I then leave you 1 Must I needs forego 
 So good, so noble, and so true a master] 
 Bear witness, all, that have not hearts of iron. 
 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
 The king shall have my service; but my prayers 
 For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. 
 
 Woh Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me 
 Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 
 Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 And- -when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 Of me more must be heard of — say, I taught thee, 
 Say, Wolscy — that once trod the ways of glory, 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor — 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; 
 By that sin fell the angels; h can man then, 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by'tl 
 Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate 
 
 thee ; 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not 
 liCt all tlie ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, Crora* 
 
 well. 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king, 
 And, — Pr'ythee lead me in: 
 There take an inventory of all I have. 
 To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe, 
 And my integrity to heaven, is all 
 I dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwelli 
 Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
 I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
 Have left me naked tomine enemies. 
 
 Crom. Good sir, have patience. 
 
 Wol. So I have. Farewell 
 
 The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street in Westminster. 
 Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gent. You are well met once again. 
 
 2 Gent. And so are you. 
 
 1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, and 
 
 behold 
 The lady Anne pass from her coronation? 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last en- 
 
 counter, 
 The duke of Buckingham came for his trial. 
 
 1 Gent. 'I'is very true: but that time offer'd sorrow; 
 This, general joy. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis well : the citizens, 
 
 I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds ; 
 As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward 
 In celebration of this day with shows, 
 Pageants, and sights of honor. 
 
 J Gent. Never greater. 
 
 Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains. 
 That paper in your hand? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes ; 'tis the list 
 Of tliose that claim their odices this day, 
 By custom of the coronation. 
 
 The duke of Suflolk is the tirst, and claims 
 To be high steward; next, the duke of Norfolk, 
 He to be earl marshal; you may read the rest. 
 
 2 Gent. I thank you, sir ; had I not known those 
 
 customs, 
 1 should have been beholden to your paper. 
 But, I beseech you, what becomes of Katharine, 
 The princess-dowager 7 how goes her business 1 
 1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The arch- 
 bishop 
 l)f Canterbury, accompanied with other 
 Learned and reverend fathers of his order, 
 Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off 
 From Ampthill, where the princess lay; to which 
 8 Interest. 
 
 She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not: 
 And to be short, for not appearance, and 
 The king's late scruple, by the main assent 
 Of all these learned men she was divorced, 
 And the late marriage made of none effect: 
 Since which, she was remov'd to Kimbolton, 
 Where she remains now, sick. 
 2 Gent. Ala.s, good lady ! — 
 
 [Trumpets, 
 The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is 
 coming. 
 
 THE ordeh of the processiox. 
 
 A lively flourish of Trumpets,- then enter, 
 
 1. Two Judges. 
 
 2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace be- 
 
 fore him. 
 
 3. Choristers singing. [Music. 
 
 4. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then 
 
 Garter, in his coat of arm,s, and, on his 
 head, a gilt copper a-oivn. 
 
 5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on 
 
 his head a demi-coronal of gold. With 
 him, the Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod 
 of silver, with the dove, crowned with an 
 earl's coronet. Collars of SS. 
 6 I'uke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coro- 
 net on his head, bearing a long white 
 wand, a.s high steward. With him tM 
 Duke of Norfolk, with the rod of marshal- 
 ship, a coronet on his head. Collars of SS. 
 
 7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports; 
 
 under it, the Queen in her robe,- in her 
 hair, richly adorned loith pearl, crowned. 
 On each side of her, the Bishops of Lon- 
 don and Winchester. 
 
 8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of 
 
 gold, wrought with flowers, bearing tht 
 Queen's train. 
 
 9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain cit 
 
 cles of gold without flowers' 
 
 _J 
 
W4 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 2 Gent. A royal train, believe me, — These T 
 Who's that, that bears a sceptre ] [know ; — 
 
 1 Gent. Marquis Dorset: 
 A.nd that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 
 
 2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman : And that 
 The duke of Suffolk. [should b? 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the same ; high-steward. 
 
 2 Gent. And that, my lord of Norfolk? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes. 
 
 2 Gent. Heaven bless thee ! 
 
 \_Lf)oMng on the Queen. 
 Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. — 
 Sir, a^ I have a soul, she is an angel ; 
 Our king has all the Indies in his arms, 
 And more, and richer, when he strains that lady : 
 I cannot blame his conscience. 
 
 1 Gent. They, that bear 
 The cloth of honor over her, are four barons 
 
 Of the Cuique-ports. [near her. 
 
 2 Gent. Those men are happy ; and so are all, are 
 £ take it, she that carries up the train. 
 
 Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk. 
 
 1 Gent. It is ; and all the rest are countesses. 
 
 2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars 
 And, sometimes, falling ones. [indeed ; 
 
 1 Gent. No more of that. 
 
 [ExitProcession,with a great flourish of Trumpets. 
 
 Enter a Third Gentleman. 
 
 God save you, sir ! where have you been broiling 1 
 
 3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the abbey ; where 
 
 a finger 
 Could not be wedg'd in more ; and I am stifled 
 With tlie mere rankness of their joy. 
 
 ■-4 S'^nt. You saw 
 
 The ceremony ] 
 
 S Gent. That I did. 
 
 1 Gent. How was it 1 
 3 Gent. Well worth the seeing. 
 
 2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us. 
 
 3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream 
 Of lords, and ladies, having bi-ought the queen 
 To a prepared place in the choir, fell off 
 
 A distance from her ; while her grace sat down 
 To rest a while, some half an hour, or so. 
 In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 
 The beauty of her person to the people. 
 Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman 
 That ever lay by man ; which when the people 
 Had the full view of, such a noise arose 
 As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest. 
 As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks, 
 (Doublets, I think,) flew up ; and had their faces 
 iJeen loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 
 I never saw before. Great-beilied women. 
 That had not half a week to go, like rams 
 In the old time of war, would shake the press, 
 /\nd make them reel before them. No man living 
 Could say, Ttiis is mt/ivife, there; all were woven 
 So strangely in one piece. 
 
 2 Gent. But, 'pray, what foUow'dl [paces 
 
 3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest 
 Came to the altar: where she kneel'd, and, saint-like, 
 Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. 
 Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people: 
 When by the archbishop of Canterbury 
 
 She had all the royal makings of a queen; 
 
 As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown. 
 
 The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
 
 firtid nol))v on her: which perform'd, the choir, 
 
 With all the choicest music of the kingdom, 
 Together sung Te Deum. So she parted, 
 And with the same full state paced back again 
 To York-place, where the feast is held. 
 
 1 Gent, Sir, you 
 Must no more call it York-place, that is past: 
 For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost; 
 'Tis now the king's, and call'd — Whitehall. 
 
 3 Gent. I know it 
 
 But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name 
 Is fresh about me. 
 
 2 Gent. What two reverend bishops 
 Were those that went on each side of the queen ? 
 
 3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner ; the one, of Win- 
 
 chester, 
 (Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,) 
 The other, London. 
 
 2 GtTit. He of Winchester 
 
 Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's. 
 The virtuous Cranmer. 
 
 3 Gent. All the land knows thai : 
 However, yet there's no great breach; when it comes, 
 Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 
 
 2 Ge7it. Who may that be, I pray you 1 
 
 3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell; 
 A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 
 A worthy friend. — The king 
 
 Has made him master o' the jewel-house, 
 And one, already, of the privy-council. 
 
 2 Gent. He will deserve more. 
 
 3 Gent. Yes, without all doubi. 
 Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 
 
 Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests: 
 Something I can command. As I walk thither, 
 I'll tell ye more. 
 
 Both. You may command us, sir. [^Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— Kimbolton. 
 
 Enter Kathaiiine, Dowager, sick,- led between 
 Griffith a?id Patience. 
 
 Grif. How does your grace 1 
 
 Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death; 
 
 My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth. 
 Willing to leave their burden: Reach a chair; — 
 So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
 Didst thou not tell me, Grifiith, as thou led'st rnd 
 That the great child of honor, cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead? 
 
 Grif. Yes, madam; but I think, your grace. 
 Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to 't. 
 
 Kath. Pr'ylhce, good Griflith, tell me how he died 
 If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,' 
 For my example. 
 
 Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam 
 
 For after the stout earl Northumberland 
 Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
 (As a man sorely tainted) to his answer, 
 He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill 
 He could not sit his mule. 
 
 Kath. Alas! poor man ! 
 
 Grif. At last,with easy roads, he came to Lcicesto! 
 Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
 With all his convent, honorably receiv'd him ; 
 To whom he gave these words, — 0, father abbot 
 An old man, broken with the storms of state, 
 Is come to lay his iveury bones among ye,- 
 Give him a little earth fur charity! 
 So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness 
 
 5 Haply. 
 
^CENE II. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 601) 
 
 Pursu'd him still ; anJ three nights after this, 
 About the hour of eight, (which he himself 
 Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance. 
 Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
 He gave his honors to the world again, 
 His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 
 
 Kaih. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
 And yet with charity, — He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himself wifTi princes; one that by suggestion 
 Ty'd all the kingdom: simony was fair play; 
 His own opinion was his law; F the presence' 
 He would say untruths; and be ever double 
 Both in his words and meaning: He was never. 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful: 
 His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
 But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
 Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
 The clergy ill example. 
 
 G)-if. Noble madam. 
 
 Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
 We write in water. May it please your highness 
 To hear me speak his good now 1 
 
 Kath. Yes, good Griffith ; 
 
 I were malicious else. 
 
 Grif. The cardinal, 
 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashion'd to much honor. From his cradle, 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
 Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : 
 Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; 
 But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. 
 And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
 (Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam. 
 He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
 Those twins of learning, that he raised in you, 
 Ipswich, and Oxford ! one* of which fell with him, 
 Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 
 The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 
 So excellent in art, and still so rising. 
 That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
 For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
 And found the blessedness of being little : 
 And, to add gi-eater honors to his age, 
 Than man could give him, he died, fearing God. 
 
 Kaih. After my death I wish no other herald, 
 No other speaker of my living actions. 
 To keep mine honor from corruption, 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
 V»'ith thy religious truth, and modesty, 
 Now in his ashes honor : Peace be with him ! 
 Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
 I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
 Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
 I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
 'n that celestial harmony I go to. 
 
 Sad and solemn Music. 
 
 Grif. She is asleep. Good wench, let's sit down 
 quiet. 
 For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. 
 
 Tho vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after 
 another, six Personages, clad in white robes, 
 wearing on their heads garlands of hays and 
 golden vizards on their faces : branches of bays 
 or palm in their hands. They first congee unto 
 her, then dance; and, at certain changes, the first 
 « ■ the I' ^ug < Ipswich. 
 
 two hold a spare garland over her head; at lehicfi^ 
 the other four make reverend court'sies ; then the 
 two that held the garland, deliver the same to thi 
 other next two, %oho observe the same order in 
 their changes, and holding the garland over her 
 head; which done, they deliver the same garland 
 to the last two, who likewise observe the same or- 
 der : at which, {as it were by inspiration,) she 
 makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing, and holdeth 
 up her hands to heaven: and so in their dancing 
 they vanish, carry ing the garland with them. The 
 music continues. 
 
 Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye 1 Are ye all 
 gonel 
 
 And leave me here in wretchedness behind yc ] 
 Grif. Madam, we are here. 
 Kath. It is not you I call for. 
 
 Saw ye none enter, since I slept? 
 
 Grif. None, madam. 
 
 Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
 
 Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces 
 
 Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun 1 
 
 They promis'd me eternal happiness ; 
 
 And brought me garlands, Griffith, wliich I feel 
 
 I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall. 
 
 Assuredly. 
 
 Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
 
 Possess your fancy. 
 
 Kath. Bid the music leave. 
 
 They are harsh and heavy to me. \_Music ceases. 
 Pat. Do you note, 
 
 How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden 1 
 
 How long her face is drawn 1 How pale she looks 
 
 And of an earthy cold ] Mark you her eyes 1 
 Grif. She is going, wench ; pray, pray. 
 Pat. Heaven comfort her'' 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. An't like your grace, — 
 
 Kath. You are a saucy fellow 
 
 Deserve we no more reverence 1 
 
 Grif. You are to blame 
 
 Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness 
 To use so rude behavior : go to, kned. 
 
 Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon 
 My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying 
 A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 
 
 Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this 
 fellow 
 Let me ne'er see again. 
 
 [Exeu7it GniFFiTH and Messenger. 
 
 Ke-enier Grit FIT a with Capucius. 
 
 If my sight fail not. 
 You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
 My royal nephew, and your name Caput ius. 
 
 Caj). Madam, the same, your servant. 
 
 Kaih. O, my lord. 
 
 The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely 
 With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, 
 What is your pleasure with me 1 
 
 Cap, Noble lady. 
 
 First, mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
 The king's recjuest that I would visit you ; 
 Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
 Sends you his princely commendations, 
 And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 
 
 Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes toe 
 late; 
 'Tis like a pardon after execution : 
 That gentle phvsic, given in time, had cured me/ 
 
dOe 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Bat now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
 
 How does his highness 1 
 
 Cap. Madam, in good health. 
 
 Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish, 
 When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
 Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is that letter, 
 I caus'd you write, yet sent away] 
 
 Pat. No, madam. 
 
 \_Giving it to Kathahine. 
 
 Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
 This to my lord the king. 
 
 Cap. Most willing, madam. 
 
 Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness 
 The model of our chaste loves, his young daugh- 
 ter;'— 
 The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! — 
 «3eseeching him to give her virtuous breeding ; 
 (She is young, and of a noble modest nature ; 
 I hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little 
 To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him, 
 Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
 Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
 Upon my wretched women, that so long 
 Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully: 
 Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
 (And now I should not lie,) but will deserve 
 For virtue, and true beauty of the soul, 
 For honesty, and decent carriage, 
 A right good husband, let him be a noble ; 
 
 And, sure, those men arc happy that shall have them 
 The last is, for my men : — they are the poorest, 
 But poverty could never draw them from mc: — 
 That they may have their wages duly paid them, 
 And something over to remember me by; 
 If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life 
 And able means, we had not parted thus. 
 These are the whole contents: — And, good m^ 
 
 lord. 
 By that you love the dearest in this world. 
 As you wish christian peace to souls departed, 
 Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 
 To do me this last right. 
 
 Cap. By heaven, I will ; 
 
 Or let me lose the fashion of a man! 
 
 Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
 In all humility unto his highness: 
 Say, his long trouble now is passing 
 Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd him> 
 For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell, 
 My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
 You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; 
 Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench, 
 Let me be used with honor ; strew me over 
 With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
 I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, 
 Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like 
 A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
 I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Kathaiiine. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ Gallery in the Palace. 
 
 Enter GAnniNEn, Bishop q/" Winchester, a Page, 
 with a Torch before him, met by Sir Thomas 
 
 LoVELL. 
 
 Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not? 
 
 Boy. It hath struck. 
 
 Gar. These should be hours for necessities, 
 Not for delights ; times to repair our nature 
 With comforting repose, and not for us 
 To waste these times. — Good hour of night, sir 
 
 Thomas ! 
 Whither so late 1 
 
 Lav. Came you from the king, my lord? 
 
 Gar, I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primero* 
 With the duke of Suffolk. 
 
 Lov. I must to him too, 
 
 Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. 
 
 Ga?: Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the 
 matter ? 
 Ft seems, you are in haste : an if there be 
 No great offence belongs to't, give your friend 
 Some touch of your late business : Affairs, that walk 
 (As, they say, spirits do) at midnight, have 
 In them a wilder nature, than the business 
 Thoj'; seeks despatch by day. 
 
 Lnv. My lord, I love you ; 
 
 And durst commend a secret to your ear 
 Much weightier than this work. The queen's in 
 
 labor, 
 They say, in great extremity; and fear'd. 
 She'll with the labor end. 
 
 Gai: The fruit, she goes with, 
 
 I pray for heartily ; that it may find 
 Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir Thomas, 
 I wish it grubb'd up now. 
 
 * Afterwards queen Mary. * A game at cards. 
 
 Lov. Methinks, I could 
 
 Cry the amen; and yet my conscience saj's 
 She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
 Deserve our better wishes. 
 
 Gar. But, sir, sir,- 
 
 Hear me, sir Thomas: you are a gentleman 
 Of mine own way; I know^ou wise, religious; 
 And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, — 
 'Twill not, sir Thomas Lovel!, take't of me. 
 Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, 
 Sleep in their graves. 
 
 Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two 
 
 The most rcmark'd i' the kingdom. As for Crom- 
 well, — 
 Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master 
 O' the rolls, and the king's secretary: further, sir, 
 Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, 
 With which the time will load him : The archbishop 
 Is the king's hand, and tongue ; And who dare speak 
 One syllable against him ? 
 
 Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, 
 
 There are that dare ; and I myself have ventur'd 
 To speak my mind of him : and, indeed, this day, 
 Sir, (I may tell it you,) I think, I have 
 Incens'd ' the lords o' the council, that he is 
 (For so I know he is, they know he is) 
 A most arch heretic, a pestilence 
 That does infect the land : with which they moved, 
 Have broken with" the king ; who hath so far 
 Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace 
 And princely care ; foreseeing those fell mischiefs, 
 Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded, 
 To-morrow morning to the council-board 
 He be convented.'' He's a rank weed, sir Thomas, 
 And we must root him out. From your affairs 
 I hinder you too long : good night, sir Thomas. 
 
 » Set on. « Told their minds to. ' Summoned. 
 
PrKXE T. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 eo 
 
 Lov. Many good nlgiits, my lord ; I rest your 
 servant. \_Exeunt Gardineti anc/Page. 
 
 As LoYELL is going out, enter the King a?id the 
 Duke of Suffolk. 
 
 K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night; 
 My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me. 
 
 Sitf. I did never win of you before. 
 
 A'. Hen. But little, Charles; 
 Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. — 
 Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the newsl 
 
 Lov. I could not personally deliver to her 
 What you commanded me, but by her woman 
 I sent your message; who return \1 her thanks 
 fn the greatest humbleness, and desired your high- 
 ness 
 Most heartily to pray for her. 
 
 K. Hen. What say'st thou 1 ha ! 
 
 To pray for her ] vihat, is she crying out? 
 
 Lov. So said her woman ; and that her suffer- 
 ance made 
 Almost each pang a death. 
 
 K. Hen. Alas, good lady ! 
 
 Siif. God safely quit her of her burden, and 
 With gentle travail, to the gladding of 
 Your highness with an heir! 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis midnight, Charles, 
 
 Pr'ythee, to bed ; and in thy prayerf '•cmember 
 The estate of my poor queen. Leavt "ne alone; 
 For I must think of that, which company 
 Will not be friendly to. 
 
 Siif. I wish your highness 
 
 A quiet night, and my good mistress will 
 Remember in my prayers. 
 
 K. Hen, Charles, good night. 
 
 [Exit Suffolk. 
 Enter Sin Anthony Denny. 
 Well, sir, what follows] 
 
 Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop, 
 As you commanded me. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha ! Canterbury ] 
 
 Den. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis true: Where is he, Denny ] 
 
 Den. He attends your highness' pleasure. 
 
 K, Hen, Bring him to us. 
 
 \_Exit Denny. 
 
 Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake ; 
 dm happily come hither. [^Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer. 
 
 K. Hen, Avoid the gallery. 
 
 [Lovell seems to stay. 
 Ha! — I have said. — Be gone. 
 What — [Exeunt Lovell and Denny. 
 
 Cran. I am fearful: Wherefore iiowns he thus 1 
 Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well. 
 
 K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire to 
 know 
 Wherefore I sent for you. 
 
 Cran. It is my duty. 
 
 To attend your highness' pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen, Pray you, arise. 
 
 My good and gracious lord of Canterbury. 
 Come, you and I must walk a turn together; 
 I have news to tell you : Come, come, give me 
 
 your hand. 
 \h. my good lord, I grieve at what I sjjeak. 
 And am right sorry to repeat what follows: 
 I have, and most unwillingly, of late 
 Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, 
 •Grievous complaints of you ; which,beingconsider'd, 
 
 Have inov'd us and our council, that you shall 
 This morning come before us; where, I know, 
 You cannot with such freedom purge yourself, 
 But that, till furthci tilal in those charges 
 Which will require your answer, you must take 
 Your patience to you, and be well contented 
 To make your house our Tower : You a brother of 
 
 us,' 
 It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness 
 Would come against you. 
 
 Cran. I humbly thank your highnes'i' 
 
 And am right glad to catch this good occasion 
 Most throughly to he winnow'd, where my cliaff 
 And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know, 
 There's none stands under more calumniouj 
 
 tongues. 
 Than I myself, poor man. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury 
 
 Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted 
 In us, thy friend : Give me thy hand, stand up; 
 Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame. 
 What manner of man are you 1 My lord, I look'd 
 You would have given me your petition, that 
 I should have ta'en some pains to bring together 
 Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard yoL 
 Without indurance, further. 
 
 Cran. Most dread liege, 
 
 The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty; 
 If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, 
 Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not, 
 Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
 What can be said against me. 
 
 K. Hen. Know you not how 
 
 Your stale stands i' the world, with the whole v^orld' 
 Your enemies 
 
 Are many, and not small ; their practices 
 Must bear the same proportion : and not ever 
 The justice and the truth o' the question carries 
 The due o'thc verdict with it: At ^vhat ease 
 Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt 
 To swear against you] such things have been done. 
 You are potently oppos'd ; and with a malice 
 Of as great size. Ween' you of better luck, 
 I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master, 
 \A'hosc minister you are, whiles here he liv'd 
 Upon this naughty earth ? Go to, go to ; 
 You take a precipice for no leap of danger, 
 And woo your own destruction. 
 
 Cran. God, and your majesty, 
 
 Protect mine innocence, or I fall into 
 The trap is laid for me ! 
 
 K. Hen. Be of good cheer , 
 
 They shall no more prevail, than we give way to 
 Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see 
 You do appear before them : if they shall chance, 
 In charging you with matters, to commit you, 
 The best persuasions to the contrary 
 Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
 The occasion shall instruct you : if entreaties 
 Will render you no remedy, this ring 
 Deliver them, and your appeal to us 
 There make before them. — Look, the good man 
 
 weeps ! 
 He's honest, on mine honor. God's blest mother ! 
 I swear, he is true-hearted ; and a soul 
 None better in my kingdom. — Get you gone, 
 And do as I have bid yo\\.—[Exit Cranmer.] He 
 
 has strangled 
 His language in his tears. 
 
 • One of the council. » Tbiok. 
 
608 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Enter an old Lady. 
 
 Gent. [Within^ Comeback; What mean youl 
 
 Lady. I'll not come back : the tidings that I bring 
 Will make my boldness manners. — Now, good 
 
 angels 
 Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person 
 Under their blessed wings ! 
 
 K. Hen. Now, by thy looks 
 
 I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd? 
 Say, ay ; and of a boy ] 
 
 Lady. Ay, ay, my liege ; 
 
 And of a lovely boy: The God of heaven 
 Both now and ever bless her! — 'tis a girl, 
 Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
 Desires your visitation, and to be 
 Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you 
 As cherry is to cherry. 
 
 A'. Hen. Lovell, — 
 
 Enter Lovell. ^ 
 
 Lnv. Sir. 
 
 K. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to 
 the queen. \^Exit King. 
 
 Lady. An hundred marks ! by this light, I'll have 
 more : 
 An ordinary groom is for such payment. 
 I will have more, or scold it out of him. 
 Said I for this, the girl is like to him 1 
 I will have more, or else unsay't ; and now 
 While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Lobby before the Council-Chamber. 
 
 Enter CRANMEn; Servants, Door-Keeper, ^c., 
 attending. 
 
 Cran. I hope, I am not too late; and yet the 
 gentleman. 
 That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me 
 To make great haste. All fast ] what means this 1 
 
 — Hoa! 
 Who waits there ? — Sure you know me 1 
 
 D. Keep. Yes, my lord; 
 
 But yet I cannot help you. 
 Cran. Why 1 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace must wait till you be call'd 
 for. 
 
 Enter Doctoh Butts. 
 
 Cran. So. 
 
 Butts. This is a piece of malice ; I am glad 
 I came this way so happily : The king 
 Shall understand it presently. [Exit Bdtts. 
 
 Cran. [^Aside.'] 'Tis Butts, 
 
 The king's physician : As he past along. 
 How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me ! 
 Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain. 
 This is of purjxjse lay'd, by some that hate me, 
 (God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice,) 
 To quench mine honor : they would shame to make 
 
 me 
 Wait else at door; a fellow-counsellor. 
 Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their 
 
 pleasures 
 Must be fulfiU'd, and I attend with patience. 
 
 Enter, at a Window above, the King and Butts. 
 
 Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight, — 
 K. Hen. What's that. Butts 1 
 
 Butts I thinkyour highness saw this manyadav. 
 
 K. Hen. Body o' me, where is it 1 
 
 Butts. There, my lord 
 
 The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; 
 Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, 
 Pages, and footboys. 
 
 A''. Hen. Ha ! 'Tis he, indeed : 
 
 Is this the honor they do one another 1 
 'Tis well, there's one above them yet. I had thought. 
 They had parted so much honesty amongst them, 
 (At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer 
 A man of his place, and so near our favor. 
 To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, 
 And at the door too, like a post with packets. 
 By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery : 
 Let them alone, and draw the curtain close ; 
 We shall hear more anon. — [ExeurK 
 
 The Council-Chamber. 
 Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Dukes of Soffoi,* 
 and Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, Lord Cham- 
 berlain, Gardiner, and Cromwell. The Chan- 
 cellor places himself at the upper end of the 
 Table, on the left hand,- a Seat being left void 
 above him, as for the Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury. The rest seat themselves in order on 
 each side. Cromwell at the lower end, a.? 
 Secretary. 
 
 Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary : 
 Why are we met in council ] 
 
 Cram. Please your honors, 
 
 The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. 
 
 Gar. Has he had knowledge of it] 
 
 Crom. Yes. 
 
 Nor. Who waits there ! 
 
 D. Keep. Without, my noble lords 1 
 
 Gar. Yes. 
 
 D. Keep. My lord archbishop; 
 
 And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. 
 
 Chan. Let him come in. 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace may enter now. 
 
 [Cranjier approaches the Council-Table. 
 
 Chan. My good lord arcii bishop, I am very sorry 
 To sit here at this present, and behold 
 That chair stand empty: But we all are men. 
 In our own natures frail ; out of which frailty, 
 And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, 
 Have misdemcan'd yourself, and not a little. 
 Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling 
 The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chap- 
 lains, 
 (For so we are inloim'd,) with new opinions. 
 Divers and dangerous, which are heresies. 
 And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. 
 
 Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too. 
 My noble lords : for those that tame wild horses. 
 Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle; 
 But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 
 
 them. 
 Till they obey t'ne manage. If we suffer 
 (Out of our easiness and childish pity 
 To one man's honor) this contagious sickness. 
 Farewell, all physic; And what follows then? 
 Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
 Of the whole state: as, of late days, ourneighbois, 
 The upper Germany, can dearly witness. 
 Yet freshly pitied in our memories. 
 
 Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all tlie progrcsg 
 Both of my life and office, I have labor'd, 
 And with no little study, that my teaching, 
 And the strong course of ray authority 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 60h 
 
 Might go one way, and safely; and the end 
 
 Was ever, to do well: nor is there livings, 
 
 (1 speak it with a single heart, my lords,) 
 
 A man, that more detests, more stirs against. 
 
 Both in his private conscience, and his place, 
 
 Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 
 
 Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart 
 
 With less allegiance in it ! Men, that make 
 
 Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment. 
 
 Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, 
 
 That, in this case of justice, my accusers. 
 
 Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, 
 
 And freely urge against me. 
 
 Suf. Nay, my lord. 
 
 That cannot be ; you arc a counsellor, 
 And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 
 
 Gar. My lord, because we have business of more 
 moment, 
 We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' 
 
 pleasure. 
 And our consent, for better trial of you. 
 From hence you be committed to the Tower; 
 Where, being but a private man again. 
 You shall know many dare accuse you boldly. 
 More than, I fear, you are provided for. 
 
 Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank 
 you, 
 You are always my good friend ; if your will pass, 
 [ shall both find your lordship judge and juror, 
 You are so merciful : I see your end, 
 'Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord. 
 Become a churchman better than ambition ; 
 Win straying souls with modesty again, 
 Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, 
 Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
 I make as little doubt, as you do conscience. 
 In doing daily wrongs. I could say more. 
 But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 
 
 Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary, 
 That's the plain truth ; your painted gloss discovers, 
 To men that understand you, words and weakness. 
 
 Croni. My lord of Winchester, you are a little. 
 By your good favor, too sharp; men so noble, 
 However faulty, yet should find respect 
 For what they have been : 'tis a cruelty. 
 To load a falling man. 
 
 Gar. Good master secretary, 
 
 I cry your honor mercy ; you may, worst 
 Of all this table, say so. 
 
 Crom. Why, my lordl 
 
 Gar. Do not I know you for a favorer 
 Of this new sect? Ye are not sound. 
 
 Crom. Not sound ? 
 
 Gar. Not sound, I say. 
 
 Crom. 'Would you were half so honest! 
 
 en's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. 
 
 Gar, I shall remember this bold language. 
 
 Cr'ym. Do. 
 
 Remember your bold life too. 
 
 Chan. This is too much ; 
 
 Forbear, for shame, my lords. 
 
 Gar. I have done. 
 
 Crom. And L 
 
 Chan. Then thus for you, my lord, — It stands 
 agreed, 
 I take it, by all voices, that forthwith 
 You be convey 'd to the Tower a prisoner; 
 There to remain, till the king's further pleasure 
 Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords? 
 
 All. We are. 
 
 Cran. Is there no other way of mercy. 
 
 But I must needs to the Tower, my lords? 
 
 Gar. What othei 
 
 Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome. 
 Let some o' the guard be ready there. 
 
 Enter Guard. 
 
 Cran, For me 
 
 Must I go like a traitor thither ? 
 
 Gar. Receive him 
 
 And see him safe i' the Tower. 
 
 Cran. ^tay, good my lords , 
 
 I have a little yet to say. Look there, my Jcrds" 
 By virtue of that ring, I take my cause 
 Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it 
 To a most noble judge, the king my master. 
 
 Cham. This is the king's riwg. 
 
 Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit. 
 
 Suf. 'Tis iho light ring, by heaven : I told ye all, 
 When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 
 'Tvvould fall upon ourselves. 
 
 Nor. Do you think, my lordsj 
 
 The king will suffer but the little finger 
 Of this man to be vex'd? 
 
 Cham. 'Tis now too certain . 
 
 How much more is his life in value with him ? 
 'Would I were fairly out on't. 
 
 Crom. My mind gave me, 
 
 In seeking tales, and informations. 
 Against this man, (whose honesty the devil 
 And his disciples only envy at,) 
 Ye blew the fire that burns ye : Now have at ye. 
 
 Enter King, frowning on them,- takes his Seat, 
 
 Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound 
 
 to heaven 
 In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ; 
 Not only good and wise, but most reUgious: 
 One that, in all obedience, makes the church 
 The chief aim of his honor; and, to strengthen 
 That holy duty, out of dear respect. 
 His royal self in judgment comes to hear 
 The cause betwixt her and this great offender! 
 K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commen 
 
 dations, 
 Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not 
 To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ; 
 They are too thin and base to hide offences. 
 To me you cannot reach ; you play the spaniel. 
 And think with wagging of your tongue to win me; 
 But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure. 
 Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. — 
 Good man, [7b Ciianmf.ii.] sit down. Now let 
 
 me see the proudest 
 He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee; 
 By all's that's holy, he had better starve. 
 Than but once think this place becomes thee no» 
 Sur. May it please your grace, — 
 K. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me. 
 
 I had thought I had had men of some lnlde^ 
 
 standing 
 And wisdom, of my council; but I find none. 
 Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, 
 This good man, (few of you deserve that title,) 
 This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy 
 At chamber door? and one as great as you arel 
 Why, what a shame was this? Did my commissioj 
 Bid ye so far forgot yourselves? I gave ye 
 Power, as he was a counsellor, to try him. 
 Not as a erooni : There's some of ye. I sefl 
 
610 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Aur \ 
 
 More out of malice than integrity, 
 
 Would try liim to the utmost, had ye mean ; 
 
 Which yfc shal never have, while I live. 
 
 Chan. Thus far, 
 
 My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
 Trt let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd 
 Concerning his imprisonment, was rather 
 (If there be faith in men) meant for his trial. 
 And fair purgation to the world, than malice, 
 [ am sure, in me. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him ; 
 Take him, and use him well, he is worthy of it. 
 [ will say thus much for him, If a prince 
 May l)e beholden to a subject, I 
 Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
 Make me no more ado, but all embrace him ; 
 Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Canter- 
 I have a suit which you must not deny me ; [bury, 
 That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism. 
 You must be godfather, and answer for her. 
 
 Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory 
 In such an honor; How may I desen'e it. 
 That am a poor and humble subject to you? 
 
 K.Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your 
 spoons ;' you shall have 
 Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of 
 
 Norfolk, 
 And lady marquis Dorset ; Will these please youl 
 Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, 
 Embrace, and love this man. 
 
 Gar. With a true heart. 
 
 And brother-love, I do it. 
 
 Cran. And let heaven 
 
 Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 
 
 K.Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy 
 The common voice, I see, is verified [true heart. 
 Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canterbury 
 A shrewd turn, and he is your friend forever. — 
 Come, lords, we trifle time away ; I long 
 To have this young one made a Christian. 
 As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; 
 So I grow stronger, you more honor gain. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— T/(e Palace Yard. 
 Noise and Tumult icithin. EnterVoxiev andhisM^u. 
 Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals : 
 Do you take the court for Paris-garden 1' ye rude 
 slaves, leave your gaping.' 
 
 [^Within.'] Good master porter, I belong to the 
 larder. 
 
 Port, Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you 
 rogue : Is this the place to roar in ? — Fetch me a 
 dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones ; these are 
 but -iwitches to them. — I'll scratch your heads : 
 Yc A must be seeing christenings ? Do you look for 
 ?b and cake here, you rude rascals'? 
 
 Man. Pray, sir, be patient ; 'tis as much impossible 
 (I Inless we sweep them from the door with cannons) 
 To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep 
 On May-day morning; which will never be: 
 We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. 
 
 Port. How got they in, and be hang'd 1 
 
 Man. Alas, I know not : How gets the tide in 1 
 As much as one sound cudgel of four foot 
 (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, 
 t made no spare, sir. 
 
 Port. You did nothing, sir. 
 
 1 It -n-a-s an ancient custom for sponsors to present spoons 
 10 their god-children. 
 • The bear garden on the Bank-side. » Roaring. 
 
 Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Col- 
 brand,* to mow them down before me : but, if 1 
 spared any, that had a head to hit, either young 
 or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me 
 never hope to see a chine again ; and that I would 
 not for a cow, God save her. 
 
 [ Within.'] Do you hear, master porter ? 
 Port. I shall be with you presently, good mastci 
 puppy. — Keep the door close, sirrah. 
 Man. What would you have me do 1 
 Port. What should you do but knock them down 
 by the dozens 1 Is this Moorfields to muster in : OT 
 have we some strange Indianwiththe great tool coma 
 to court, the women so besiege us 1 Bless me, what 
 a fry of fornication is at door ! On my Christian 
 conscience, this one christening will beget a thou- 
 sand ; here will be father, godfather, and all together. 
 Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is 
 a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a 
 brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of 
 the dog-days now reign in's nose ; all that stand 
 about him are under the line, they need no other 
 penance : That fire-drake did I hit three times on 
 the head, and three times was his nose discharged 
 against me ; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, 
 to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife o) 
 small wit near him, that rail'd upon me till her 
 pink'd porringer' fell off her head, for kindling such 
 a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor' 
 once, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs ! 
 when I might see from far some forty truncheon- 
 eers draw to her succor, which wei^e the hope of 
 the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on ; 
 I made good my place ; at length they came to the 
 broomstafi' with me, I defied them still; when 
 suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, 
 delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain 
 to draw mine honor in, and let them win the work : 
 The devil was amongst them, I think, surely. 
 
 Port. These are the youths that thunder at a 
 play-house, and fight for bitten-apples ; that no 
 audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the 
 Ijimbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able 
 to endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum,'' 
 and there they are like to dance these three days; 
 besides the running banquet of two beadles,'' that 
 is to come. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here 
 
 They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, 
 
 As if Vv'e kept a fair here ! Where are these porters, 
 
 These lazy knaves? — Ye have made a fine hanl 
 
 fellows, 
 There's a trim rabble let in : Are all these 
 Your faithful friends o' the suburbs ? We shall have 
 Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, 
 When they pass back from the christening. 
 
 Port. An't please your honor 
 
 We are but men ; and what so many may do. 
 Not being torn a pieces, we have done : 
 An army cannot rule them. 
 
 Cham. As I live, 
 
 If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all 
 By the heels, and suddenly ; and on your heads 
 Clap round fines, for neglect : You are lazy knaves} 
 And here ye lie baiting of bumbards,° when 
 
 « Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish giant. 
 6 Pink'd cap. ^The brazier. 
 
 •I Place of confinement. « A dessert of whippinfc 
 
 5 Black leather vesso's to hold beer. 
 
SCEiNK IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 61^ 
 
 Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound ; 
 They are come ah-cady from the christening : 
 Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
 To let the troop pass fairly ; or I'll find 
 A Marshalsca, shall hold you play these two months. 
 
 Vort. Make way there for the princess. 
 
 Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll 
 make your head ache. 
 
 ro)t. You i' the camblet, get up o' the rail ; I'll 
 pick' you o'er the pales else. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— T/iC Falace? 
 
 F.nter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, 
 Lord Mayor, Garter, CuANMKn, Duke of Non- 
 FOLK, luith Ids Marshars Stuff, Duke of Suf- 
 lOLK, two Noblemen bearing great standing 
 Bowls fur t/ie Christening Gifts,- then four 
 Noblemen, bearing a Canopy, under which the 
 DucuEss OF NouKOLK, Gudinotlier, bearing the 
 Child riclily habited in a Mantle, <^c.. Train 
 borne by a Lady; the7i follows the Marchion- 
 ess OF DoiisKT, the other' Godmother, and 
 Ladies. The Troop pass once about the Stage, 
 and Garter speaks. 
 
 Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send 
 pi-osperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high 
 and mighty prijicess of England, Elizabeth. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, and Train. 
 
 Cran. [^Kneeling.'] And to your royal grace, and 
 the good queen. 
 My noble partners, and myself, thus pray : — 
 All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady. 
 Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy. 
 May hourly fall upon ye ! 
 
 k. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop ; 
 
 What is her name 1 
 
 Cran. Elizabeth. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand up, lord. — 
 
 [The King kisses the Child. 
 With this kiss take my blessing : God protect thcc! 
 Into whose hands I give thy life. 
 
 Cran. Amen. 
 
 K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too 
 prodigal: 
 I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, 
 When she has so much English. 
 
 Cran. Let mc speak, sir, 
 
 For heaven now bids me ; and the w ords I utter 
 Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. 
 This royal infant, (Heaven still move about her!) 
 Thc'Ugii in her cradle, yet now promises 
 Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings. 
 Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be 
 (Lut few now living can behold that goodness) 
 \ pattern tt all jirinces living with her, 
 Ar.d ail that shall succeed : Shcba was never 
 
 More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue, 
 Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces, 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
 With all the virtues that attend the good. 
 Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her 
 Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 
 She shall be lov'd and fear'd: Her own shall bless her- 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn. 
 And hang their heads Vi-ith sorrov/ : Good growj 
 
 with her: 
 In her days, every man shall eat in safety 
 Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors. 
 God shall be truly known • and those about her 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of honor, 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
 [Nor' shall this peace sleep with her: But as when 
 The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 
 Her ashes new create another heir, 
 As great in admiration as herself; 
 So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 
 (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of 
 
 darkness,) 
 Who, from the sacred ashes of her honor, 
 Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was. 
 And so stand fix'd : Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror 
 That were the servants to this chosen infant. 
 Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; 
 Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 
 His honor and the greatness of his name 
 Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish. 
 And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
 
 To all the plains about him : Our children's 
 
 children 
 Shall see this, and bless heaven. 
 
 K. Hen. Thou speakcst wonders.] 
 
 Cra??. She shall be, to the happiness of England, 
 An aged princess ; many days shall see her. 
 And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
 'Would I had known no more ! but she must die. 
 She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, 
 A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
 To the ground, and all the world shall mourn hei. 
 
 K. Hen. O lord archbishop. 
 Thou hast made inc now a man; never, before 
 This happy child, did I get any thing: 
 This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd mc. 
 That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire 
 To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. — 
 I thank ye all: — To you, my good lord mayor, 
 And your good brethren, I am much beholden; 
 I have received much honor by your presence. 
 And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords', 
 Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye^ 
 She will be sick else. This day, no man think 
 He has business at his house; for all shall stay; 
 This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Tis ten to one, this play can never please 
 All that arc here: Some come to take their ease, 
 And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear. 
 We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, 
 riiey'll say, 'tis naught: otiicrs, to hear the city 
 Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — that^s witty.' 
 Which we have not done neither : that, I tear, 
 \I1 the expected good we are like to hear 
 ' Pitch « At Greenwich 
 
 For this play at this time, is only in 
 The merciful construction of good women; 
 For such a one we show'd them; If they smile, 
 And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while 
 All the best men are ours; for, 'tis ill hap, 
 If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap. 
 
 ' This and the following seventeen lines were prohahlj 
 written by B. Jonson. after the accession of king James. 
 
TROILUS iND CRESSIDA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 I'riam, King o/Troy 
 
 Hector, 
 
 Troilus, 
 
 Paris, yJiis Sons. 
 
 DETPiionus, 
 
 Hei-enus, 
 
 Anteno'r, \ '^'°J^" Comma7iders. 
 
 Calchas, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the 
 
 Greeks. 
 Pandarus, Uncle to Crcssida. 
 Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam. 
 Alexander, Servant to Cressida. 
 Servant to Troilus ; Servant to Paris ; Servant to 
 
 Diomedes. 
 
 » Grecian Commanders. 
 
 Agamemkon, the Grecian General. 
 
 Menelads, his Brother. 
 
 achilles, 
 
 Ajax, 
 
 Ulysses, 
 
 Nestor, 
 
 Diomedes, 
 
 Patroclus, J 
 
 Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. 
 
 Helen, Wife to Menelaus. 
 
 Andromache, Wife to Hector. 
 
 Cassandra, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetess. 
 
 Cressida, Daughter to Calchas. 
 
 Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendanis. 
 
 SCENE, Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of Greece 
 The princes orgulous,' their high blood chafed, 
 Have to the port of Athens sent their ships. 
 Fraught with the ministers and instruments 
 Of cruel war : Sixty and nine, that wore 
 Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay 
 Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made, 
 To ransack Troy ; within whose strong immures 
 The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, 
 With wanton Paris sleeps ; and that's the quarrel. 
 To Tenedos they come; 
 
 And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
 Their warlike fraughtage :'' Now on Dardan plains 
 The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 
 Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, 
 Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, 
 
 And Antenorides, with massy staples, 
 
 And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 
 
 Speer' up the sons of Troy. 
 
 Now, expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 
 
 On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 
 
 Sets all on hazard : — And hither am I come 
 
 A prologue arm'd, — but not in confidence 
 
 Of author's pen, or actor's voice ; but suited 
 
 In like conditions as our argument, — 
 
 To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 
 
 Leaps o'er the vaunt' and firstlings of those brails, 
 
 'Ginning in the middle ; starting thence away 
 
 To what may be digested in a play. 
 
 Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; 
 
 Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
 
 Enter Troilus, armed, and Pandarus. 
 
 Tro. Call here my varlet,' I'll unarm again : 
 «Vhy should I war without the walls of Troy, 
 
 » Proud, disdainful. « Freight. » Servant. 
 
 612 
 
 That find such cruel battle here within ? 
 Each Trojan, that is master of his heart, 
 Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. 
 
 Pan. Will this gear^ ne'er be mended? 
 
 Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to theii 
 strength, 
 
 * Shut. » Avaunt, what went before^ • Habit. 
 
Scene TI. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 61.^ 
 
 l''iercc to tlicir skill, and to their fierceness valiant; 
 But I am weaker tlian a woman's tear, 
 Tamer than sleep, fonder' than ignorance ; 
 Less valiant than the virgin in the night, 
 And skill-less as unpractisM infancy. 
 
 Pan. VV^ell, I have told you enough of this: for my 
 part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He,that will 
 have a cake out of the wheat.must tarry the grinding. 
 
 7?o. Have I not tarried 1 
 
 Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry the 
 bolting. 
 
 T)o. Have I not tarried] 
 
 Pa?}. Ay, the bolting ; but you must tarry the 
 leavening. 
 
 7'ra. Still have I tarried. 
 
 Pan. Ay, to the leavening ; but here's yet in the 
 word — hereafter, the kneading, the making of the 
 cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking ; nay, 
 you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance 
 to burn your lips. 
 
 7ro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, 
 Doth lesser blench' at sufferance than I do. 
 At Priam's royal table do I sit: 
 And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, — 
 
 So, traitor ! when she comes ! When is she 
 
 thence 1 
 
 Pan. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever 
 saw her look, or any woman else. 
 
 Tro, I was about to tell thee, — When my heart, 
 As wedged with a sigh, would rive' in twain; 
 Lest Hector or iny father should perceive me, 
 I have (as when the sun doth light a storm) 
 Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile : 
 But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness. 
 Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 
 
 Pa?i. An her hair were not somewhat darker than 
 Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more com- 
 parison between the women, — But, for my part, 
 ?he is my kinswoman ; I would not, as they term 
 it, praise her, — But I would somebody had heard 
 her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise 
 your sister's Cassandra's wit; but — 
 
 Tro. Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus, — 
 When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, 
 Reply not in how many fathoms deep 
 They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am m.ad 
 In Cressid's love: Thou answer's!. She is fair; 
 Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart 
 Her eyes, her hair, her check, her gait, her voice ; 
 Handiest in thy discourse, 0, that her hand. 
 In whose comparison all whites are ink, 
 Writing their own reproach ; to whose soft seizure 
 The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense 
 Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me. 
 As true thou tell'st me, when I say, — I love her ; 
 But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, 
 Thou lay'gt in every gash that love hath given me 
 The knife that made it. 
 
 Pan. I speak no more than truth. 
 
 Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 
 
 Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as 
 she is : if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she 
 be not, she has the mends in her own hands. 
 
 Tro. Good Pandarus! how now, Pandarus? 
 
 Pan. I have had my labor for my travel; ill- 
 thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone 
 Ketueen and between, but small thanks for my labor. 
 
 Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus ? what, 
 with me ? 
 
 Weaker. 
 
 40 
 
 ' Shrink. 
 
 ' Split. 
 
 Pa7i. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's 
 not so fair as Helen : an she were not kin to me, 
 she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sun- 
 day. But vv'hat care 1 1 I care not, an she were 
 a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me. 
 
 Tro. Say I, she is not fair"! 
 
 Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She a 
 a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the 
 Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her; 
 For my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the 
 matter. 
 
 Tro, Pandarus, — 
 
 Pan. Not L 
 
 Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — 
 
 Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will 
 leave all as I found it, and there an end. 
 
 [Exit Pandarus. An Alarum,, 
 
 Tro, Peace, you ungracious clamors ! peace, 
 rude sounds! 
 Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair, 
 When with your blood you daily paint her thus. 
 1 cannot fight upon this argument; 
 It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. 
 But, Pandarus — O gods, how do you plague me! 
 I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar; 
 And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo. 
 As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. 
 Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love. 
 What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? 
 Her bed is India ; there she hes, a pearl : 
 Between our Ilium, and where she resides. 
 Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood ; 
 Ourself, the merchant : and this sailing Pandar, 
 Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. 
 
 Alarum, Enter .^neas. 
 
 Mne, How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not 
 
 a-field1 
 Tro. Because not there : This woman's answer 
 sorts,' 
 For womanish it is to be from thence. 
 What news, iEneas, from the field to-day 1 
 ALne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt 
 Tro, By whom, ^Eneas 1 
 
 JEnc, Troilus, by Menelaus. 
 
 Tro, Let Paris bleed : 'Tis but a scar to scorn : 
 Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Ala7~um. 
 ^7ie. Hark ! what good sport is out of town to- 
 day ! 
 T7-0, Better at home, if would I inight, were 
 may. — 
 But, to the sport abroad; — Areyoubound thither? 
 Mne. In all swift haste. 
 
 Tro, Come, go we then together. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
 
 Enter Chf.ssida and Alexaxdek. 
 
 Cres. Who were those went by ? 
 
 Alex, Queen Hecuba, and Hcien 
 
 Cres. And whither go they ? 
 
 Alex. Up to the eastern towei; 
 
 Whose height commands as subject all the valo 
 To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
 Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd: 
 He chid Andromache, and struck his armorer} 
 And, like as there were husbandry in war. 
 Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light, 
 • Suits. 
 
»il4 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act j. 
 
 And to the field goes he; where every flower, 
 Did as a j/rophet, weep what it foresaw 
 In Hector's wrath. 
 
 Cres. What was his cause of anger 1 
 
 Alex. The noise goes, this: There is among the 
 Greeks 
 A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; 
 They call him Ajax. 
 
 Cres. Good ; and what of him 1 
 
 Alex. They say he is a very raan per se^ 
 And stands alone. 
 
 Cres. So do all men ; unless they are drunk, sick, 
 or have no legs. 
 
 Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts 
 of their particular additions;" he is as valiant as the 
 lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant : a 
 man into whom nature hath so crowded humors, 
 that his valor is crushed into* folly, his folly sauced 
 with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that 
 he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint 
 but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy 
 without cause, and merry against the hair :' He hath 
 the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of 
 joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and 
 no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 
 
 Cres. But how should this man, that makes me 
 smile, make Hector angry 1 
 
 Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in 
 the battle, and struck him down ; the disdain and 
 shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting 
 and waking. 
 
 Enter Pandahus. 
 
 Cres. Who comes here 
 
 Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. Hector's a gallant rnan. 
 
 Alex. As may be in the world, lady. 
 
 Pun. What's that? what's that? 
 
 Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do 
 you talk of? — Good morrow, Alexander. — How 
 do you, cousin ] When were you at Ilium 1 
 
 Cres. This morning, uncle. 
 
 Pan. What were you talking of when I came 1 
 Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? 
 Helen was not up, was she T 
 
 Cres. Hector was gone ; but Helen was not up. 
 
 Pan. E'en so ; Hector was stirring early. 
 
 Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger. 
 
 Pan. Was he angry? 
 
 Cres. So he says, here. 
 
 Pan. True, ho was so; I know the cause too; 
 he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and 
 there is Troilus will not come far behind him; let 
 them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too. 
 
 Cres. What, is he angry, too ? 
 
 Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man 
 of the two. 
 
 Cres. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison. 
 
 Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? 
 Do you know a man, if you see him ? 
 
 Cres. Ay, if ever I saw him before, and knew him. 
 
 Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Then you say as I say ; for I am sure he is 
 not Hector. 
 
 Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some 
 degrees. 
 
 Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself. 
 
 » By himself. ^ Characters. 
 
 * Mingled with. » Grain. 
 
 Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus ! I would ha 
 were, — 
 
 Cres. So he is. 
 
 Pa7i. — 'Condition I had gone barefoot to India. 
 
 Cres. He is not Hector. 
 
 Pa7i. Himself? no, he's not himself. — 'Would 
 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above ; Time 
 must friend, or end; Well, Troilus, well, — I would 
 my heart were in her body ! — No, Hector is not 3 
 better man than Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Excuse me. 
 
 Pan. He is elder. 
 
 Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 
 
 Pan. The other's not come to f; you shal ted 
 me another tale, when the other's ccme to 't. Hevtoi 
 shall not have his wit this year. 
 
 Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own 
 
 Pan. Nor his qualities: 
 
 Cres. No matter. 
 
 1 an. Nor his beauty. 
 
 Cres. 'Twould not become him, his own's bet« 
 ter. 
 
 Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen her 
 self swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown 
 favor, (for so 'tis, I must confess,) — Not brown 
 neither. 
 
 Cres. No, but brown. 
 
 Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. 
 
 Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 
 
 Pan. She praised his complexion above Paris. 
 
 Cres. Why, Paris hath color enough. 
 
 Pan. So he has. 
 
 Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : if she 
 praised him above, his complexion is higher than 
 his ; he having color enough, and the other higher, 
 is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I 
 had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended 
 Troilus for a copper nose. 
 
 Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him 
 better than Paris. 
 
 Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed. 
 
 Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to 
 him the other day into a compassed'' window, — 
 and, you know, he has not past three or four haira 
 on his chin. 
 
 Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon 
 bring his particulars therein to a total. 
 
 Pan. Why, he is very young; and yet will he, 
 within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. 
 
 Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter ?^ 
 
 Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him ; 
 — she came, and puts me her white hand to his 
 cloven chin, — 
 
 Cres. Juno have mercy! — How came it cloven? 
 
 Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think, his 
 smiling becomes him better than any man in a!) 
 Phrygia. 
 
 Cres. O, he smiles valiantly. 
 
 Pan. Does he not ? 
 
 Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 
 
 Pan. Why, go to then: — But to prove to yah 
 that Helen loves Troilus, 
 
 Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll 
 prove it so. 
 
 Pan. Troilus ? why he esteems her no moro 
 than I esteem an addle egg. 
 
 Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you 
 love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell. 
 
 Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she 
 Bow. ' Thiel 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 615 
 
 tickled his chin ;- -Indeed, she has a marvellous 
 tt'hite hand, I must needs confess. 
 
 Cres. Without the rack. 
 
 Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white 
 hair on his chin. 
 
 Cres. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer. 
 
 Pan. But, there was such laughing; — Queen 
 Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. 
 
 Cres. With mill-stones.' 
 
 Pan. And Cassandra laughed. 
 
 Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under 
 the pot of her eyes; — Did her eyes run o'er tool 
 
 Pan. And Hector laughed. 
 
 Cres. At what was all this laughing 1 
 
 Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied 
 on Troilus' chin. 
 
 Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have 
 laughed too. 
 
 Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair as 
 at his pretty answer. 
 
 Cres. What was his answer? 
 
 Pan. Quoth she. Here's but one andjifty hairs 
 on your chin, and one of them is white. 
 
 Cres. This is her question. 
 
 Pan. That's true ; make no question of that. One 
 andjifty hairs, quoth he, and one white: That 
 white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. 
 Jupiter! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris 
 my liushand? The forked one, quoth he; pluck it 
 out, and give it him. But there was such laugh- 
 ing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, 
 and all the rest so laughed, that it passed.' 
 
 Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great 
 while going by. 
 
 Pa)i. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; 
 think on't. 
 
 Cres. So I do. 
 
 Pan. I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you 
 an 'twere a man born in April. 
 
 C?-cs. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere 
 II nettle against May. £A Retreat sounded. 
 
 Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field : Shall 
 we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward 
 Ilium 1 good niece, do ; sweet niece Cressida. 
 
 C]-es. At your pleasure. 
 
 Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place ; here 
 we may see most bravely : I'll tell you them all 
 by their names, as they pass by ; but mark Troilus 
 aS)ve the rest. 
 
 .(Eneas passes over the Stage. 
 
 Cres. Speak not so loud. 
 
 Pan. That's ^ncas; Is not that a brave man? 
 he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you : But 
 mark Troilus; you shall see anon. 
 
 Cres. Who's that? 
 
 Antenor passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Antenor; he has a shrewd wit, I 
 can tell you ; and he's a man good enough : he's 
 one o' the soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, 
 end a proper man of person: — When comes Troi- 
 lus? — I'll show you Troilus anon; if he see me, 
 vou shall sec him nod at mc. 
 
 Cres. Will he give you the nod?' 
 
 Pan. You shall sec. 
 
 Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. 
 
 • A proverbial saying. 
 
 • Went beyond bounds. 
 
 > A term in the game at caids called noddy. 
 
 Hector passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that 
 There's a fellow ! — Go thy way. Hector ; — There's 
 a brave man, niece. — O brave Hector! — Look, 
 how he looks ! there's a countenance : Is't not a 
 brave man? 
 
 C?-es. O, a brave man ! 
 
 Pan. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good. — 
 Look you what hacks are on his helmet ! look you 
 yonder, do you see ? look you there ! There's no 
 jesting: there's laying on; take't off who will, as 
 they say : there be hacks ! 
 
 Cres. Be those with swords? 
 
 Paris passes over. 
 
 Pan. Swords? any thing, he cares not: an the 
 devil come to him, it's all one : — By god's lid it 
 does one's heart good : — Yonder comes Paris, yon- 
 der comes Paris : look ye yonder, niece ; Is't not 
 a gallant man, too, is't not ? — Why, this is brave 
 now. — Who said, he came hurt home to-day ? he's 
 not hurt: why this will do Helen's heart good 
 now. Ha ! would I could see Troilus now ! — you 
 shall see Troilus anon. 
 
 Cres. Who's that ? 
 
 Helenus passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Helenus, — I marvel, where Troilus 
 is: — That's Helenus; — I think he went not forth 
 to-day: — That's Helenus. 
 
 Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle? 
 
 Pa7i. Helenus? no; — yes, he'll fight indifferent 
 well: — I marvel, where Troilus is! — Hark; do 
 you not hear the people cry, Troilus? — Helenus is 
 a priest. 
 
 Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder^ 
 
 TnoiJ^vs passes over. 
 
 Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus: 'Tis 
 Troilus ! there's a man, niece ! — Hem ! — Brave 
 Troilus ! the prince of chivalry ! 
 
 Cres. Peace, for shame, peace ! 
 
 Pan. Mark him ; note him ; — O brave Troilus! 
 — look well upon him, niece ; look you, how his 
 sword is blooded, and his helm more hack'd than 
 Hector's; And how he looks, and how he goes! 
 — O admirable youth ! he ne'er saw three and 
 twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way; had I 
 a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess, he 
 should take his choice. admirable man ! Paris ? 
 — Paris is dirt to him ; and, I warrant, Helen, to 
 change, would give an eye to boot. 
 
 Forces pass over the Stage, 
 
 Cres. Here come more. 
 
 Pan. Asses, fools, dolts ! chaff and bran, chaff 
 and bran; porridge after meat! I could live and die 
 i' the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look ; the 
 eagles are gone ; crows and daws, crows and daws! 
 I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Aga- 
 memnon and all Greece. 
 
 Cres. There is among the Greeks, Achilles; a 
 better man than Trmlus. 
 
 Pan. Achilles? a drayman, a porter, a very camel. 
 
 Cres. Well, well. 
 
 Pan. Well, well ? — Why, have you any discre 
 tion ? have you any eyes ? Do you know what z 
 man is ? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse 
 manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, libe- 
 rality, and such like, the spice and salt that sca«o« 
 a man'' 
 
816 
 
 TKOILUS AND CKESSIDA. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Crxis. Ay, ii minced man : and then to be baked 
 with no datc2 in tlie pj'e, — for then the men's date 
 is out. 
 
 Pan. You are such a woman ! one knows not at 
 what ward^ you lie. 
 
 Ores. Upon my back, to defend my belly ; upon 
 my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to 
 defend mine honesty ; my mask, to defend my beau- 
 ty ; and you to defend all these: and at all these 
 wards I lie, at a thousand watches. 
 
 Pan. Say one of your watches. 
 
 Ores. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one 
 of the chiefest of them too : if I cannot ward what I 
 would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how 
 I took the blow ; unless it swell past hiding, and 
 then it is past watching. 
 
 Enter Troilus' Boy. 
 
 Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. 
 
 Pan. Where ? 
 
 Boy. At your own house ; there he unarms him. 
 
 Pan. Good boy, tell him I come ; [Exit Boy. 
 
 I doubt he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece. 
 
 Ores. Adieu, uncle. 
 
 Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by-and-by. 
 
 Ores. To bring, uncle, 
 
 Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 
 
 Ores. By the same token — you are a pimp. 
 
 [Exit Pandartjs. 
 Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice, 
 He offers in another's enterprize : 
 But more in Troilus thousand fold I see 
 Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be : 
 Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing: 
 Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing: 
 That she belov'd knows nought, that knows not 
 
 this, — 
 Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is: 
 That she was never yet that ever knew 
 Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue : 
 Therefore this maxim out of love I teach, — 
 Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech ; 
 Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear, 
 Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— ne Grecian Camp. Be/ore Aga- 
 memnon's Tent. 
 
 Trumpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, 
 Menelaus, and others. 
 
 Again. Princes, 
 What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? 
 The ample proposition, that hope makes 
 In all designs begun on earth below, 
 Fiiils in the promis'd largeness ; checks and disasters 
 Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd; 
 As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain 
 Torlive and errant"* from his course of growth. 
 Kor, princes, is it matter new to us, 
 Thst we come short of our suppose so far. 
 Thai, sifter seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand; 
 Sith^ OTery action that hatli gone before. 
 Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
 Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, 
 And that unbodied figure of the thought 
 That gave't surmised shape. AVhy, then, you princes. 
 Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works ; 
 And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought 
 
 jlse 
 But the protractive trials of great Jove, 
 To find persistive constancy in men ? 
 The fineness of which metal is not found 
 In fortune's love ; for them, the bold and coward 
 The wise and fool, the artist and unread, 
 
 » Dates wore an ingredient in ancient pastry of almost 
 »Tery kind, a Guard. « Twisted and rambling. ' Since 
 
 The hard and soft, seem all affined^ and kin : 
 But, in the wind and tempest of her frown, 
 Distinction, Avith a broad and powerful fan, 
 Puffing at all, winnows the light away : 
 And what hath mass, or matter, by itself, 
 Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled. 
 
 Nest. With due observance of thy godlike se&t, 
 Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
 Thy latest Avords. In the reproof of chance. 
 Lies the true proof of men : The sea being smoot't^ 
 How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
 Upon her patient breast, making their way 
 With those of nobler bulk ! 
 But let the ruffian Boreas once enrago 
 The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold 
 The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, 
 Bounding between the two moist elements. 
 Like Perseus' horse : Where's then the saucy boat, 
 Whose weak untimber'd sides bat even now 
 Co-rival'd greatness ? either to harbor fled, 
 Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
 Doth valor's show, and valor's worth, divide. 
 In storms of fortune : For, in her ray and bright- 
 ness. 
 The herd hath more annoyance by the brize,'' 
 Than by the tiger : but when the splitting wind 
 Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks. 
 And flies fled under shade, why, then, the thing of 
 
 courage, 
 As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize. 
 And, with an accent tuned the self-same key. 
 Returns to chiding fortune. 
 
 Ulyss. Agamemnon, — 
 
 Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, 
 Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit. 
 In whom the tempers and the minds of all 
 Should bo shut up, — hear what Ulysses speaks. 
 Besides the applause and approbation. 
 The which, — most mighty for thy place and sway, — 
 
 [ 7'o Agamemnon. 
 And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life, — 
 
 [To Nestor. 
 I give to both your speeches, — which were such, 
 As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
 Should hold up high in brass ; and such again, 
 As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, 
 Should with a bond of air, (strong as the axle-tree 
 On which heaven rides,) knit all the Greekish ears 
 To his experienced tongue, — yet let it please 
 
 both, — 
 Thou great, — and wise, — to hear Ulysses speak. 
 Again. Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be't of lesa 
 expect* 
 That matter needless, of importless burden. 
 Divide thy lips : than we are confident. 
 When rank Thersites opes his mastifi' jaws. 
 We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. 
 
 Ulyss. Troy, yet upon this basis, had been down. 
 And the great Hector's sword had lacked a master. 
 But for these instances. 
 The specialty of rule^ hath been neglected ; 
 And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
 Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. 
 When that the general is not like the hive. 
 To whom the foragers shall all repair. 
 What honey is expected? Degree being vizardcd, 
 Th3 un worthiest shows as fairly in the mask. 
 The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre 
 Observe degree, priority, and place, 
 Insisture,^ course, proportion, season, form, 
 Office, and custom, in all line of order ; 
 And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol, 
 In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
 Amidst the other; whose med'cinable eye 
 
 « Joined by affinity. i The gad-fly, tliat stings catU«k 
 •* Expectation. • Rights of authority. 
 
 ' Masked. » Constancy. 
 
SCENE III 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 
 
 617 
 
 Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
 
 And posts, like the coininandment of a king, 
 
 Sans'^ check, to good and bad: But when the planets, 
 
 In evil mixture, to disorder wander. 
 
 What plagues, and what portents? what mutiny 1 
 
 What raging of the sea 1 shaking of earth 1 
 
 Commotion in the winds 1 frights, changes, horrors, 
 
 Divert and crack, rend and deracinate^ 
 
 The unity and married calm of states 
 
 Quite from their fixture? 0, when degree is shaked. 
 
 Which is the ladder of all high designs, 
 
 The enterprize is sick ! How could communities, 
 
 Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities. 
 
 Peaceful commerce from dividable* shores. 
 
 The primogenitive and due of birth. 
 
 Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
 
 But by degree, stand in authentic place? 
 
 Take but degree away, untune that string. 
 
 And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets 
 
 In mere' oppugnancy : The bounded waters 
 
 Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, 
 
 And make a sop of all this solid globe: 
 
 Strength should be lord of imbecility. 
 
 And the rude son shall strilce his father dead: 
 
 Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong 
 
 (Between whose endless jar justice resides) 
 
 Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 
 
 Then every tiling includes itself in power, 
 
 Power into will, will into appetite; 
 
 And appetite, an universal wolf, 
 
 So doubly seconded with will and power. 
 
 Must make perforce an universal prey. 
 
 And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 
 
 This chaos, when degree is sufTocate, 
 
 Follows the choking. 
 
 And this neglection of degree it is, 
 
 That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 
 
 It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd 
 
 By him one step below ; he, by the next ; 
 
 That next by him beneath: so every step, 
 
 Exampled by the first pace that is sick 
 
 Of his superior, grows to an envious fevei 
 
 Of 'pale and bloodless emulation: 
 
 And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, 
 
 Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 
 
 Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. 
 
 Nesf, Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd 
 The fever whereof all our power is sick. 
 
 Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, 
 What is the remcd}^ ? 
 
 Ulyss. The great Achilles, — whom opinion crowns 
 The sinew axid the forehand of our host, — 
 Having his ear full of his airy fame, 
 Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent 
 Lies mocking our designs: With him, Patroclus, 
 Upon a lazy bed the live-long day, 
 Breaks scurril jests; 
 And with ridiculous and awkward action 
 (Which, slanderer, he imitation calls) 
 He pageants^ us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, 
 Thy topless'' reputation he puts on ; 
 And, like a strutting player, — whose conceit 
 Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
 To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 
 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage,' 
 Buch to-be-pitied and o'er-vvrested' seeming 
 \Ie acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks, 
 
 aAfithout. 'Force up by the root' 
 
 * DiviJwl. t Absolute. 
 
 • In modera language, talces us off. » Supreme. 
 » etaj;e. » Beyond the truth. 
 
 'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquared, 
 Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd. 
 Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stufl". 
 The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, 
 From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; 
 Cries — Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon Just. — 
 Now pluy me Nestor ; — hem, and stroke thy beard; 
 As he, being drest to sbme oration. 
 That's done ; — as near as the extrcmest ends 
 Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his vife 
 Yet good Achilles still cries. Excellent! 
 'Tis Nestor right! Now play him me, F;itro; as, 
 Arming to answer in a night alarm. 
 And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
 Must be the scene of mirth; to cough and sfn 
 And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget. 
 Shake in and out the rivet: — and at this sport, 
 Sir Valor dies; cries, 0! — e??0!/^'-/<, Patroclus; — 
 Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all 
 In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashion, 
 All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
 Severals and generals of grace exact. 
 Achievements, plots, oi-ders, preventions. 
 Excitements to the field, or speech for truce. 
 Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves 
 As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. 
 
 Nest. And in the imitation of these twain, 
 (Wliom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
 With an imperial voice,) many are infect. 
 Ajax is grown self-will'd ; and bears his head 
 In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
 As broad Achilles: keeps his tent like him ; 
 Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war. 
 Bold as an oracle : and sets Thersites 
 (A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint) 
 To match us in comparisons with dirt ; 
 To weaken and discredit our exposure. 
 How rank soever rounded in with danger. 
 
 Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice* 
 Count wisdom as no member of the war; 
 Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 
 But that of hand: the still and mental parts, — 
 That do contrive how many hands shall strike, 
 When fitness calls them on ; and know, by measure 
 Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, — 
 Why, this hath not a finger's dignity: 
 They call this — bed-work, mappery, closet-war: 
 So that the ram, that batters down the wall. 
 For the groat swing and rudeness of his poize, 
 They place before his hand that made the engine: 
 Or those, that with the fineness of their souls 
 By reason guide his execution. 
 
 Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' hcrse 
 Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trumpet sounded. 
 What trumpet ? look, Menelaus. 
 
 Agam. 
 
 Enter M^azxs. 
 
 Men. From Troy. 
 
 Agam. What would you 'lore our tent 
 
 Hue. Is thi« 
 
 Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray? 
 
 Agam. Even this. 
 
 Mne. May one that is a herald, and a prince. 
 Do a fair message to his kingly ears ? 
 
 Again. W^ith surety stronger than Achilles' arm 
 'Fore all the Grcekish heads, which with one voict 
 Call .\gatncinnon head and general. 
 
 Aine. Fair leave and large security. How mav 
 A stranger to those most imperial looks 
 Know them from eyes of other mortals/ 
 
bis 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act 1. Scene III, 
 
 How? 
 
 Agam. 
 
 Mne. Ay; 
 I ask that I might waken reverencfi. 
 And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
 Modest as morning when she coldly eyes 
 The youthful Pha3bus : 
 Which is that god in office, guiding men? 
 V/hich is the high and mighty Agamemnon'! 
 
 Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of 
 Troy 
 Are ceremonious courtiers. 
 
 Miie. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, 
 As bending angels ; that's their fame in peace : 
 But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls. 
 Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's 
 
 accord, 
 Nothing so full of heart. But peace, ^neas, 
 Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips! 
 The worthiness of praise disdains his worth. 
 If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth : 
 But what the repining enemy commends. 
 That breath fame follows ; that praise, sole pure, 
 transcends. 
 
 Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself ^Eneas? 
 
 jEne. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 
 
 Agam. What's your affair, I pray you ? 
 
 ^ne. Sir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's cars. 
 
 Agam. He hears nought privately, that comes 
 from Troy. 
 
 JEne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him : 
 I bring a trumpet to awake his ear: 
 To set his sense on the attentive bent, 
 And then to speak. 
 
 Agam. Speak frankly, as the wind ; 
 
 It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: 
 That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, 
 He tells thee so himself. 
 
 Mm. Trumpet, blow loud. 
 
 Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents ; — 
 And every Greek of mettle, let him know, 
 What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud. 
 
 [Trumpet sounds. 
 We have, gi-eat Agamemnon, here in Troy 
 A prince called Hector, (Priam is his father,) 
 Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
 Is rusty grown : he bade me take a trumpet, 
 And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords ! 
 If there be one among the fair'st of Greece, 
 That holds his honor higher than his ease; 
 That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril ; 
 That knows his valor, and knows not his fear ; 
 That loves his mistress more than in confession. 
 (With truant vows to her own lips he loves,) 
 And dare avow her beauty and her worth, 
 In other arms than hers, — to him this challenge. 
 Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
 Shall make it good, or do his best to do it, 
 He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer. 
 Than ever Greek did compass in his arms; 
 And will to-morrow with his trumpet call, 
 Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy, 
 To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : 
 If any come. Hector shall honor him ; 
 If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires. 
 The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth 
 The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 
 
 Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord ^neas ; 
 If none of them have soul in such a kind. 
 Wo left them all at home: But we are soldiers ; 
 And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, 
 
 That means not, hath not, oris not in love. 
 
 If then one is, or hath, or means to be, 
 
 That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. 
 
 Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man 
 When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now, 
 But, if there be not in our Grecian host 
 One noble man, that hath one spark of fire 
 To answer for his love, tell him from me, — 
 I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver. 
 And in my vantbrace' put this wither'd brawn; 
 And, meeting him, will tell him. That my lady 
 Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste 
 As may be in the world : His youth in flood, 
 I'll prove this truth with my three drops of bljod 
 
 JEne. Now heaven forbid such scarcity af j'outh 
 
 Ulyss. Amen. 
 
 Agam. Fair lord ^neas, let me touch your hand 
 To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
 Achilles shall have word of this intent; 
 So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent: 
 Yourself shall feast with us before you go, 
 And find the welcome of a noble foe. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Ultsses and Nestoiu 
 
 Ulyss. Nestor, 
 
 Nest. What says Ulysses 1 
 
 Ulyss. I have a young conception in my biain, 
 Be you my time to bring it to some shape. 
 
 Nest. What is 't] 
 
 Ulyss. This 'tis: 
 Blunt wedges rive hard knots : The seeded pride 
 That hath to this maturity blown up 
 In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd. 
 Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 
 To overbulk us all. 
 
 Nest. Well, and how? 
 
 Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector 
 However it is spread in general name, ["sendsi 
 Relates in purpose only to Achilles. 
 
 Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub 
 Whose grossness little characters sum up : [stance^ 
 And, in the publication, make no strain. 
 But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
 As banks of Lybia, — though, Apollo knows, 
 'Tia dry enough, — will with great speed of judg- 
 Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose [ment, 
 Poniting on him. 
 
 Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you 1 
 
 Nest. Yes, 
 
 It is most meet : Whom may you else oppose. 
 That can from Hector bring those honors 'iff, 
 If not Achilles ] Though't be a sportful combat. 
 Yet in the trial much opinion dwells; 
 For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute 
 With their fin'st palate : And trust to me, Ulyssea, 
 Our imputation shall be oddly jwis'd 
 [n this wild action : for the success. 
 Although particular, shall give a scantling" 
 Of good or bad unto the general ; 
 And in such indexes, although small pricks' 
 To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
 The baby figure of the giant mass 
 Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd. 
 He, that meets Hector, issues from our choico 
 And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, 
 Makes merit her election ; and doth boil, 
 As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd 
 Out of her virtues ; Who miscarrying. 
 What heart receives from hence a conquering partj 
 
 1 An armor for the arm. * Size, measure- 
 
 » Small points compared with the volumes. 
 
A.CT II. SC£NE I. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 61*> 
 
 lo steel a strong opinion to themselves ? 
 Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, 
 In no less working, than aro swords and bows 
 Directive by the limbs. 
 
 Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech ; — 
 Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. 
 Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, 
 And think, perchance, they'll sell ; if not, 
 The lustre of the better shall exceed, 
 By showing the worst first. Do not consent. 
 That ever Hector and Achilles meet; 
 For both our honor and our shame, in this, 
 * re dogg'd with two strange followers. [they ? 
 
 Nest. I see them not with my old eyes ; what are 
 U/i/ss. Whatglory our Achilles shares from Hector, 
 Were he not proud, we all should share with him : 
 But he already is too insolent; 
 And we were better parch in Afric's sun. 
 Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes. 
 Should he 'scape Hector fair : if he were foil'd, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 AVhy, then we did our main opinion' crusti 
 
 In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery ; 
 
 And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw 
 
 The sort^ to fight with Hector : Among ourselves, 
 
 Give him allowance for the better man. 
 
 For that will physic the great Myrmidon, 
 
 Who broils in loud applause ; and make him fail 
 
 His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. 
 
 If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off. 
 
 We'll dress him up in voices : If he fail. 
 
 Yet go we under our opinion' still 
 
 That we have better men. But, hit or miss, 
 
 Our project's life this shape of sense assumes,— 
 
 Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes. 
 
 Neat. Ulysses, 
 Now I begin to relish thy advice ; 
 And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
 To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 
 Two curs shall tame each other ; Pride alone 
 Must tarre^ the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE I. — AnotJier Part of the Grecian Camp. 
 Enter AjAX and Thersites. 
 
 Ajax. Thersites, 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon — how if he had boils ? full, all 
 over, generally ? 
 
 Ajax. Thersites, 
 
 Ther. And these boils did run ? — Say so, — did not 
 the general run then ? were not that a botchy sore ? 
 
 Ajax. Dog, 
 
 Ther. Then would come some matter from him; 
 I see none now. 
 
 Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? 
 Feel then. [Strikes him. 
 
 Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou 
 mongrel beef-witted lord ! 
 
 Ajax. Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: 
 I will beat thee into handsomeness. 
 
 Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness : 
 but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, 
 than thou learn a prayer without book. — Thou canst 
 strike, canst thou ? a red murrain o'thy jade's tricks ! 
 
 Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. 
 
 Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou 
 Btrikest me thus ? 
 
 Ajax. The proclamation, — 
 
 Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. 
 
 Ajf^-x. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. 
 
 Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and 
 I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the 
 loathsomest scab in Greece. AVhcn thou art forth 
 in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. 
 
 Ajax. I say, the proclamation, 
 
 Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on 
 Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his great- 
 ness, a.3 Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that 
 th )u barkest at him. 
 
 Ajax. Mistress Thersites! 
 
 Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. 
 
 Ajct;t, Cobloaf! 
 
 The", He would pun^ thee into shivers with his 
 fat, as ;:. sailor breaks a biscuit. 
 
 Ajax. You whoreson cur. I Beating him. 
 
 Ther. Do, do. 
 
 Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! 
 
 Ther. Ay, do, do: thou sodden-witted lord! thou 
 hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an 
 assinego^ may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant ass! 
 thou art here put to thrash Trojans; and thou art 
 bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Bar- 
 barian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin 
 Et thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou 
 thing of no bowels, thou ! 
 » Pound. * Aas, a cant term for a, foolish fellow. 
 
 You dog ! 
 
 Y'ou scurvy lord ! 
 
 You cur ! [Beating him. 
 
 Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel, 
 
 Ajax. 
 
 ther. 
 
 Ajax. 
 
 Ther. 
 do, do. 
 
 Enter AcillL,l,ES and Patroclus. 
 
 Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you 
 thus ? 
 How now, Thersites ? what's the matter, man ? 
 
 Ther. You see him there, do you? 
 
 Achil. Ay; what's the matter ? 
 
 Ther. Nay, look upon him. 
 
 Achil. So I do ; what's the matter? 
 
 Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 
 
 Achil. Well, why I do so. 
 
 Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : for 
 whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 
 
 Achil. I know that, fool. 
 
 Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 
 
 Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 
 
 Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he ut- 
 ters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed 
 his brain, more than he has beat my bones : I will 
 buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater* 
 is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. — This lord, 
 Achilles, Ajax, — who wears his wit in his belly, and 
 his guts in his head, — I'll tell you what I say of him. 
 
 Achil. What? 
 
 Ther. I say this, Ajax 
 
 Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 
 
 [Ajax offers to strike him, AcniLLES interposes. 
 
 Ther. Has not so much wit — 
 
 Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 
 
 Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, foi 
 whom he comes to fight. 
 
 Achil. Peace, fool! 
 
 Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but th* 
 fool will not : he there ; that he ; look you there. 
 
 Ajax. thou damned cur! I shall 
 
 Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's? 
 
 Ther. No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will shame it 
 
 Patr. Good words, Thersites. 
 
 Achil. What's the quarrel ? 
 
 Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go, learn me the tenor 
 of the proclamation, and ho rails upon me. 
 
 Ther. I serve thee not. 
 
 Ajax. Well, go to, go to. 
 
 Ther. I serve here voluntary. 
 
 Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not 
 voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary ; Ajax was 
 here tlie voluntary, and you as under an impress. 
 
 » Estimation of character. « I-ot. i Character. 
 
 • l>T0T0kc. • The membrane that protects the brain 
 
 I 
 
620 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 AoT n 
 
 Tlier. Even so? — a great deal of your wit too 
 lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector 
 shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of 
 your brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with 
 no kernel. 
 
 Achil, What, with me too, Thersitesl 
 
 Tlier. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor, whose 
 wit was mouldy, ere your grandsires had nails on 
 their toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make 
 you plough up the wars. 
 
 Achil. What, what? 
 
 Ther. Yes, good sooth ; to, Achilles ! to, Ajax ! 
 to! 
 
 Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 
 
 Tker. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as 
 thou, afterwards. 
 
 Patf. No more words, Thersites ; peace. 
 
 Tlier. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach' 
 bids me, shall I ? 
 
 Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. 
 
 Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere 
 I come any more to your tents; I will keep whei-e 
 there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Pair. A good riddance. 
 
 Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all 
 our host: 
 That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, 
 Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, 
 To-mon-ow morning call some knight to arms, 
 That hath a stomach ; and such a one, that dare 
 Maintain — I know not what ; 'tis trash : Farewell. 
 
 Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? 
 
 Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise. 
 He knew his man. 
 
 Ajax. O, meaning you : — I'll go learn more of it. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE n.— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
 
 Enter Pkiam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, a7id 
 Helenus. 
 
 Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent, 
 Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks : 
 Deliver Helen, and all damage eke — 
 As honor, loss of time, travel, expense, 
 Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con- 
 sumed 
 In hot digestion of this cormorant war — 
 Shall be struck off: — Hector, what say you to'tT 
 
 Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks 
 than I, 
 As far as toucheth my particular, yet, 
 Dread Priam, 
 
 There is no lady of more softer bowels. 
 More spungy to suck in the sense of fear. 
 More ready to cry out — Who knows wlwt follows? 
 Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety. 
 Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd 
 The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
 To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : 
 Since the first sword was drawn about this question. 
 Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,' 
 Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean of ours: 
 If we have lost so many tenths of ours, 
 To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us, 
 Had it our name, the value of one ten ; 
 What merit's in that reason, which denies 
 The yielding of her up 1 
 
 Trn. Fye, fye, my brother! 
 
 • Bitch, hound. « Tenths. 
 
 Weigh you the worth and honor of a king. 
 
 So great as our dread father, in a scale 
 
 Of common ounces ] vill 3'ou with counters sum 
 
 The past-proportion ofnis infinite? 
 
 And buckle-in a waist most fathomless. 
 
 With spans and inches so diminutive 
 
 As fears and reasons'? fye, for godly shame. 
 
 Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at 
 reasons. 
 You are so empty of them. Should not our father 
 Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, 
 Because your speech hath none, that tells him so 1 
 
 Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brothel 
 priest, 
 You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your 
 
 reasons : 
 You know, an enemy intends you harm ; 
 You know, a sword employ'd is perilous. 
 And reason flies the object of all harm : 
 Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds 
 A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
 The very wings of reason to his heels; 
 And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, 
 Or like a star disorb'd? — Nay, if we talk of reason, 
 Let's shut our gates and sleep : Manhood and honor 
 Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their 
 
 thoughts 
 With this cramm'd reason : reason and respect' 
 Make livers pale, and lustihood deject. 
 
 Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost 
 The holding. 
 
 Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued? 
 
 Hect. But value dwells not in particular will; 
 It holds his estimate and dignity 
 As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
 As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry, 
 To make the service greater than the god. 
 And the will dotes, that is attributive 
 To what infectiously itself aflecfcs. 
 Without some image of the affected merit. 
 
 Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
 Is led on in the conduct of my will : 
 My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, 
 Tv.'o traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
 Of will and judgment: How may I avoid. 
 Although my will distaste Avhat it elected. 
 The wife I chose? there can be no evasion 
 To blench' from this, and to stand firm by honor ; 
 We turn not back the silks upon the merchant. 
 When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands 
 We do not throw in unrespective sieve. 
 Because we now are full. It was thought meet, 
 Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks: 
 Your breath with full consent bellied his sails ; 
 The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce, 
 And did him service: he touch'd the ports desir'd, 
 And, foran old aunt,' whom the Greeks held captive 
 He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth anrf 
 
 freshness 
 Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning. 
 Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt 
 Is she worth keeping ? why, she is a pearl. 
 Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
 And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
 If you'll avouch, 'tvi^as wisdom Paris went, 
 (As you must needs, for you all cry'd — Go, go,") 
 If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize, 
 (As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your haudj 
 
 3 Caution. 3 Shrink, or fly off. 
 
 ♦ Priam's sister, Uesione. 
 
Scene II 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 621 
 
 And cry'd — Incstmiahlef) why do you now 
 The issue of your proper wisdoms rate; 
 And do a deed that fortune never did, 
 Beggar the estimation which you priz'd 
 Richer than sea or land? O theft most base; 
 That we have stolen what we do fear to keep ! 
 But, thieves unworthy of a thing so stolen. 
 That in their country did them that disgrace, 
 We fear to warrant in our native place ! 
 
 Cas. IWiihin.'] Cry, Trojans, cry! 
 
 Fri. What noise ] what shriek is this ? 
 
 Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice. 
 
 Cas. [WUhin.'] Cry, Trojans! 
 
 Hcd. h is Cassandra. 
 
 Enter Cassandra, raving, 
 
 Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes, 
 And I will fill them with prophetic tears. 
 
 Hed. Peace, sister, peace. 
 
 Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age, and wrinkled 
 elders. 
 Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry. 
 Add to my clamors ! let us pay betimes 
 A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears! 
 Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand; 
 Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a woe: 
 Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [^Exif. 
 
 Hcd. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high 
 strains 
 Of divination in our sister work 
 Some touches of remorse 1 or is your blood 
 So madly hot, that no discourse of reason, 
 Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause. 
 Can qualify the same 1 
 
 Tro. Why, brother Hector, 
 
 We may not think the justness of each act 
 Such and no other than event doth form it ; 
 Nor once deject the courage of our minds 
 Because Cassandra's mad ; her brain-sick raptures 
 Cannot distaste' the goodness of a quarrel, 
 Which hath our several honors all engaged 
 To make it gracious. For my private part, 
 I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons: 
 And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us 
 Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
 To fight for and maintain ! 
 
 Par. Else might the world convince^ of levity 
 As well my undertakings as your counsels ; 
 But I attest the gods, your full consent 
 Gave wings to my propension, arid cut off 
 All fears attending on so dire a project. 
 For what, alas, can these my single arms 1 
 Vl'hat propugnation'' is in one man's valor 
 To stand the push and enmity of those 
 This quarrel would excite ] Yet, I protest, 
 Were I alone to pass the difficulties, 
 And had as ample power as I have will, 
 Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done. 
 Nor faint in the pursuit. 
 
 I'ri. Paris, you speak 
 
 liike one besotted on your sweet delights : 
 Vou have the honey still, but these the gall ; 
 Bo to be valiant, is no praise at all. 
 
 Par. Sir, 1 propose not merely to myself 
 The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; 
 
 « Corrupt, change tr a worse state. 
 ' Dcfeuce. 
 
 " ConTict. 
 
 But I would have the soil of her fair )ipc 
 
 Wiped off, in honorable keeping her. 
 
 What treason were it to the ransack'd quc«n, 
 
 Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, 
 
 Now to deliver her possession up. 
 
 On terms of base compulsion 1 Can it be, 
 
 That so degenerate a strain as this. 
 
 Should once set footing in your generous bosoms' 
 
 There's not the meanest spirit on our party, 
 
 Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw. 
 
 When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble, 
 
 Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfamed, 
 
 Where Helen is the subject: then, I say. 
 
 Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well 
 
 The world's large spaces cannot parallel. 
 
 Hed. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well 
 And on the cause and question now in hand 
 Have gloz'd," — but superficially ; not much 
 Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
 Unfit to hear moral philosophy: 
 The reasons, you allege, do more conduce 
 To the hot passion of distemper'd blood. 
 Than to make up a free determination 
 'Twixt right and wrong ; For pleasure, and revenge 
 Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
 Of any true decision. Nature craves. 
 All dues be render'd to their owners ; Now 
 What nearer debt in all humanity. 
 Than wife is to the husband? if this law 
 Of nature be corrupted through affection; 
 And that great minds, of' partial indulgence 
 To their benumbed wills, resist the same; 
 There is a law in each well-order'd nation. 
 To curb those raging appetites that are 
 Most disobedient and refractory. 
 If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, — 
 As it is known she is, — these moral laws 
 Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud 
 To have her back return'd: Thus to persist 
 In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong. 
 But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinius 
 Is this, in way of truth : yet ne'ertheless, 
 My spritely brethren, I propend' to you 
 In resolution to keep Helen still ; 
 For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence 
 Upon our joint and several dignities. 
 
 Tro. Why, there you touch'd thelifeofourdesigu 
 Were it not glory that we more affected, 
 Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 
 I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
 Spent more in ber defence. But, worthy Hector, 
 She is a theme of honor and renown ; 
 A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds, 
 Whose present courage may beat down our foes. 
 And fame, in time to come, canonize us: 
 For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
 So rich advantage of a promis'd glory. 
 As smiles upon the forehead of this action. 
 For the wide v/orld's revenue. 
 
 Hect. I am yours, 
 
 You valiant offspring of great Priamus. — 
 I have a roisting' challenge sent amongst 
 The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, 
 Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits: 
 I was advertis'd, their great general slept. 
 Whilst emulation' in the army crept; 
 This, I presume, will wake liim. [Exeuitt 
 
 » Commented 
 • Incline 
 ' Envv. 
 
 » Through. 
 " Blustering. 
 
022 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act II 
 
 S(/EN?] III.— The (xreiian Camp. Before 
 Achilles' Tent. 
 Enter Tiiersites. 
 Ther. How, now, Thersites 1 what, lost in the 
 abyrinth of thy fury 1 Shall the elephant Ajax 
 carry it thus ] he beats me, and I rail at him ; O 
 worthy satisfaction ! 'would, it were otherwise; that 
 I could beat him, whilst he railed at me : 'Sfoot, I'll 
 learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some is- 
 sue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achil- 
 les, — a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken, till these 
 two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall 
 of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of 
 Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of 
 gods ; and, Mercuiy, lose all the serpentine craft 
 of thy Caduceiis ;* if ye take not that little little 
 less-than-little wit from them that they have ! which 
 short-armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant 
 scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly 
 from a spider, without drawing their massy irons, 
 and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on 
 the whole camp ! or, rather, the bone-ache ! for that, 
 methinks, is the curse depeodent on those that war 
 for a placket. I have said my prayers ; and devil, 
 envy, say Amen. — What, ho ! my lord Achilles ! 
 Enter Patroclus. 
 
 Pair. Who's there 1 Thersites] Good Thersites, 
 come in and rail. 
 
 Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt coun- 
 terfeit, thou wouldst not have slipped out of my con- 
 templation: but it is no matter; Thyself upon thy- 
 self ! The common curse of mankind, folly and igno- 
 rance, be thine in great revenue ! heaven bless thee 
 from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee ! 
 Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death ! then 
 if she, that lays thee out, says — thou art a fair corse, 
 I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she never shrouded 
 any but lazars.' Amen. — Where's Achilles 1 
 
 Pa/r. What, art thou devoutl wast thou in prayer? 
 
 Ther. Ay ; The heavens hear me ! 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil. Who's there 1 
 
 Patr. Thersites, my lord. 
 
 Achil. Where, where? — Art thou come? Why, 
 my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served 
 thyself in to my table so many meals ? Come ; 
 what's Agamemnon? 
 
 Ther. Thy commander, Achilles; — Then tell 
 me, Patroclus, what's Achilles ? 
 
 Patr. Thy lord, Thersites ; Then tell me, I pray 
 thee, what's thyself? 
 
 Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus ; Then tell me, 
 Patroclus, what art thou ? 
 
 Pair. Thou mayst tell, that knov/est. 
 
 Achil O, tell, tell. 
 
 Ther. I'll decline the whole question. Agamem- 
 non commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord ; I am 
 Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus is a fool. 
 
 Patr. You rascal ! 
 
 Ther. Peace, fool ; I have not done. 
 
 Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Ther- 
 sites. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ; 
 Thersites is a fool; and,as aforesaid,Patroclus is a fool. 
 
 Achil. Derive this ; come. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command 
 A.chilles ; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of 
 
 * The wand of Jlercury, which is wreathed with serpents. 
 
 • Leprous persons. 
 
 Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to serve «uch a 
 fonl ; and Patroclus is a fool positive. 
 
 Patr. Why am I a fool ? 
 
 Ther. Make that demand of the prover. — It suf- 
 fices me, thou art. Look you, who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, 
 and Ajax. 
 
 Achil. Patroclus, I'll gpcak with nobody : — 
 Come in with me, Thersites. [Exit. 
 
 Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and 
 such knavery ! all the argument is, a cuckold, and 
 a whore ; A good quarrel, to draw emulous* fac- 
 tions, and bleed to death upon. Now the dry ser- 
 pigo' on the subject ! and war, and lechery, con- 
 found all ! [^Exit. 
 
 Agam. Where is Achilles ? 
 
 Patr. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord 
 
 Agam. Let it be known to him that we are here 
 He shent" our messengers ; and we lay by 
 Our appcrtainments' visiting of him : 
 Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think 
 We dare not move the question of our place, 
 Or know not what we are. 
 
 Patr. I shall say so to him. [Exit. 
 
 Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent ; 
 He is not sick. 
 
 Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : you 
 may call it melancholy, if you will favor the man; 
 but, by my head, 'tis pride : But why, why ? let 
 him show us a cause. — A word, my lord. 
 
 [Takes Agamemnon aside. 
 
 Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. 
 
 Nest. Who? Thersites? 
 
 Ulyss. He. 
 
 Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost 
 his argument.* 
 
 Ulyss. No ; you see, he is his argument, that has 
 his argument ; Achilles. 
 
 Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more our 
 wish, than their faction : Eut it was a strong com- 
 posure, a fool could disunite. 
 
 Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly 
 may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. 
 
 Re-enter Patroclus. 
 
 Nest. No Achilles with him. 
 
 Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for cour- 
 tesy: his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure 
 
 Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sorry 
 If any thing more than your sport and pleasure 
 Did move your greatness, and this noble state. 
 To call upon him ; he hopes, it is no other. 
 But, for your health and youi digestion's sake, 
 An after-dinner's breath.'' 
 
 Agam. Hear you, Patroclus; — 
 
 We are too well acquainted with these answers: 
 But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn. 
 Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
 Much attribute he hath ; and much the reason 
 Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues, — 
 Not virtuously on his own part beheld, — 
 Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss ; 
 Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, 
 Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him. 
 We come to speak with him : And you shall not sli\ 
 If you do say — we think him over-proud. 
 And under-honest; in self-assumption greater, 
 
 • Envious. 1 Tetter, scab. 
 
 « Rebuked, rated. » Appendage of rank or dignit; 
 
 « Subject. s Exercise. 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 fi23 
 
 Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier than 
 
 himself 
 Here tend' the savage strangeness he puts on ; 
 Disguise the holy strength of their command, 
 And underwrite^ in an observing kind 
 His humorous predominance ; yea, watch 
 His pettish luncs,' his ebbs, his flows, as if 
 The passage and whole carriage of this action 
 Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this; and add. 
 That, if he overhold his price so much, 
 We'll none of him ; but let him like an engine 
 Not portable, lie under this report — 
 Bring action hither, this cannot go to war : 
 A stirring dwarf we do allowance' give 
 Before a sleeping giant: — Tell him so. 
 
 Pair. I shall; and bring his answer presently. 
 
 [^Exit. 
 
 Agam, In second voice we'll not be satisfied, 
 We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter. 
 
 [Exit Ulysses. 
 
 Ajax. What is he more than another? 
 
 Agam, No more than what he thinks he is. 
 
 Ajax. Is he so much ] Do you not think, he 
 thinks himself a better man than I am ] 
 
 Agam. No question. 
 
 Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say — 
 he is 1 
 
 Agam. No, noble Ajax : you are as strong, as 
 valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, 
 and altogether more tractable. 
 
 Ajax. Why should a man be proud 1 How doth 
 pride grow T I know not what pride is. 
 
 Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your 
 virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up him- 
 self: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his 
 own chronicle ; and whatever praises itself but in 
 the deed, devours the deed in the praise. 
 
 Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the en- 
 gendering of toads. 
 
 Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not 
 Btrangel [Aside. 
 
 Rz-enter Ultsses. 
 
 illyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. 
 
 Agam. V/hat's his excuse 1 
 
 Uiyss. He doth rely on none; 
 
 But carries on the stream of his dispose. 
 Without observance or respect of any. 
 In will peculiar and in self-admission. 
 
 Agam. Why will he not, upon our fair request, 
 T'ntent his person, and share the air with usl 
 
 U/yss. Things small as nothing, for request's 
 sake only. 
 He makes important: Possess'd he is with greatness; 
 And speaks not to himself, but with a pride 
 That quarrels at self-breath: imagin'd worth 
 Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse, 
 That, 'tvvixt his mental and his active parts, 
 Kins^dom'd Achilles in commotion rages. 
 And batters down iiimself: What should I say? 
 He is so p i^uy prouii, that the death-tokens of it 
 Cry — No t scorer i/. 
 
 Agam. Let Ajax go to him.-- 
 
 Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent: 
 'Tis said, he holds you well; and will be led. 
 At your request, a little from hinrself. 
 
 t'/i/ss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so ! 
 We'll consecrati: the steps that Ajax makes 
 
 When they go from Achilles : Shall the proud lord 
 That bastes his arrogance with his own scam ;• 
 And never suffers matter of the world 
 Enter his thoughts, — save such as do revolve 
 And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd 
 Of that we hold an idol more than he? 
 No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord 
 Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd; 
 Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, 
 As amply titled as Achilles is. 
 By going to Achilles: 
 That were to enlard his fat-already pride; 
 And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns 
 With entertaining great Hyperion. 
 1'his lord go to him ! Jupiter, forbid ; 
 And say in thunder — Achilles, go to him. 
 
 Nest. O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him. 
 
 [Aside, 
 
 Die. And how his silence drinks up this ap- 
 plause! [Aside, 
 
 Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash' 
 him 
 Over the face. 
 
 Agam. 0, no, you shall not go. 
 
 Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze' his 
 pride : 
 Let me go to him. 
 
 Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our 
 quarrel. 
 
 Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow, 
 
 Nest. How he describes 
 
 Himself! [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. Can he not be sociable? 
 
 Uhjss. The raven 
 
 Chides blackness. [Aside, 
 
 Ajax. I will let his humors blood. 
 
 Agam. He'll be physician, that should be the 
 patient. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. An all men 
 Were o' my mind, 
 
 Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion 
 
 [Aside 
 
 Ajax. He should not bear it so, 
 He should eat swords first: Shall pride carry it? 
 
 Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside. 
 
 Ulyss. He'd have ten shares. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple ; — 
 
 Nest. He's not yet thorough warm : force" him 
 with jiraiscs: 
 Pour in, jiour in ; his ambition is dry. [Aside. 
 
 Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dis- 
 like. [To AoAMEMirON. 
 
 Nest. O noble general, do not do so. 
 
 Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 
 
 C/7?/.ss.Why,'tis this naming ofhim does him harm 
 Here is a man — But 'tis before his face; 
 I will be silent. 
 
 Nest. Wherefore should you so? 
 
 He is not emulous,' as Achilles is. 
 
 Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. 
 
 Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter' thus 
 I would, he were a Trojan ! fwith us I 
 
 Nest. What a vice 
 
 Were it in Ajax now 
 
 Ulyss. If he were proud ? 
 
 » Attend. 
 
 » Fits of lunacy. 
 
 " Subscribe, obey. 
 * Approbation. 
 
 Dio. Or covetous of praise ? 
 Ulyss. 
 
 » Fat. 
 • Stuff. 
 
 • Strike. 
 
 • Envious. 
 
 Ay, or surly borne? 
 
 ' Comb or curiy 
 I Trifle. 
 
624 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act in 
 
 Dio. Or strange, or self-affected? 
 
 Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet 
 composure ; 
 Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck : 
 Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
 Thrice-famed, beyond all erudition: 
 But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight, 
 Let Mars divide eternity in twain. 
 And give him half: and, for thy vigor, 
 Bull-bearing Milo his addition^ yield 
 To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, 
 Which, like a bourn," a pale, a shore, confines 
 Thy spacious and dilated parts : Here's Nestor, — 
 Instructed by the antiquary times. 
 He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; — 
 But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
 
 As green as Ajax, and your brain so tempered, 
 You should not have the eminence of him. 
 But be as Ajax. 
 
 Ajax. Shall I call you father ? 
 
 Nest. Ay, my good son. 
 
 Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax 
 
 Uli/ss. There is no tarrying here; the hart Ai chilleJ 
 Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 
 To call together all his state of war; 
 Fresh kings are come to Troy : To-morrow, 
 We must with all our main of power stand fast: 
 And here's a lord, — come knights from east to wes^ 
 And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. 
 
 Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep: 
 
 Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw 
 
 deep. l_Exeuni, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE L— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
 Enter Pandarus aiid a Servant. 
 
 Pan. Friend ! you ! pray you, a word : Do not 
 you follov>' the young lord Paris ? 
 
 Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 
 
 Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean ? 
 
 Serv. Sir, I do depend upon that lord. 
 
 Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman ; 
 I must needs praise him. 
 
 Serv. The lord be prais'd ! 
 
 Pan. You know me, do you not 1 
 
 Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially. 
 
 Pa7i. Friend, know me better ; I am the lord 
 Pandarus. 
 
 Serv. I hope I shall know your honor better 
 
 Pan. I do desire it. 
 
 Serv. You are in the state of grace. [Music within. 
 
 Pan. Grace ! not so, friend ; honor and lordship 
 are my titles; — What music is this! 
 
 Serv. I do but partly know, sir ; it is music in parts. 
 
 Pan. Know you the musicians] 
 
 Serv. Wholly, sir. 
 
 Pan. Who play they to 1 
 
 Serv. To the hearers, sir. 
 
 Pan. At whose pleasure, friend 1 
 
 Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 
 
 Pan. Command, I mean, friend 1 
 
 Serv. Who shall I command, sir ? 
 
 Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I 
 am too courtly, and thou art too cunning : At 
 whose request do these men play ] 
 
 Serv. That's to't indeed, sir : ?i/Iarry, sir, at the 
 request of Paris my lord, who is there in person ; 
 with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of 
 beauty, love's invisible soul, 
 
 Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ? 
 
 Serv. No, sir, Helen ; Could you not find out 
 that by her attributes 1 
 
 Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not 
 Been the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris 
 from the prince Troilus : I will make a compli- 
 mental assault upon him, for my business seeths.* 
 
 Serv. Sodden business ! there's a stewed phrase, 
 Indeed ! 
 
 Enter Paris and Helen, attended. 
 
 Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair 
 company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairlj- 
 •Titles. 'Boundary. ■> Boils. 
 
 guide them; especially to you, fair queen! fan 
 thoughts be your fair pillow ! 
 
 Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 
 
 Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. 
 — Fair prince, here is good broken music. 
 
 Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by my 
 life, you shall make it whole again ; you shall piece 
 it out with a piece of your performance: — Nell, 
 he is full of harmony. 
 
 Pan. Truly, lady, no. 
 
 Helen. O sir, 
 
 Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. 
 
 Par. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so in 
 fits.' 
 
 Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen : — 
 My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word 1 
 
 Helen, Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll 
 hear you sing certainly. 
 
 Pan. Well, sweet queen, you ere pleasant with 
 me. — But (marry) thus, my lord, — My dear lord, 
 and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus, — 
 
 Helen. My lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet lord, — 
 
 Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to: — commends 
 himself most affectionately to you. 
 
 Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody ; 
 if you do, our melancholy upon your head! 
 
 Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ; that's a sweet 
 queen, i' faith. 
 
 Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour 
 offence. 
 
 Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; that 
 shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such 
 words ; no, no. — And, my lord, he desires you, 
 that, if the king call for him at supper, you will 
 make his excuse. 
 
 Helen. My lord Pandarus,* 
 
 Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very 
 very sweet queen'- 
 
 Par. What exploit's in hand 1 where sups he 
 to-night ] 
 
 Helen. Nay, but my lord, 
 
 Pan. What says my sweet queen 1 — My cousiu 
 will fall out with you. You must not know where 
 he sups. 
 
 Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida 
 
 Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; 
 come, your disposer is sick. 
 
 5 Parts of a song. « Wide ot your mark. 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 62 n 
 
 Par. Well, I'll make excuse. 
 
 Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say 
 -Cressida ! no, your poor disposer's sick. 
 
 Par. I spy. 
 
 Pan. Yovi spy ! what do you spy I^Come, give 
 me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. Why, this is kindly done. 
 
 Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing 
 yju have, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. She shall have it, my lord; if it be not 
 my lord Paris. * 
 
 Pan. He ! no, she'll none of him ; they two are 
 twain. 
 
 Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make 
 them three. 
 
 Pan. Come, come, I'll hearno more of this; I'll 
 sing you a song now. 
 
 Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythce now. By my troth, 
 sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 
 
 Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 
 
 Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo 
 us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! 
 
 Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i'faith. 
 
 Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but 
 I :)ve. 
 
 Pan. In good troth, it begins so : 
 
 Tjove, love, nothing but love, still more. 
 
 For, oh, love's bow 
 
 Shoots buck and doe: 
 
 The shaft confounds, 
 
 Not that it wounds, 
 But tickles still the sore. 
 
 Tliese lovers cry — Oh.' oh! they die.' 
 Yet that which seems the tvomid to kill. 
 
 Doth turn oh.' oh.' to ha.' ha.' he.' 
 So dying love lives still: 
 
 Oh.' oh.' a while, but ha.' ha.' ha.' 
 
 Oh.' oh.' groans out for ha.' ha.' ha.' 
 
 Hoy ho ! 
 
 Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the 
 nose. 
 
 Par. He eats nothing but doves, love ; and that 
 breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, 
 and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds 
 is love. 
 
 Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, 
 hot thoughts, and hot deeds 1 — Why, they are vi- 
 >3crs : Is love a generation of vipers 1 Sweet lord, 
 who's a-field to-day 1 
 
 Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and 
 all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed 
 to-night, but my Nell would not have it so. How 
 chance my brother Troilus went not ] 
 
 Helen. He hangs the lip at something; — you 
 know all, lord Pandarus. 
 
 I'an. Not I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to hear 
 how they sped to-day. — You'll remember your 
 Vrothrr's excuse ! 
 
 Par. To a hair. 
 
 Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. Commend me to your niece. 
 
 Pan. I will, sweet queen. [Exit. 
 
 [A Retreat sounded. 
 
 Par. They are come from field : let us to Priam's 
 hall, 
 To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo 
 vou 
 
 To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckle* 
 With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, 
 Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel, 
 Or force of Greekish sinews : you shall do more 
 Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector. 
 
 Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, 
 Paris : 
 Yea, what he shall receive of us in dut) , 
 Gives us more palm in beauty than we have ; 
 Yea, overshines ourself. 
 
 Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. 
 
 SCENE II.— Pandarus' Orchard. 
 Enter Pandarus ayid a Servant, meeiing. 
 
 Pan. How now 1 where's thy master 1 at my 
 cousin Cressida'sl 
 
 Serv. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct him 
 thither. 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 Pan. O, here he comes. — How now, how now? 
 
 Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant, 
 
 Pan. Have you seen my cousin 1 
 
 T?-o. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her dooi-, 
 Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks 
 Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, 
 And give me swift transportn.nce to those fields, 
 Where I may wallow in the lily beds 
 Propos'd for the dcserver ! gentle Pandarus, 
 From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, 
 And fly with me to Cressid ! 
 
 Pan. Walk here i' the orchard, I'll bring her 
 straight. [Exit Pandarus. 
 
 Tro. I am giddy ; expectation whirls me round, 
 The imaginary relish is so sv/eet 
 That it enchants my sense ; What will it be, 
 When that the watery palate tastes indeed 
 liOve's thrice-reputed nectar 1 death, I fear me ; 
 Swooning destruction : or some joy too fine. 
 Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharp in sweetness. 
 For the capacity of my ruder powers : 
 I fear it much ; and I do fear besides, 
 That I shall loss distinction in my joys ; 
 As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
 The enemy flying. 
 
 Re-enter Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. She's making her ready, she'll como 
 straight : you must be witty now. She does so 
 blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were 
 frayed with a sprite : I'll fetch her. It is the 
 prettiest villain : — she fetches her breath as short 
 as a new-ta'en sparrow. [Exit Pandarus. 
 
 Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my 
 bosom : 
 My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse , 
 And all my powers do their bestowing lose, 
 Like vassalage at unawares cncount'ring 
 The eye of majesty 
 
 Enter Pandahus a?id Cressida. 
 
 Pa7i. Come, come, what need you blush? 
 shame's a baby. — Here she is now : swear the oaths 
 now to her, that you have sworn to me. — -What, 
 are you gone again ? you must be watched era 
 you be made tame, must you t ('cme your waysj 
 
626 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act in 
 
 rome your ways ui you draw backward, we'll 
 put you i' the fills.'' — Why do you not speak to 
 her 1 — Come, draw this curtain, and let's see your 
 picture. Alas, the day, how loath you are to 
 offend day-light ! an 'twere dark, you'd close 
 sooner. So, so ; rub on, and kiss the mistress.' How 
 now 1 a kiss in fee-farm ? build there, carpenter ; 
 he air is sweet. — Nay, you shall fight your hearts 
 out, ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel,* for 
 all the ducks i' the river : go to, go to. 
 
 Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 
 
 Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deec's : but 
 she'll bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your 
 activity in question. What billing again 1 Here's 
 — In uutness whereof the parties interchangeably 
 — Come in, come in ; I'll go get a fire. 
 
 [^Exit Pandarus. 
 
 Crcs. Will you walk in, my lord 1 
 
 Tro O Cressida, how often have I wished me 
 thus! 
 
 Crcs. Wished, my lord 1 — The gods grant ! — O 
 my lord ! 
 
 Tro. What should they grant 1 what makes this 
 pretty abruption 1 What too curious dreg espies 
 my sweet lady in the fountain of our love 1 
 
 Cres. More dregs than water, if ray fears have 
 eyes. 
 
 Tro. Fears make devils cherubims ; they never 
 see truly. 
 
 Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds 
 safer footing than blind reason stumbling without 
 fear : To fear the worst, oft cures the worst. 
 
 7>o. O, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all 
 Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. 
 
 Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither 1 
 
 Tro. Nothing but our undertakings : when we 
 vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame 
 tigers : thinking it harder for our mistress to de- 
 vise imposition enough, than for us to undergo 
 any difficulty imposed. This is the monstruosity 
 in love, lady, — that the will is infinite, and the ex- 
 ecution confined ; that the desire is boundless, and 
 the act a slave to limit. 
 
 Cres. They say, all lovers swear more per- 
 formance than they are able, and yet reserve an 
 ability that they never perform ; vowing more 
 than the perfection of ten, and discharging less 
 than the tenth part of one. They that have the 
 voice of lions, and thti act of hares, are they not 
 monsters 1 
 
 Tro. Are there such ? such are not we : Praise 
 us as wc are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our 
 head shall go bare, till merit crown it: no per- 
 fection in reversion shall have a praise in present : 
 we will not name desert before his birth ; and, 
 being born, his addition' shall be humble. Few 
 words to fair faith : Troilus shall be such to Cres- 
 iid, as what envy can say worst, shall be a mock 
 for his truth ; and what truth can speak truest, not 
 truer than Troilus 1 
 
 Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 
 
 Re-enter Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. What, blushing still 1 have you not done 
 talking yet 1 
 
 ' Shafts of a carriage. 
 
 ' The allusion is to bowling ; what is now called the jack 
 fras formerly termed the mistress. 
 » The tercel is the male and the falcon the female hawk. 
 > Xitles. 
 
 Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedi 
 cate to vou. 
 
 Pan. I thank you for that ; if my lord get a boj 
 of you, you'll give him me : Be true to my lord 
 if he flinch, chide me for it. 
 
 Tro. You know now your hostages ; your un« 
 cle's word, and my firm faith. 
 
 Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too ; 
 our kindred, though they be long ere they are 
 wooed, they are constant, being won: they are 
 burs, I can tell you ; they'll stick where they are 
 thrown. 
 
 Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings 
 me heart : — 
 Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day 
 For many weary months. 
 
 T7-0. Why was my Cressid then so hard to 
 winl 
 
 Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my 
 lord, 
 With the first glance that ever — pardon me ; — 
 If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
 I love you now ; but not, till now, so much 
 But I might master it : — in faith, I lie ; 
 My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown 
 Too headstrong for their mother : See, we fools ! 
 Why have I blabb'd 1 who shall be true to us 
 When we are so unsecret to ourselves ? 
 But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ; 
 And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man ; 
 Or that we women had men's privilege 
 Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my 
 
 tongue ; 
 For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak 
 The thing I shall repent. See, see your silence. 
 Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
 My very soul of counsel : Stop my mouth. 
 
 Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issuea 
 thence. 
 
 Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 
 
 Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon 
 me; 
 'Twas not my puipose thus to beg a kiss : 
 I am ashamed ; — O heavens ! what have I done '— 
 For this time will I take my leave, my lord. 
 
 Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid 1 
 
 Pan. Leave ! an you take leave till to-morrow 
 morning, 
 
 Cres. Pray you, content you. 
 
 Tro. What offends you, lady '. 
 
 Cres. Sir, mine own company. 
 
 Tro. You cannot shun 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Cres. Let me go and try : 
 I have a kind of self resides with you ; 
 But an unkind self, that itself will leave. 
 To be another's fool. I would be gone : 
 Where is my wit 1 I know not what I speak. 
 
 Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speaa 
 so wisely. 
 
 Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft 
 than love ; 
 And fell so roundly to a large confession. 
 To angle for your thoughts : But you are wise , 
 Or else you love not ; for to be wise and love- 
 Exceeds man's might: that dwells with gotUi 
 above. 
 
 Tro. O, that I thought it could be in a wo 
 man, 
 (As, if it can, I will presume in you,) 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TllOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 627 
 
 To feed for aye' her lamp and flames of love ; 
 
 To keep her constancy in plight and youth, 
 
 Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
 
 'rii.it doth renew swifter than blood decays; 
 
 Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me,- — 
 
 That my integrity and truth to you 
 
 Might be affronted' with the match and weight 
 
 Of such a winnow'd purity in love ; 
 
 How were I then uplifted ! but alas, 
 
 I am as true as truth's simplicity. 
 
 And simpler than the infancy of truth. 
 
 Cres. In that I'll war with you. 
 
 Tro. O virtuous fight. 
 
 When right with right wars, who shall be most 
 
 righ'; ! 
 True swains in love, shall, in the world to come. 
 Approve their truths by Troilus : when their 
 
 rhymes, 
 Full of protest, of oath, and big conircr-e,* 
 Want similes, truth tired with iteration, — ■ 
 As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, 
 As sun to day, as turtle to her mate. 
 As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, — 
 Yet, after all comparisons of truth. 
 As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
 As true as Troilus shall crown up* the verse, 
 And sanctify the numbers. 
 
 Cres. Prophet may you be ! 
 
 If I be false, or swei-ve a hair from truth, 
 W^hcn time is old and hath forgot itself, 
 When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
 And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up. 
 And mighty states characterless are grated 
 To dusty nothing ; yet let memory. 
 From false to false, among false maids in love. 
 Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said — as 
 
 false 
 As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth. 
 As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
 Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son ; 
 Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, 
 As false as Cressid. 
 
 Pan. Go to, a bargain made : seal it, seal it ; 
 I'll be the witness. — Here, I hold your hand ; 
 here, my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to 
 another, since I have taken such pains to bring 
 you together, let all pitiful goers-between be called 
 to the world's end after my name, call them all — 
 Pandars ; let all inconstant men be Troiluses, all 
 false women Cressids, and all brokers-between 
 r jtndars ! say, amen. 
 
 Tyc Amen. 
 
 Crei- Amen. 
 
 Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a 
 :ha:nber and a bed, which bed, because it shall 
 not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to 
 death : away. 
 
 And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here. 
 
 Bed, chamber, Pandar, to provide this gear ! 
 
 ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE llL—TJie Grecian Camp. 
 
 [inter Aoamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, 
 Ajax, Menelacs, and Calchas. 
 
 Cal. Now, princes, for the ser^'ice I have done 
 you. 
 The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
 
 »Ever. 
 
 • Comparison 
 
 » Met with and equalled. 
 • Conclude. 
 
 To call for recompense. Appe&r it to your mind, 
 
 That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jove 
 
 I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
 
 Incurr'd a traitor's name; exposed myself, 
 
 From certain and posscss'd conveniences. 
 
 To doubtful fortunes, sequest'ring from me all 
 
 That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, 
 
 Made tame and most familiar to my nature; 
 
 And here, to do you service, am become 
 
 As new into the world, strange, unacquainted: 
 
 I do beseech you, as in way of taste. 
 
 To give me now a little benefit. 
 
 Out of those many registcr'd in promise. 
 
 Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. 
 
 Agam. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan 1 mail 
 demand. 
 
 Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner call'd Antenci 
 Yesterday took ; Troy holds him very dear. 
 Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore) 
 Desired my Cressid in right great exchange, 
 Whom Troy hath still denied : But this Antenor, 
 I know, is such a wrest in their affairs. 
 That their negotiations all must slack. 
 Wanting his manage ; and they will almost. 
 Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
 In change of him : let him be sent, great princes, 
 And he shall buy my daughter: and her presence 
 Shall quite strike oil" all service I have done, 
 In most accepted pain. 
 
 Agam. Let Diomedes bear him 
 
 And bring us Cressid hither; Calchas shall have 
 What he requests of us. — Good Diomed, 
 Furnish you fairly for this interchange; 
 Withal, bring word — if Hector will to-morrow 
 Be answer'd in his challenge: Ajax is ready. 
 
 Dio. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden 
 Which I am proud to bear. 
 
 \_Exeuni Diomedes and Calchas, 
 
 £«;er Achilles anc/ Pathoclus, before their Tent 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent. — 
 Please it our general to pass strangely' by him 
 As if he were forgot; and princes all. 
 Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : 
 [ will come last: 'Tis like, he'll question me, 
 Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn « 
 
 on him : 
 If so, I have derision med'cinable. 
 To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
 Which his own will shall have desire to drink,* 
 It may do good : pride hath no other glass 
 To show itself, but pride; for supple knees 
 Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. 
 
 Agam. We'll execute your purpose, and put on 
 A form of strangeness as we pass along; — 
 So do each lord; and cither greet him not, 
 Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him moji 
 Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way 
 
 Acldl. What, comes the general to speak with mef 
 You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy 
 
 Agam. What says Achilles'! would he aught 
 with usi 
 
 Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general' 
 
 Achil. No. 
 
 Nest. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Agam. The better. 
 
 [^Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor 
 
 Achil. Good dny, good day 
 
 Men. How do you ■? how do you" [Brj^ Mkm 
 * Like a etranger. 
 
628 
 
 TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Acfnl. What, does the cuckold scorn met 
 
 Ajax. How now, Patroclus'? 
 Acliil. Good morrow, Ajax. 
 
 Ajax. Ha ] 
 
 Achil. Good morrow. 
 
 Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. 
 
 [^Exit Ajax. 
 Achil. What mean these fellows ? Know they 
 
 not Achilles'? 
 Patr. They pass by strangely: they were used 
 to bend, 
 Pc send their smiles before them to Achilles 
 Tc come as humbly as they used to creep 
 Tc holy altars. 
 
 Acldl. What, am I poor of late 1 
 
 'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune, 
 Must fall out with men too: What the declin'd is, 
 He shall as soon read in the eyes of others. 
 As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies. 
 Show not their mealy wings but to the summer; 
 And not a man, for being simply man, 
 Hath any honor; but honor for those honors 
 That are without him, as place, riches, favor, 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merit: 
 Which when they fall, as being slippery standcrs, 
 The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, 
 Do one pluck down another, and together 
 Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me : 
 Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy 
 At ample point all that I did possess, 
 Save these men's looks ; who do, metliinks, find 
 
 out 
 Something not worth in me such rich beholding 
 As they have often given. Here is Ulysses; 
 I'll interrupt his reading. — 
 How now, Ulysses? 
 
 Uli/ss. Now, great Thetis' son \ 
 
 Achil. What are you reading ] 
 Ulyss. A strange fellow here 
 
 Writes me, that man — how dearly ever parted,' 
 How much in having, or without, or in,- — 
 Cannot make boast to have that which he hath. 
 Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; 
 As when his virtues shining upon others 
 Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
 To the first giver. 
 
 Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 
 
 The beauty that is borne here in the face 
 The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
 To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself 
 (That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself. 
 Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd 
 Salutes each other with each other's form. 
 For speculation turns not to itself. 
 Till it hath travell'd, and is married there 
 Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all. 
 
 Ulyss. I do not strain at the position, 
 It is familiar; but at the author's drift: 
 Who, in his circumstance," expressly proves — 
 That no man is the lord of any thing, 
 (Though in and of him there be much consisting,) 
 Till he communicate his parts to others: 
 Nor doth he of himself know them for aught 
 Till he behold them form'd in the applause 
 Where they are extended , which, like an arch, re 
 
 verberates 
 The voice again ; or like a gate of steel 
 Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
 His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this ; 
 » Excellently endowed. « Detail of argument. 
 
 And apprehended hero immediately 
 
 The unknown Ajax. 
 
 Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ; 
 
 That has he knows not what. Nature, what tilings 
 
 there arc. 
 Most abject in regard, and dear in use ! 
 What things again most dear in the esteem, 
 And poor in worth ! now shall we see to-moiTOW 
 Ar. act that very chance doth throw upon him, 
 Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do. 
 While some men leave to do ! 
 How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, 
 Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes ! 
 How one man eats into another's pride, 
 While pride is fasting in his wantonness! 
 To see these Grecian lords ! — why, even already 
 They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder; 
 As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast, 
 And great Troy shrinking. 
 
 Achil. I do believe it : for they pass'd by me, 
 As misers do by beggars ; neither gave to me 
 Good word, nor look : What, are my deeds forgot ? 
 Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
 Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
 A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : 
 Those scraps are good deeds past : which are dc- 
 
 vour'd 
 As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
 As done : Perseverance, dear my lord. 
 Keeps honor bright : To have done is to hang 
 Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 
 In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ; 
 For honor travels in a strait so narrow. 
 Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ; 
 For emulation hath a thousand sons. 
 That one by one pursue : if you give way. 
 Or hedge aside from the direct forthright. 
 Like to an entered tide they all rush by. 
 And leave you hindmost ; — 
 Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, 
 liie there for pavement to the abject rear, 
 O'cr-run and trampled on : Then what they do in 
 
 present. 
 Though less than yours in past, must o'ertoj. fours : 
 For time is like a fashionable host, 
 That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand ; 
 And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly. 
 Grasps in the comer : Welcome ever smiles. 
 And farewell goes out sighing O, let not virtue 
 
 seek 
 Remuneration for the thing it was ; 
 For beauty, wit. 
 
 High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, 
 Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
 To envious and calumniating time. 
 One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.— 
 That all, with one consent, praise new-born 
 
 gawds,' 
 Though they are made and moulded of things 
 
 past; 
 And give to dust, that is a little gilt. 
 More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. 
 The present eye praises the present object : 
 Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, 
 That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax ; 
 Since things in motion sooner catch the eye. 
 Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee, 
 And still it might ; and yet it may again. 
 If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive, 
 ' New-fashioned toys. 
 
dCENP. Ill 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 62!i 
 
 Anil case thy reputation in thy tent ; 
 AVhose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, 
 Made emulous missions' 'mongst the gods them- 
 selves, 
 And drave great Mars to faction. 
 
 Acldl. Of this my privacy 
 
 I liave strong reasons. 
 
 Uli/ss. But 'gainst your privacy 
 
 I'he reasons are more potent and heroical : 
 Tis known, Achilles, that you arc in love 
 With one of Priam's daughters.' 
 
 Achil. Ha ! known ! 
 
 U/t/ss. Is that a wonder 1 
 The providence that's in a watchful state, 
 Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold ; 
 Finds bottom in the uncomprehcnsive deeps ; 
 Keeps place with thought, and almost like the gods. 
 Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
 There is a mystery (with whom relation 
 Durst never meddle) in the soul of state ; 
 Which hath an operation more divine, 
 Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to : 
 All the commerce that you have had with Troy, 
 As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord ; 
 And better would it fit Achilles much, 
 To throw down Hector, than Polyxena: 
 But it must gi-ieve young Pyrrhus now at home, 
 When fame shall in our islands sound her trump ; 
 And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, — 
 Great Hector's sister did Achilles win,- 
 But our great A/ax bravely heat down him. 
 Farewell, my lord : I as your lover' speak ; 
 The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you : 
 A woman impudent and mannish grown 
 Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man 
 In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this ; 
 They think, my little stomach to the war, 
 And your great love to me, restrains you thus : 
 Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid 
 Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold. 
 And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane. 
 Be shook to air. 
 
 Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ? 
 
 Pair. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honor 
 by him. 
 
 Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake ; 
 My fome is shrewdly gor'd. 
 
 Patr. O, then beware ; 
 
 Those wounds heal ill, that men do give them- 
 Omission to do what is necessary [selves : 
 
 Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; 
 And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
 Even then when we sit idly in the sun. 
 
 Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus : 
 I'll send the food to Ajax, and desire him 
 To invite the Trojan lords after the combat. 
 To see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's longing. 
 An appetite that I am sick withal. 
 To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; 
 To talk with him, and to beliold his visage, 
 Even to my full view. A labor sav'd ! 
 Enter Thersitks. 
 
 liter. A wonder ! 
 
 Achil. What? 
 
 Ther. Ajax goes up and down the fidld, asking 
 for himself. 
 
 ' The descent of the ddlies to combat on either side. 
 • Polyxena. ^ , i .Vrfond. 
 
 4j 
 
 Achil. How so T 
 
 Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with HeC' 
 tor; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical 
 cudgeMing, that he raves in saying nothing. 
 
 Achil. How can that bel 
 
 Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock" 
 a stride, and a stand: ruminates, like an hostess, 
 that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down 
 her reckoning : bites his lip with a politic regard, 
 as who should say — tliere were wit in this head, an 
 'twould out; and so there is ; but it lies as coldly in 
 him as fire in a flint, which will not show without 
 knocking. The man's undone forever; for if Hector 
 break not his neck i' the combat, he'll break it him- 
 self in vain glory. He knows not me : I said, Good' 
 morrow, Ajax; and he replies, ThanJes, Agameni' 
 non. What think you of this man, that takes me for 
 the general 1 He has grown a very land-fish, lan- 
 guageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a 
 man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. 
 
 Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, 
 Thersites. 
 
 Ther. Who, I ? why, he'll answer nobody ; he 
 professes not answering ; speaking is for beggars ; 
 he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his 
 presence ; let Patroclus make demands to me, you 
 shall see the pageant of Ajax. 
 
 Achil. To him, Patroclus : Tell him, — I humblv 
 desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous 
 Hector to come unarmed to my tent ; and to pro- 
 cure safe conduct for his person, of the magnani- 
 mous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times ho- 
 nored captain-general of the Grecian army, Aga- 
 memnon. Do this. 
 
 Patr, Jove bless great Ajax ! 
 
 Ther. Humph ! 
 
 Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, 
 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite 
 Hector to his tent, 
 
 Ther. Humph ! 
 
 Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga- 
 memnon. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon ] 
 
 Patr. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Patr. What say you to't 1 
 
 Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. 
 
 Patr. Your answer, sir. 
 
 Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleveh 
 o'clock it will go one way or other ; howsoever, ha 
 shall pay for me ere he has me. 
 
 Patr. Your answer, sir. 
 
 Ther. Fare you well, Vk'ith all my heart 
 
 Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is no ^ 
 
 Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus. What music 
 will be in him when Hector has knock'd out hij 
 brains, I know not: But, I am sure, none; unless the 
 fiddler Apollo got his sinews to make catlings' on. 
 ^c/u7.Come,thou .shalt bear a letter to him straight. 
 Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that's 
 the more capable' creature. 
 
 Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain 
 
 And I myself see not the liottom of it. [stirr'd : 
 
 [E.reu'>t Achilles and Patroclus 
 
 Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were 
 
 clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had 
 
 rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant 
 
 ignorance. [Exit. 
 
 » Lute-strings made of catgut. s Intelligent 
 
630 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSTDA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Troy. A Street. 
 
 Enter, at one side, J3neas and Servant, with a 
 Torch; at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, Antk- 
 NOR, DioMEDES, and others, with Torches. 
 
 Par. See, ho ! who's that there 1 
 
 Dei. 'Tis the lord ^neas. 
 
 ^ne. Is the prince there in person 1 — 
 Had I so good occasion to lie long, 
 As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business 
 Bhould rob my bed-mate of my company. 
 
 Dio. That's my mind too. — Good morrovv', lord 
 iEneas. 
 
 Par. A valiant Greek, ^neas ; take his hand : 
 Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
 You told — how Diomcd, a whole week by days, 
 Did haunt you in the field. 
 
 Mne. Health to you, valiant sir. 
 
 During all question'' of the gentle truce : 
 But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, 
 As heart can think, or courage execute. 
 
 Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
 Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health: 
 But when contention and occasion meet. 
 By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life. 
 With all my force, pursuit, and policy. 
 
 JEne. And thou shalt hunt a lion that will fly 
 With his face backward. — In humane gentleness, 
 Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchiscs' life. 
 Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear, 
 No man alive can love, in such a sort. 
 The thing he means to kill, more excellently. 
 
 Dio. We sympathize : — -Jove, let ^^neas live, 
 I;' to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
 A thousand complete courses of the sun ! 
 But, in mine emulous honor, let him die. 
 With every joint a wound : and that to-morrow ! 
 
 JEne. We know each other well. 
 
 Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse. 
 
 Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, 
 The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. — 
 What business, lord, so early ? 
 
 Sine. I was sent for to the king ; but why, I 
 know not. 
 
 Par. His purpose meets you : 'Twas to bring this 
 Greek 
 To Calchas' house ; and there to render him, 
 For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid : 
 Let's have your company : or, if you please. 
 Haste there before us : I constantly do think, 
 (Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,) 
 My brother Troilus lodges there to-night; 
 Rou>e him, and give him note of our approach. 
 With the whole quality wherefore : I fear 
 We shall be much unwelcome. 
 
 JEne. That I assure you ; 
 
 Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, 
 Than Cressid borne from Troy. 
 
 Par. There is no help ; 
 
 The bitter disposition of the time 
 Will have it so. On, lord ; we'll follow you. 
 ^ne. Good morrow, all. [Exit. 
 
 Par. And tell me, noble Diomed ; 'faith, tell me 
 true, 
 dvcn in the soul of sound good-fellowship, — 
 » Conversation. 
 
 Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best. 
 Myself or Menelaus 1 
 
 Dio. Both alike : 
 
 He merits well to have her, that doth seek h<;r 
 (Not making any scruple of her soilure) 
 With such a hell of pain, and world of charge : 
 And you as well to keep her, that defend her 
 (Not palating the taste of her dishonor) 
 With such a costly loss of wealth and friends j 
 He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
 The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; 
 You like a lecher, but of whorish loins 
 Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors : 
 Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more 
 But he as he, the heavier for a whore. 
 
 Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. 
 
 Dio. She's bitter to her country: Hear me, 
 Paris, — 
 For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
 A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple 
 Of her contaminated carrion weight, 
 A Trojan hath been slain : since she could speak 
 She hath not given so many good words breath. 
 As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death. 
 
 Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, 
 Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
 But we in silence hold this virtue well, — 
 We'll not commend what we intend to sell. 
 Here lies our way. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11. — Court before the i/owseo/Pandarus, 
 
 Enter Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold 
 
 Ores. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine undo 
 down ; 
 He shall unbolt the gates. 
 
 Tro. Trouble him not : 
 
 To bed, to bed : Sleep kill those pretty eyes. 
 And give as soft attachment to thy senses, 
 As infants' empty of all thought ! 
 
 Cres. Good morrow then 
 
 Tro. Pr'ythee now, to bed. 
 
 Cres. Are you aweary of me ! 
 
 Tro. Cressida ! but that the busy day, 
 Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald' crows. 
 And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, 
 I would not from thee. 
 
 Cres. Night hath been too brief. 
 
 Tro. Beshrew the witch! vnih. venomoas wights 
 she stays, 
 As tediously as hell ; but flies the grasps of love. 
 With wings more momentary-swift than thought 
 You will catch cold, and curse me. 
 
 Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry ;— - 
 
 You men will never tarry. 
 
 foolish Cressid ! — I might have still held off. 
 And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's 
 
 one up. 
 Pan. [Within.'] What, are all these doors open 
 Tro. It is your uncle. [here 1 
 
 Enter Pandarus. 
 Cres. A pestilence on him! now will he b* 
 
 mocking ; 
 
 1 shall have such a life, 
 
 • Noifiy. 
 
gmmm ro m f mi 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 63 1 
 
 Pan. How now, how now ! how go maiden- 
 heads 1 
 — Here, you maid! whore's my cousin Cressid'? 
 Cres, Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking 
 uncle ! 
 Vou bring me to do,' and then flout me too. 
 
 I'an. To do what 1 to do what 1 — let her say 
 what ; what have I brought you to do 1 
 
 Cres. Come, come ; beshrew your heart ! you'll 
 ne'er be good, 
 Nor sufl'er others. 
 
 Pa7i. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor ca- 
 pocchia!' — hast not slept to-night 1 would he not, 
 ft naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him! 
 
 [^Knocking. 
 Cres. Did I not tell you? — 'would he were 
 knock'd o' the head! — 
 Who's that at door ? good uncle, go and see. — 
 My lord, come you again into my chamber : 
 You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. 
 Tro. Ha, ha ! 
 
 Cres. Come, you are dcceiv'd, I think of no such 
 thing. — [^Knocking. 
 
 How earnestly they knock ! pray you, come in ; 
 [ would not for half Troy have you seen here. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. 
 Pan. [Going to the door.'] Who's there? what's 
 the matter ? will you beat down the door ? How 
 now ? what's tlie matter ? 
 
 Enter ^neas. 
 
 JEne. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. 
 
 Pan. Who's there? my lord ^neas? By my 
 troth, I knew you not : what news with you so 
 early ? 
 
 J^ne. Is not prince Troilus here ? 
 
 Pa7i. Here ! what should he do here ? 
 
 JEne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him; 
 It doth import him much to speak with me. 
 
 Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know, 
 I'll be sworn:— For my own part, I came in late: 
 What should he do here ? 
 
 ^ne. Who ! — nay, then : — 
 Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are'ware: 
 You'll be so true to him, to be false to him : 
 Do not you know of him, 3'ct go fetch him hither; 
 Go. 
 
 As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. 
 
 Tro. How now ? what's the matter ? 
 
 Ai^ne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you. 
 My matter is so rash :° There is at hand 
 Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, 
 The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
 Deliver'd to us ; and for him forthwith, 
 Ere the first sacrifice within this hour, 
 We must give up to Diomcdes' hand 
 The lady Cressida. 
 
 Tro. Is it so concluded ? 
 
 ^ne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy ; 
 They are at hand, and ready to effect it. 
 
 Tro. How my achievements mock me ! 
 r will go meet them : and, my lord ^neas, 
 We met by cliance ; you did not find me here. 
 
 ^Ene. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of nature 
 Have not more gift in taciturnity. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus and ^neas. 
 
 Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost ^ The 
 levil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad. 
 
 ' 7b do is here vised in a wanton sense. 
 • An Italian word for poor fool. 
 
 • Ilasty. 
 
 A plague upon Antenor, I would they had croke' 
 neck! 
 
 Enter Cressida. 
 
 Cres. How now ? What is the matter ? Wha 
 Pan. Ah, ah ! [was here 1 
 
 Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly ? wliere'a 
 my lord gone ? 
 
 Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter ? 
 
 Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth m 
 
 I am above ! 
 
 Cres. O the gods ! — what's the matter 1 
 
 Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in ; 'Would thou hadst 
 
 ne'er been born ! I knew, thou would st be hisdealh : 
 
 poor gentleman! — A plague upon Antenor! 
 Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, 
 
 1 beseech you, what's the matter ? 
 
 Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must ba 
 gone ; thou art changed for Antenor ; thou must 
 to thy father, and be gone from Troilus ; 'twill be 
 his death : 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it. 
 
 C}-es. O you immortal gods ! — I will not go. 
 
 Pan. Thou must. 
 
 Ores. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father; 
 I know no touch of consanguinity ;' 
 No kin, no love,' no blood, no soul so near me, 
 As the sweet Troilus. — O you gods divine ! 
 Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood, 
 If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death, 
 Do to this body what extremes you can ; 
 But the strong base and building of my love 
 Is as the very centre of the earth. 
 Drawing all things to it^ — I'll go in, and weep ; — 
 
 Pa7i. Do, do. 
 
 Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my 
 praised cheeks. 
 Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart 
 With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Before Pandarus' House. 
 
 Enter Paris, Troilus, ^-Eneas, Deiphobus, 
 Antenor, arid Diomedes. 
 
 Par. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd 
 Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 
 Comes fast upon : — Good my brother Troilus, 
 Tell you the lady what she is to do. 
 And haste her to the purpose. 
 
 Tro. Walk into her house 
 
 I'll bring her to the Grecian presently : 
 And to his hand when I deliver her, 
 Think it an altar ; and thy brother Troilus 
 A priest, there offering to it his own heart. [Exit, 
 
 Par, I know what 'tis to love ; 
 And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help ! — 
 Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE YV.—A Room in Pandarus' House. 
 
 Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 
 
 Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. 
 
 Cres. Why tell you me of moderation ! 
 The grief is fine, full, j)crfect, that I taste, 
 And violenteth in a sense as strong 
 As that which causeth it: How can I moderate i* 
 If I could temporize with my affection. 
 Or brew it to a weak and colder palate. 
 The like allay mcnt could I give my grief. 
 My love admits no qualifying dross : 
 No more my grief, in such a precious kea. 
 
 « Sense or feeling of relationslup. 
 
632 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSTDA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 Pan. Here, here, here he comes. — Ah, sweet 
 ducks ! 
 
 Cres. O T>-oilus ! Troihis ! [Embracing him. 
 Pan. What t pah- of spectacles is here ! Let me 
 
 f^mbrace too : heart.' as the goodly saying is, 
 
 heart, heavy heai-t, 
 
 Why .^igh'st thou without breaking ? 
 
 where he answers again, 
 
 Because thou canst not ease thy smart, 
 By friendship, nor by speaking. 
 
 There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away 
 nothing, for we may hve to have need of such a 
 verse ; we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs 1 
 
 Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity. 
 That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy, 
 More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
 Cold lips blow to their deities — take thee from me. 
 
 Cres. Have the gods envy 1 
 
 Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 'tis too plain a case. 
 
 Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy ? 
 
 Tro. A hateful truth. 
 
 Cres. What, and from Troilus too? 
 
 Tro. From Troy and from Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Is it possible ? 
 
 Tro. And suddenly; where injury of chance 
 Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
 All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
 Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
 Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 
 Even in the birth of our own laboring breath: 
 We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
 Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
 With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
 Injurious time now, with a robber's haste. 
 Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how: 
 As many farewells as be stars in heaven. 
 With distinct breath and consign'd' kisses to them. 
 He fumbles up into a short adieu : 
 And scants us with a single famish'd kiss. 
 Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 
 
 Mne. [Within.'] My lord! is the lady ready? 
 
 Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : Some say, the Ge- 
 nius so 
 Cries, Come ! to him that instantly must die. — 
 Bid them have patience : she shall come anon. 
 
 Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, 
 or my heart will be blown up by the root! 
 
 {Exit Pandards. 
 
 Cres. I must then to the Greeks ? 
 
 Tro, No remedy. 
 
 Cres A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks! 
 V. hen 3hall we see again ? 
 
 Tro, Hear me, my love ! Be thou but true of 
 heart, 
 
 Cre ;. I true ! how now ? what wicked deem' is 
 this ? 
 
 Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, 
 For it is parting from us : 
 I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee ; 
 F«r I will throw my glove to death himself, 
 That there's no maculation' in thy heart: 
 But, be thou true, say I, to fashion in 
 My sequent' protestation : be thou true, 
 And I will see thee. 
 
 Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers 
 As infinite a., imminent! but, I'll be true. 
 
 • Sealed. 
 
 ' Surmise. 
 
 > Spot. 
 
 > Following. 
 
 Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger Weal 
 this sleeve. 
 
 Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you' 
 
 Tro. I will coiTupt the Grecian sentinels, 
 To give thee nightly visitations. 
 But yet, be true. 
 
 Cres. O heavens ! — be true again 1 
 
 Tro. Hear why I speak it, love ; 
 The Grecian youths are full of quality ;* 
 They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of r.ature 
 
 flowing. 
 And swelling o'er with arts and exercise ; 
 How novelty may move, and parts with person 
 Alas, a kind of godly jealousy 
 (Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin) 
 Makes me afeard. 
 
 Cres. O heavens! you love me not. 
 
 Tro. Die I a villain then ! 
 In this I do not call your faith in question, 
 So mainly as my morit : I cannot sing. 
 Nor heel the high lavolt,' nor sweeten talk, 
 Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all. 
 To which the Grecians are most prompt and preg 
 But I can tell, that in each grace of these [nant 
 There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil. 
 That tempts most cunningly : but be not tempte<7 
 
 Cres. Do you think I will ? 
 
 Tro. No. 
 But something may be done, that we will not . 
 And sometimes we are devils to ourselves. 
 When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, 
 Presuming on their changeful potency. 
 
 JEne. [ Within.] Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Tro. Come, kiss; and let us part 
 
 Par. [Within.] Brother Troilus ! 
 
 Tro. Good brother, come you hither ; 
 
 And bring ^ncas, and the Grecian, with you. 
 
 Cres. My lord, will you be true ? 
 
 Tro. Who, I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault : 
 While others fish with craft for great opinion, 
 I with great truth catch mere simplicity ; 
 Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowna 
 With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
 Fear not my truth ; the moral of my wit 
 Is — plain, and true, — there's all the reach of it. 
 
 Enter ^neas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, 
 and DioMEDES. 
 
 Welcome, sir Diomed ! here is the lady. 
 Which for Antenor we deliver you ; 
 At the port,* lord, I'll give her to thy hand ; 
 And, by the way, possess' thee what she is. 
 Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
 If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword. 
 Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe 
 As Priam is in Ilion. 
 
 Dio. Fair lady Cressid, 
 
 So please you, save the thanks this prince expects 
 The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek. 
 Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed 
 You shall be mistress, and command him wholly 
 
 Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously 
 To shame the zeal of my petition to thee. 
 In praising her : I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
 She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises. 
 As thou unworthy to be called her servant. 
 I charge thee, use her well, even for my charg<; ; 
 For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not. 
 
 * HisMy accomplished. 
 
 • Gate. 
 
 »A dance, 
 flriform. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 63^ 
 
 Thoiig-li the f^rc-nt hulk Achilles be thy guard, 
 I'll cut th.y throat. 
 
 D'lQ. 0, he not mov'd, prince Troilus : 
 
 Let me he privileged hy my place, and message, 
 Tv he a speaker free ; when I am hence, 
 I'll answer to my lust:* And know you, lord, 
 I'll nothing do on charge ; To her own worth 
 She shall he priz'd ; hut that you say — hc'i »i 
 I'll speak it in rny spirit and honor, — no. 
 
 Tro. Come, to the port. — I'll tell thee, Diomcd, 
 Tills hrave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. — 
 Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk. 
 To our own selves hend we our needful talk. 
 
 [Exeunt Tkoilcs, Cressida, and Diomed. 
 
 [^Trumpet heard. 
 
 Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet, 
 
 Mne. How have we spent this morning ! 
 
 The prince must think me tardy and remiss, 
 That swore to ride before him to the field. 
 
 Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: Come, come to field 
 with him. 
 
 Dei. Let us make ready straight. 
 
 Mm. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, 
 Let us address to tend on Hector's heels : 
 The glory of our Troy doth this day lie, 
 On his fiiir worth and single chivalry. \Exeunt. 
 
 iSCENE V. — The Grecian Camp. Lists set out. 
 
 Enter Ajax armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Pa- 
 TROCLus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and 
 others. 
 
 Agam. Here art thou in appointment' fresh and 
 Anticipating time with starting courage. [fair. 
 Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
 Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air 
 May pierce the head of the great combatant, 
 And hale him hither. 
 
 Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse. 
 
 Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe : 
 Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
 Out-swell the colic of puflPd Aquilon : 
 Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood; 
 Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Uli/ss. No trumpet answers. 
 
 Achil. 'Tis but early days. 
 
 Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas daugh- 
 ter 1 
 
 Ul_i/ss. 'Tis he. I ken the manner of his gait : 
 He rises on the toe : that spirit of his 
 In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 
 
 Enter Diomed, with Cressida. 
 
 Agam. Is this the lady Cressid 1 
 
 Dio. Even she. 
 
 Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, 
 sweet lady. 
 
 Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. 
 
 Uli/ss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 
 Fwere better, she were kiss'd in general. 
 
 Nest. And very courtly counsel : I'll begin. — 
 So much for Nestor. 
 
 Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair 
 Achilles bids you welcome. [lady: 
 
 Men. I had good argument for kissing once. 
 
 Patr. But that's no argument for kissing now: 
 I' or thus popp'd Paris in his hardimcnt ; 
 And parted thus you and your argument. 
 
 Ufi/ss. O deadly gall and theme of all our scorns ! 
 For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. 
 
 • Pleaaure, wili. 
 
 • Preparation. 
 
 Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss; — this, mine: 
 Patroclus kisses you. 
 
 Men. O, this is trim ! 
 
 Patr. Paris, and I, kiss evermore for him. 
 
 Me7i. I'll have my kiss, sir: — Lady, by your leavei 
 
 C'res. In kissing do you render or receive ' 
 
 Pat?: Both take and give. 
 
 Cres. I'll make my match to 1i\q 
 
 , The kiss you take is better than you give , 
 /Therefore no kiss. 
 I Men. I'll give you boot, I'll g'-^c you three for one 
 
 Cres. You're an odd man; give even or give none 
 
 Men. An odd man, lady? every man is odd. 
 
 Cres. No, Paris is not ; for, you know, 'tis tru«. 
 That you are odd, and he is even with you. 
 
 Metu You fillip me o' the head. 
 
 Cres. No, FIl be sworn. 
 
 U!t/ss. It were no match, your nail against his 
 horn. — 
 May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you 1 
 
 Cres. You may. 
 
 Ulyss. I do desire it. 
 
 Cres. Why, beg then. 
 
 Vlyss. Why then for Venus' sake, give me a kiss, 
 When Helen is a maid again, and his. 
 
 Cres. I um yivr debtor, claim it when 'tis due. 
 
 Vlyss. Never s my day, and then a kiss of you. 
 
 Dio. Lady, a word ; I'll bring you to your father. 
 [Diomed leads out Cressida. 
 
 Nest. A woman of quick sense. 
 
 Ulyss. Fye, fye upon her! 
 
 There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip. 
 Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out 
 At eveiy joint and motive' of her body. 
 O, these encounterei-s, so glib of tongue. 
 That give a coasting welcome ere it comes. 
 And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
 To every ticklish reader ! set them down 
 For sluttish spoils of opportunity, 
 And daughters of the game. [Trumpet within. 
 
 All. The Trojans' trumpet. 
 
 Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 
 
 Enter Hector, armed; ^neas, Troilus, and 
 other Trojans, with attendants. 
 
 Mne. Hail, all the state of Greece ! what shall 
 be done 
 To him that victory commands ? Or do you purpose, 
 A victor shall be known 1 will you the knights 
 Shall to the edge of all extremity 
 Pursue each other; or shall tliey be divided 
 By any voice or order of the field ] 
 Hector bade ask. 
 
 Agam. Which way would Hector have it 1 
 
 Aine. He cares not, he'll obey conditions. 
 
 Achil. 'Tis done like Hector ; but securely done, 
 A little proudly, and great deal misprising 
 The knight oppos'd. 
 
 Miie. If not Achilles, sir. 
 
 What is your name 1 
 
 Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 
 
 A'lne. Therefore Achilles: But, whate'er, kno« 
 In the extremity of great and little, [this ; — 
 
 Valor and pride excel themselves in Hector ; 
 The one almost as infinite as all. 
 The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well. 
 And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy. 
 This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood : 
 In io\e whereof, half Hecto stays at hjme 
 
 ' Motiou. 
 
634 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 half heart, h'llf hanJ, half Hector comes to seek 
 This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek. 
 
 Re-enter Diobikd. 
 
 Agam. Here is sir Diomed : — Go, gentle knight, 
 Btand by our Ajax : as you and lord ^ncas 
 Consent upon the order of their fight, 
 So be it; either to the uttermost, 
 Or else a breath : ' the combatants being kin. 
 Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. 
 
 [Ajax and Hkctou enter the Lists. 
 Ulyss. They are oppos'd already. 
 Agam. What Trojan is that same that looks so 
 
 heavy 1 
 Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; 
 Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; 
 Speaking in deeds, and deedlcss in his tongue ; 
 Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd : 
 His heart and hand both open, and both free ; 
 For what he has, he gives; what thinks, he shows; 
 Yet gives he not, till judgment guide his bounty, 
 Nor dignifies an impair^ thought with breath: 
 Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; 
 For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes^ 
 To tender objects; but he, in heat of action. 
 Is more vindicative than jealous love: 
 They call him Troilus; and on him erect 
 A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
 Thus says ^neas: one that knows the youth 
 Even to his inches, and, with private soul. 
 Did in great Ilion thus translate' him to me. 
 
 \_AIarum. Hkctor and Ajax Jight. 
 Agam. They are in action. 
 Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own ! 
 Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st; 
 
 Awake thee! 
 
 Agam. His blows are well dispos'd: — there, Ajax ! 
 Dio. You must no more. [^Trumpets cease. 
 
 JEne. Princes, enough, so please you. 
 
 4jax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. 
 Dio. As Hector pleases. 
 
 Hect. Why, then, will I no more : — 
 
 riiou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, . 
 A cousin-german to great Priam's seed; 
 The obligation of our blood forbids 
 A gory emulation 'twixt us twain: 
 Were thy commixion Greek and Trojan so. 
 That thou couldst say — IViis hand is Grecian all, 
 And this is Trojan,- the sinews of this leg 
 All dreek, and this all Troy,- my mother^s blood 
 Runs 071 the dexter^ check, and this sinister^ 
 Bounds-in my father^ s; by Jove multipotent. 
 Thou shouldstnot bear from me a Greekish member 
 Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
 Of our rank feud : But the just gods gainsay. 
 That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother, 
 My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
 Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax : 
 By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms ; 
 Hector would have them fall upon him thus: 
 Cousin, all honor to thee ! 
 
 Ajax. I thank thee, Hector: 
 
 Thou art too gentle, and too free a man : 
 I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 
 A great addition earned in thy death. 
 Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable 
 (On whose bright crest, Fame with her loud'st yes 
 
 • Breathing, exercise, 
 s T'.elds, gives way. 
 1 Right. 
 
 '> Unsuitable to his character. 
 * Explain his character. 
 « Left. 
 
 Cries, Tliis is he,) could promise to himself 
 A thought of added honor torn from Hector. 
 
 jEne. There is expectance here from both the sides, 
 What further you will do. 
 
 Hect. We'll answer it; 
 
 The issue is embracement: — Ajax, farewell. 
 
 Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, 
 (As seld" I have the chance,) I would desire 
 My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 
 
 Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish : and great Achilles 
 Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. 
 
 Hect. ^neas, call my brother Troilus to mc: 
 And signify this loving interview 
 To the expecters of our Trojan ptj-t; 
 Desire them home. — Give me thy hand, my cousin 
 I will go cat with t'.iee, and see your knights. 
 Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. 
 Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name bj 
 name ; 
 But for Achilles, my own searching eyes 
 Shall find him by his large and portly size. 
 
 Agam. Worthy of arms, as welcome as to one 
 That would be rid of such an enemy ; 
 But that's no welcome: Understand more clear, 
 What's past, and what's to come, is strew'd with 
 
 husks 
 And formless ruin of oblivion ; 
 But in this extant moment, faith and troth, 
 Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing 
 Bids thee, with most divine integrity. 
 From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 
 Hect. I thank thee, most imperious' Agamemnon. 
 Agam. My well-famed lord of Troy, no less to 
 you. [7b Troilus. 
 
 Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's 
 greeting ;— 
 You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hithei 
 Hect. Whom must we answer 1 
 Men. The noble Menelaus. 
 
 Hect. O you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, 
 thanks ! 
 Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath; 
 Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove: 
 She's well, but bade me not commend her to you. 
 Men. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme. 
 Hect. pardon ; I offend. 
 Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, 
 Laboring for destiny, make cruel way 
 Through ranks of Greekish youth : and I have seen 
 
 thee. 
 As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed. 
 Despising many forfeits and subduements, 
 When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air. 
 Not letting it decline on the declin'd ; 
 That I have said to some my standers-by, 
 Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing lij'e! 
 And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, 
 When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, 
 Like an Olympian wrestling: This have I seen* 
 But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 
 I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,' 
 And once fought with him: he was a soldier good; 
 But, by great Mars, the captain of us all. 
 Never like thee : Let an old man embrace thee; 
 And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. 
 JEne. 'Tis the old Nestor. ^ 
 Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, 
 That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time:— 
 Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 
 ' Seldom. • Imperial. ^ Laomcdoa. 
 
A.CT V Scene 1. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 63b 
 
 Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in 
 contention, 
 As they contend with thee in courtesy. 
 
 Hed. I would they could. 
 
 Nest. Ha! 
 By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow. 
 Well, welcome, welcome ! I have seen the time — 
 
 U/i/ss. I wonder now how yonder city stands, 
 When we have here her base and pillar by us. 
 
 Hect. I know your favor, lord Ulysses, well. 
 Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, 
 Since first I saw j'ourself and Diomed 
 In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. 
 
 Vlyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue : 
 My prophecy is but half his journey yet; 
 For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, 
 Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, 
 Must kiss their own feet. 
 
 Hect, I must not believe you : 
 
 There they stand yet; and modestly I think. 
 The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost 
 A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all; 
 And that old common arbitrator. Time, 
 Will one day end it. 
 
 Ulyss. So to him we leave it. 
 
 Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome: 
 After the general, I beseech you next 
 To feast with me, and see me at my tent. 
 
 Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou ! — 
 Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; 
 I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, 
 And quoted' joint by joint. 
 
 Hect. Is this Achilles ] 
 
 Achil. I am Achilles. 
 
 Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee. 
 
 AckU. Behold thy fill. 
 
 Hect. Nay, I have done already. 
 
 Achil. Thou art too brief; I will the second time, 
 As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 
 
 Hect. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er ; 
 But there's more in me than thou understand'st. 
 Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ] 
 
 Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of 
 his body 
 Shall I destroj him 1 whether there, there, or there ] 
 That I may give the local wound a name ; 
 And make distinct the very breach whereout 
 Hector's great spirit flew : Answer me, heavens ! 
 
 Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud 
 man. 
 To answer such a question : Stand again : 
 Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly, 
 
 As to prenominate' in nice conjecture. 
 Where tliou wilt hit me dead? 
 
 Achil. I tell thee, yea. 
 
 Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
 I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well 
 For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; 
 But, by the forge that stithied' Mars his helm, 
 I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er — 
 You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag, 
 His insolence draws folly from my lips; 
 But I'll endeavor deeds to match these words, 
 Or may I never 
 
 AJax. Do not chafe thee, ccu-sinj-- 
 
 And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, 
 Till accident, or purpose, bring you to 't ; 
 You may have every day enough of Hector, 
 If you have stomach; the general state, I fear, 
 Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 
 
 Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field ; 
 We have had pelting wars, since you refus'd 
 The Grecians' cause. 
 
 Achil. Dost thou entreat me. Hector! 
 
 To-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death: 
 To-night, all fi-iends. 
 
 Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 
 
 Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to mv 
 tent; 
 There in the full convive* we: afterwards. 
 As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
 Concur together, severally entreat him. — 
 Beat loud the tabourines,' let the trumpets blow, 
 That this great soldier may his welcome know. 
 
 [^Exeunt all hut Troilus and Ultsses 
 
 Tw. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, 
 In what place of the field doth Calchas keepi 
 
 Vlyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus: 
 There Diomed doth feast with him to-night; 
 Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth, 
 But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
 On the fair Crcssid. 
 
 Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much. 
 After we part from Agamemnon's tent. 
 To bring me thither 1 
 
 Vlyss. You shall command me, sir. 
 
 As gentle tell me, of what honor was 
 This Cressida in Troy 1 Had she no lover there 
 That wails her absence? 
 
 Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars. 
 A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? 
 She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth: 
 But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. 
 
 [Exeuni. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 BCbNE \.—The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' 
 Tent. 
 
 Enter Achilles and Patiioclus. 
 
 Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine 
 to-night. 
 Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. — 
 Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 
 Pair. Here comes Thersites. 
 » Observed. 
 
 Enter Tiiersites. 
 
 Achil. How now, thou core of envy! 
 
 Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? 
 
 Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, 
 and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee. 
 
 Achil. From whence, fragment ? 
 
 Ther. Why thou full dish of fool, from Troy. 
 
 Pair. Who keeps the tent now ? 
 
 Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound 
 
 » Forename. » Stithy, is a smith's shop 
 
 • Feast 1 Small drums. 
 
036 
 
 TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act » 
 
 Patv. AVell said, Adversity V and wliat need these 
 tricks ? 
 
 Ther. Pr'y tliee be silent, boy ; I profit not by thy 
 talk : thou art thought to bo Achilles' male varlet. 
 
 Pair. Male varlet, you rogue! what's that? 
 
 Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rot- 
 :en diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, 
 catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back, lethargies, cold 
 palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, 
 bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i' 
 the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee- 
 simple of the tetter, take and take again such pre- 
 posterous discoveries ! 
 
 Pair. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, 
 what meanest thou to curse thus ? 
 
 Tker. Do I curse thie ? 
 
 Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt ; you whoreson 
 indistinguishable cur, no. 
 
 Ther. No? why art thou exasperate, thou idle 
 immaterial skein of sleive^ silk, thou green sarcenet 
 flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, 
 thou ? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with 
 such water-flies ; diminutives of nature ! 
 
 Pair. Out, gall ! 
 
 Ther. Finch-egg! 
 
 Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite 
 From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
 Here is a letter from queen Hecuba : 
 A token from her daughter, my fair love ; 
 Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep 
 An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it : 
 Fall, Greeks ; fail, fame ; honor, or go, or stay, 
 
 My major vow lies here, this I'll obey. 
 
 Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent; 
 This night in banqueting must all be spent. 
 Away, Patroclus. 
 
 [Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. 
 
 Ther. With too much blood and too little brain, 
 these two may run mad ; but if with too much 
 brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of 
 madmen. Here's Agamemnon, — an honest fellow 
 enough, and one that loves quails f but he has not 
 so much brain as ear-wax : And the goodly trans- 
 formation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, — 
 the primitive statue, and oblique memorial of 
 cuckolds ;' a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hang- 
 ing at his brother's leg, — to what form, but that he 
 is, should wit larded with malice, and malice forced^ 
 with wit, turn him to ? To an ass, were nothing : he 
 is both ass and ox : to an ox, were nothing ; he is 
 both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a 
 fitchew,^ a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a her- 
 ring without a roe, I would not care : but to be 
 Menelaus, — I would conspire against destiny. Ask 
 me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites ; 
 for I care not to be the lousd of a lazar,"! so I were 
 not Menelaus. — Hey-day ! spirits and fires ! 
 
 Enter Hector, Troiltis, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulys- 
 ses, Nestor, Menelaus, and Diomed, icith 
 Lights. 
 
 Again. We go wro3g, we go wrong. 
 Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ; 
 
 There, where we see the lights. 
 Hect. I trouble you. 
 
 Ajax. No, not a whit. 
 Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 
 
 Enter AcniLLES. 
 
 Achil. Welcome, brave Hector: welcome, princes 
 all! 
 
 Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good- 
 night. 
 4jax commands the guard to tend on you. 
 
 ' Contrariety. ' Coarse, unwrought. ' Harlots. 
 
 « Menelaus. » Stuffed. » Polecat. 
 
 • A diseased beggar. 
 
 Hect. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks 
 general. 
 
 3Ten. Good night, my lord. 
 
 Hect. Good night, sweet Menelaus, 
 
 Ther. Sweet draught :5 Sweet, quoth 'a! sweet 
 sink, sweet sewer. 
 
 Achil. Good night, 
 And welcome, both to those that go or tarry. 
 
 Agam. Good night. 
 
 [Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus. 
 
 Achil. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, 
 Keep Hector company an hour or two. 
 
 Bio. 1 cannot, lord ; I have ifnportant business, 
 The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great Hec- 
 
 Hect. Give me your hand. [tor. 
 
 Ulyss. Follow his torch, he gooa 
 
 To Calchas' tent ; I'll keep you company. 
 
 [Aside to Troilus. 
 
 Tro. Sweet sir, you honor me. 
 
 Hect. And so good night. 
 
 [Exit Diomed; Ulysses ancZ Troilvs followittg. 
 
 Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 
 [Exeunt Achilles, Hector, Ajax, aiid Nestor. 
 
 Ther. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a 
 most unjust knave ; I will no more trust him when 
 he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses : he will 
 spend his mouth,and promise, like Brabler the hound; 
 but when he performs, astronomers foretell it; it ia 
 prodigious,^ there will come some change ; the sun 
 borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his word. 
 I will rather leave to see Hector, than not to dog 
 him : they say, he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses 
 the traitor Calchas' tent : I'll after. — Nothing but 
 lechery ! all incontinent varlets ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IL— Before Calchas' Tent. 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 
 J)io. AVhat, are you up here, ho ? speak. 
 
 Cat. [Within.] Who calls? 
 
 Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Where's you/ 
 
 daughter ? 
 Cal. [ Within.] She comes to you. 
 
 Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after 
 them Thersites. 
 
 Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us 
 
 Enter Cressida. 
 
 Tro. Cressid come forth to him ! 
 
 Bio. How now, my charge ? 
 
 Ores, Now, my sweet guardian ! — Hark ! a word 
 with you. [ Whispera 
 
 Tro. Ye,a, so familiar! 
 
 Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 
 
 Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take 
 her clifi",' she's noted. 
 
 Bio. Will you remember? 
 
 Ores. Remember? yes. 
 
 Bio. Nay, but do then j 
 
 And let your mind be coupled with your words. 
 
 Tro. What should she remember? 
 
 Ulyss. List ! 
 
 Ores. Sweet honey Greek, tempt mono more to folly. 
 
 Ther. Roguery. 
 
 Bio. Nay, then, — 
 
 Ores. I'll tell you what : 
 
 Bio. Pho, pho ! come, tell a pin : You are for- 
 sworn. — 
 
 Ores. In faith, I cannot : What would you have 
 me do? 
 
 Ther. A juggling trick, to be — secretly open. 
 
 Bio. What did you swear you would bestow ok 
 me? 
 
 Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath ; 
 Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. 
 
 ' Privv • Portentous, ominous. ' Key. 
 
FCENE II. 
 
 TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 63 <• 
 
 Dlo. Good night. 
 
 Tro. Hold, patience ! 
 
 Ulyss. How now, Trojan 1 
 
 Cres. Diomed,- 
 
 Dio. No, no, good night : I'll be your fool no more. 
 
 Tro. Thy better must. 
 
 Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear. 
 
 Tro. plague and madness ! [pray you, 
 
 Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart, I 
 Lest you displeasure should enlarge itself 
 To UTathful terms: this place is dangerous; 
 The time right deadly ; I beseech you, go. 
 
 Tro. Behold, I pray you ! 
 
 Ulyss. Now, good my lord, go off: 
 
 Vcu How to great destruction : come, my lord. 
 
 Tro. I pr'ythee, stay. 
 
 Ulyss. You have not patience, come. 
 
 Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell, and all hell's tor- 
 I will not speak a word. [ments, 
 
 Dio. And so, good night. 
 
 Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 
 
 Tro. Doth that grieve thee 1 
 
 wither'd truth ! 
 
 Ulyss. Why, how now, lord ? 
 
 Tro ' By Jove, 
 
 1 will be patient. 
 
 Cres. Guardian ! — why, Greek ! 
 
 Dlo. Pho, pho ! adieu ; you palter.' 
 
 Cres. In faith, I do not ; come hither once again. 
 
 Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something ; will 
 You will break out. [you go 1 
 
 Tro, She strokes his cheek ! 
 
 Ulyss. Come, come. 
 
 Tro. Nay, stay ; by Jove, I will not speak a word : 
 There is between my will and all offences 
 A guard of patience ; — stay a httle while. , 
 
 Tker. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump and 
 potato finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fryi 
 
 Dio. But will you then] 
 
 Cres. In faith, I will, la ; never trust me else. 
 
 Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. 
 
 Cres. I'll fetch you one. \_Exit, 
 
 Ulyss. You have sworn patience. 
 
 Tro. Fear me not, my lord ; 
 I will not be myself, nor have cognition' 
 Of what I feel; I am all patience. 
 
 Re-enler Cressida. 
 
 Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now ! 
 
 Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 
 
 Tro. beauty ! whcre's thy faith 1 
 
 Ulyss. My lord, 
 
 Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will. 
 
 Cres. You look upon that sleeve; Behold it well. — 
 He lov'd me — O false wench ! — Give't me again. 
 
 Dio. Who was't] 
 
 Cres. No matter, now I have't again. 
 
 I will not meet with you to-morrow night: 
 I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. 
 
 Ther. Now she sharpens; — Well said, whetstone. 
 
 Dio. I shall have it. 
 
 Cres. What, this! 
 
 Dio. Ay, that. 
 
 Cres. 0, all you gods ! — O pretty, pretty pledge ! 
 Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
 Of thee and me : and sighs, and takes my glove, 
 ^nd gives memorial dainty kisses to it. 
 As I kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me ; 
 He, that takes that, must take my heart withal. 
 
 « Shuffls. 1 Knowledce. 
 
 Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 
 
 Tro. I did swear patience. 
 
 Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed ; 'faith you 
 shall not ; 
 I'll give you something else. 
 
 Dio. I will have this ; Whose was it 1 
 
 Cres. 'Tis no matter. 
 
 Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 
 
 Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better than you 
 But, now you have it, take it. [will. 
 
 Dio. Whose was it 1 
 
 Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yonder,' 
 And by herself, I will not tell you whose. 
 
 Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm ; 
 And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. 
 
 Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn, 
 It should be challenged. 
 
 Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; — And yet 
 I will not keep my word. [it is not ; 
 
 Dio. Why then, farewell ; 
 
 Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. 
 
 Cres. You shall not go : — One cannot speak a 
 But it straight starts you. [word, 
 
 Dio. I do not like this fooling. 
 
 Tlier. Nor I, by Pluto ; but that that hkes not 
 you, pleases me best. 
 
 Dio. What, shall I come 1 the hour 1 
 
 Cres, Ay, come : — O Jove ! — 
 
 Do come : — I shall be plagued. 
 
 Dio. Farewell till then. 
 
 Cres. Good night. I pr'ythee, come. — 
 
 [^Exit DioMEDEa. 
 Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ; 
 But with my heart the other eye doth see. 
 Ah ! poor our sex ! this fault in us I find. 
 The error of our eye directs our mind : 
 What error leads, niu»;t eu-; then conclude. 
 Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude. 
 
 [Exit Cressida. 
 
 Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish 
 more. 
 Unless ehs s'Jd, My mind is now turn'd whore. 
 
 Ulyss. All's done, my lord. 
 
 Tro. It is. 
 
 Ulysr. Why stay we then ^ 
 
 Tro. I'o make a recordation' to my soul 
 Of every syllable that here was spoke 
 But, if I tell how these two did co-act. 
 Shall I not lie in publishing a truth ? 
 Sith yet there is a credence in my hcar^ 
 An esperance so obstinately strong. 
 That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears ; 
 As if those organs had deceptions functions, 
 Created only to calumniate. 
 Was Cressid here 1 
 
 U/yss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 
 
 Tro. She was not, sure. 
 
 Ulyss. Most sure stie was. 
 
 Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness 
 
 Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but 
 now. 
 
 Tro. Let it not be believ'd for' womanhood ' 
 Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage 
 To stubborn critics^ — apt, without a theme, 
 For depravation, — to square the general sex 
 By Crcssid's rule : rather think this not Cressid. 
 
 Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soi 
 our mothers ? 
 
 • Stars. 
 
 • For tho sake o£ 
 
 » Remembrance. 
 • Cynics. 
 
638 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. 
 
 Ther Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes. 
 
 Tro. This she 1 no, this is Diomed's Cressida : 
 If beauty have a soul, this is not she ; 
 If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony, 
 If sanctimony be the gods' delight. 
 If there be rule in unity itself. 
 This was not she. O madness of discourse. 
 That cause sets up with and against itself! 
 Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt 
 Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
 Without revolt ; this is, and is not, Cressid ! 
 Within my soul there doth commence a fight 
 Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate 
 Divides more wider than the sky and earth ; 
 And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
 Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle 
 As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter. 
 Instance, instance! strong as Pluto's gates; 
 Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven : 
 Instance, O instance ! strong as heaven itself; 
 The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd 
 And with another knot, five-finger-tied, 
 The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, 
 The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics 
 Of her o'er-eaten faith are bound to Diomed. 
 
 Ulyss. May wor*hy Troilus be half attach'd 
 With that which here his passion doth express 1 
 
 Tro. Ay, Greek ; and that shall be divulged well 
 In characters as red as Mars his heart 
 Inflam'd with Venus: never did young man fancy'^ 
 With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
 Hark, Greek ; — As much as I do Cressid love. 
 So much by weight hate I her Diomed : 
 That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm ; 
 Were it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill. 
 My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout, 
 Which shipmen do the hurricano call, 
 Constringed' in mass by the almighty sun, 
 Shall dizzy with more clamor Neptune's ear 
 In his descent, than shall my prompted sword 
 Falling on Diomed. 
 
 Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy.* 
 
 Tro. Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false! 
 Let all untruths stand by thy stained name. 
 And they'll seem glorious. 
 
 Ulyss. O, contain yourself; 
 
 Your passion draws ears hither. 
 
 Enter M'sv.KS. 
 
 JEne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord: 
 Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; 
 Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 
 
 Tro. Have with you, prince: — My courteous 
 lord, adieu : 
 Farewell, revolted fair ! — and, Diomed, 
 Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! 
 
 Ulyss. I'll bring you to the gates. 
 
 Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus, .^neas, and Ultsses. 
 
 Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed ! 
 I would croak like a raven ; I would bode, I would 
 bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the in- 
 telligence of this whore : the parrot will not do 
 more for an almond, than he for a commodious 
 drab. Lechery, lechery ; still, wars and lechery ; 
 nothing else holds fashion : A burning devil take 
 them ! [Exit. 
 
 » Love. 
 
 3 Compressed. 
 
 * Concupiscence. 
 
 SCENE III.— Troy. Before Priam's Falace 
 
 Enter Hector and Andromache. 
 And. When was my lord so much ungentlj 
 tcmper'd, 
 To stop his ears against admonishment 1 
 Unarm, unarm, and do tot fight to-day. 
 
 Hect. You train me to offend you: get you in: 
 By all the everlasting gods, I'll go. 
 
 And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the 
 lied. No more, I say. [<^ay. 
 
 Enter Cassandra. 
 Cus. Where is my brothei I lector 1 
 
 And. Here, sister ; arm'd, and bloody i.i intent : 
 Consort with me in loud and dear petition. 
 Pursue wo him on knees ; for I have dream'd 
 Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night [ter. 
 Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaugh- 
 Cas. O, it is true. 
 
 Hect. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound ! 
 
 Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet 
 
 brother. [swear. 
 
 Hed. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me 
 
 Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish* vows ; 
 
 They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
 
 Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 
 
 And. O ! be persuaded : Do not count it holy 
 To hurt by being just : it is as lawful, 
 For we would give much, to use violent thefts, 
 And rob in the behalf of charity. 
 
 Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; 
 But vows, to every purpose, must not hold : 
 Unarm, sweet Hector. 
 
 Hed. Hold you still, I say ; 
 
 Mine honor keeps the weather of my fate : 
 Life every man holds dear ; but the dear man 
 Holds honor for more precious-dear than life, — 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 How now, young man, mcan'st thou to fight to-day 1 
 
 Aiid. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 
 
 [Exit Cassandra. 
 Het. No, 'faith, young Troilus; doff' thy harness, 
 I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry : [youth, 
 
 Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong. 
 And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. 
 Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
 I'll stand, to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy. 
 
 Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you 
 Which better fits a lion, than a man. [for it. 
 
 Hed- What vice is that, good Troilus 1 chide me 
 Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall, 
 Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword. 
 You bid them rise, and live. 
 Hed. O, 'tis fair play. 
 
 Tro. Fool's play, by heaven. Hector, 
 
 Hed. How now1 how now 1 
 Tro. For the love of all tne gods, 
 
 Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother ; 
 And when we have our armors buckled on. 
 The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords; 
 Spur them to ruthfur work, rein them from ruth.* 
 Hed. Fye, savage, fye ! 
 
 Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. 
 
 Hed. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. 
 Tro. Who should withhold me ! 
 Not fate, obedience, nor the hand .^f Mars 
 Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; 
 Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, 
 
 » Foolish. • Put off. ' llueful, woful. • Mercy. 
 
Scene V". 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 (i39 
 
 Their 0368 o'ergalled with recourse of tears; 
 Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 
 Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, 
 But by my ruin. 
 
 Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam. 
 
 Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast : 
 He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay, 
 Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee. 
 Fall all together. 
 
 Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back : 
 
 Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had visions; 
 Cassandra doth foresee, and I myself 
 A m like a prophet suddenly cnrapt, 
 To tell thee — that this day is ominous. 
 Therefore, come back. 
 
 IJect. jEneas is a- field ; 
 
 And I do stand engaged to many Greeks, 
 Even in the faith of valor, to appear 
 This morning to them. 
 
 Pri. But thou shalt not go. 
 
 Hed. I must not break my faith. 
 You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir. 
 Let me not shame respect; but give me leave 
 To take that course by your consent and voice. 
 Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 
 Cas. O Priam, yield not to him. 
 And. Do not, dear father. 
 
 Hed. Andromache, I am offended with you: 
 Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 
 
 [^ExU Andromache. 
 Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl, 
 Makes all these bodements. 
 
 Cas. O farewell, dear Hector. 
 
 Look, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns pale! 
 Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents ! 
 Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out ! 
 How poor Andromache shrills her dolors forth ! 
 Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement. 
 Like witless antics, one another meet, 
 And all cry — Hector ! Hector's dead ! O Hector ! 
 Tro. Away ! — Away ! 
 
 Cas. Farewell. Yet soft: — Hector, I take my 
 leave ; 
 Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. \^Exit. 
 Hed. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim ; 
 Go in, and cheer the town : we'll Ibrth and fight: 
 Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. 
 Pri. Farewell; the gods with safety stand about 
 thee! 
 
 \_Exeunt severally Priam and Hkctok. 
 Alaruriis. 
 Tro. They are at it; hark! Proud Diomed, believe, 
 I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 
 
 As TnoiLUS is going out, enter, from the other side, 
 Paxdarus. 
 
 Paru- Do you hear, my lord '^ do you hear ? 
 
 Tro. What now 1 
 
 Pan. Here's a letter from yon poor girl. 
 
 Tro. Let me read. 
 
 Pan. A whoreson phthisic, a whoreson rascally 
 phthisic so troubles me, and the foolisii fortune of 
 this girl ; and what one thing, what anolher, that I 
 shall leave you one o' these days: And I have a 
 rheum in mine eyes too; and such an ache in my 
 tones, that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell 
 what to think on't. — What says she there 1 
 
 Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from 
 tne heart; [Tearing tlie hiter. 
 
 fhe effect doth operate another way. — 
 
 Go wind, to wind, there turn and change together. 
 My love with words and errors still she feeds; 
 But edifies another with her deeds. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Between Troy and the Grecian 
 Camp. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Thersites. 
 
 Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another 
 I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable var- 
 let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy, doting, fool- 
 ish young knave's sleeve of Troy there, in his helm : 
 I would fain see them meet; that that same young 
 Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send 
 that Greekish whorcmastcr villain with the sleeve, 
 back to the dissembling luxurious drab, on a sleeve- 
 less errand. — 0' the other side, the policy of those 
 crafty swearing rascals, — that stale old mouse-eaten 
 dry cheese, Nestor ; and that same dog-fox Ulysses, 
 — is net proved worth a black-berry : — they set 
 me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against 
 that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and now is the 
 cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will 
 not arm to-day : Whereupon the Grecians began 
 to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an 
 ill opinion. Soft ! here comes sleeve, and t'other 
 
 Enter Diomedes, T roilvs folloiving. 
 
 Tro. Fly not ; for, shouldst thou take the river 
 I would swim after. [Styx, 
 
 Dio. Thou dost miscall retire : 
 
 I do not lly ; but advantageous care 
 Withdrew me from the odds of multitude ; 
 Have at thee ! 
 
 Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now for thy 
 whore, Trojan 1 — now the sleeve, now the sleeve! 
 \_Exeunt Troilus a/id Biouedes, Jighting. 
 Enter Hector. 
 
 Hed. What art thou, Greek 1 art thou for Hec- 
 tor's match 1 
 Art thou of blood, and honor? 
 
 Ther. No, no, — I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing 
 knave ; a very filthy rogue. 
 
 Hed. I do believe thee ; — live. [Exit. 
 
 Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me ; 
 But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me ! 
 What's become of the wenching rogues ] I think, 
 they have swallowed one another : I would laugh 
 at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. 
 I'll seek them. [Exit 
 
 SCENE Y.— The same. 
 Enter Diomedes and a Servant. 
 
 Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horsq 
 Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid: 
 Fellow, commend my service to her beauty; 
 Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, 
 And am her knight by proof. 
 
 Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit Servant 
 
 Enter Agamemnon. 
 
 Agam. Renew, renew ! The fierce Polydamut 
 Hath beat down Monon : bastard Margarelon 
 Hath Doreus prisoner: 
 
 And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,' 
 Upon the pashcd' corses of the kings 
 Epislrophus and Ccdius: Polixenes is slain, 
 9 Lance. * Bruised, crushed. 
 
640 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Ampliiraachus, and Thoas, deadly hurt ; 
 Patroclus la'en or slain ; and Palamedes 
 Sore hurt and bruis'd : the dreadful Sagittary 
 Appals our numbers; haste we, Diomed, 
 To reinforcement, or we perish all. 
 
 Enter Nestoh. 
 
 Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles ; 
 And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame. — 
 There is a thousand Hectors in the field; 
 Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, 
 Ai:d there lacks work; anon, he's there afoot, 
 And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls^ 
 Before the belching whale; then is he yonder. 
 And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge. 
 Fall down before him, like the mower's swath: 
 Hei-e, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes ; 
 Dexterity so obeying appetite. 
 That what he will, he does; and does so much. 
 That proof i*: called impossibility. 
 
 Enter Ulysses. 
 
 Uli/ss. 0, courage, courage, princes! great Achilles 
 [s arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance : 
 Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, 
 Together with his mangled Myrmidons, 
 That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come 
 
 to him. 
 Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend, 
 And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it. 
 Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day 
 Mad and fantastic execution ; 
 Engaging and redeeming of himself, 
 With such a careless force, and forceless care, 
 As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, 
 Bade him win all. 
 
 Enter Ajax 
 
 Ajax. Troilus ! thou coward Troilus ! [Exit. 
 Dio. Ay, there, there. 
 
 Nest. So, so, we draw together. 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil. Where is this Hector? 
 
 Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face : 
 Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. 
 Hector ! where's Hector ] I will none but Hector. 
 
 SCENE Yl.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Enter Ajax. 
 
 Ajax. Troilus, than coward Troilus, show thy 
 head! 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 
 Dio. Troilus, I say ! where's Troilus ] 
 Ajax. What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Dio. I would correct him. 
 Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst have 
 my office, 
 Ere that correction : — Troilus, I say! wh» . i roilus ! 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 To-o. O traitor Diomed ! — turn thy false face, 
 thou traitor, 
 \nd pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse ! 
 Dio. Ha ! art thou there 1 
 Ajax. I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed. 
 Dio. He is my prize, I will not look upon, 
 a Shoal of fish. 
 
 Tro. Come both, you cogging ' Greeks ; have al 
 you both. [Exeunt, fighting 
 
 Enter Hector. 
 
 Hed. Yea, Troilus 1 O, well fought, my youngest 
 brother ! 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil. Now do I see thee: Ha! — Have at thee, 
 Hector. 
 
 Hed. Pause, if thou wilt. 
 
 Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojaa. 
 Be happy that my arms are out of use: 
 My rest and negligence befriend thee now, 
 But thou anon shalt hear of me again; 
 Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit, 
 
 Hed. Fare thee well : — 
 
 I would have been much more a fresher man. 
 Hod I expected thee. — How now, my brother! 
 
 Re-enter Troilus. 
 
 Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^neas; Shall it be] 
 No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven. 
 He shall not carry ' him ; I'll be taken too, 
 Or bring him off: — Fate, hear me what I say ! 
 I reck ' not though I end my life to-da}^ [Exit 
 
 Enter one iii sumptuous Armor. 
 
 Hed. Stand, stand, thou Greek 1 thou art a good- 
 ly mark: — 
 Nol wilt thou notl — I like thy armor well; 
 I'll frush^ it, and unlock the rivets all, 
 But I'll be master of it: — Wilt thou not, beast, 
 
 abide ? 
 Why, then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VII.— T^e same. 
 
 Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. 
 
 Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; 
 Mark what I say. — Attend me where I wheel: 
 Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath j 
 And when I have the bloody Hector found. 
 Empale him with your weapons round about; 
 In fellest manner execute your arms. 
 Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye: 
 It is decreed — Hector the great must die. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— 77;e same. 
 
 Enter Menelaus and Paris, fghiing: then 
 Thersites. 
 
 Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are 
 at it: Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! 
 now my double-henned sparrow ! 'Loo, Paris, 'I30I 
 The bull has the game : — 'ware horns, ho ! 
 
 [Exeunt Paris and Meneijl08, 
 
 Enter Margaeelon. 
 
 Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 
 
 Ther. What art thou 1 
 
 Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. 
 
 Ther. I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : I am 
 a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, 
 bastard in valor, in every thing illegitimate. One 
 bear will not bite another, and wherefore should 
 one bastard 1 Take heed, the quarrel's most omin 
 
 » Lying. « Prevail over. » Care. • Bur^t 
 
Scene XI. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 641 
 
 Dus to US : if the son of a whore fight for a whore, 
 he tempts judgment: Farewell, bastard. 
 
 Mar. The devil take thee, coward! \^Exennt. 
 
 SCENE IX.— Another Part of the Field. 
 E?iter Hector. 
 H'r: Most putrefied core, so fiiir without, 
 Thy g(X)dly armor thus hath cost thy life. 
 Noiv is my day '3 work done ; I'll take good breath ; 
 Rest, sword ; thou hast thy fill of blood and death ! 
 [P»/s off his Helmet, and hangs his Shield 
 behind him. 
 Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 
 
 Ackil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set. 
 How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
 Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun. 
 To close the day up, Hector's life is done. 
 
 Hect. I am unarm'd ; forego this vantage, Greek. 
 Achil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I 
 seek. [Hector /a//s. 
 
 So Ilion, fall thou next ! now, Troy, sink down ; 
 Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. — ■ 
 On, myrmidons : and cry you all amain, 
 Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain ! 
 
 [yl retreat sounded. 
 Hark ! a retreat upon our Grecian part. 
 
 Mijr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my 
 
 lord. 
 Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads 
 the earth. 
 And, stickler' like, the armies separates. 
 My half-supp'd sword, that frankly' would have fed, 
 Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. — 
 
 \^^ieathes his sword. 
 Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ; 
 Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.—T/ie same. 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Mexelaus, Nestor, 
 DioMEDES, and others, marching. Shouts 
 within. 
 
 Agam. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that 1 
 
 Nest. Peace, drums. 
 
 iWithin.'] Achilles! 
 
 Achilles! Hector's slain ! Achilles! 
 
 Dio. The bruit' is — Hector's slain, and by 
 Achilles. 
 
 Ajax. If it be so, yet b'-iefless let it be ; 
 G.-eat Hector was as good a man as he. 
 
 Agam. March patiently along: — Let one be sent 
 To pray Achilles see us at our tent. — 
 If in his death the gods have us befriended, 
 Grea: Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. 
 
 ^Exeunt v^trching. 
 
 SCENE XI.- -Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Enter ^xeas and Trojans. 
 Mne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field : 
 Never go home ; here starve we out the night. 
 Enter Thoilus. 
 Tro. Hector is slain. 
 
 ' An arliitrator at athletic games. • Fattening. 
 
 » N ^ise, rumor. 
 
 All. Hector I— The gods forbid i 
 
 Tro. He's dead ; and at the murderer's horse's taii^ 
 
 In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful 
 
 field.— 
 Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed ! 
 Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troyl 
 I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, 
 And linger not our sure destructions on \ 
 
 JEne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host 
 Tro. You understand me not, that tell me bo : 
 I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ; 
 But dare all imminence, that gods and men, 
 Address their dangers in. Hector is gone ! 
 Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba 1 
 Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call "J, 
 Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector's dead ' 
 There is a word will Priam turn to stone ; 
 Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, 
 Cold statues of the youth ; and, in a word, 
 Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away ; 
 Hector is dead ; there is no more to say. 
 Stay yet ; — You vile abominable tents. 
 Thus proudly pight' upon our Phrygian plains, 
 Let Titan rise as early as he dare, 
 I'll through and through you ! — And thou, great- 
 
 siz'd coward ! 
 No space of earth shall sunder our two hates : 
 m haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, 
 That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.— 
 Strike a free march to Troy ! — with comfort go : 
 Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 
 
 [Exeunt -(Eneas and Trojans. 
 
 As Tkoilus is going out, enter from the other 
 side, Pandarus. 
 
 Fan. But hear you, hear you ! 
 
 Tro. Hence, broker lackey ! ignomy^ and shame 
 Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name ! 
 
 [Exit Troilus. 
 
 Fan. A goodly med'cine for my aching bones ! — 
 O world ! world ! world ! thus is the poor agent 
 despised ! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are 
 you set a' work, and how ill requited ! Why should 
 our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so 
 loathed? what verse for iti what instance for it? — 
 Let me see : — 
 
 Full merrily the humble-bee doth smg, 
 Till he hath lost his honey and his sting : 
 And being once subdued in armed tail. 
 Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. — 
 
 Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted 
 cloths.' 
 
 As many as be here of panders' hall. 
 Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandai s fall : 
 Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, 
 Though not for me, yet for j'our aching bones. 
 Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade. 
 Some two months hence my will shall here be made 
 It should be now, but that my fear is this, — 
 Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss : 
 Till then I'll sweat, and seek about for easc« ; 
 And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ' Pitohcil, flxod. a Ignominy. 
 
 3 Canvass hangings fbr rooms, painted with emblemi 
 and mottoes. 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 F'MON, a nohle Athenian. 
 
 Lucius, i 
 
 LucuLLus, > Lords, and Flatterers of Timon. 
 
 Sempronius, ) 
 
 Ventidius, one of Timon's false Friends. 
 
 Apemantus, a churlish Philosopher. 
 
 Alcibiades, an Athenian General. 
 
 Flavius, Steward to Timon. 
 
 Flamixius, ^ 
 
 LuciLius, > Timon's Servants. 
 
 Servilius, ) 
 
 Caphis, 
 
 Philotus, 
 
 Titus, 
 
 Lucius, 
 
 hortensius, _ 
 
 Servants to Timon's Creditors. 
 
 Two Servants of Varro. 
 
 The Servant of Isidore. 
 
 Two of Timon's Creditors. 
 
 Cupid and Maskers. 
 
 Three Strangers. 
 
 Poet. 
 
 Painter. 
 
 Jeweller. 
 
 Merchant. 
 
 An old Athenian. 
 
 A Page. A Fool. 
 
 Phuynia, 
 
 TiMANDR 
 
 .\ 
 
 Mistresses to Alcibiades. 
 
 Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thiete* 
 and Attendants 
 
 SCENE, Athens; and the Woods adjoining. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L— Athens. A Hall in Timon's House. 
 
 Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and 
 
 others, at several doors. 
 
 Poet. Good-day, sir. 
 
 Pain. I am glad you are well. 
 
 Poet. I have not seen you long ; How goes the 
 world 1 
 
 Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. 
 
 Poet. Ay, that's well known : 
 
 But what particular rarity 1 what strange. 
 Which manifold record not matches! See, 
 Magic of bounty ! all these spirits thy power 
 Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. 
 
 Pain. I know them both; t' other's a jeweller. 
 
 Mer. 0, 'tis a worthy lord ! 
 
 Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd. 
 
 Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd,' as 
 it were, 
 To an untirablc and continuate'' goodness : 
 He pa.sses.^ 
 
 Jew^ I have a jewel here. 
 
 Mer. 0, pray, let's see't : For the lord Timon, sir 1 
 
 Jew. If he will touch the estimate; But, for that — 
 
 Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the 
 
 vile, 
 
 U stains the glory in that happy verse 
 
 Which aptly sings the good. 
 
 • Inured by constant practice. ^ Continual. 
 
 • e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds. 
 
 64S 
 
 Mer. 'Tis a good form 
 
 [Looking at the jttvet. 
 
 Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you. 
 
 Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some de- 
 dication 
 To the great lord. 
 
 Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 
 
 Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes 
 From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i' the flint 
 Shows not till it be struck ; our gentle flame 
 Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies 
 Each bound it chafes. What have you there 1 
 
 Pain. A picture, sir. — And when comes yj>'i; 
 book forth] 
 
 Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment,' sir 
 Let's see your piece. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis a good piece. 
 
 Poet. So 'tis : this comes off well and excellent 
 
 Pain. Indifferent. 
 
 Poet. Admirable ; How this grace 
 
 Speaks his own standing! what a mental power 
 This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination 
 Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the ges- 
 ture 
 One might interpret. 
 
 Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
 Here is a touch ; Is't good "^ 
 
 Poet. I'll say of i^ 
 
 * As soon as my book has been presented to Timon 
 
Scene /. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 64b 
 
 ft tutors nature: artificial strife' 
 
 Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 
 
 Enter certain Senators, and pass over. 
 
 Pain. How this lord's follow'd ! 
 
 Poet. The senators of Athens : Happy men ! 
 
 Pain. Look, more ! 
 
 Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood 
 of visitors. 
 I have in this rough work, shaped out a man, 
 Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
 With amplest entertainment: My free drift 
 Halts not particularly,^ but moves itself 
 In a wide sea of wax: no levelled malice 
 [nfects one comma in the course I hold ; 
 But flics an eagle flight, bold, and forth on. 
 Leaving no tract behind. 
 
 Pain. How shall I understand you? 
 
 Poet. I'll unbolt to you. 
 
 You see how all conditions, how all minds, 
 (As well of glib and slippery creatures, as 
 Of grave and austere quality,) tender down 
 Their services to lord Timon : his large fortune, 
 Upon his good and gracious nature hanging. 
 Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 
 All sorts of hearts: yea, from the glass-faced flatterer'' 
 To Apemantus, that few things loves better 
 Than to abhor himself; even he drops down 
 The knee before him, and returns in peace 
 Most rich in Timon's nod. 
 
 Pain. I saw them speak together. 
 
 Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, 
 Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o'the mount 
 Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures. 
 That labor on the bosom of this sphere 
 To propagate their states:' amongst them all. 
 Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fixed. 
 One do I personate of lord Timon's frame. 
 Whom Fortune with her ivory hands wafts to her ; 
 W'hose present grace to present slaves and servants 
 Translates his rivals. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. 
 
 This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks. 
 With one man beckon'd from the rest below. 
 Bowing his head against the stcepy mount 
 To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
 In our condition. 
 
 Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on: 
 
 All those which were his fellows but of late, 
 (Some better than his value.) on the moment 
 Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance. 
 Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear. 
 Wake sacred even his stirrup, and through him 
 Drink the free air. 
 
 Pain. Ay, marry, what of these] 
 
 Poet. When fortune in her shift and change of 
 mood, 
 Spurns down her late bclov'd, all his dependants, 
 \Vliich labor'd after him to the mountain's top. 
 Even on tlieir knees and hands, let him slip down, 
 Not one accompanying his declining toot. 
 
 P 
 
 'Tis 
 
 s common ; 
 
 A thousand moral paintings I can show 
 That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune 
 More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well, 
 I'o show lord Timon that mean eyes have seen 
 Vhc foot above the head. 
 
 s i. e. The contest of art with nature. 
 « My ilrfir^n does not stop at any particular charaotor. 
 ' One wlio shows by reflection the looks of his patron. 
 ' To adial ce their conditions of life. 
 
 Trumpets sounds Enter Timon, attended; the 
 Servant of Ventidius talking with him. 
 
 Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you 1 
 
 Ve7i. Serv. Ay, my good lord : five talents is hia 
 debt; 
 His means most short, his creditors most strait: 
 Your honorable letter he desires 
 To those have shut him up; which failing to him 
 Periods his comfort. 
 
 Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well; 
 
 I am not of that feather, to shake ofif 
 My friend when.he must need me. I do know him 
 A gentleman, that well deserves a help, 
 which he shall have : I'll pay the debt, and free him. 
 
 Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to him : I will send his 
 ransom ; 
 And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me : — 
 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up. 
 But to support him after. — Fare you well. 
 
 Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honor' [^Extt. 
 
 Enter an old Athenian. 
 
 Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 
 
 Tim. Freely, gooJ fathei 
 
 Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lucilius, 
 
 Tim. I have so: What of him .' 
 
 Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man be 
 
 fore thee. 
 Tim. Attends he here, or no 1 — Lucilius ! 
 
 Enter Lucilius. 
 
 Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. 
 
 Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy 
 creature. 
 By night frequents my house. I am a man 
 That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift ; 
 And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd. 
 Than one which holds a trencher. 
 
 Tim. Well; what further? 
 
 Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, 
 On whom I may confer what I have got: 
 The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, 
 And I have bred her at my dearest cost. 
 In qualities of the best. This man of thine 
 Attempts her love : I pr'ythee, noble lord, 
 Join with me to forbid him her resort ; 
 Myself have spoke in vain. 
 
 Tim. The man is honest. 
 
 Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon : 
 His honesty rewards him in itself. 
 It must not bear my daughter. 
 
 Tim. Does she love him? 
 
 Old Ath. She is young and apt: 
 Our own precedent passions do instruct us 
 What levity's in youth. 
 
 Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid? 
 
 Lxic. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. 
 
 Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent b« 
 missing, 
 I call the gods to witness, I will choose 
 Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world. 
 And dispossess her all. 
 
 Tim. How shall she be cndow'(^ 
 
 If she be mated with an equal husband 1 
 
 Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in fu« 
 
 turc, all. 
 Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long 
 To build his fortune. I will strain a little. 
 
b41 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act I 
 
 For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: 
 What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, 
 And make him weigh with her. 
 
 Old Ath. Most noble lord, 
 
 Pawn me to this your honor, she is his. [mise. 
 
 Tim. My hand to thee; mine honor on my pro- 
 
 Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship; Never may 
 That state or fortune fall into my keeping, 
 Which is not ow'd to you ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucilius and Old Athenian. 
 
 Poet. Vouchsafe my labor, and long live your 
 lordship ! 
 
 Thn. I thank j'ou ; you shall heat from me anon : 
 Go not away. — What have you there, my friend ] 
 
 Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech 
 your lordship to accept. 
 
 Tim. Painting is welcome. 
 
 The painting is almost the natural man ; 
 For since dishonor traffics with man's nature, 
 He is but outside : These pencil'd figures are 
 Even such as they give out. I like your work ; 
 And you shall find, I like it : wait attendance. 
 Till you hear further from me. 
 
 Pain. The gods preserve you ! [hand : 
 
 Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen : Give me your 
 We must needs dine together. — Sir, your jewel 
 Hath sufler'd under praise. 
 
 Jew. What, my lord, dispraise 1 
 
 Tim, A mere satiety of commendations. 
 If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoU'd, 
 It would unclew" me quite. 
 
 Jeiv. My lord, 'tis rated 
 
 As thosc,which sell.would give : Butyou well know. 
 Things of like value, differing in the owners. 
 Are prized by their masters ; believ't, dear lord, 
 You mend the jewel by wearing it. 
 
 Tim. Well mock'd. 
 
 Mer. No, ray good lord ; he speaks the common 
 Which all men speak with him. [tongue, 
 
 Tim. Iiook, who comes here 1 Will you be chid ] 
 Enter Apemantus. 
 
 Jew. We will bear, with your lordship. 
 
 Mer. He'll spare none. 
 
 Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! 
 
 Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow ; 
 When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves 
 honest. 
 
 Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves 1 thou 
 know'st them not. 
 
 Apem. Are they not Athenians 1 
 
 Tim. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then I repent not. 
 
 Jew. You know me, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou knowest, I do ; I call'd thee by thy 
 iiame. 
 
 Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not 
 like Timon. 
 
 Tim. Whither art going 1 
 
 Apem.To knock out an honest A thenian's brains. 
 
 Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for. 
 
 Apem. Right,lf doing nothing be death by the law. 
 
 Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus 1 
 
 Apem. The best, for the innocence. 
 
 Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it 1 
 
 Apem. He wrought better, that made the paint- 
 jr ; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. 
 
 Pain. You are a dog. 
 
 sKuin 
 
 Apem. Thy mother's of my generation ; What's 
 she, if I be a dog 1 
 
 Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. No ; I eat not lords. 
 
 Tim. An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies. 
 
 Apem. 0, they eat lords; so they come by great 
 bellies. 
 
 Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension, [labor 
 
 Apem. So thou apprehend'st it ; Take it for thj 
 
 Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus "* 
 
 Apem. Not so well as plain dealing,' which wil! 
 not cost a man a doit. 
 
 Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth 1 
 
 Jjoem. Not worth my thinking. — How now, poet'' 
 
 Poet. How now, philosopher'' 
 
 Apem. Thou liest. 
 
 Poet. Art not one 1 
 
 Apem. Yes. 
 
 Poet. Then I lie not. 
 
 Apem. Art not a poet ■? 
 
 Poet. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then thou liest : look in thy last work, 
 where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. 
 
 Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so. 
 
 Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay 
 thee for thy labor : He that loves to be flattered, is 
 worthy c the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord ! 
 
 Tim. ^Vhat wouldst do then, Apemantus ■? 
 
 Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a 
 lord with my heart. 
 
 Tim. What, thyself' 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. wherefore T 
 
 Apem. That I hati no angry wit to be a lord.— 
 Art not thou a merchant 1 
 
 Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! 
 
 Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. [thee ! 
 
 Apem. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound 
 Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. 
 
 Tim. What trumpet's thaf? 
 
 Serv. 'Tis Alcibiades and 
 
 Some twenty horse, all of companionship. 
 
 Tim. Pray, entertain them ; give them guide to 
 
 us. — [Exeunt some Attendants. 
 
 You must needs dine with me : — Go not you hence. 
 
 Till I have thank'd you ; and when dinner's done, 
 
 Show me this piece. — I am joyful of your sights. — 
 
 Enter Alcibiades, with his Company. 
 Most welcome, sir ! V^^^^y salute. 
 
 Apem. So, so; there! — 
 
 Aches contract and starve your supple joints !— 
 That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet 
 
 knaves. 
 And all this court' sy ! The strain of man's bred oul 
 Into baboon and monkey. 
 
 Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed 
 Most hungrily on your sight. 
 
 Tim. Right welcome, sir 
 
 Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time 
 In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Apemantus. 
 Enter two Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. What time a day is't, Apemantus 1 
 
 Apem. Time to be honest. 
 
 1 Lord. That time serves still. 
 
 Jjoem.The most accursed thou,thatsi.dlomit'stit» 
 
 2 Lord. Thou art going to lord Timon's feast» 
 
 • Alluding to the proverb : Plain dealing !f a jewel, bol 
 they who use It beggara. 
 
Scene JI. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 6'la 
 
 Apem. Ay ; to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat 
 2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. [fools. 
 Apem. Thou art a fool, to bid me farewell twice. 
 2 Lord. Why, Apcmantus T 
 Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I 
 mean to give thee none. 
 
 1 Lord. Hang thyself. 
 
 Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding ; 
 make thy requests to thy friend. 
 
 2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn 
 thee hence. 
 
 4pem.Iwillflylikeadog,thcheelsoftheass.[Eari7. 
 
 1 Lord. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall 
 And taste lord Timon's bounty 1 he outgoes [we in. 
 The very heart of kindness. 
 
 2 Lord. He pours it out; Plutus the god of gold 
 Is but his steward : no meed,* but he repays 
 Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him. 
 
 But breeds the giver a return exceeding 
 All use of quittance.' 
 
 1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries. 
 That ever govern'd man. [we in! 
 
 2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes ! Shall 
 1 Lord. I'll keep you company. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room of State in Timon's House. 
 
 Hautboys playing loud Music. A great Banquet 
 served in,- Flavius and others attending; then 
 enter Timon, Alcibiades, Lucius, Lucullus, 
 Sempronius, andother Athenian Senators, ivith 
 Ventidius, and Attendants. Then comes, drop- 
 ping after all, Apem ant us, discontentedly. 
 
 Ven. Most honor'd Timon, 't hath pleas'd the 
 gods remember 
 My father's age, and call him to long peace. 
 He is gone happy, and has left me rich : 
 Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 
 To your free heart, I do return those talents. 
 Doubled with thanks, and service, from whose help 
 I deriv'd liberty. 
 
 Tim. O, by no means. 
 
 Honest Ventidius : you mistake my love ; 
 I gave it freely ever ; and there's none 
 Can truly say, he gives, if he receives : 
 If our betters play at that game, we must not dare 
 To imitate them ; Faults that are rich, are fair. 
 
 Ven. A noble spirit. 
 [ They all stand ceremoniously looking on Timox. 
 
 Tim. Nay, my lords, ceremony 
 
 Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss 
 On faint deeds, hollow welcomes. 
 Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown ; 
 But where there is true friendship, there needs none. 
 Pray sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes. 
 Than my fortunes to me. [They sit. 
 
 1 Lord. My lord, we always have confessed it. 
 
 Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it? hang'd it, have you 
 not] 
 
 Tim. O, Apemantus ! — you are welcome. 
 
 Apem. No. 
 
 You shall not make me welcome : 
 I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. 
 
 Tim. Fye, thou art a churl ; you have got a 
 humor there 
 Does not become a man, 'tis much to blame: 
 
 * Meed here means desert. 
 
 't. e. All the customary returns made in discharge of 
 »bliga!JODS. 
 
 42 
 
 They say, my lords, that ira furor brems est 
 
 But yond' man's ever angry. 
 
 Go, let him have a table by himself; 
 
 For he does r.either affect company. 
 
 Nor is he fit for it, indeed. 
 
 Apem. Let me stay at thine own peril, Timon ; 
 I come to observe ; I give thee warning on't. 
 
 Tim. I take no heed of thee ; thou art an Athe- 
 nian; therefore welcome: I myself would have no 
 power: pr'ythee, let my meat make thee silent. 
 
 Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for 
 I should 
 Ne'er flatter thee. — O you gods ! what a numbftt 
 Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not! 
 It grieves me to see so many dip their meat 
 In one man's blood; and all the madnt.^ is. 
 He cheers them up too.' 
 
 I wonder men dare trust themselves with men : 
 Methinks they should invite them without knives, 
 Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. 
 There's much example for't; the fellow, that 
 Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and pledges 
 The breath of him in a divided draught, 
 Is the readiest man to kill him : it has been prov'd. 
 If I 
 
 Were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals; 
 Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes; 
 Great men should drink with harness' on their 
 throats. 
 
 Tim. My lord, in heart;' and let the health go 
 round. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 
 
 Apem. Flow this way ! 
 
 A brave fellow ! — he keeps his tides well. Timon, 
 Those healths will make thee, and thy state, look ill. 
 Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, 
 Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire : 
 This, and my food, are equals; there's no odds. 
 Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 
 
 ApEMAifTUs's Grace. 
 
 Immortal gods, I crave no pelf,- 
 
 I pray for no man but myself- 
 
 Grant I may never prove so fond' 
 
 To trust man on his oath or bond,- 
 
 Or a harlot for her weeping; 
 
 Or a dog thai seems a sleeping; 
 
 Or a keeper loilh my freedom; 
 
 Or my friends, if I should need 'e/ra. 
 
 Amen. So fall to' t: 
 
 Rich men sin, and I eat root. 
 
 [_Eafs and drinks. 
 
 Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus ! 
 
 Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field 
 now. 
 
 Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. 
 
 Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of ene- 
 mies, than a dinner of friends. 
 
 Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, 
 there's no meat like them ; I could wish my best 
 friend at such a feast. 
 
 Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine 
 enemies then ; that then thou might'st kill 'em, and 
 bid me to 'cm. 
 
 * Anger is a short madness. 
 
 > The allusion is to a pack of hounds trained to pursuiij 
 by being gratified with the blood of an animal which thej' 
 kill; anil the wonder is, that the animal, on wtdch they 
 are feeding, cheers them to the chase. 
 
 • Armor ' With sincerity. • Foolish. 
 
646 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act L 
 
 1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my 
 lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby 
 we might express some part of our zeals, we should 
 think ourselves for ever perfect. 
 
 Tim. 0, no doubt, my good fiiends, but the gods 
 themselves have provided that I shall have much 
 help from you : How had you been my friends else] 
 why have you that charitable title from thousands, 
 did you not chiefly belong to my heart ? I have told 
 more of you to myself, than you can with modesty 
 speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm 
 you. O, you gods, think I, what need we have any 
 friends, if we should never have need of them 1 
 they were the most needless creatures living, should 
 we ne'er have use for them ; and would most re- 
 semble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that 
 keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have 
 often wished myself poorer, that I might come 
 nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and 
 what better or properer can we call our own, than 
 the riches of our friends? O, what a precious 
 comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, com- 
 manding one another's fortunes ! O joy, e'en made 
 away ere it can be born ! Mine eyes cannot hold 
 out water, methinks : to forget their faults, I drink 
 to you. 
 
 Apeni. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. 
 
 2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, 
 And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up. [tard. 
 
 Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe a bas- 
 
 3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me 
 
 much. 
 
 Apem. Much!' [Tucket sounded. 
 
 Tim. What means that trump ? — How now ] 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain la- 
 dies most desirous of admittance. 
 
 Tim. Ladies 1 what are their wills ? 
 
 Serv. There comes with them a forerunner, my 
 lord,which bears that ofilce,to signify their pleasures. 
 
 Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. 
 Enter Cupid. 
 
 Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon ; — and to all 
 That of his bounties taste ! — The five best senses 
 Acki.owledge thee their patron ; and come freely 
 To gratulate thy plenteous bosom : The ear 
 Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from thy table rise; 
 They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 
 
 Tim. They are welcome all ; let them have kind 
 admittance : 
 Music, make their welcome. [Exit Cupid. 
 
 1 Lord. You see, my lord, how ample you are 
 belov'd. 
 Music. Re-enter Cupid, with a Masque of La- 
 dies as Amazons, with Lutes in their Hands, 
 
 dancing, and playing. 
 
 Apem. Hey day, what a sweep of vanity comes 
 They dance ! they are mad women. [this way ! 
 Like madness is the glory of this life, 
 As this pomp shows to a little oil, and root. 
 We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves ; 
 And spend our flatteries, to drink those men, 
 Upon whose age we void it up again, [not 
 
 With poisonous spite, and envy. Who lives, that's 
 Depraved, or depraves ] who dies, that bears 
 Not one spurn to their graves of their friends' gift "> 
 I should fear, those, that dance before me now, 
 
 » Much, was formerly an expression of contemptuous ad 
 miratioo. 
 
 Would one day stamp upon me; It has been done; 
 
 Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 
 
 T'he Lords rise from Table ivith much adoi-ing oj 
 Timon ; and to show their Loves, each singles out 
 an Amazon, and all dance, Men with Women, a 
 lofty Strain or two to the Hautboys, and cease 
 Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace 
 
 Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, [fair ladies. 
 
 Which was not half so beautiful and kind ; 
 
 You have added worth unto't, and lively luitrc, 
 
 And entertain'd me with mine own device ; 
 
 I am to thank you for it. 
 
 1 Lady. My lord, you take us even at the best 
 Apem. 'Faith, for the worst is filth}-; tnd would 
 
 not hold taking, I doubt me. 
 
 Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet 
 
 Attends you: Please you to dispose yourstlves. 
 All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Cupin, and Ladies. 
 
 Tim. Flavins, 
 
 Flav. My lord. 
 
 Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 
 
 Flav. Yes, my lord. — More jewels yet ! 
 
 There is no crossing him in his humor; [Aside. 
 
 Else I should tell him, — Well,— i'faith, I should, 
 
 When all's spent, he'd be cross'd' then, an he could 
 
 'Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind ; 
 
 That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind.' 
 [Exit, and returns with the Casket. 
 
 1 Lord. Where be our men ] 
 
 Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness 
 
 2 Lord. Our horses. 
 
 Tim. my friends, I have one word 
 
 To say to you : — Look you, my good lord, I must 
 Entreat you, honor me so much, as to 
 Advance this jewel ; 
 Accept, and wear it, kind my lord. 
 
 1 Lord. I am so far already in your g^fts,— 
 All. So are we all. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate 
 Newly alighted, and come to visit you. 
 
 Tim. They are fairly welcome. 
 
 Flav. I beseech your honor, 
 
 Vouchsafe me a word : it does concern you near. 
 
 Tim. Near ? why then another time I'll hear thee : 
 I pr'ythee, let us be provided 
 To show them entertainment. 
 
 Flav. I scarce know how. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. May it please your honor, the lord Lutius, 
 Out of his free love, hath presented to you 
 
 Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. 
 
 Tim. I shall accept them fairly : let the prescnut 
 
 Enter a third Servant. 
 
 Be worthily entertain'd. — How now, what news' 
 3 Serv. Please you, my lord, that honorablu 
 
 gentleman, lord Lucullus, entreats your company 
 
 to-morrow to hunt with him; and has sent youi 
 
 honor two brace of greyliounds. 
 
 Tim. I'll hunt with him; And let them be le 
 ceiv'd. 
 
 Not without fair reward. 
 
 ' Shakspcare plays on the word crossed; alluding to tbt 
 piece of silver mrney called a crous. 
 9 For his nobleness of soul. 
 
A-cr 11. Scene I. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 W, 
 
 Flav. [^Aside.'l What will this come to? 
 
 Se conimands us to provide, and give great gifts, 
 .^!id all out of an empty coffer. — 
 Nor will he know his purse; or yield me this, 
 To show him what a beggar his heart is, 
 Being of no power to make his wishes good ; 
 His promises fly so beyond his state, 
 That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes 
 For every word ; he is so kind, that he now 
 Pays interest for't ; his land's put to their books. 
 Well, 'would I were gently put out of office. 
 Before I were forced out ! 
 Happier is he that has no friend to feed. 
 Than such as do even enemies exceed. 
 I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Tim. You do yourselves 
 
 Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits: 
 Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. 
 
 2 Lord. With more than common thanks I will 
 
 receive it. 
 
 3 Lord. O, he is the very soul of bounty ! 
 Tim. And now I remember me, my lord, you gave 
 
 Good words the other day of a bay courser 
 I rode on : it is yours, beca>ise you liked it. 
 
 2 Lord. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in 
 that. 
 
 Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I know, 
 no man 
 Can justly praise, but what he does affect: 
 I weigh my friend's affection with mine own: 
 I'll tell you true. I'll call on you. 
 
 All Lords. None so welcome. 
 
 Tim. I take all and your several visitations 
 So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give; 
 Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, 
 And ne'er be weary. — Alcibiades, 
 Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich, 
 
 It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living 
 Is 'mongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast 
 Lie in a pitch'd field. 
 
 Alcib. Ay, defiled land, my lord 
 
 1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound, 
 
 Tim. And s; 
 
 Am I to you. 
 
 2 Lord. So infinitely endear'd, 
 
 Tim. All to you.' — Lights, more lights. 
 
 I Lord. The best of happiness 
 
 Honor, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon' 
 
 Tim. Ready for his friends. 
 
 [Exeunt Alcibiades, Lords, Sfc 
 
 Ajyem. What a coil's here 
 
 Serving of becks,* and jutting out of bums ! 
 i doubt whether their legs be worth the sums 
 That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs 
 Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs. 
 Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. 
 
 Tim. Now, Apemcntus, if thou wert not sullen, 
 I'd be good to thee. 
 
 Apem. No, I'll nothing : for. 
 
 If I should be bribed too, there would be none left 
 To rail upon thee ; and then thou wouldst sin tho 
 
 faster. 
 Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me, thou 
 Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly : 
 What needs these feasts, pomps, and vain glories'? 
 
 Tim. Nay, 
 
 An you begin to rail on society once, 
 I am sworn, not to give regard to you. 
 Farewell; and come with better music. 
 
 Apem. 
 Thou'lt not hear me now, — thou shalt not then, I'll 
 
 lock 
 Thy heaven" from thee. O, that men's ears should be 
 To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! [Exit. 
 
 [Exu 
 So;— 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in a Senator's House. 
 Enter a Senator, with Papers in his Hand. 
 
 Sen. -And late, five thousand to Varro ; and to 
 Isidore 
 He owes nine thousand ; besides my former sum. 
 Which makes it five-and-twenty. — Still in motion 
 Of raging waste ] It cannot hold ; it will not. 
 If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, 
 And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold : 
 If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
 Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, 
 Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, 
 And able horses : No porter at his gate ; 
 But rather one that smiles, and still invites 
 A.1J that pass by. It cannot hold ; no reason 
 Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho ! 
 Capliis, I say ! 
 
 Enter Caphis. 
 
 Capfi. Here, sir ; What is your pleasure ? 
 
 Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord 
 Timon ; 
 Importune him for my monies : be not ceased* 
 With slight denial ; nor (hen silenced, when — 
 Corn mend me to your master — and the cap 
 Phiys in the right hand tlius: — but tell him, sirrah, 
 My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 
 Out of mine own ; his days and times are past, 
 ind my reliances on his fracted dates 
 » iJ topped. 
 
 Have smit my credit : I love, and honor him ; 
 
 But must not break my back, to heal his fingei. 
 
 Immediate are my needs ; and my relief 
 
 Must not be toss'd and turned to me in words, 
 
 But find supply immediate. Get you gone : 
 
 Put on a most importunate aspect, 
 
 A visage of demand ; for, I do fear. 
 
 When every feather sticks in his own wing, 
 
 Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, 
 
 Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. 
 
 Caph. I go, sir. 
 
 "S'era. I go, sir ? — take the bonds along with yoU| 
 And have the dates in compt. 
 
 Caph. I will, sir. 
 
 Sen. Go. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— .4 Hall in Timon's House. 
 Enter Flavius, with many Bills in his Hand. 
 Flav. No care, no stop! so senseless of expense, 
 That he will neither know how to maintain it. 
 Nor cease his flow of riot : Takes no account 
 How things go from him ; nor resumes no care 
 Of what is to continue : Never mind 
 Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. 
 What shall be done] He will not hear, till feel: 
 I must be round with him now he comes fron 
 
 hunting. 
 Fye, fye, fye, fye. 
 
 * i. e. All happincsB to you. » Offering salutatiou.s 
 
 • By his icaven he means good advice. 
 
618 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 AOT II 
 
 Enter CapHH, and the Servants o/ Isidore and 
 Varro. 
 
 Caph. Good even, Varro : What, 
 
 Foil come for money ? 
 
 Var. Sei-v, Is't not your business too? 
 
 Ca}}h. It is; — And yours too, Isidore? 
 
 Jsid. Serv. It is SO. 
 
 Ciiph. 'Would we were all discharged ! 
 
 V<ir. Serv. I fear it. 
 
 Gajih. Here comes the lord. 
 Enter TiiioN, Alcibiades, and Lords, &c. 
 
 Tim. So soon as dinner's done, vre'll forth again, 
 My Alcibiades. — With me ? What's your will ? 
 
 Gitj>h. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 
 
 Tim. Dues? Whence are you? 
 
 Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Gro to my steward. 
 
 Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me oif 
 To the succession of now days this month : 
 My master is awaked by great occasion. 
 To call upon his own ; and humbly prays you, 
 That with your other noble parts you'll suit, 
 In giving him his right. 
 
 Tim. Mine honest friend, 
 
 I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning. 
 
 Caph. Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Tivi. Contain thyself, good friend. 
 
 Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord : — 
 
 Tsid. Serv. From Isidore ; 
 
 He humbly prays your speedy payment, — [wants, — 
 
 Ca2}h. If you did know, my lord, my master's 
 
 Var. Serv. 'Twas duo, on forfeiture, my lord, six 
 And past, [weeks, 
 
 hid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord ; 
 nd I am sent expressly to your lordship. 
 
 Tim. Give me breath : 
 
 I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; 
 
 [Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords. 
 I'll wait upon you instantly. — Come hither, pray you ; 
 
 [ To Flavius. 
 How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd 
 With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, 
 And the detention of iong-since-due debts, 
 Against my honor ? 
 
 Flav. Please you, gentlemen. 
 
 The time is unagreeable to this business : 
 Your importunacy cease, till after dinner; 
 That I may make his lordship understand 
 Wherefore you are not paid. 
 
 Tim. Do so, my friends : 
 
 See them well entertain'd. [Exit Timon. 
 
 Flav, I pray, draw near. [Exit Flavius. 
 
 Enter Apemantus and a Fool. 
 
 Caph. Stay, stay; here comes the fool with Ape- 
 mantus ; let's have some sport with 'em. 
 
 Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us. 
 
 Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog ! 
 
 Var. Serv. How dost, fool ? 
 
 Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow ? 
 
 Var. I speak not to thee. 
 
 Apem. No ; 'tis to thyself, — Come away. 
 
 [To the Fool. 
 
 T$id. Serv. [ To Vak. Serv.] There's the fool hangs 
 ot your back already. 
 
 J^ew. No, thou st.i.nd'st single, thou art not on him 
 
 Caph. Where's the fool now ? [yet. 
 
 Apem. He last asked the question. — Poor rogues, 
 and usurers' men ! bawds between gold and want ! 
 
 A/l Serv. What are we, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. Asses. 
 
 All. Serv. Why ? 
 
 Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not 
 know j'ourselves. — Speak to 'em, fool. 
 
 Fool. How do you, gentlemen ? 
 
 All Serv. Gramercies, good fool; how does your 
 mistress ? 
 
 Fool. She's e'en setting o-j water to scald such chick, 
 ens as you are. 'Would, we could see you at Corinth 
 Apem. Good ! gramercy. 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. 
 
 Page. [To the Fool.] Why, how now, captain f 
 what do you in this wise company? — How dost thou, 
 Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I 
 might answer thee profitably. 
 
 Fafje. Pr'ythee, Apemantus, read me the super- 
 scription of these letters; I know not which is which. 
 
 Apem. Canst thou read ? 
 
 Page. No. 
 
 Apem. There will little learning die then, that day 
 thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon ; this to Al- 
 cibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou'lt 
 die a bawd. 
 
 Page. Thou wast whelped a dog; and thou shalt 
 famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone. 
 
 [Exit Page 
 
 Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool, I 
 will go with you to lord Timon's. 
 
 Fool. Will you leave me there ? 
 
 Apem. If Timon stay at home. — You three serre 
 usurers ? 
 
 All Serv. Ay; 'would they served us! 
 
 Apem. So would I, — as good a trick as ever hang- 
 man served thief. 
 
 Fool. Are you three usurers' men ? 
 
 All Serv. Ay, fool. 
 
 Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his so.- 
 vant : My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When 
 men come to borrow of your masters, they approach 
 sadly, and go away merry ; but they enter my mis- 
 tress' house merrily, and go away sadly : The rea- 
 son of this ? 
 
 Var. Serv. I could render one. 
 
 Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee a 
 whoremaster, and a knave; which notwithstanding 
 thou shalt be no less esteemed. 
 
 Var. Serv. AVhat is a whoremaster, fool? 
 
 Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like 
 thee. 'Tis a spirit : sometime, it appears like a lord ; 
 sometime, like a lawyer ; sometime, like a philoso- 
 pher, with two stones more than his artificial one : 
 He is very often like a knight; and, generally in all 
 shapes, that man goes up and down in, from four- 
 score to thirteen, this spirit walks in. 
 
 Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 
 
 Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man : as much 
 foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. 
 
 Apem. That answer might have become Apeman- 
 tus. 
 
 All Serv. Aside, aside; here comes lord Timon. 
 
 Re-enter TiMON and Flavius. 
 
 Apem. Come with me, fool, come. 
 
 Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, 
 and woman ; sometime, the philosopher. 
 
 [Exeunt Apemantus and Fool. 
 
 Flav. 'Pray you, walk near; I'll speak with you 
 anon. [Exevnt Serv. 
 
 Tim. You make me marvel : Wherefore, ere this 
 Had you not fully laid my state before me ; [time, 
 That I might so have rated my expense, 
 As I had leave of means? 
 
 Flav. You would not hear ma, 
 
 At many leisures I propos'd. 
 
 Tim. Go to : 
 
 Perchance, some single vantages you took, 
 When my indisposition put you back; 
 And that unaptness made your minister. 
 Thus to excuse yourself. 
 
 Flav. my good lord I 
 
 At many times I brought in my accounts, 
 
Scene II, 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 649 
 
 Laid them before you ,' you would throw them off, 
 And say, you found them in mine honesty. 
 When, for some trifling present, you have bid me 
 Return so much,*^ I nave shook my iiead, and wept; 
 Vea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you 
 To hold your hand more close: I did endure 
 Not seldom, nor no slight checks ; when I liave 
 Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate. 
 And your great flow of debts. My dcar-lov'd lord. 
 Though you hear now, (too late !) yet now's a time, 
 The greatest of your having lacks a half 
 To pay your present debts. 
 
 Tim. Let all my land be sold. 
 
 Flav. 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone ; 
 And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
 Of present dues: the future conies apace: 
 What shall defend the interim 1 and at length 
 How goes our reckoning! 
 
 Tim. To LacediEmon did my land extend. 
 Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word ; 
 Were it all yours to give it in a breath, 
 How quickly were it gone ! 
 
 Tim. You tell me true. 
 
 Flav. If you suspect my husbandry, or falsehood. 
 Call me before the exactest auditors, 
 And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me. 
 When all our ofnces' have been oppress'd 
 With riotous feeders ; when our vaults have wept 
 With drunken spilth of wine ; when every room 
 Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy; 
 [ have rctir'd me to a wasteful cock, 
 And set mine eyes at flow. 
 
 Tim. Pr'ythee, no more. 
 
 Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! 
 How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants, 
 This night englutted ! Who is not Tiraon's] 
 What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord 
 
 Timon's] 
 Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon 1 
 Ah ! when the means are gone, that buy this praise. 
 The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : 
 Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, 
 These flies are couch'd. 
 
 Tim. Come, sermon me no farther: 
 
 No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart : 
 Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 
 Why dost thou weep] Canst thou the conscience 
 
 lack. 
 To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; 
 If I would broach the vessels of my love. 
 And try the argument of hearts by borrowing. 
 Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use, 
 As I can bid thee speak. 
 
 Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts ! 
 
 Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine 
 are crown'd,' 
 That I account them blessings; for by these 
 Shall I try friends: You shall perceive how you 
 Mistake my fortunes ; I am wealthy in my friends. 
 Within tticre, no. — Flaminius, Servilius! 
 
 Enter Flaminius, Servilius, awe? oMfr Servants. 
 
 Scrv. My lord, my lord, — 
 
 • A certaia sum. 
 
 ' TIio apartments allotted to culinary offices, <tc 
 
 ' Dignified, made respectable. 
 
 Tim. I will despatch you severally. — You, to 
 lord Lucius. — 
 To lord LucuUus you; I hunted with his 
 Honor to-day; — You to Sempronius; 
 Commend me to their loves; and, I urn proud, 
 
 say. 
 That my occasions have found time to use thera 
 Toward a supply of money: let the request 
 Be fifty talents. 
 
 Flam. As you have said, my lord- 
 
 Flav. Lord Lucius, and lord LucullusT humph. 
 
 [A.side. 
 Tim. Go you, sir, [7b another Serv.] to th« 
 senators, 
 (Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have 
 Deserv'd this hearing,) bid 'em send o'the instan 
 A thousand talents to me. 
 
 Flav. I have been bold, 
 
 (For that I knew it the most general way,) 
 To them to use your signet, and your name ; 
 But they do shake their heads, and I am here 
 No richer in return. 
 
 Tim. Is 't true ] can it be ] 
 
 Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice., 
 That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 
 Do what they would; arc sorry — you are honor. 
 
 able, — 
 But yet they could have wish'd — they know not- • 
 
 but 
 Something hath been amiss — a noble nature 
 May catch a wrench — would all were well — 'tis 
 
 pity— 
 And so, intending' other serious matters, 
 After distasteful looks and these hard fractions. 
 With certain half-caps,' and cold-moving nods, 
 They froze me into silence. 
 
 Tim. You gods, reward them !— • 
 
 I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly; These old fellows 
 Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: 
 Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 
 'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind ; 
 And nature, as it grows again toward earth. 
 Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy. — 
 Go to Ventidius,— [To a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee,— [7b 
 
 Flavius.] be not sad. 
 Thou art true, and honest; ingeniously^ I speak, 
 No blame belongs to thee: [To Serv.] Ventidius 
 
 lately 
 Buried his father ; by whose death, he's stepp'd 
 Into a great estate : when he was poor, 
 Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, 
 I clear'd him with five talents; Greet him from me; 
 Bid him suppose, some good necessity 
 Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd 
 With those five talents: that had,— [7b Flav.] 
 
 give it these fellows 
 To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, 
 That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. 
 Flav. I would, I could not think it; that thought 
 is bounty's foe ; 
 Being free' itself, it thinks all others so. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 • Intending had anciently the same meaning as attend- 
 ing. 
 « A half-cap is a cap slightly moved, not put off. 
 ' For ingenuously. » Liberal, not parsiracaious 
 
fi{)0 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE [.--A Room in Lucullus's House. 
 
 Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to Mm. 
 
 Scrv. I have told my lord of 3'ou; he is coming 
 Gown to you. 
 
 Flam. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Enter Luctjllus. 
 
 Serv. Here's my lord. 
 
 Lucul. l^Aside!] One of lord Timon's men ? a 
 gift, I warrant. Why this hits right; I dreamt of 
 a silver hasin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest 
 J laminius ; you are very respectively * welcome, 
 sir. — Fill me some wine. — \^Exit Servant.] And 
 how does that honorable, complete, free-hearted 
 gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord 
 and master? 
 
 Flam. His health is well, sir. 
 
 Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. 
 And what hast thou there, under thy cloak, pretty 
 Flaminius? 
 
 Flnm. 'Faith, nothing hut an empty box, sir; 
 which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your 
 honor to supply: who, having great and instant 
 occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lord- 
 ship to furnish him ; nothing doubting your present 
 assistance therein. 
 
 Lucul. La, la, la, la, — nothing doubting, says 
 he? alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he 
 would not keep so good a house. Many a time and 
 often I have dined with him, and told him on't ; and 
 come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him 
 spend less ; and yet he would embrace no counsel, 
 take no warning by my coming. Every man has 
 his fault, and honesty ' is his; I have told him on't, 
 l>ut I could never get him from it. 
 
 Re-enter Servant, vjith Wine. 
 
 Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine. 
 
 Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. 
 Here's to thee. 
 
 Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 
 
 Lucul. I have observed thee always for a towardly 
 prompt spirit, — give thee thy due, — and one that 
 knows what belongs to reason ; and canst use the 
 time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in 
 thee. — Get you gone, sirrah. — \^To the Servant, 
 who goes out.^ — Draw neare/, honest Flaminius. 
 Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art 
 wise; and thou knowest well enough, although 
 thou comest to mc, that this is no time to lend 
 money; especially upon bare friendship, without 
 security. Here's three solidares for thee ; good boy, 
 wink at me, and say, thou sawest me not. Fare 
 thee well. 
 
 Flam. Is't possible, the world should so much 
 differ ; 
 And we alive, that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness, 
 To him that worships thee. 
 
 [Throwing the Money away. 
 
 Lucul. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit 
 iox thy master. [Exit Ltjcullus. 
 
 Flam. May these add to the number that may 
 Let molten coin be thy damnation, [scald thee ! 
 Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! 
 
 Foi respectfully. s Honesty here means liberality 
 
 Has fi-iendship such a faint and milky heart, 
 
 It turns in less than two nights? O, you god«, 
 
 I feel my master's passion ! * This slave 
 
 Unto his honor, has my lord's meat in him : 
 
 Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment, 
 
 When he is turn'd to poison ? 
 
 O, may diseases only work upon't! 
 
 And when he is sick to death, let not that part ol 
 
 nature 
 Which my lord paid for, be of any power 
 To expel sickness, but prolong his hour ! [Exit 
 
 SCENE n.— ^ public Place. 
 
 Enter Lucius, luith three Strangers. 
 
 Luc. Who, the lord Timon ? he is my very good 
 friend, and an honorable gentleman. 
 
 1 Stra?!. We know him for no less, though we 
 are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one 
 thing, my lord, and which I hear from common 
 rumors ; now lord Timon's happy hours are done 
 and past, and his estate shrinks from him. 
 
 Luc. Fye, no, do not believe it : he cannot want 
 for money. 
 
 2 Stra?!. But believe you this, my lord, that not 
 long ago, one of his men was with the lord Lucullus, 
 to borrow so many talents ; nay, urged extremely 
 for't, and show'd what necessity belong'd to't, and 
 yet was denied. 
 
 Luc. How? 
 
 2 Strafi. I tell you, denied, my lord. 
 
 Luc. What a strange case was that? now, before 
 the gods, I'm ashamed on't. Denied that honor- 
 al)le man ? there was very little honor show'd in't. 
 For my own part, I must needs confess, I have re- 
 ceived some small kindnesses from him, as money, 
 plate, jewels, and such like trifles, nothing compar- 
 ing to his ; yet, had he mistook him, and sent to 
 me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so 
 many talents. 
 
 Enter Seiivilius. 
 
 Ser. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; 1 have 
 sweat to see his honor. — My honored loi-d, — 
 
 [To Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare 
 thee well : — Commend me to thy honorable-virtu- 
 ous lord, my very exquisite friend. 
 
 Ser. May it please your honor, my lord hath 
 sent 
 
 Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so much 
 endeared to that lord ; he's ever sending : How 
 shall I thank him, thinkest thou ? And what has 
 he sent now ? 
 
 Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now 
 my lord; requesting your lordship to supply liis 
 instant use with so many talents. 
 
 Luc. I know, his lordship is but merry with me , 
 He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. 
 
 Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord, 
 If his occasion were not virtuous, 
 I should not urge it half so faithfully. 
 
 Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? 
 
 Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. 
 
 Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfurnislt 
 
 • Sufferins. 
 
Scene 1"V. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 6bi 
 
 myself against sut h a good time, when I might have 
 shown myself honorable! how unluckily it hap- 
 pened, that I should purchase the day before for 
 a little part, and undo a great deal of honor! — 
 Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to 
 do't; the more beast, I say: — I was sending to use 
 lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness; 
 But I would not for the wealth of Athens, I had done 
 \t now. Coiumcnd me bountifully to his good lord- 
 ship ; and I hope, his honor will conceive the fairest 
 nf me, because I have no power to be kind: And tell 
 him this from me, I count it one of my greatest af- 
 flictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honor- 
 able gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend 
 me so far, as to use mine own words to him ] 
 
 Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 
 
 Luc. I will look you out a good turn, Servilius. — 
 
 [Exit Servilius. 
 True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed ; 
 And he, that's once denied, will hardly speed. 
 
 [Exit Lucius. 
 
 1 Sfran. Do you obsen'e this, Hostilius ? 
 
 2 Stran. Ay, too well. 
 1 Stran. Why this 
 
 Is the world's soul ; and just of the same piece 
 Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him 
 His friend, that dips in the same dish 1 for, in 
 My knowing, Timon hath been this lord's father, 
 And kept his credit with his purse ; 
 Supported his estate ; nay, Timon's money 
 Has paid his men their wages ; He ne'er drinks. 
 But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; 
 And yet, (O, see the monstrousness of man 
 When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!) 
 He does deny him, in respect of his. 
 What charitable men afford to beggars. 
 
 3 Stran. Religion groans at it. 
 
 1 Stran. For mine ov?n part, 
 
 I never tasted Timon in my life, 
 Nor came any of his bounties over me, 
 To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, 
 For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, 
 And honorable carriage. 
 Had his necessity made use of me, 
 I would have put my wealth into donation, 
 And the best half should have return'd to him. 
 So much I love his heart: But, I perceive, 
 Men must learn now with pity to dispense: 
 For policy sits above conscience. [Exeuiit. 
 
 SCENE HI. — A Room in Sempronius's House. 
 
 Enter Sempronius, and a Servant of Timon's. 
 Sem. Must he needs trouble me in't? Humph ! 
 'Bove all others] 
 
 He might have tried lord Lucius, or LucuUus ; 
 
 And now Ventidius is wealthy too. 
 
 Whom he redeem'd from prison: All these three 
 
 Owe their estates unto him. 
 
 Serv. my lord, 
 
 They have all been touch'd, and found base metal ; 
 for 
 
 They have all denied him ! 
 
 Sem. How! have they denied himi 
 
 Has Ventidius and LucuIIus denied him 1 
 
 And does he send to mc? Three? humph! — 
 
 It shows but little love or judgment in him. 
 
 Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like phy- 
 sicians, 
 
 rhrive, give him over; Must I take the cure upon 
 me? 
 
 He has much disgraced me in't; I am Angry at him, 
 That might have known my place: I see no sense for't, 
 But his occasions might have woo'd me first; 
 For, in my conscience, I was the first man 
 That e'er receiv'd gift from him : 
 And does he think so backwardly of me now, 
 That I'll requite it last? No: So it may pi-ove 
 An argument of laughter to the rest. 
 And I amongst the lords be thought a fool. 
 I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum, 
 He had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; 
 I had such a courage to do him good. But now return, 
 And with their faint reply this answer join; 
 Who bates mine honor shall not know my coin. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Serv. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. 
 The devil knew not what he did, when he made 
 man politic; he cross'd himself by't: and I cannot 
 think, but in the end, the villanies of man will set 
 him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear 
 foul i takes virtuous copies to be wicked ; like those 
 that, under hot ardent zeal, would set whole realms 
 on fire. 
 
 Of such a nature is his politic love. 
 This was my lord's best hope ; now all are fled. 
 Save the gods only : Now his friends are dead. 
 Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
 Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd 
 Now to guard sure their master. 
 And this is all a liberal course allows; 
 Who cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Hall in Timon's House. 
 
 Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant o/ 
 Lucius, meeting Titus, Hortensius, and 
 other Servants to Timon's Creditors, waitins 
 Ins coming out. 
 
 Var. Serv. Well met; good morrow, Titus and 
 Hortensius. 
 
 Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 
 
 Hor. Lucius 1 
 
 What, do we meet together'' 
 
 Luc. Se)-v. Ay, and, I think, 
 
 One business does command us all; for mine 
 Is money. 
 
 Tit. So is theirs and ours. 
 
 Enter Philotus. 
 
 Luc. Serv. And sir 
 
 Philotus too ! 
 
 Phi. Good day at once. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brothei. 
 
 What do you think the hour ? 
 
 Phi. Laboring for nine. 
 
 Luc. Serv. So much ? 
 
 Phi. Is not my lord seen yetl 
 
 Luc. Serv. Not yet, 
 
 P/ii. I wonder on't : he was wont to shine at seven. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shortei 
 with him: 
 You must consider, that a prodigal course 
 Is like the sun's ; but not, like his, recoverable. 
 I fear, 
 
 'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse ; 
 That is, one may reach deep enough, and vet 
 Find little. 
 
 Phi, I am of your fear for that. 
 
 Tit. I'll show j'ou how to observe a strange event 
 Your lord sends now for money. 
 
lib'Z 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Hor. Most true, he does. 
 
 Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, 
 For which I wait for money. 
 
 Hor. It is against my heart. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows, 
 
 Timon in this should pay more than he owes; 
 And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, 
 And send for money for 'em. 
 
 Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods can 
 witness : 
 I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, 
 And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 
 
 1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns : 
 What's yours 1 
 
 Luc. Se7-v. Five ♦hcn'sand mine. 
 
 1 Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep: and it should seem 
 by the sum, 
 Your master's confidence was above mine ; 
 Else, surely his had equall'd. 
 
 Enter Fiaminius. 
 
 Tit. One of lord Timon's men. 
 
 Luc. Sert). Flaminius ! sir, a word : 'Pray, is my 
 lord ready to come forth 1 
 
 Flam. No, indeed, he is not. 
 
 Tit. We attend his lordship; 'pray signify so much. 
 
 Flam. I need not tell him that : he knows, you 
 are too diligent. lExit Flaminius. 
 
 Enter Flavius, in a cloak, muffled. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ha! is not that his steward muffled so] 
 He goes away in a cloud : call him, call him. 
 
 Tit. Do you hear, sir 1 
 
 1 Var. Serv. By your leave, sir, 
 
 Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend ? 
 
 Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 
 
 Flav. Ay, 
 
 If money were as certain as your waiting, 
 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not 
 Your sums and bills, when your false masters eat 
 Of my lord's meat] Then they could smile, and fawn 
 Upon his debts, and take down th' interest 
 Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves 
 
 but wrong, 
 To stir me up ; let me pass quietly : 
 Believe't, my lord and I have made an end: 
 I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. 
 
 Flav. If 'twill not, 
 
 'Tis not so base as you ; for you serve knaves. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 1 Var. Serv. How ! what does his cashicr'd wor- 
 
 ship mutter] 
 
 2 Var. Serv. No matter what; he's poor, and 
 that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader 
 than he that has no house to put his head in ] Such 
 may rail against great buildings. 
 
 Enter Servilius. 
 
 Tit. O, here's Servilius ; now we shall know 
 Some answer. 
 
 Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, 
 
 To repair some other hour, I should much 
 Derive from it : for, take it on my soul. 
 My lord l(!ans wond'rously to discontent. 
 His comfortable temper has forsook him ; 
 He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, are 
 not sick: 
 ^nd, if it be so fai bey md his health, 
 
 Methinks, he should the sooner pay his debts, 
 And make a clear way to the gods. 
 
 Ser. Good gods! 
 
 Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir. 
 
 Flam. [Witliin.'] Servilius, help ! — my lord! my 
 lord !— 
 
 Enter Timon, in a rage,- Tlamihivs folhwing. 
 
 Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my 
 passage] 
 Have I been ever free, and must my house 
 Be my retentive enemy, my gaol] 
 The place which I have feasted, does it now, 
 Like all mankind, shov/ me an iron heart ■* 
 
 Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus. 
 
 Tit. My lord, here is my bill. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Here's mine. 
 
 Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord. 
 
 Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. 
 
 Phi. All our bills. 
 
 Tim, Knock me down with 'em :'' cleave me la 
 the girdle. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Alas! my lord, 
 
 Tim. Cut my heart in sums. 
 
 Tit. Mine, fifty talents. 
 
 Tim. Tell out my blood. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. — 
 What yours ] — an-d yours ] 
 
 1 Var. Serv. My lord, 
 
 2 Var. Serv. My lord, 
 
 Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon 
 
 you ! [Exit. 
 
 Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw 
 
 their caps at their money ; these debts may well be 
 
 called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 Re-enter Timon and Flavius. 
 
 Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, 
 the slaves; 
 Creditors ! — devils. 
 
 Flav. My dear lord, 
 
 7'im. What if it should be so] 
 
 Flav. My lord, 
 
 Tim, I'll have it so : — My steward ! 
 
 Flav. Here, my lord. 
 
 Tim, So fitly ] Go, bid all my friends again, 
 Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius; all: 
 I'll once more feed the rascals. 
 
 Flav. O my lord. 
 
 You only speak from your distracted soul ; 
 There is not so much left to furnish out 
 A moderate table. 
 
 Tim. Be't not in thy care ; go, 
 
 I charge thee ; invite them all : let in the tide 
 Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. 
 
 [Exeuni 
 SCENE Y.—The Senate-House. 
 The Senate sitting. Enter Alcibiades, attendea 
 
 1 Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it ; the fault s 
 Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die: 
 
 Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 
 
 2 Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him. 
 Alcib. Honor, health, and compassion to tha 
 
 senate ! 
 
 1 Sen. Now, captain ] 
 
 Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; 
 
 ' Timon quibbles. They preser.t their written bills ; h4 
 catches at the word, anil alludes to bills or Yattle-axea. 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 653 
 
 For pity is the virtue of the law, 
 
 And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
 
 It pleases time, and fortune, to lie heavy 
 
 Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, 
 
 Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth 
 
 To those that, without heed, do plunge into it. 
 
 He is a man, setting his fate aside. 
 
 Of comely virtues: 
 
 Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice ; 
 
 (An honor in him which buys out his fault;) 
 
 But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit. 
 
 Seeing his reputation touch'd to death. 
 
 He did oppose his foe : 
 
 And with such sober and unnoted passion 
 
 He did behave* his anger, ere 'twas spent, 
 
 As if he had but prov'd an argument. 
 
 1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, 
 Striving to make an ugly deed look fair; 
 Your words have took such pains, as if they labor'd 
 To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling 
 Upon the head of valor; which, indeed. 
 Is valor misbegot, and came into the world 
 When sects and factions were newly born: 
 He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer 
 The worst that man can breathe; and make his 
 
 wrongs 
 His outsides ; wear them like his raiment, carelessly; 
 And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
 To bring it into danger. 
 If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, 
 What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill ] 
 
 Alcib. My lord, 
 
 1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear ; 
 To revenge is no valor, but to bear. 
 
 Alcib. My lords, then, under favor, pardon me, 
 
 If I speak like a captain. 
 
 Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, 
 
 And not endure all threatenings 1 sleep upon it, 
 
 And let the foes quietly cut their throats, 
 
 Without repugnancy ? but if there be 
 
 Such valor in the bearing, what make we 
 
 Abroad] why then, women are more valiant, 
 
 That stay at home, if bearing carry it ; 
 
 And th' ass, more captain than the lion ; the felon, 
 
 Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge, 
 
 If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, 
 
 As you are great, be pitifully good: 
 
 Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood 1 
 
 To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust;' 
 
 But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. 
 
 To be in anger, is impiety ; 
 
 But who is man, that is not angry] 
 
 Weigh but the crime with this. 
 
 2 Sen. You breathe in vain. 
 
 Alcib. In vain ] his service done 
 
 At Lacedtemon, and Byzantium, 
 Were a sufficient briber for his life. 
 
 1 Sen. What's that ] 
 
 Alcib. Why, I say, my lords, h'as done fair 
 service. 
 And slain in fight many of your enemies: 
 How full of valor did he bear himself 
 In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds] 
 
 2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em, he 
 Is a sworn rioter ; h'as a sin that often 
 
 Drowns him, and takes his valor prisoner : 
 If there were no foes, that were enough alone 
 To overcome him : in that beastly fury 
 He has been known t ) commit outrages, 
 
 s Manage, govern. » For aggravation. 
 
 And cherish factions: 'Tis inferr'd to us, 
 His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 
 
 1 Sen. He dies. 
 
 Alcib. Hard fate ! he might have died in war- 
 My lords, if not for any parts in him, 
 (Though his right arm might purchase his own time, 
 And be in debt to none,) yet more to move you, 
 Take my deserts to his, and join them both : 
 And, for I know, your reverend ages love 
 Security, I'll pawn my victories, all 
 My honor to you, upon his good returns. 
 If by this crime he owes the law his life, 
 Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore; 
 For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 
 
 1 Sen. We are for law, he dies ; urge it no mote, 
 On height of our displeasure: Friend, or brother, 
 He forfeits his own blood, that spills another. 
 
 Alcib. Must it be so] it must not be. My lords, 
 I do beseech you, know me. 
 
 2 Sen. How ] 
 
 Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 
 
 2 Sen. What] 
 
 Alcib. I cannot think, but your age has forgot me; 
 It could not else be, I should prove so base,' 
 To sue, and be denied such common grace : 
 My wounds ache at you. 
 
 1 Sen. Do you dare our anger' 
 
 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect; 
 We banish thee for ever. 
 
 Alcib. Banish me ] 
 
 Banish your dotage; banish usury, 
 That makes the senate ugly. 
 
 1 Sen.li, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, 
 Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell 
 
 our spirit. 
 He shall be executed presently. [Exeunt Senators 
 
 Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough: that 
 you may live 
 Only in bone, that none may look on you ! 
 I am worse than mad : I have kept back their foes, 
 While they have told their money, and let out 
 Their coin upon large intei-est ; I myself. 
 Rich only in large hurts; — All those, for this] 
 Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate 
 Pours into captains' wounds ] ha ! banishment ■* 
 It comes not ill ; I hate not to be banish'd; 
 It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury. 
 That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up 
 My discontented troops, and lay for hearts,'' 
 'Tis honor, with most lands to be at odds; 
 Soldiers should brook as little wrongs, as gods. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 SCENE VI. — A magnificent Room in Timon'a 
 
 Hottse. 
 
 Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. Enter 
 
 divers Lords, at several Doors. 
 
 1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 
 
 2 Lord. I also wish it to you. I think, this 
 honorable lord did but try us this other day. 
 
 1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring,' 
 when we encountered : I hope it is not so low with 
 him, as he made it seem in the trial of his several 
 friends. 
 
 2 Lord. It .should not be by the persuasion of 
 his new feasting. 
 
 1 Lord. I should think so : He hath sent me ai. 
 
 « For dishonored. 
 
 » 'NVc should now say — lay out for hearts, i. e. the affeOi 
 tions of the people. 
 ' To tire on a thing, meant to he idly em.5loyed on i» 
 
654 
 
 TIMON OP ATHENS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 earnest invijing, which many my near occasiono did 
 urge mo to put ofl'; but lie hath conjured me beyond 
 them, and I must needs appear. 
 
 2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my im- 
 portunate business, but ho would not hear my ex- 
 cuse. I am sorry, when ho sent to borrow of me, 
 that my provision was out. 
 
 1 Lunl. I am sick of that grief too, as I under- 
 stand how all things go. 
 
 2 Lord. Every man here's so. AVhat would ho 
 have borrowed of you ? 
 
 1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 
 
 2 Lord. A thousand pieces I 
 1 Lord. What of you ? 
 
 3 Lord. IIo sent to me, sir — Here ho comes. 
 
 Enter TiMON, and Attendants. 
 Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both : — And 
 ho\y faro you ? 
 I /^(j;-(i. Ever at the bost,hcaring well of your lordship. 
 2 Lord. Tho swallow follows not summer moro 
 willing, than wo your lordship. 
 
 Tim. \_A'iidc.'\ Nor more willingly leaves winter; 
 such summer-birds are men. — Gentlemen, our dinner 
 will not recompense this long stay : feast your ears 
 with the music awhile ; if they will faro so harshly 
 on tho trumpet's sound: wo shall to't presently. 
 
 1 Lord. I hopu it remains not unkindly with your 
 lordship, that I returned you an empty messenger. 
 
 Tim. 0, sir, let it not trouble you. 
 
 2 Lord. My noble lord, 
 
 Tim. Ah, my good friend, what cheer ? 
 
 [T/ie Banquet broiigJU iu. 
 
 2 Lord. My most honorable lord, I am e'en sick 
 of shame, that, when your lordship this other day 
 lent to mo, 1 was so unfortunate a beggar. 
 
 Tim. Think not on't, sir. 
 
 2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours before, — 
 
 Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. 
 — Come, bring in all together. 
 
 2 Lord. All covered dishes! 
 
 1 Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 
 
 3 Lord, Doubt not that, if money and tho season 
 can yield it. 
 
 1 Lord. How you? what's tho news? 
 
 3 Lord. Aleibiades is banish'd : Hoar you of it ? 
 
 \ <& 2 Lord. Aleibiades banished ! 
 
 8 Lord. "lis so, bo sure of it. 
 
 1 Lord. How ? how ? 
 
 2 Ijord. I pray you, upon what? 
 
 Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 
 
 3 Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast 
 2 Lord. This is tho old man still. [toward. 
 •iLord. Wiirthold? will'thold? 
 
 2 Lord. It does : but time will — and so 
 
 3 Lord. I do conceive. 
 
 Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as ho 
 would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall bo 
 in all plivces alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let 
 
 the meat cool ere wc can agree upon the first place 
 Sit, sit. Tho gods require our thanks. 
 YoH rjrcat hene/uctorn, gprinklc our society with 
 llidul'/ttlncss. For your own (jifls, mahc yoiireelces 
 jjraised: but reserve still to give, hat your deities be 
 despised. Lendtoeach man enough , that one need nol 
 lend to another: for, ivere your godheads to borrow 
 of men, mcnvjould forsake the gods. MaJcethe meat 
 he beloved, more than the vu(n that gives it. Let no 
 assembly of twenty be without a score of villains. 
 Jf there sit twelve loomen at the table, let a dozen of 
 them be — as they are. — Tlic rest of your fees, 
 gods, — the senators of Athens, together with thecom- 
 7non lag* of people, what is amiss in them, you gods, 
 make suitable for destruction. For these my 2ivesent 
 friends, — as they are to me nothing, so in nothing 
 bless them, and to nothing they are welcome. 
 Uncover, dogs, and lap. 
 
 [The dishes nncovercd are full of warm water 
 Some speak. What does his lordship moan ? 
 Some other. I know not. 
 Tim. May you a hotter feast never behold. 
 You knot of mouth-friends! smoke, and luke-warm 
 Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; [water. 
 Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries. 
 Washes it olT, and sprinkles in your faces 
 
 [Throwing water in their faces. 
 Your reeking villany. Live loatli'd and long, 
 Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites. 
 Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, 
 You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flics, 
 Cap and knee slaves, vapors, and minute-jacks! 
 Of man and beast, the infinite malady 
 Crust you quite o'er! — What, dost thou go? 
 Soft, take thy physic first — thou too, — and thou ; — 
 [Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out. 
 Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. — 
 What, all in motion ? Henceforth be no feast, 
 Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. 
 Burn, house ! sink, Athens ! henceforth hated bo 
 Of Timon, man, and all humanity! [Exit, 
 
 lie-enter the Lords, with other Lords and Senators. 
 
 1 Lord. How now, my lords ? 
 
 2 Lord. Know you the quality' of lord Timon's fury? 
 
 3 Lord. Pish ! did you see my cap? 
 
 4 Lord. I have lost my gown. 
 
 3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but hu- 
 mor sways him. He gave mc ii jewel tho other day, 
 and now ho has beat it out of i ly hat : — Did you see 
 my jewel? 
 
 4 Jjord. Did you see my cap ? 
 2 Ijord. Hero 'tis. 
 
 4 Ijord. Here lies my gown 
 
 1 Lord. Let's make no stay. 
 
 2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad. 
 
 3 Lord. I feel't upon my bones.' 
 
 4 Lord. One day ho gives us diamonds, ne.xt day 
 
 stones. [ExewnA. 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE 1.— Without the T^aZ^s o/ Athens. 
 Enter Timon. 
 
 Tim. Let mo look back upon thee, thou wall, 
 That girdlest in those wolves ! Dive in tho earth, 
 And fence not Athens ! Matrons, turn incontinent ! 
 Obedience fail in children ! slaves and fools, 
 Pluck tho grave wrinkled senate from the bench, 
 And minister in their steads ! to general filths* 
 Convert o' tho instant, green virginity ! 
 Do't in your parents' eyes ! bankrupts, hold fast; 
 Rather than render back, out with your knives. 
 And cut your trusters' throats ! bound servants, steal ! 
 Large-handed robbers your grave masters are ; 
 And pill by law ! maid, to thy master's bed; 
 « Common sowers. 
 
 Thy mistress is o' tho brothel ! son of sixteen. 
 Pluck the lin'd crutch from tlio old limping sire, 
 AVith it beat out his brains ! piety, and fear, 
 Religion to tho gods, peace, justice, truth, 
 Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighborhood. 
 Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
 Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, 
 Decline to your confounding contraries. 
 And yet confusion live ! — Plagues, incident to men, 
 Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
 On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica, 
 Cripple our senators, that their limbs m.ay halt 
 As lamely as their manners ! lust and liberty' 
 
 » Tho lowest. 
 
 • Jacks of tho clock ; like those of St. Dunstnn's churcl\ 
 in Fleet-street ' i'or libertiuism 
 
PCENE ill. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 655 
 
 Creep in the minds and maiTOws of our youth ; 
 That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, 
 And drown themsolves in riot ! itches, blains, 
 Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop 
 Be general leprosy ! breath infect breath; 
 That their society, as their friendship, may 
 Be merely poison ! Nothing I'll bear from thee. 
 But nakedness, thou detestable town ! 
 Take thou that too, with multiplying bans !' 
 Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find 
 The unkindost beast more kinder than mankind. 
 The gods confound (hear me, yo good gods all) 
 The Athenians both within and out that wall ! 
 And grant, aa Timou grows, his hate may grow 
 To the whole race of mankind, high and low ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Athens. A Boom iit Timon's House. 
 Enter Flavius, with two ov three Servants. 
 
 1 Serv. Hear you, master steward, wliere's our mas- 
 Aro we undone? cast oft'? nothing remaining? [ter? 
 
 Ftav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you ? 
 Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 
 I am as poor as 3'ou. 
 
 1 Serv. Such a house broke ! 
 So noble a master fallen ! All gone ! and not 
 One friend, to take his fortune by the arm, 
 And go along with him ! 
 
 2 Serv. As we do turn our backs 
 From our companion, thrown into his grave; 
 
 So his familiars to his buried fortunes 
 Slink all away; leave their false vows with him, 
 Like empty purses pick'd : and his poor self, 
 A dedicated beggar to the air. 
 With his disease of all-shunned poverty, 
 Walks, like contempt, alone. — More of our fellows. 
 Enter other Servants. 
 Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 
 
 3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery. 
 That see I by our faces; we are fellows still. 
 Serving alike in sorrow : Leak'd is our bark ; 
 And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck. 
 Hearing the surges threat : we must all part 
 Into this sea of air. 
 
 Fluv. Good fell I ws all. 
 
 The latest of my wealth I'll sh.ire amongst you. 
 Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, 
 Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say, 
 As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 
 We have seen better dar/s. Let each take some; 
 
 [Giving them Money. 
 Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more : 
 Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. 
 
 \_Exeunt Servants. 
 0, the fierce' wretchedness that glory brings us ! 
 Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, 
 Since riches point to misery and contempt? 
 Who'd be so mock'd with glory ? or to live 
 But ir. a dream of friendship ? 
 To have his pomp and all what state compounds. 
 But only painted like his varnished friends ? 
 Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart; 
 Undone bj' goodness ! Strange, unusual blood !' 
 Wlien man's worst sin is, he does too much good ! 
 Who tlien dares to be half so kind again ? 
 For bounty, that makes gods, doth still mar men. 
 My dearest lord, — bless'd to bo most aecurs'd, 
 Kieh, only to be wretched; — thy groat fortunes 
 Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! 
 lie's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat 
 Of monstrous friends : nor has he with him to 
 Su])i)ly his life, or that which can command it. 
 f'll follow, ami inquire him out; 
 I'll serve his mind with my best will; 
 U'hil.-t I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [^Exit. 
 
 • Accuuiulatcit curses. > Hasty, precipitate, 
 
 ''ror ^nsity, disposition. 
 
 SCENE III.— TOe Woods. 
 
 Enter TlltON. 
 
 Ti)n. blessed breeding sun, draw from tha cartli 
 
 Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
 Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb. 
 Whose procreation, residence, and birth, [tunes; 
 Scarce is dividant, — touch them with several for- 
 Tho greater scorns the lesser: not nature, 
 To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune 
 But by' contempt of nature. 
 Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord : 
 The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, 
 The beggar native honor. 
 It is the pasture lards the brother's sides. 
 The want that makes him lean. Who dares, whs 
 In purity of manhood stand upright, [dares, 
 
 And say. Thin man's a flatterer f If one be. 
 So are they all ; for every grise of fortune 
 Is smooth'd by that below : the learned pato 
 Ducks to the golden fool: All is oblique; 
 There's nothing level in our cursed natures. 
 But direct villany. Therefore be abhorr'd 
 All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! 
 His semblablc, yea, himself, Timon disdains : 
 Destruction fang' mankind ! — Earth, yield me roots ! 
 
 [Digrjinj. 
 Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
 With thy most operant poison ! What is here ? 
 Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, 
 I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! 
 Thus much of this, will make black, white ; foul, fair ; 
 AVrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, 
 
 valiant. [thia 
 
 Ila, you gods ! why this ? What this, you gods ? Why 
 Will lug your priests and servants from your sides; 
 Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads ; 
 This yellow slave 
 
 Will knit and break religions; bless the aecurs'd, 
 Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves, 
 And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
 With senators on the bench : this is it. 
 That makes the wappen'd' widow wed again ; 
 She, whom the spital house, and ulcerous sores 
 Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices 
 To the April day again.* Come, damn'd earth. 
 Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds 
 Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
 Do thy right nature. — [March afar off.] — Ha? a 
 
 drum ? — Thou'rt quick. 
 But yet I'll bury thee : Thou'lt go, strong thief, 
 When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand: — 
 Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some Gold. 
 
 Enter AiiCiBiADES, ^oith Drum and Fife, in xoarlike 
 manner; PhrYiNIA and TuiANDRA. 
 
 Alcib. What art thou there ? 
 
 Speak. 
 
 Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy 
 For showing me again the eyes of man ! [heart, 
 
 Alcib. What is thy name ? Is man so hateful to 
 That art thyself a man ? [thee, 
 
 Tim. I am misanthroj}08, and hate mankind. 
 For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, 
 That I might love thee something. 
 
 Alcib. I know theo well : 
 
 But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 
 
 Tim. I know thee too ; and more than that I know 
 I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; [thee. 
 With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: 
 Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; 
 Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine 
 Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 
 For all her cherubin look. 
 
 Phr. Thy lips rot off! 
 
 ^Suib;/ ishcreu^cd for without. 'Seize, gripe. 'Sorrowfut 
 • i. e. Gold restores her to all the sweetness and freshr 
 ness of youth. 
 
656 
 
 TIMON OF ATHEJ^S. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot returns 
 To thine own lips again. 
 
 Alcih. How came the noble Timon to this change ? 
 
 'rim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give : 
 But then renew I could not, like the moon; 
 There were no suns to borrow of. 
 
 Alcih. Noble Timon, 
 
 What friendship may I do thee ? 
 
 Tim. None, but to 
 
 Maintain my opinion. 
 
 Alcib. What is it, Timon ? 
 
 Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none : If 
 Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for 
 Thou art a man ! If thou dost perform, confound thee, 
 For thou'rt a man I 
 
 Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. 
 
 Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. 
 
 Alcih. I see them now : then was a blessed time. 
 
 Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. 
 
 Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the 
 'V''oiced so rogardfully ? [world 
 
 Tim. , Art thou Timandra? 
 
 Timan. Yes. [thee ; 
 
 Tim. Be a whore still ! they love thee not, that use 
 Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
 Make use of thj' salt hours : season the slaves 
 For tubs, and baths ; bring down roso-cheek'd youth 
 To the tub-fast, and the diet.* 
 
 Timan. Hang thee, monster ! 
 
 Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits 
 Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. — 
 I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 
 The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
 In my penurious band : I have heard, and griev'd, 
 How cursed Atliens, mindless of thy worth. 
 Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbor states, 
 But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, — 
 
 Tim. I pr'y thee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. 
 
 Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. 
 
 Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost 
 I had rather be alone. [trouble ? 
 
 Alcib. Why fare thee well: 
 
 Here's some gold for thee. 
 
 Tim. Keep't, I cannot cat it. 
 
 Alcih. When I have laid proud Athens on a 
 
 Tim. Warr'st thou against Athens ? [heap, 
 
 Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 
 
 Tim. The gods confound them all i' thy conquest; 
 Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd ! [and 
 
 Alcib. Why me, Timon? 
 
 Tim. That 
 By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer 
 My country. 
 
 Put up thy gold : Go on, — here's gold, — go on ; 
 Be as a planet.ary plague, when Jove 
 Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison 
 In the sick air : Lot not thy sword skip one : 
 Pity not honor'd age for his white beard, 
 He's an usurer : Strike me the counterfeit matron ; 
 It is her habit only that is honest ; 
 Herself 's a bawd : Let not the virgin's cheek 
 Make soft thy trenchant' sword; for those milk-paps, 
 That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, 
 Are not within the leaf of pity writ, 
 15et them down horrible traitors : Spare not the babe. 
 Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their 
 Think it a bastard,* whom the oracle mercy; 
 
 Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut. 
 And mince it sans remorse:' swear against objects :• 
 Put armor on thine ears, and on thine eyes, 
 Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes. 
 Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, 
 Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers. 
 
 * Alluding to the cure of the lues venerea, then in practice. 
 » Cutting. 6 An allusion to the tale of (Edipus. 
 
 « Without pity. 
 » i. e. Against objects of cliarity and compassion. 
 
 Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent, 
 Confounded be thyself! speak not, be gone. 
 
 Alcib. Hast thou gold yet ? I'll take the gold thoa 
 giv'st me ! 
 Not all thy counsel. 
 
 Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse 
 upon thee ! 
 
 Phr. & Timun. Give us some gold, good Timon: 
 Hast thou more ? 
 
 Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, 
 And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, 
 Your aprons mountant: You are not oathable, — 
 Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear, 
 Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues, 
 The immortal gods that hear you, — spare youf 
 
 oaths, 
 I'll trust to your conditions ;» Be whores still ; 
 And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you. 
 Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up ; 
 Let your close fire predominate his smoke, [months 
 And be no tui-n-coats: Yet may your pains, six 
 Be quite contrarj' : And thatch your poor thin roofs 
 With burdens of the dead ; — some that were hang'd. 
 No matter: — wear them, betray with them: whore 
 Paint till a horse may mire upon your face : [still ; 
 A pox of wrinkles ! 
 
 Phr. k Timan. Well, more gold ;— What then ?-■ 
 Believ't, that we'll do any thing for gold. 
 
 Tim. Consumption sow 
 In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins. 
 And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice. 
 That he may never more false title plead. 
 Nor sound his quillets* shrilly : hoar the flamen. 
 That scolds against the quality of flesh, 
 And not believes himself: down with the nose, 
 Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away 
 Of him, that his particular to foresee, 
 Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-pate 
 
 ruffians bald ; 
 And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
 Derive some pain from you: Plague all; 
 That your activity may defeat and quell 
 The source of all erection.— There's more gold : — 
 Do you damn others, and let this damn you, 
 And ditches grave you all ! 
 
 Phr. & Timan. More covmsel with more money, 
 bounteous Timon. 
 
 Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I hav.> 
 given you earnest. 
 
 Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. 
 Farewell Timon ! 
 If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. 
 
 Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee moio 
 
 Alcib. I never did thee harm. 
 
 Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. 
 
 Alcih. Call'st thou that harm? 
 
 Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away, 
 And take thy beagles with thee. 
 
 Alcib. We but offend him.— 
 
 Strike. \^Drum heats. Exit Alcibiades, Phryxia^ 
 and Timandra. 
 
 Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindnes% 
 Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou 
 
 [Digfjing, 
 Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast. 
 Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle. 
 Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is pufif'd, 
 Engenders the black toad, and adder blue. 
 The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm,* 
 With all the abhorred births below crisp' heaven 
 Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine ; 
 Yield him, whom all thy human sons doth hate, 
 From forth thy plenteous bosom one poor root! 
 Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, 
 Let it no more bring out ungrateful man ! 
 
 » Vocations. • Subtilties. 
 
 » The serpent called the blinl worm. » Curved. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 by/ 
 
 Go great witli tigers, dragons, wol res,, and bears ; 
 Teem with new monsters, whom t.iy upward face 
 Hath '•) the marbled mansion all above 
 Nevj.' presented ! — -0, a root, — Dear thanks ! 
 Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas : 
 Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts, 
 And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind^ 
 That from it all consideration slips ! 
 
 Enter Apemantus. 
 More man ? Plague ! plague ! 
 
 Ajyem. I was directed hither: Men report 
 Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. 
 
 Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog 
 Whom I would imitate : consumption catch thee! 
 
 jipcm. This is in thee a nature but affected; 
 A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
 From change of fortune. Why this spade ? this place? 
 This slave-like habit, and these looks of care ? 
 Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft, 
 Ilug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot 
 That over Timon was. Shame not these woods. 
 By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
 Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
 By that which has undone thee : binge thy knee. 
 And let his very breath, whom thoul't observe, 
 Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain. 
 And call it excellent; thou wast told thus ; 
 Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid welcome. 
 To knaves, and all approachers ; 'Tis most just. 
 That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, 
 Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. 
 Ttm. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. 
 Apinn. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thy- 
 A maduian so Ijng, now ft fool : What, think'st [self; 
 That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain. 
 Will put thy shirt on warm ! Will these mojs'd trees, 
 That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels. 
 And skipwhen thou point'stout? Willthecold brook. 
 Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste. 
 To cure thy o'er night surfeit? call the creatures, — 
 Whose naked natures live in all the spite 
 Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhous'd trunks. 
 To the conflicting elements expos'd. 
 Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee; 
 D ! thou shalt find — — 
 
 T'im. A fool of thee : Depart. 
 
 Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 
 Tim. I hate thee (vorse. 
 Apem. Why ? 
 
 Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 
 
 Apcm. I flatter not; but say thou art a caitifl". 
 Tim. Why dost thou seek me out? 
 Apem. To vex thee. 
 
 Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's. 
 L»ost please thyself in't? 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. What! a knave too ? 
 
 Apcm. If thou didst put this sour cold habit on 
 To castigate thy pride, 'twere well : but thou 
 Dost it enforcedly ; thoud'st courtier be again, 
 Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
 Outlives uncertain pomp, is crown'd before ;» 
 The one is filling still, never complete; 
 The other at high wish : Best state, contentless. 
 Hath a distracted and most wretched being. 
 Worse than the worst, content. 
 Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. 
 
 Tim. Not by his breath' that is more miserable. 
 Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm 
 With favor never clasp'd ; but bred a dog. 
 Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath' proceeded. 
 The sweet degrees that this brief world attbrds 
 To such .as may the passive drugs of it 
 Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself 
 
 • i.e. Arrive? eooner at the eoripletion of its wishes. 
 ' Uy his voic e, sentence. « From infancy. 
 
 In gen'ral riot ; and have nevef learn'd 
 The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
 The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, 
 Who had the world as my confectionary; 
 The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of Q16< 
 At duty, more than I could frame employment; 
 That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
 Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
 Fell from their boughs, and left me open, baro 
 For every storm that blows ! — I to bear this, 
 That never knew but better, is some burden : 
 Thy nature did commence in sufi'erance, tiaie 
 Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou a&U 
 
 men ? 
 They never flatter'd thee. AVhat hast thou giTsr • 
 If thou wilt curse ; — thy father, that poor rag, 
 Must be thy subject, who, in spite, put stuff 
 To some she-beggar, and compounded thee, 
 Poor rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone! — 
 If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, 
 Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. 
 
 Apem. ' Art thou proud yet ? 
 
 Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. 
 
 Apem. I, that I was 
 
 No prodigal. 
 
 Tim. I, that I am one now; 
 
 Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, 
 I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. — 
 That the whole of Athens were in this ! 
 Thus would I eat it. [Eating a Boot, 
 
 Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast 
 
 [Offering him something. 
 
 Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. 
 
 Apem. So shall I mend mine own, by the lack of 
 thine. 
 
 Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; 
 If not, I would it were. 
 
 Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens? 
 
 Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt. 
 Tell them there, I have gold ; look, so I have. 
 
 Apem, Here is no use for gold. 
 
 Tim. The best and truest; 
 
 For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 
 
 A2)em. Where ly'st o'nights, Timon ? 
 
 Tim. Under that's above me. 
 
 Where feed'st thou o'days, Apemantus ? 
 
 Ajieyn. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, 
 where I eat it. 
 
 Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my 
 mind ! 
 
 Apem. Where wouldst thou send it ? 
 
 7'ini. To sauce thy dishes. 
 
 Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knew- 
 est, but the extremity of both ends : AVhen thou wast 
 in thy gilt, and in thy perfume, they mocked thee 
 for too much curiosity ;* in thy rags thcu knowest 
 none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a 
 medlar for thee, eat it. 
 
 Tiin. On what I hate, I feed not. 
 
 Ape7n. Dost hate a medlar ? 
 
 Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 
 
 Aj)C)n. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou 
 shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man 
 didst thou ever knowunthrift, that was beloved after 
 his means? 
 
 Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of. 
 didst thou ever know beloved ? 
 
 Apcm. Myself. 
 
 I'im. I understand thee; thou hadst some mnans 
 to keep a dog. 
 
 Apem. What things in the world canst thou 
 nearest compare to thy flatterers? 
 
 Tim. Women, nearest: but men, men are tlie 
 things themselves. What wouldst thou do with tin 
 world, Apemantus, if it lay in thj' power? 
 » For too much finicwl delicacv 
 
658 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Apem. (rive it the beasts, to be rid of the men. 
 
 Tim. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the con- 
 fusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts'! 
 
 Apem. Ay, Tinion. 
 
 Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant 
 dice to attain to ! If thou wert the lion, the fox 
 would beguile thee : if thou wert the lamb, the fox 
 would eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the lion would 
 suspect thee, when, perad venture, thou wert accused 
 3y the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would 
 ,orment thee ; and still thou livedst but as a break- 
 •"ast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greedi- 
 ness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard 
 thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride 
 and wrath would confound thee, and make thine 
 awn self the conquest of thy fury: wort thou a 
 Dear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse : wert 
 thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the 
 leopard : wert thou a leopard, thou wert germain 
 to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors 
 on thy life : all thy safety were remotion ;' and thy 
 defence, absence. What beast couldst thou be, that 
 wert not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou 
 already, that secst not thy loss in transformation 1 
 
 Apem. If thou couldst please me with speaking 
 to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here : The com- 
 monwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. 
 
 Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou 
 art out of the city 1 
 
 Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter : The 
 plague of company light upon thee ! I will fear to 
 catch it, and give way : When I know not what 
 else to do, I'll see thee again. 
 
 Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, 
 hou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's 
 (log, than Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou art the cap' of all the fools alive. 
 
 Ttm. 'Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon. 
 
 Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. 
 
 Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. 
 
 Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. 
 
 Tim. If I name thee. — 
 I'll beat thee, — but I should infect my hands. 
 
 Apem. I would, my tongue could rot them off! 
 
 Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog ! 
 Choler does kill me, that thou art alive ; 
 I swoon to see thee. 
 
 Apem. 'Would thou wouldst burst ! 
 
 Tim. Away, 
 
 Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose 
 A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him. 
 
 Apem. Beast ! 
 
 Tim. Slave ! 
 
 Apem. Toad ! 
 
 Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue ! 
 
 [Apejiantus retreats backward, as going. 
 1 am sick of this false world ; and will love nought 
 but even the mere necessities upon it. 
 Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave ; 
 Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
 Thy grave-stone daily ; make thine epitaph. 
 That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
 thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 
 
 [Looking on the Gold. 
 'Twix t natural son and sire ! thou bright defiler 
 Of Hymen's purest bed ! thou valiant Mars ! 
 Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer. 
 Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
 
 ♦ Remoteness; the being placed at a distance from the 
 *ou. • The top, the {>rincipal. 
 
 That lies on Dian's lap ; thou visible god. 
 That solder'st close impossibilities, [tongue, 
 
 And mak'st them kiss ! that speak'st with ever« 
 To everj purpose ! O thou touch' of hearts ! 
 Think, thy slave man rebels ; and by thy virtue 
 Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
 May have the world in empire ! 
 
 Apem. 'Would 'twere so ;— 
 
 But not till I am dead ! — I'll say, thou hast gold: 
 Thou wilt be thronged to shortly. 
 
 Tim. Throng'd tol 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Apem. Live, and love thy misery ! 
 
 lim. Long live so, and so die ! — I am quit. — 
 
 [Exit Apemantus. 
 More things like men? — Eat, Timon, and abhor 
 them. 
 
 Enter Thieves. 
 
 1 Thief. Where should he have this gold ? It is 
 some poor fragment, some slender ort of his re- 
 mainder: The mere want of gold, and the falling- 
 from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy 
 
 2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure. 
 
 3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him : if he 
 care not for't, he will supply us easily ; if he covet- 
 ously reserve it, how shall's get it 1 
 
 2 Thief. True; for he bears it not about him,'tis hi»' 
 
 1 Thief. Is not this he 1 
 'Thieves. Where 1 
 
 2 Thief. 'Tis his description. 
 
 3 Thief. He ; I know him. 
 Thieves Save thee, Timon. 
 Tim. Now, thieves 1 
 Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves. 
 
 Tim. Both too : and women's sons, [do want, 
 Tliieves. We are not thieves, but men that much 
 Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of 
 meat. 
 Why should you wantl Behold the earth hath roots; 
 Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; 
 The oaks bear masts, the briers scarlet hips ; 
 The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush 
 Lays her full mess before you. Want 1 why want '' 
 1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries,wateri 
 As beasts, and birds, and fishes. [and fishes ; 
 
 Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds 
 You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con, 
 That you are thieves profess'd ; that you work not 
 In holier shapes : for there is boundless theft 
 In limited' professions. Rascal thieves. 
 Here's gold: Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape. 
 Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, 
 And so scape hanging; trust not the physician; 
 His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
 More than you rob : take wealth and lives together , 
 Do villany, do, since you profess to do't. 
 Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery ■ 
 The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
 Robs the vast sea : the moon's an arrant thief, 
 And her pale fire she snatches from the sun : 
 The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
 The moon into salt tears : each thing's a thief , 
 That feeds and breeds by a composture' stolen 
 From general excrement: each thing's a thief; 
 The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough powei 
 Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves: away 
 Rob one another. There's more gold: Cut throats 
 All that you meet are thieves: To Athens, go, 
 • Touchstone. 'Legal. • Compost, man ura 
 
A.CT V. Scene I. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 65,^ 
 
 Break opea shops; nothing can you steal, 
 But thieves do lose it; Steal not less, for this 
 f give you; and gold confound you howsoever I 
 
 [Tim ON retires fo his Cave, 
 3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my 
 profession, by persuading me to it. 
 
 1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he 
 thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 
 
 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give 
 over my trade. 
 
 1 Thief. I^et us first see peace in Athens: There 
 IS no time so miserable, but a man may be true. 
 
 [^Exeunt Thieves. 
 
 Enter Flavius. 
 
 Fiav. O you gods! 
 [s yon despis'd and ruinous man my lordl 
 Full of decay and failing 1 O monument 
 And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd ! 
 What an alteration of honor has 
 Desperate want made ! 
 
 What viler thing upon the earth, than friends. 
 Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends ! 
 How rarely' does it meet with this time's guise, 
 When man was wish'd to love his enemies: 
 Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo 
 Those that would mischief me, than those that do ! 
 He has caught me in his eye : I will present 
 My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord. 
 Still serve him with my life. — My dearest master! 
 
 TiMON comes forward from his Cave. 
 
 Tim. Away ! what art thou 1 
 
 Flav. Have you forgot me, sir? 
 
 Tim. Why dost ask that 1 I have forgot all men ; 
 Then if thou grant'st thou'rt man, I have forgot thee. 
 
 Fluv. An honest poor servant of yours. 
 
 Titn. Then 
 
 I know thee not : I ne'er had honest man 
 About me, I ; all that I kept were knaves, 
 To serve in meat to villains. 
 
 Flav. The gods are witness. 
 
 Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
 For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. 
 
 Tim. What, dost thou wecpT — Come nearer; — 
 then I love thee, 
 Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st 
 Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give. 
 But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping: 
 Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with 
 weeping ! 
 
 Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, 
 
 To accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts 
 To entertain me as your steward still. 
 
 Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now 
 So comfortable 1 It almost turns 
 My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold 
 Thy face. — Surely, this man was born of woman 
 Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, 
 Perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim 
 One honest man, — mistake me not, — but one; 
 No more, I pray, — and he is a steward. — 
 How fain would I have hated all mankind, 
 And thou redeem'st thyself: But all, save thee, 
 I fell with curses. 
 
 Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise 
 For, by oppressing and betraying me. 
 Thou mightst have sooner got another service : 
 For many so arrive at second masters, 
 Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, 
 (For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,) 
 Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, 
 If not a usuring kindness : and as rich men deal gifts, 
 Expecting in return twenty for one? 
 
 Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast 
 Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late : 
 You should have fear'd false times, v^en you did 
 
 feast : 
 Suspect still comes where an estate is least. 
 That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love 
 Duty, and zeal to your unmatched mind. 
 Care of your food and living : and, believe iti 
 My most honor'd lord. 
 For any benefit that points to me. 
 Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange 
 For this one wish, That you had power and wealtt 
 To requite me, by making rich yourself. 
 
 Tim. Look thee, 'tis so! — Thou singly honest man. 
 Here take : — the gods out of my misery 
 Have sent me treasure. Go, live rich, and happy . 
 But thus condition'd ; Thou shalt build from men;' 
 Hate all, curse all ; show charity to none ; 
 But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, 
 Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs 
 What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow them, 
 Debts wither them : Be men like blasted woods, 
 And may diseases lick up their false bloods! 
 And so farewell, and thrive. 
 
 Flav. O, let me stay, 
 
 And comfort you, my master. 
 
 Tim. If thou hat'st 
 
 Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou art blcss'd and free: 
 Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. 
 
 l^Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 ^5CENE l.—BeforeTimon's Cave. 
 
 Enter Poet and Painter; Timon behind, unseen. 
 
 Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be 
 I'ar where he abides. 
 
 Poet. What's to be thought of him 1 Does the 
 rumor hold for true, that he is so full of gold? 
 
 Pain. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia 
 and Timandra had gold of him : he likewise cn- 
 .'iclicd poor straggling soldiers with great quantity : 
 'Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. 
 
 Pocf 'J'hcn this breaking of his has been but a 
 ry lor >ii friends. 
 
 • IIow happily. 
 
 Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm 
 in Athens again, and flourish with the highest 
 Therefore, 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to 
 him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show 
 honestly in us ; and is very likely to load our pur- 
 poses with what they travel for, if it be a just and 
 true report that goes of his having. 
 
 Pocf. What have you now to present unto him T 
 
 Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation. 
 only I will promise him an excellent piece. 
 
 Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him ot an 
 intent that's coming toward him. 
 
 Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the ver» 
 » Away from bnman habitation. 
 
^60 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 air o' the time : it opens the eyes of expectation : 
 performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but 
 in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed 
 of saying' is quite out of use. To promise is most 
 courtly and fashionable : performance is a kind of 
 will or testament, which argues a great sickness in 
 nis judgment that makes it. 
 
 Tim. Excellent workman ! Thou canst not 
 paint a man so bad as is thyself. 
 
 Poet. T am thinking what I shall say I have pro- 
 vided for him : It must be a personating of him- 
 self: a satire against the softness of prosperity : with 
 i discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow 
 youth and opulency. 
 
 Jim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine 
 own work 1 Wilt thou whip thine own faults in 
 other men] Do so, I have gold for thee. 
 
 Poet. Nay, let's seek him : 
 Then do we sin against our own estate. 
 When we may profit meet, and come too late. 
 
 Pain. True; 
 When the day serves, before black-comer'd night. 
 Find what thou want'st, by free and offered light. 
 Come. 
 
 Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold. 
 That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple, 
 Than where swine feed! 
 'Tis thou that rigg'st the burk, and plough's! the 
 
 foam ; 
 Settlest admired reverence in a slave : 
 To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye 
 Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey ! 
 'Fit I do meet them. [Advancing. 
 
 Poet. Hail, worthy Timon ! 
 
 Pain. Our late noble master. 
 
 Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men 1 
 
 Poet. Sir, 
 Having often of your open bounty tasted, 
 Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off. 
 Whose thankless natures — abhorred spirits ! 
 Not all the whips of heaven are large enough — 
 What ! to you ! 
 
 Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence 
 To their whole being! I'm rapt, and cannot cover 
 The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
 With any size of words. 
 
 Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better : 
 You, that are honest by being what you are. 
 Make them best seen and known. 
 
 Pain. He, and myself. 
 
 Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts. 
 And sweetly felt it. 
 
 Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 
 
 Pain, We are hither come to offer you our service. 
 
 Tim. Most honest men ! Why, how shall I re- 
 quite youl 
 ijan you eat roots, and drink cold water 1 no. 
 
 Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. 
 
 Tim. You are honest men : you have heard that 
 I have gold : 
 I am sure you have : speak truth : you are honest 
 men. 
 
 Pain. So it is said, my noble lord : but therefore 
 Rame not my friend, nor I. 
 
 Tim. Good honest men : — Thou draw'st a coun- 
 terfeit' 
 Best in all Athens; thou art, indeed, the best; 
 Thou counterfeit'st most lively. 
 
 1 The doing of what we said we would do. 
 * A portrait was so called. 
 
 Pain. So, so, my lord 
 
 Tim. Even so, sir, as I say : — And for thy fic- 
 tion, [To the Poet- 
 Why thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth 
 That thou art even natural in thine art. — 
 But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, 
 I must needs say, you have a little fault : 
 Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I, 
 You take much pains to mend. 
 
 Both. Beseech your honor, 
 
 To make it known to us. 
 
 Tim. You'll take it ill. 
 
 Both, Most thankfully, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Will you, indeed ? 
 
 Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 
 
 Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave. 
 That mightily deceives you. 
 
 Both. Do we, my lord 1 
 
 Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dis- 
 semble. 
 Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him. 
 Keep in your bosom : yet remain assur'd. 
 That he's a made-up villain." 
 
 Pain. I know none such, my lord. 
 
 Poet. Nor I. 
 
 Tim. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you 
 gold. 
 Rid me these villains from your companies: 
 Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught. 
 Confound them by some course, and come to me, 
 I'll give you gold enough. 
 
 Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them. 
 
 Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in 
 company : — 
 Each man apart, all single and alone, 
 Yet an arch-villain keeps him company, 
 If, where thou art, two villains shall not be, 
 
 [To the Painter. 
 Come not near him. — If thou wouldst not reside 
 
 [To the Poet. 
 But where one villain is, then him abandon. — 
 Hence! pack! there's gold, ye came for gold, y 
 
 slaves : 
 You have done work for me, there's payment; 
 
 Hence ! 
 You are an alchemist, make gold of that: 
 Out, rascal dogs ! 
 
 [Exit, heating and driving them out, 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Enter Flavius, and two Senators. 
 
 Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with 
 Timon ; 
 For he is set so only to himself, 
 That nothing but himself, which looks like man. 
 Is friendly with him. 
 
 1 Sen. Bring us to his cave : 
 
 It is our part, and promise to the Athenians, 
 To speak with Timon. 
 
 2 Sen. At all times alike 
 Men are not still the same: 'Twas time, and griefs 
 That framed him thus : time, with his fairer hand, 
 Offering the fortunes of his former days. 
 
 The former man may make him : Bring us to him 
 And chance it as it may. 
 
 Flav. Here is his cave. — 
 
 Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! Timon 
 Look out, and speak to friends : The Athenians, 
 
 » A complete, a finished ylUain 
 
SCE^E III. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 '.61 
 
 By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee : 
 iSjjeal to them, noble Timon. 
 
 Enter Timox. 
 Ti. 1. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn ! — Speak, 
 and be hang'd: 
 For e ich true word, a blister! and each false 
 Be as a caut'rizing to the root o' the tongue. 
 Cons iming it with speaking ! 
 
 1 <L'e«. Worthy Timon — 
 
 Ttw. Ofnonebutsuchasyou,and you of Timon. 
 3 'i'e«. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. 
 'Tim. I thank them; and would send them back 
 the plague, 
 Coild I but catch it for them. 
 
 1 Sen. O, forget 
 Whit we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
 The senators, witd one consent of love. 
 Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought 
 On special dignities, which vacant lie 
 
 For thy best use and wearing. 
 
 2 Sen. They confess, 
 Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross: 
 Which now the public body, — which doth seldom 
 Play the recanter, — feeling in itself 
 
 A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal 
 
 Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon: 
 
 And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render,' 
 
 Together with a recompense more fruitful 
 
 Than their offence can weigh down by the dram ; 
 
 Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth, 
 
 As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs, 
 
 And write in thee the figures of their love, 
 
 Ever to read them thine. 
 
 Tim. You witch me in it; 
 
 Surprise me to the very brink of tears: 
 Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes. 
 And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 
 
 1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with us, 
 And of our Athens, (thine, and ours,) to take 
 The captainship, thou sh^It be met with thanks, 
 Allow'd* with absolute power, and thy good name 
 Live with authority: — so soon we shall drive back 
 Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ; 
 
 Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up 
 His country's peace. 
 
 2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword 
 Against the walls of Athens. 
 
 Therefore, Timon, — 
 therefore, I will, sir; 
 
 1 Sell. 
 
 Tim. Well, sir, I wil 
 Thus,— 
 
 If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, 
 L<t Alcibiades know this of Timon, 
 That — Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, 
 And take our goodly aged men by the beards, 
 Giving our holy virgins to the stain 
 Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war; 
 Then, letlrim know, — and tell him, Timon speaks it. 
 In pity of our aged, and our youth, 
 I cannot choose but tell him, that — I care not. 
 And let him take't at worst; for their knives care 
 
 not 
 While you have throats to answer: for myself, 
 Thcr6.'s not a whittle'^ in the unruly camp, 
 But I do prize it at my love, before 
 The reverend's! throat in Athens. So I leave you 
 To the protection of the prosperous'' gods. 
 As thieves to keepers. 
 
 Flav. Stay not, all's in vain. 
 
 « Confession. • Licensed, uucontrolletl. 
 
 • A alasp koife. ' Propitious. 
 
 43 
 
 Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph, 
 It will be seen to-morrow; my long sicKness 
 Of health, and living, now begins to mend, 
 And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; 
 Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, 
 And last so long enough! 
 
 1 Sen. We speak in vain. 
 
 Tim. But yet I love my country; and am not 
 One that rejoices in the common w^reck, 
 As common bruit' doth put it. 
 
 1 Sen. That's well spoke, 
 
 Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen, — 
 
 1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass 
 
 through them. 
 
 2 Sen. And enter in ourears like great triumphera 
 In their applauding gates. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to them; 
 
 And tell them, that to ease them of their griefs, 
 Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses. 
 Their pangs of love, with other incident throes 
 That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain 
 In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do 
 
 them : 
 I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 
 
 2 Sen. I like this well, he will return again. 
 
 Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close 
 That mine own use invites me to cut down. 
 And shortly must I fell it: Tell my friends. 
 Tell Athens in the sequence of dcgi-ee. 
 From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
 To stop affliction, let him take his haste. 
 Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, 
 And hang himself: — I pray you, do my grcetmg. 
 
 Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall 
 find him. 
 
 Tim. Come not to me again : but say to Athens, 
 Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
 Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; 
 Which once a day with his embossed froth 
 The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come. 
 And let my grave-stone be your oracle. — 
 Lips, let sour words go by, and language end: 
 What is amiss, plague and infection mend ! 
 Graves only be men's works ; and death, their gain ! 
 Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign. 
 
 [^Exit TiMox 
 
 1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveably 
 Coupled to nature. 
 
 2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead : let us return, 
 And strain what other means is left unto us 
 
 In our dear' peril. 
 
 1 Sen. It requires swift foot. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE m.— Tke Walls of Athens. 
 Enter two Senators, and a Messenger. 
 
 1 .Sert. Thou hast painfully discovered; are his files 
 As full as thy report ] 
 
 Mess. I have spoke the least • 
 
 Besides, his expedition promises 
 Present approach. 
 
 2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not 
 
 Timon. 
 Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; — 
 Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, 
 Yet our old love made a particular force, 
 And made us speak like friends : — this man wa* 
 
 riding 
 From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, 
 With letters of entreaty, which imported 
 » Keport, rumor * Dreadful 
 
662 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 His fellowship i' the cause against your city, 
 fn part for his sake mov'd. 
 
 Enter Senators from Timon. 
 
 1 Sen. Here come our brothers. 
 
 2 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him ex- 
 
 pect. — 
 The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
 Doth choke the air with dust: in and prepare; 
 Ours is the fall, I fear ; our foes, the snare. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Woods. Timon's Cave, and a 
 Tomb-stone seen. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon. 
 Sol. By all description this should be the place. 
 Who's here] speak, ho! — No answer"! — What is 
 
 thisi 
 Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span: 
 Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a man. 
 Dead, sure; and this his grave. — 
 What's on this tomb I cannot read ; the character 
 I'll take with wax. 
 
 Our captain hath in every figure skill; 
 An aged interpreter, though young in days : 
 Before proud Athens he's set down by this. 
 Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE Y.— Before the Walls o/ Athens. 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Alci biades, aiid Forces. 
 Atcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town 
 Our terrible approach. \_A Parley sounded. 
 
 Enter Senators on the Walls. 
 rill now you have gone on, and fill'd the time 
 With all licentious measure, making your wills 
 The scope of Justice; till now, myself, and such 
 As slept within the shadow of your power, 
 llive wandered with our travers'd arms,' and 
 
 breath'd 
 Our sufferance vainly ; Now the time is flush,' 
 When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong. 
 Cries, of itself, No more: now breathless wrong, 
 Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; 
 And pursy insolence shall break his wind. 
 With fear and horrid flight. 
 
 1 Sen. Noble and young, 
 When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit. 
 Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear. 
 We sent to thee; to give thy rages balm. 
 
 To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
 Above their quantity. 
 
 2 Sen. So did we woo 
 Transformed Timon to our city's love. 
 
 By humble message, and by promis'd means ; 
 We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
 The common stroke of war. 
 
 1 Sen. 
 
 These walls of ours 
 
 Were not erected by their hands, from whom 
 You have receiv'd your griefs : nor are they such, 
 That these great towers, trophies, and schools should 
 
 foil 
 Vox private foults in them. 
 
 2 Sen. Nor are they living 
 
 Who were the motives that you first went out; 
 Bhame, that they wanted cunning, in excess 
 Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, 
 Fnto our city with thy banners spread: 
 By decimation, and a tithed death, 
 (If thy revenges hungei for that food, 
 
 ' Arms across. ^ Mature. 
 
 Which nature loathes,) take thou the destin'd tentlv 
 And by the hazard of the spotted die. 
 Let die the spotted. 
 
 1 Se7i. All have not oflended; 
 For those that were, it is not square' to take. 
 On those that are, revenges : crimes, like lands. 
 Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman. 
 Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage; 
 Sparc thy Athenian cradle, and those kin, 
 Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall 
 With those that have oflended : like a shepherd, 
 Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth, 
 But kill not all together. 
 
 2 Sen. What thou wilt. 
 Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile, 
 Than hew to't with thy sword. 
 
 1 Sen. Set but thy foot 
 Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope; 
 So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, 
 
 To say, thou'lt enter friendly. 
 
 2 Sen. Throw thy glove; 
 Or any token of thine honor else, 
 
 That thou wile use the wars as thy redress, 
 And not as our confusion, all thy powers 
 Shall make their harbor in our town, till we 
 Have seal'd thy full desire. 
 
 Alcib. Then there's my glove ; 
 
 Descend, and open your uncharged ports;' 
 Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own, 
 Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, 
 Fall, and no more: and, — to atone* your fears 
 With my more noble meaning, — not a man 
 Shall pass his quarter, or oflend the stream 
 Of regular justice in your city's bounds. 
 But shall be remedied, to your public laws 
 At heaviest answer. 
 
 Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. 
 
 Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 
 The Senators descend, and open the Gates 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead; 
 Entomb'd upon the very hem o'the sea ; 
 And on his gravestone, this insculpturc ; which 
 With wax I brought away, whose soft impression 
 Interprets for my poor ignorance. 
 
 Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of 
 
 wretched soul bereft: 
 Seek not my name: A plague consume you wicked 
 
 caitiffs left! 
 Here lie I, Timon,- icho, alive, all living men did 
 
 hate: 
 Pass by, and curse thy Jill; but pass, and stay mi 
 
 here thy gait. 
 These well express in thee thy latter spirits: 
 Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, 
 Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets 
 
 which 
 From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
 Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aj'e 
 On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
 Is noble Timon; of whose memory 
 Hereafter more. — Bring me into your city. 
 And I will use the olive with my sword : 
 Make war breed peace; make peace stint^ war, 
 
 make each 
 Prescribe to other, as each other's leech.' 
 Let our drums strike. [Exeunt, 
 
 3 Not regular, not equitable. * Unattached gates. 
 5 Reconcile. • Stop. ^ Physician. 
 
COEIOLANUS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Ciius Makcius CouioLATfus, a noble Roman, 
 TiTcrs Lautius^ \ Generals against the Yol- 
 CoMixics, J scians. 
 
 Menexius Abrtppa, Friend to Coriolanus. 
 
 SiCIXIUS VelDTUS, ) rr -j r jL -n i 
 
 T 15 > Iribunes of the People. 
 
 Junius Brutus, J •' -i^ 
 
 Young Marcius, Son to Coriolanus. 
 
 A Roman Herald. 
 
 Tui.Lus AuFiDius, General of the Volscians. 
 
 Lieutenant to Aufidius. 
 
 Conspirators with Aufidius. 
 
 SCENE, partly in 'Rome, and partly in the Territories of the Volscians and Antiate.s 
 
 A Citizen of Antium. 
 Two Volscian Guards. 
 
 VoLUMNiA, Mother to Coriolanub. 
 ViRGiLiA, Wife to Coriolanus. 
 Valehia, Friend toWrgiWa.. 
 Gentlewoman attending Virgilia. 
 
 Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, uF.dit 
 les, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Sert 
 vants to Aufidius, and other Attendants. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
 
 Enter a Company of mutinous Citizens, with 
 Staves, Clubs, and other Weapons. 
 
 1 Cit. Before wc proceed any further, hear me 
 speak. 
 
 Cit. Speak, speak. [^Several speaking at once. 
 
 1 Cit. You are resolved rather to die, than to 
 famish? 
 
 Cit. Resolved, resolved. 
 
 1 Cit. First, you know, Caius Marcius is chief 
 enemy to the people. 
 
 Cit. We know't, we know't. 
 
 1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at 
 our own price. Is't a verdict] 
 
 Cit. No more talking on't ; let it be done : away, 
 away. 
 
 2 Cit. One word, good citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens; the pa- 
 tricians, good:' What authority surfeits on, would 
 relieve us: If they would yield us but the super- 
 fluity, while it were wiiolcsomc, we might guess, 
 they relieved us humaticly! hut tlicy think, we are 
 too dear: the leanness that afflicts us, the object of 
 our misery, is an inventory to particularize their 
 obundance ; our sufferance is a gain to them. — 
 Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become 
 rakes;'' for the gods know, I speak this in hunger 
 <br lircad, not in thirst for revenge. 
 
 2 Cit. Would you i)roceed especially against 
 Caius Marcius 1 
 
 Cit. Against him f st; he's a very dog to the 
 ion monalty. 
 
 • Uich » Thin as rakes. 
 
 2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done 
 for his country ? 
 
 1 Cit. Very well ; and could be content to give 
 him good report ibr't, but that he pays himself with 
 being proud. 
 
 2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 
 
 1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done famously, 
 he did it to that end: though soft conscienced men 
 can be content to say it was for his country, he did 
 it to please his mother, and to be partly proud ; 
 which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. 
 
 2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you 
 account a vice in him: You must in no way say, 
 he is covetous. 
 
 1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of 
 accusations; he hath faults with surplus, to tire in 
 repetition. {^Shouts within.'] What shouts are these? 
 The other side o' the city is risen : Why stay we 
 prating here] To the Capitol. 
 
 Cit. Come, come. 
 
 1 Cit. Soft ; who comes here 1 
 
 Enter Menenius Agrippa. 
 
 2 Cit. Worthy Mcnenius Agrippa: one that hath 
 always loved the people. 
 
 1 Cit. He's one honest enough; 'Would, all the 
 rest were so ! 
 
 Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand ? 
 Where go you 
 With bats and clubs ! The matter speak, I pray you. 
 
 1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate; 
 they have had inkling, this fortnight, what we in- 
 tend to do, which now we'll show 'em in deeds, 
 They say, poor suitors have strong breaths ; thoY 
 shall know, we have strong arms too. 
 
 G6.3 
 
664 
 
 CORIO:.ANUS. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Men, Why, masters, my good friends, mine ho- 
 nest neighbors. 
 Will you undo yourselves] 
 
 1 Cif We cannot, sir, we are undone ilready. 
 
 Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
 Have the patricians of you. For your wants, 
 Sfour suffering in this dearth, you may as well, 
 Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them 
 Against the Roman state; whose course will on 
 The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
 Of more strong link asunder, than can ever 
 Appear in your impediment: For the dearth. 
 The gods, not the patricians, make it; and 
 Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, 
 You are transported by calamity 
 Thither where more attends you : and you slander 
 The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers. 
 When you curse them as enemies. 
 
 1 Cii. Care for us ! — True, indeed ! — They ne'er 
 cared for us yet. Sulfer us to famish, and their 
 storehouses crammed with grain; make edicts for 
 usury to support usurers: repeal daily any whole- 
 some act established against the rich; and provide 
 more piercing statutes daily, to chain np and re- 
 strain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they 
 will ; and there's all the love they bear us. 
 
 Men. Either you must 
 Confess yourselves vv-ondrous malicious, 
 Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you 
 A pretty tale; it may be you have heard it; 
 But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture 
 To .scale't^ a little more. 
 
 1 Cif. Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not 
 think to fob off our disgrace with a tale : but, an't 
 please you, deliver. 
 
 Men. There was a time when all the body's 
 members 
 Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it: — 
 That only like a gulf it did remain 
 r the midst o' the body, idle and inactive, 
 Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing 
 Like labor with the rest; where' the other instru- 
 ments 
 Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
 And, mutually participate, did minister 
 Unto the appetite and affection common 
 Of the whole body. The belly answered, — 
 
 at. Well, sir, what answer made the belly ? 
 
 Men. Sir, I shall tell you. — With a kind of smile. 
 Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus, 
 (For, look you, I may make the belly smile, 
 As well as speak.) it tauntingly replied 
 To the discontented members, the mutinous parts 
 That envied his receipt; even so most litly' ' 
 As you malign our senators, for that 
 They are not such as you. 
 
 1 at. Your belly's answer: What! 
 The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye, 
 The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier. 
 Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter. 
 With other muniments and petty helps 
 In this our fabric, if that they 
 
 Men. ' What then]— 
 
 'Fore me, this fellow speaks! — What then] — what 
 then] 
 
 1 at. Should by the cormorant body be re- 
 strain'd, 
 W ho is the sink o' the body, 
 
 Men. Well, what then] 
 » Sprfta I it. * Whereas. ' Exactly 
 
 1 at. The former agents, if they did complain, 
 What could the belly answer] 
 
 Men. I will tell you ; 
 
 If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little^ 
 Patience, a while, you'll hear the belly's answer 
 1 at. You are long about it. 
 Men. Note me this, good friend ; 
 Your most grave belly was deliberate. 
 Not rash like his accusers, and thus answered: 
 True is it, my iy^corporate friends, quoth he, 
 That I receive the general food at first, 
 Which you do live upon: and fit it is; 
 Because I am the storehouse, and the shop 
 Of the ivhule hody: But if you do reniernher, 
 1 send it through the rivers of your blood, 
 Even to the court, the heart, — to the seat o' the braiiu, 
 And, through the cra7ih-s'^ and offices of man, 
 The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, 
 From me receive that natural competency 
 Whereby they live: and though that all at once, 
 You,rny good friends, {this says the belly,) marh 
 me, — 
 1 at. Ay, sir, well, well. 
 Men. Though all at once cannot 
 
 See what I do deliver out to each,- 
 Yet I can make my audit up, that all 
 From me do back receive thefiour of all. 
 And leave me but the bran. What say you to't] 
 1 at. It was an answer. How apply you this] 
 Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly. 
 And you the mutinous members: For examine 
 Their counsels, and their cares; digest things rightly 
 Touching the weal o' the common; you shall find 
 No public benefit which you receive. 
 But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you. 
 And no way from yourselves. — What do you think' 
 You, the great toe of this assembly] — 
 
 1 at. I the great toe ! Why the great toe ] 
 Men. For that being one o' the lowest, basest, 
 poorest. 
 Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: 
 Thou rascal, that art worst m blood to run, 
 Lead'st first to win some vantage. — 
 But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs; 
 Rome and her rats are at the point of battle, 
 The one side must have bale.'' Hail, noble Marciusl 
 Enter Caius Maecius. 
 Mar. Thanks. — What's the matter, you dissen- 
 tious rogues. 
 That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, 
 Make yourselves scabs ] 
 
 1 at. We have ever your good word. 
 
 Mar. He that will give good words to thee, will 
 flatter 
 Beneath abhorring. What would you have,you curs, 
 That like nor peace nor war ] the one affrights you. 
 The other makes you proud. He that trusts you, 
 Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ; 
 Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no. 
 Than is the coal of fire upon the ice. 
 Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is. 
 To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, 
 And curse that justice did it. Who deserves great 
 Deserves your hate : and your affections are [ness, 
 A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
 Which would increase his evil. He that depend* 
 Upon your favors, swims with fins of lead. 
 And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye 
 Trust ye] 
 e Windings. ' Bane. 
 
Scene I 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 665 
 
 With every minute you do change a mind ; 
 And call hi:n noble, that was now your hate, 
 Hini vile, that wasyourgorland. What's thematter, 
 That in these several places of the city 
 Yoa cry against the noble senate, who, 
 Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else 
 Would feed on one another? — What's their seeking? 
 
 Men. For corn at their own rates; whereof they 
 say, 
 The city is well stor'd. 
 
 Mar. Hang 'em ! They say 1 
 
 They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know 
 What's done i'the Capitol: who's like to rise, 
 Who thrives, and who declines: side factions, and 
 
 give out 
 Conjectural marriages; making parties strong, 
 And feebling such as stand not in their liking. 
 Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain 
 
 enough 1 
 Would the nobility lay aside their ruth,' 
 And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry' 
 With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
 As I could pick' my lance. 
 
 Me/i. Nay, these are almost thoroughly per- 
 suaded ; 
 For though abundantly they lack discretion. 
 Yet are they passing cowardly. But I beseech you. 
 What says the other troop ? 
 
 Ma7: They are dissolved : Hang 'cm ! 
 
 They said they vi'erc an hungry ; sigh'd forth pro- 
 verbs ; — 
 That, hunger broke stonewalls ; that, dogs must eat; 
 That, meat was made for mouths; that, the gods 
 
 sent not 
 Corn for the rich men only : — With these shreds 
 They vented their complainings; which being an- 
 
 swer'd, 
 And a petition granted them, a strange one, 
 (To break the heart of generosity. 
 And make bold power look pale,) they threw their 
 
 caps 
 As they would hang them on the horns o'the moon. 
 Shouting their emulation.^ 
 
 Me?i. What is granted them 1 
 
 Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wis- 
 doms, 
 Of their own choice : One's Junius Brutus, 
 Sicinius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath! 
 The rabble should have first unroof'd the city. 
 Ere so prevail'd with me : it will in time 
 Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes 
 For insurrection's arguing. 
 
 Men. This is strange. 
 
 Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Where's Caius Marcius! 
 Mar. Here, what's the matter? 
 
 Mess. The news is, sir, the Voices are in arms. 
 Mar. I am glad on't, then we shall have means 
 to vent 
 Our musty superfluity : — See, our best ciders. 
 
 Ent. CoMiNitrs, Titus Laktius, one/ o/Aer Sena- 
 tors; Junius Brutus, anc? Sicinius Velutus. 
 
 1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately 
 told us; 
 t'he Voices are in arms. 
 
 • Pity, compassion. 
 «Pit<^h, 
 
 » Heap of dead 
 • Faction. 
 
 Mar. They have a leader, 
 
 TuUus AufiJius, that will put you to't. 
 I sin in envying his nobility . 
 And were I any thing but what I am, 
 I would wish me only he. 
 
 Com. You have fought together, 
 
 Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears, 
 and he 
 Upon my party, I'd revolt to make 
 Only my wars with him : he is a lion 
 That I am proud to hunt. 
 
 1 Sen. Then, worthy Mirtiua, 
 
 Attend upon Cominius to these wars. 
 
 Com. It is your former promise. 
 
 Mar. Sir, it is ; 
 
 And I am constant. — Titus Lartius, thcu 
 Shalt see me once more strike at TuIIus' face: 
 What, art thou stitf? stand'st out ? 
 
 Tit. No, Caius Marcius, 
 
 I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other, 
 Ere stay behind this business! 
 
 Men. O, true bred ! 
 
 1 Sen. Your company to the Capitol : where I 
 know, 
 Our greatest friends attend us. 
 
 Tit. Lead you on • 
 
 Follow, Cominius ; we must follow you ; 
 Right worthy your priority. 
 
 Com. Noble Lartius ! 
 
 1 Sen. Hence ! to your homes, be gone. 
 
 [To the Citizens. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let them follow • 
 
 The Voices have much corn ; take these rats thither, 
 To gnaw their garners:' — Worshipful mutineers, 
 Your valor puts well forth : pray, follow. 
 
 [Exeimt Senators, Com., Mar., Tit., and 
 Menex. Citizens steal aivay. 
 
 Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius ? 
 
 Bru. He has no equal. 
 
 Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the 
 people, 
 
 Bru. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes ? 
 
 Sic. Nay, but his taunts. 
 
 Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird' the 
 gods. 
 
 Sic. Bemock the modest moon. 
 
 Bru. The present wars devour him : he is grown 
 Too proud to be so valiant. 
 
 Sic. Such a nature, 
 
 Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
 Which he treads on at noon: But I do wonder, 
 His insolence can brook to be commanded 
 Under Cominius. 
 
 Brtt. Fame, at the which he aims, 
 
 In whom already he is well graced, — cannot 
 Better be held, nor more attain'd than by 
 A place below the first : for what iiiiscarries 
 Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 
 To the utmost of a man ; and giddy censure 
 Will then cry out of Marcius, 0, if v. 
 Had borne the business ! 
 
 Sic. Besides, if things go well. 
 
 Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall 
 Of his demerits' rob Cominius. 
 
 Bru. Come • 
 
 Half all Cominius' honors arc to Marcius, 
 Though iMarcius earn'd them not : and all htf 
 faults 
 
 ' Granaries. * Sneer. 
 
 • Demerits sjid merits had anciontlr the same meaning 
 
6(56 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act L 
 
 To Marcius shall be honors, though, indeed, 
 In aught he merit not. 
 
 Sic. Let's hence, and hear 
 
 How the despatch is made ; and in what fashion, 
 More than in singularity, he goes 
 Upon h's present action. 
 
 Bru. Let's along. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IL— Corioli. The Senate-House. 
 Enter Tullus Atjfidius, and certain Senators. 
 
 1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
 That they of Rome are enfer'd in our councils. 
 And know how we proceed. 
 
 Auf. Is it not yours 1 
 
 What ever hath been thought on -in this state, 
 That could be brought to bodily act, ere Rome 
 Had circumvention 1 'Tis not four days gone, 
 Since I heard thence ; these are the words : I think 
 I have the letter here ; yes, here it is : [Reads. 
 
 They have press'd a power, but it is not knoivri 
 Whether for east, or ivesi: The dearth is great, • 
 The people mutinous: and. it is rumor'' d, 
 Cominius, Marcius, your old enemy, 
 {Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,) 
 And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roma?!, 
 These three lead on this preparation 
 Whither 'tis bent; most likely, 'tis for you,- 
 Consider of it. 
 
 1 Sen. Our army's in the field: 
 
 We never yet made doubt that Rome was ready 
 To answer us. 
 
 Auf. Nor did you think it folly. 
 
 To keep your great pretences veil'd, till when 
 They needs must show themselves; which in the 
 
 hatching, 
 It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. 
 We shall be shorten'd in our aim ; which was, 
 To take in* many towns, ere, almost, Rome 
 Should know we were afoot. 
 
 2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, 
 Take your commission; hie you to your bands; 
 Let us alone to guard Corioli : 
 
 If they set down before us, for the remove 
 Bring up your army; but, I think, you'll find 
 They have not prepar'd for us. 
 
 Auf. O, doubt not that ; 
 
 I speak from certainties. Nay, more. 
 Some parcels of their powers are forth already. 
 And only hitherward. I leave your honors. 
 If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
 'Tis sworn between us we shall never strike 
 Till one can do no more. 
 
 All. The gods assist you ! 
 
 Auf. And keep your honors safe ! 
 
 1 Sen. Farewell. 
 
 2 Sen. Farewell. 
 All. Farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Rome. An Apartment in Mar- 
 cius' House. 
 
 Enter Voluiwjjia a/jc^VinoiLiA : They sit down 
 on two low stools, and sew. 
 
 Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing ; or express your- 
 self in a more comfortable sort. If my son were 
 my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence 
 wherein he won honor, than in the embracements 
 • To subdue. 
 
 of his bed, where he would show most love. — 
 When yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only 
 son of my womb ; when youth with comeliness 
 plucked all gaze his way ; when for a day of kings 
 entreaties, a mother should not sell him an houi 
 from her beholding ; I, — considering how honoi 
 would become such a person; that it was no better 
 than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown 
 made it not stir, — was pleased to let him seek danger 
 where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I 
 sent him ; from whence he returned, his brows bound 
 with oak. I tell thee, daughter, — I sprang not more 
 in joy at first hearing he was a man-child, than 
 now, in first seeing he had proved himself a man. 
 
 Vir. But had he died in the business, madam, 
 how then ? 
 
 Vol. Then his good report should have been my 
 son ; I therein would have found issue. Hear me 
 profess sincerely : Had I a dozen sons, — each in 
 my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my 
 good Marcius, — I had rather had eleven die nobly 
 for their country, than one voluptuously surfeit out 
 of action. 
 
 E7iter a Gentlewoman. 
 
 Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit 
 you. 
 
 Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself 
 
 Vol. Indeed you shall not. 
 Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum ; 
 See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair ; 
 As children from a bear, the Voices shunning him. 
 Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus, — 
 Come on, you coivards, you iveregot in fear. 
 Though you were horn in Rome.- His bloody brow 
 With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes: 
 Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow 
 Or all, or lose his hire. 
 
 Vir. His bloody brow ! O, Jupiter, no blood ! 
 
 Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man, 
 Than gilf his trophy: The breasts of Hecuba, 
 When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
 Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood 
 At Grecian swords* contending. — Tell Valeria, 
 We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent. 
 
 Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius ! 
 
 Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee, 
 And tread upon his neck. 
 
 Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valehia and her 
 Usher. 
 
 Val. My ladies both, good day to yoa. 
 
 Vol. Sweet madam, 
 
 Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 
 
 Val. How do you do both ] you are manifest 
 housekeepers. What, are ) ou sewing here ? A fine 
 spot, in good faith. — How does your little son 1 
 
 Vir. I thank your ladyship : well, good madam. 
 
 Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a 
 drum, than look upon his school-master. 
 
 Val. O'my word, the father's son : I'll swear, 'tis a 
 very pretty boy. 0' my troth, I looked upon him o' 
 Wednesday half an hour together: he has such a 
 confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded 
 butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again, 
 and after it again ; and over and over he comes, 
 and up again: catched it again : or whether his firli 
 enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth, 
 and tear it; O, I warrant, how he mammocked' ?♦' 
 
 Vol. One of his father's moods. 
 
 1 Gilding. ' Tore. 
 
 V 
 
8cENE IV 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 667 
 
 Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. 
 
 Vir. A crack,' madam. 
 
 Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery ; I must have 
 Vou play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. 
 
 Vii: No, good madam : I will not out of doors. 
 
 Vol. Not out of doors ! 
 
 Vol. She shall, she shall. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience : I will not 
 over the threshold, till my lord return from the wars. 
 
 Fa/. Fye, you confine yourself most unreasonably; 
 Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. 
 
 Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit 
 her with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither. 
 
 Vol. Why, I pray youl 
 
 Vir. 'Tis not to save labor, nor that I want love. 
 
 Val. You would be another Penelope : yet, they 
 Bay, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did 
 but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would, your 
 cambric were sensible as your finger, that you 
 might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall 
 go with us. 
 
 Vir. No, good madam, pardon me ; indeed, I 
 will not forth. 
 
 Val. In truth, la, go with me ; and I'll tell you 
 excellent news of your husband. 
 
 Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. 
 
 Val. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came 
 news from him last night. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, madam 1 
 
 Val. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak 
 it. Thus it is : — The Voices have an army forth ; 
 against whom Cominius the general is gone, with 
 one part of our Roman power: your lord, and Titus 
 Lartius, are set down before their city, Corioli ; they 
 nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. 
 This is true, on mine honor: and so, I pray, go 
 with us. 
 
 Vir. Give mc excuse, good madam ; I will obey 
 you in every thing hereafter. 
 
 Vol. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will 
 but disease our better mirth. 
 
 Val. In troth, I think, she would : — Fare you 
 well, then. — Come, good sweet lady. — Pr'ythee, 
 Virgilia, turn thy solemness outo'door, and go along 
 with us. 
 
 Vir. No ; at a word, madam ; indeed, I must 
 not. I wish you much mirth. 
 
 Val. Well, then, farewell. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Before Corioli. 
 
 Enter, with Drum and Colors, Marcius, Titus 
 Lartius, Officers, and Soldiers. 7b them a 
 Messenger 
 
 Mar. Yonder comes news : — A wager, they have 
 
 met. 
 Lart. My horse to yours, no. 
 Mar. 'Tis done. 
 
 Lart. Agreed. 
 
 Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy 1 
 Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke as 
 
 yet. 
 Lart. So the good horse is mine. 
 Mar. I'll buy him of you. 
 
 Lart, No, I'll nor sell, nor give him: lend you 
 
 him, I will. 
 For half a hundred years. — Summon the town. 
 Mar. How far oil" lie these armies 1 
 ^fess. . Within this mile and half. 
 
 •Boy. 
 
 Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they 
 
 ours. 
 Now, Mars, I pr'ythee make us quick in work; 
 That we with smoking swords may march from 
 
 hence. 
 To help our fielded friends ! — Come, blow thy blast 
 
 They sound a Parley. Enfir, on the Walls, some 
 Senators, and others. 
 
 Tullus Aufidius, is he within y,(iur wallsl 
 
 1 Seti. No, nor a man that fears you less than he. 
 That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums 
 
 [Alarums afar off. 
 Are bringing forth our youth: We'll break our 
 
 walls. 
 Rather than they shall pound us up : our gates. 
 Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with 
 
 rushes ; 
 They'll open of themselves. Hark, you, far off; 
 
 [Other Alarums. 
 There is Aufidius; list what work he makes 
 Amongst your cloven army. 
 
 Mar. O, they are at it! 
 
 Lart. Their noise be our instruction. — Ladders, 
 ho! 
 
 The Voices enter, and pass over the Stage. 
 
 Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. 
 Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight 
 With hearts more proof than shields. — Advance, 
 
 brave Titus: 
 They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, 
 Which makes me sweat with wrath. — Come on my 
 He that retires, I'll take him for a Voice, [fellows, 
 And he shall feel mine edge. 
 
 Alarum and exeunt Romans and Voices, fighting. 
 The Romans are beaten back to their Trenches 
 Re-enter Marcius. 
 
 Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, 
 You shames of Rome! you herd of — Boils and 
 Plaster you o'er ; that you may be abhorr'd [plagues 
 Further than seen, and one infect another 
 Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese. 
 That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
 From slaves that apes would beat ] Pluto and hell ! 
 All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale 
 With flight and agu'd fear! Mend, and charge home, 
 Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe. 
 And make my wars on you: look to't: Come on, 
 If you stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, 
 As they us to our trenches followed. 
 
 Another Alarum. The Voices a7id Romans re-enter, 
 and the Fight is renewed. The Voices retire into 
 Corioli, and Marcivs follows them to the Gates. 
 
 Sii, now the gates are ope : — Now prove good se- 
 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, [conds: 
 Not for the fliers : mark mc, and do the like. 
 
 [He enters the Gates, and is shut in 
 
 1 So/. Fool-hardiness ; not I. 
 
 2 Sol. Nor I. 
 
 3 Sol. See, they 
 Have shut him in. [Alarum continues-. 
 
 All. To the pot, I warrant him. 
 
 Enter Titus Lartius. 
 Lart. What is become of Marcius 1 
 All. Slain, sir, doubtlesa 
 
 I <So/. Following the fliers at the very heels. 
 
668 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 With them he enters : who, upon the sudden, 
 ClappM-to their gates; he is himself alone, 
 Tj answer all the city. 
 
 Lart. O noble fellow ! 
 
 Who, sensibl)^' outdares his senseless sword, 
 And, when it bows, stands up ! Thou art left, 
 
 Marcius : 
 A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, 
 Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
 Even to Cato's wi»l. not fierce and terrible 
 Only in strokes ; biit, with thy grim looks, and 
 The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds. 
 Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world 
 Were feverous and did tremble. 
 
 Re-enter Marcius, Heeding, assaulted by the 
 Enemy. 
 
 1 8ol. Look, sir. 
 
 Lart. 'Tis Marcius ; 
 
 Tict's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 
 
 [They fight, and all enter the City. 
 
 SCENE \.— Within the Town. A Street. 
 Enter certain Romans, with Spoils. 
 
 1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 
 
 2 Rum. And I this. 
 
 3 Rom. A murrain on't ! I took this for silver. 
 
 [Alarum continues still afar off. 
 
 Enter Marcius, and Titus Lartius, ivHh a 
 Trumpet. 
 Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their 
 hours 
 At a crack'd drachm !'' Cushions, leaden spoons, 
 Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
 Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, 
 Ere yet the fight be done, pack up : — Down with 
 
 them. — 
 And hark, what noise the general makes! — To 
 
 him : — 
 There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
 Piercing our Romans : Then, valiant Titus, take 
 Convenient numbers to make good the city ; 
 Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste 
 To help Cominius. 
 
 Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed 'st; 
 
 Thy exercise hath been too violent for 
 \ second course of fight. 
 
 Mar. Sir, praise me not; 
 
 My work hath yet not warm'd nie : Fare you well. 
 The blood I drop is rather physical 
 Than dangerous to me: To Aufidius thus 
 I will appear, and fight. 
 
 Lart. Now the fair goddess. Fortune, 
 
 Fall deep in love with thee ; and her great charms 
 Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman, 
 Prosperity be thy page ! 
 
 Mar. Thy friend no less 
 
 I'nan tL^ce she placcth highest! So farewell. 
 Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius ! — 
 
 [Exit Marcius. 
 Go, sound thy trumpet in the market place ; 
 Call thither all the officers of the town, 
 Where they shall know our mind : Away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE YL— Near the Camp o/ Cominius. 
 Enter Comixius and Forces retreating. 
 
 Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fought, we 
 are come off 
 ' Having sensation, feeling. * A Roman coin. 
 
 Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands. 
 Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs. 
 We shall be charged again. Whiles we have struck) 
 By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard 
 The charges of our friends : — The Roman gods. 
 Lead their successes as we wish our own ; 
 That both our powers, with smiling fronts encoun- 
 tering, 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 May give you thankful sacrifice! — Thj' news' 
 
 Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 
 And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : 
 I saw our party to their ti-enches driven. 
 And then I came away. 
 
 Com. Though thou speak'st tiuth, 
 
 Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't 
 since ? 
 
 Mess. Above an hour, my lord. 
 
 Com. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their 
 drums ; 
 How couldst thou in a mile confound' an hour, 
 And bring thy news so late? 
 
 Mess. Spies of the Voices 
 
 Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel 
 Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, 
 Half an hour since brought my report. 
 
 Enter Marcius. 
 
 Com. Who's yonder, 
 
 That does appear as he were flay'd ] O gods ! 
 He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have 
 Before-time seen him thus. 
 
 Mar. Come I too late? 
 
 Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a 
 tabor, 
 More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue 
 From every meaner man's. 
 
 Mar. Come I too late? 
 
 Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, 
 But mantled in your own. 
 
 Mar. O ! let me clip you • 
 
 In arms as sound, as when I woo'd ; in heart 
 As merry, as when our nuptial day was done, 
 And tapers burn'd to bedward. 
 
 Com. Flower of warriors. 
 
 How is't with Titus Lartius ? 
 
 Mar. As with a man busied about decrees : 
 Condemning some to death, and some to exile ; 
 Ransoming him, or pitying, threat'ning the other ■ 
 Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, 
 Even hke a fawning greyhound in the leash, 
 To let him slip at will. 
 
 Com. Where is that slava^ 
 
 Which told me they had beat you to your trenches'! 
 Where is he ? Call him hither. 
 
 Mar. Let him alone, 
 
 He did inform the truth: But for our gentlemen, 
 The common file^A plague! — Tribunes forthem!) 
 The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge 
 From rascals worse than they. 
 
 Com. But how prevail'd youl 
 
 Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? I do not think — 
 Where is the enemy? Are you lords o'the field? 
 If not, why cease you till you are so ? 
 
 Com. .Marcius, 
 
 We have at disadvantage fought, and aid 
 Retire to win our purpose. [side 
 
 Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on which 
 They have plao^-J their men of trust ? 
 » Expend. 
 
Scene IX. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 66!» 
 
 Corn. As I guess, Marcius, 
 
 Their bands in the vaward* are the Antiates,' 
 Of tlicir best trust: o'er them Aufidius, 
 Their very heart of hope. 
 
 Mar. I do beseech you, 
 
 By all the battles wherein we have fought. 
 By the blood we have shed together, by the vows 
 We have made to endure friends, that you directly 
 Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates: 
 And that you not delay the present;^ but, 
 Filling the air with swords advanced, and darts, 
 We pro/c this very hour. 
 
 Com. Though I could wish 
 
 Yon were conducted to a gentle bath, 
 And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
 Deny your asking; take your choice of those 
 The best can aid your action. 
 
 Mar. Those are they 
 
 That most are willing: — If any such be here, 
 (As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting 
 Wherein you see me smear'd : if any fear 
 Lesser his person than an ill report ; 
 If any think, brave death outweighs bad life, 
 And that his country's dearer than himself; 
 Let him, alone, or so many, so minded, 
 Wave thus, [^Waving his hand.J to express his 
 
 disposition. 
 And follow Marcius. 
 
 [Tlieij all shout, and wave their Swords; take 
 him up in their Arms, and cast up their Caps. 
 O me, alone! Make you a sword of mel 
 If these shows be not outward, which of you 
 But is four Voices'? None of you but is 
 Able to bear against the great Aufidius 
 A shield as hard as his. A certain number. 
 Though thanks to all, must I select: the rest, 
 Shall bear the business in some other fight, 
 As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; — 
 And four shall quickly draw out my command. 
 Which men are best inclin'd. 
 
 Com. March on, my fellows : 
 
 Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
 Divide in all with us. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. The Gates of Corioli. 
 
 Titus Latitius, having set a Guard upon Corioli, 
 going with a Drum and Trumpet towards Co- 
 siixics and Caius Maiicius, enters luith a 
 Lieutenant, a party of Soldiers, and a Scout. 
 
 Lart. So, let the ports ' be guarded ; keep your 
 duties. 
 As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch 
 TK?£e centuries' to our aid; the rest will serve 
 For a short holding: if we lose the field, 
 We cannot keep the town. 
 
 Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 
 
 Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. — 
 Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCEXE VIII.— yl Field of Battle between the 
 Roman and the Volscian Camps. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Maiicius and Aufidius. 
 
 Mar. I'll fight with none but thee ; for I do hate 
 thee 
 Worse than a promise-breaker. 
 
 ' Front. 
 Oat«« 
 
 » Soldiers of Antium. « Present time. 
 • Companies of a hundred pawn 
 
 Auf. We hate alike 
 
 Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor 
 More than thy fame and envy: Fix thy foot. 
 
 Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave, 
 And the gods doom him after! 
 
 Auf. If I fly, Marcius, 
 
 Halloo me like a hare. 
 
 Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, 
 
 Alone I fought in your Corioli walls. 
 And made what work I pleas'd ; 'Tis not my blood 
 Wherein thou seest me mask'd : for thy revenge 
 Wrench up thy power to the highest. 
 
 Auf. Wert thou the Hector, 
 
 That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny. 
 Thou shouldst not scape me here. — 
 
 [They fight, and certain Voices come to tht 
 aid of Aufidius. 
 Officious and not valiant, — you have sham'd me 
 In your condemned seconds.' 
 
 [Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius. 
 
 SCENE IX.— The Roman Camp. 
 
 Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, 
 at one side, Cominius aiid Romans; at the 
 other side, Marcius, with his Arm in a Scarf, 
 and other Romans. 
 
 Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, 
 Thou'lt not believe thy deeds : but I'll report it. 
 Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; 
 Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, 
 I' the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted. 
 And, gladly quak'd,' hear more; where the dull 
 
 tribunes. 
 That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honors. 
 Shall say against their hearts — We thank the godsi 
 Our Rome hath such a soldier.' — 
 Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast 
 Having fully dined before. 
 
 Enter Titus Lartius, with his Power, from t/ie 
 Pursuit. 
 
 Lart. general, 
 
 Here is the steed, we the caparison : 
 Hadst thou beheld 
 
 Mar. Pray now, no more : my mother, 
 
 Who has a charter to extol her blood. 
 When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, 
 As you have done ; that's what I can ; induced 
 As you have been ; that's for my country • 
 He that has but effected his good will. 
 Hath overta'en mine act. 
 
 Co)7i. You shall not be 
 
 'I'he grave of your deserving; Rome must know 
 The value of her own : 'twere a concealment 
 Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, 
 To hide your doings; and to silence that. 
 Which to the spire and top of praises vouch'd. 
 Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you, 
 (In sign of what you are, not to reward 
 What you have done,) before our army hear me. 
 
 3Iar. I have some wounds upon me, and they 
 smart 
 To hear themselves remember'd. 
 
 Com. Should they not, 
 
 Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, 
 And tent themselves with death. Of all the horsey 
 (Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,) of all 
 
 • In afTording such ill-timed help. 
 « Thrown into grateful trepidation. 
 
67U 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city, 
 We render you the tentli ; to be ta'en forth, 
 Before the common distribution, at 
 i'our only choice. 
 
 Mar I thank you, general ; 
 
 But cannot make my heart consent to take 
 A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it ; 
 And stand upon my common part with those 
 That have beheld the doing. 
 
 \A long Flourish. They all cry, Marcius ! Mar- 
 rius! cast up their Caps aiul Lances: Cosii- 
 Nius and Lahtius stand hare. 
 
 Mar. May these same instruments, which you 
 profane, 
 Never sound more! When drums and trumpet shall 
 r the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be 
 Made all of false-faced soothing : When steel grows 
 Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made 
 An overture for the wars ! No more, I say ; 
 For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled. 
 Or foil'd some debile' wretch, — which, without note. 
 Here's many else have done, — you shout me forth 
 In acclamations hyperbolical ; 
 As if I loved my little should be dieted 
 In praises sauced with lies. 
 
 Com. Too modest are you ; 
 
 More cruel to your good report than grateful 
 To us that give you truly : by your patience. 
 If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you 
 (Like one that means his proper' harm) in manacles, 
 Then reason safely with you.-— Therefore, be it 
 
 known, 
 As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius 
 Wears this war's garland : in token of the which 
 My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 
 With all his trim belonging ; and, from this time. 
 For what he did before Corioli, call him, 
 With all the applause and clamor of the host, 
 Caius Makcius Coriolanus. — 
 Bear the addition nobly ever ! 
 
 [^Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums. 
 
 All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! 
 
 Cor. I will go wash; 
 And when my face is fair, you shall perceive 
 Whether I blush, or no: Howbeit, I thank you — 
 I mean to stride your steed ; and, at all times. 
 To undercrest'your good addition. 
 To the fairness of my power. 
 
 Com. So to our tent: 
 
 Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
 To Rome of our success. — ^You, Titus Lartius, 
 Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome 
 The best,' with whom we may articulate,'' 
 F'or their own good, and ours. 
 
 Lart. I shall, my lord. 
 
 Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now 
 Refus'd more princely gifts, am bound to beg 
 Of my lord general. 
 
 Com. Take it: 'tis yours. — Whatis't] 
 
 Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, 
 
 • Weak, feeble. * Own. i Add more by doing his best. 
 
 • Chief meo. ' Enter into articles. 
 
 At a poor man's house , he used me kindly: 
 He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner; 
 But then Aufidius was within my view, 
 And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you 
 To give my poor host freedom. 
 
 Com. O. well bcgg'd; 
 
 Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
 Be free, as the wind. Deliver him, Titus. 
 
 Lart. Marcius, his namel 
 
 Cor. By Jupiter, forgot:— 
 
 I am weary ; yea, my memory is tir'd. — 
 Have we no wine here 1 
 
 Com. Go we to our tent* 
 
 The blood upon your visage dries : 'tis time 
 It should be look'd td : come. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE X.— The Camp of the Voices. 
 
 A Flourish. Comets. Enter Tullus AtJFiDiifs 
 bloody, with two or three Soldiers. 
 
 Auf. The town is ta'en! 
 
 1 ISol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good con* 
 dition. 
 
 Auf. Condition! 
 I would I were a Roman ; for I cannot, 
 Being a Voice, be that I am. — Condition ! 
 What good condition can a treaty find 
 I' the part that is at mercy ? Five times, Marcius, 
 I have fought with thee ; so often hast thou beat me; 
 And wouldst do »-o, I think, should we encounter 
 As often as we eat. — By the elements, 
 If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, 
 He is mine, or I am his: Mine emulation 
 Hath not that honor in't, it had ; for where * 
 I thought to crush him in an equal force, 
 (True sword to sword,) I'll potch^ at him some wayj 
 Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 
 
 1 Sol. He's the devil. 
 
 Aif. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valo'' 
 poison'd. 
 With only suffering stain by him ; for him 
 Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary, 
 Being naked, sick: nor fane, nor Capitol, 
 The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice, 
 Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
 Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
 My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it 
 At home upon my brother's guard, even there 
 Against the hospitable canon, would I 
 Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the 
 
 city; 
 Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must 
 Be hostages for Rome. 
 
 1 Sol. Will not you go 1 
 
 Auf. lam attended' at the cypress grove." 
 I pray you, 
 
 ('Tis south the city mills,) bring me word tlrilliCT 
 How the world goes; that to the pace of it 
 I may spur on my journey. 
 
 1 Sol. I shall, sir. [ExeuTiX. 
 
 8 Whereas. » Poke, push. > Wa,' ted fcr. 
 
 *niR»llU»"«IJL«ll ,( 
 
A.CT n. Scene I. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 67, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I —Rome. A public Place. 
 
 Enter Mexenius, Sicinius, and Brutus. 
 
 3Icn. The augurer tells me, we shall have news 
 to-night. 
 
 /?;•(«. Good or bad 1 
 
 Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, 
 for they love not Marcius. 
 
 Sic. Nature teaches boasts to know their friends. 
 
 i\Ien. Pray you, who does the wolf love 1 
 
 Sic. The lamb. 
 
 Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry ple- 
 beians would the noble Marcius. 
 
 Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that bacs like a bear. 
 
 Men. He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. 
 You two are old men ; tell me one thing that I 
 shall ask you. 
 
 Bo/h frib. Well, sir. 
 
 Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that 
 you two have not in abundance 1 
 
 Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. 
 
 Sic. Especially in pride. 
 
 Bru. And topping all others m boasting. 
 
 Men. This is strange now ; Do you two know 
 iiow you are censured here in the city, I mean of 
 us o' the right hand fde ] Do you 7 
 
 Both Trib. Why, how are we censured 1 
 
 Men. Because you talk of pride now, — Vv^ill you 
 not be angry 1 
 
 Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well. 
 
 Men. Why 'tis no great matter; for a very little 
 thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of 
 patience: give your disposition the reins, and be 
 angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take 
 it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame 
 Marcius for being proud 1 
 
 Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 
 
 Men. I know, you can do very little alone ; for 
 your helps arc many ; or else your actions would 
 grow wondrous single : your abilities are too in- 
 fant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride; 
 O, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes 
 of your necks, and make but an interior survey 
 of your good selves ! O, that you could ! 
 
 Bru. What then, sir 1 
 
 Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of 
 unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias 
 fools,) as any in Rome. 
 
 Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. 
 Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, 
 and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a 
 arop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be something 
 imj)erfcct, in favoring the first complaint : hasty, 
 and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion: one that 
 converses more with the buttock of the night, than 
 with the forehead of the morning. What I think, 
 I utler; and spend my malice in my breath: Meet- 
 ing two such weals-inen" as you are, (I cannot call 
 you Lycurguses,) if the drink you gave me, touch 
 •ny palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. 
 I cannot say, your worships have delivered the 
 matter well, when I find the ass in compound with 
 the major part of your syllaljlcs : and though I 
 must be content to bear with those that say you 
 are reverend grave men ; yet they lie deadly, that 
 tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the 
 map of my microcosm, follows it, that I am known 
 iStulcsmeu. 
 
 well enough too 1 What harm can your bisson' 
 conspectuities glean out of this character, if I l;« 
 known well enough too 7 
 
 Bru. Come, sir, come; we know you well enough. 
 
 ilfen. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any 
 thing. You arc ambitious for poor knaves' cap« 
 and legs; you wear out a good wholesome fore- 
 noon, in hearing a cause between an orange wife 
 and a fosset-sellcr ; and then rejourn the contro- 
 versy of three-pence to a second day of audience, 
 — When you are hearing a matter between party 
 and party, if you chance to be pinched with the 
 colic, you make faces like mummers ; set up the 
 bloody flag against all patience; and, in roaring for 
 a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, 
 the more entangled by your hearing: all the peace 
 you make in their cause, is, calling both the parties 
 knaves : You are a pair of strange ones. 
 
 Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to 
 be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary 
 bencher in the Capitol. 
 
 Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if 
 they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you 
 arc. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is 
 not worth the wagging of yoiu' beards ; and your 
 beards deserve not so honorable a grave, as to stuff 
 a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's 
 pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is 
 proud ; who, in a cheaji estimation, is worth all 
 your predecessors, since Deucalion ; though, per- 
 adventure, some of the best of them were hereditary 
 hangmen. Good e'en to your worships : more of 
 your conversation would infect my brain, being the 
 herdsmen of the beastly plebeians : I will be bold 
 to take my leave of you. 
 
 [Bru. and Sic. retire to the back of ike Scene, 
 
 Enter Volumxia, Virgilia, and Valeria, <^c. 
 
 How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, 
 were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you fol- 
 low your eyes so fast? 
 
 Vol. Honorable Menenius ; my boy Marcius ap- 
 proaches: for the love of Juno, let's go. 
 
 Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ] 
 
 Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most pros- 
 perous approbation. 
 
 Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee: — 
 Hoo ! Marcius coming home ? 
 
 Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true. 
 
 Vol. Look, here's a letter from him : the staia 
 hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there'* 
 one at home for you. 
 
 Men. I will make my very house reel to-nigLt : 
 — A letter for me ] 
 
 Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I 
 saw it. 
 
 Men. A letter for mel It gives me an estate of 
 seven years' health ; in which time I will make a 
 lip at the physician : the most sovereign prescrip- 
 tion in Galen is but empiricutic, and to this pre- 
 servative, of no better report than a horse-drench 
 Is he not wounded ] he was wont to come home 
 wounded. 
 
 Vir. O, no, no, no. 
 
 Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. 
 
 Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : — Bringi 
 (Blind. 
 
J72 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 a victory in his pocket! — The wounds become 
 lim. 
 
 Val. On's brows, Menenius: he comes the third 
 ime home with the oaken garland. 
 
 Men. Has he discipHned Aufidius soundly 1 
 
 Vol. Titus Lartius writes, — They fought to- 
 {ether, but Aufidius got oif. 
 
 Me?i. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant 
 iim that : an he had staid by him, I would not have 
 leen so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and 
 iie gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed 
 >f this] 
 
 Vol. Good ladies, let's go : — Yes, yes, yes : the 
 senate has letters from the general, wherein he 
 fives my son the whole name of the war: he hath 
 m this action outdone his former deeds doubly. 
 
 Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of 
 him. 
 
 Aleii. Wondrous? Ay, I warrant you, and not 
 without his true purchasing. 
 
 Vir. The gods grant them true! 
 
 Vol. True 1 pow, wow. 
 
 Men. True? I'll be sworn they are true: — 
 Where is he wounded 1 — God save your good 
 worships! [To the Tribunes, who come forward.'] 
 Marcius is coming home : he has more cause to be 
 proud. — Where is he wounded? 
 
 Vol. V the shoulder, and i' the left arm : There 
 will be large cicatrices to show the people, when 
 he shall stand for his place. He received in the 
 repulse of Tarquin, seven hurts i' the body. 
 
 Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh, — 
 there's nine that I know. 
 
 Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty- 
 five wounds upon him. 
 
 Men. Now it's twenty-seven : every gash was an 
 enemy's grave : [^A Shout, and Flourish.'] Hark ! 
 the trumpets. 
 
 Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him 
 He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears; 
 Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie; 
 Which being advanced, declines ; and then men die. 
 
 A Sennet.* Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius 
 and Titus Lartius ; between them, Cohiola- 
 Nus, crowned with an oaken Garland; with 
 Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald. 
 
 Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight 
 Within Corioli' gates: where he hath won. 
 With fame a name to Caius Marcius; these 
 [n honor follows, Coriolanus: 
 We come to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 
 
 [Flourish. 
 
 All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 
 
 Cor. Noi more of this, it does oflend my heart; 
 I 'ray now, no more. 
 
 Com. Look, sir, your mother. 
 
 Cor. O ! 
 
 Vou have, I know, petition'd all the gods 
 For my prosperity. [Kneels. 
 
 Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up 
 My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
 By deed-achieving honor newly nam'd. 
 What is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee? 
 But 0, thy wife 
 
 Cor. My gracious' silence, hail! 
 
 Vf ouldst thou hav3 laugh'd, had I come coffin'd 
 
 home, 
 I'hat wcep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, 
 * Iflourish on coructs. 6 Graceful. 
 
 Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear. 
 And mothers that lack sons. 
 
 Men. Now the gods crown thee! 
 
 Cor. And live you yet? — O my sweet lady, 
 pardon. [To Valeuia 
 
 Vol. I know not where to turn: — O welcome 
 home ; 
 And welcome, general ; — And you are welcome all 
 
 Men. A hundred thousand welcomes: I could 
 weep. 
 And I could laugh; I am light, and heavy . Wel- 
 come : 
 A curse begin at every root of his heart. 
 That is not glad to see thee ! — You are three, 
 That Rjme should dote on : yet, by the faith of 
 
 men, 
 We have some old crab-trees here at home, thaft 
 
 will not 
 Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriorai 
 We call a nettle, but a nettle; and 
 The faults of fools, but folly. 
 
 Com. Ever right. 
 
 Cor. Menenius, ever, ever. 
 
 Her. Give way there, and go on. 
 
 Cor. Your hand, and youi«. 
 
 [To his Wife and Mother 
 Ere in our own house I do shade my head. 
 The good patricians must be visited ; 
 From whom I have received not only greetings, 
 But with them change of honors. 
 
 Vol. I have lived 
 
 To see inherited my very wishes. 
 And the buildings of my fancy: only there 
 Is one thing wanting, v.'hich I doubt not, but 
 Our Rome will cast upon thee. 
 
 Cor. Know, good mothc!- 
 
 I had rather be their servant in my way. 
 Than sway with them in theirs. 
 
 Com. On to the Capitol 
 
 [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. 
 The Tribunes remain. 
 
 Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared 
 sights 
 Are spectacled to see him : Your prattling nurse 
 In a rapture lets her baby cry. 
 While she chats him : the kitchen malkin^ pins 
 Her richest lockranr 'bout her reechy' neck. 
 Clambering the walls to eye him : stalls, bulks 
 
 windows. 
 Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd 
 With variable complexions: all agi-eeing 
 In earnestness to see him ; sekr-shown flamens 
 Do press among the popular throngs, and puff 
 To win a vulgar station: our vcil'd dames 
 Commit the war of white and damask, in 
 Their nicely-gawded^ cheeks, to the wanton spoil 
 Of Phoebus' burning kisses : sucii a pother, 
 As if that whatsoever god, who leads him, 
 Were slily crept into his human powers. 
 And gave him graceful posture. 
 
 Sic. On the sudden 
 
 I warrant him consul. 
 
 Bru. Then our office may, 
 
 During his power, go sleep. 
 
 Sic. He cannot temperately transport his hononi 
 From where he should begin and end ; but will 
 Lose those that he hath won. 
 
 Bru. In that there's comfort 
 
 • Maid. '• Best linen 
 •Seldom 'Priests. 
 
 • Soi]e<l with sweat and sinoka 
 » Adorned. 
 
ScfiNE IT. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 673 
 
 Sic, Doubt not, the commoners, for whom we 
 stand. 
 6at they, upon their ancient malice, will 
 Forget, with the least cause, these his new honors; 
 Which that he'll give them., make as little question 
 As he is proud to do't. 
 
 Bru. I heard him swear. 
 
 Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
 Appear i' the market-place, nor on him put 
 The napless vesture of humility ; 
 Nor, shewing (as the manner is) his wounds 
 To the people, beg their stinking breaths. 
 
 Sic. 'Tis right. 
 
 Bni, It was his word: O, he would miss it, 
 rather 
 Than carry it, but by the suit o'the gentry to him, 
 And the desires of the nobles. 
 
 'SVc. I wish no better, 
 
 Tlian have him hold that purpose, and put it 
 In execution. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis most like, he vs^ill. 
 
 Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills; 
 A sure destruction. 
 
 Bru. So it must fall out 
 
 To him, or our authorities. For an end. 
 We must suggest' the people in what hatred 
 He still hath held them; that to his power he 
 
 would 
 Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders, and 
 Dispropertled their freedoms: holding them, 
 In human action and capacity, 
 Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world. 
 Than camels in their war; who have their provand* 
 Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
 For sinking under them. 
 
 Sic. This, as you say, suggested 
 
 At some time when his soaring insolence 
 Shall teach the people, (which time shall not want, 
 If he be put upon't; and that's as easy. 
 As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire 
 To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze 
 Shall darken him for ever. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 What's the matter 1 
 for to the Capitol. 'Tis 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Mess. You are sent 
 thought 
 
 That Marcius should be consul : I have seen 
 The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind 
 To hear him speak: The matrons flung their gloves, 
 Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs. 
 Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended. 
 As to Jove's statue ; and the commons made 
 A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts : 
 f never saw the like. 
 
 Bru. Let's to the Capitol ; 
 
 And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, 
 But hearts for the event. 
 
 Sic. Have with you. [Exeu7it. 
 
 SCENE U.—The Capitol. 
 Enter two Officers, to lay Cushions. 
 
 1 Off. Come, come, they are almost here : How 
 many stand for consulships ! 
 
 2 Off. Three, tliey say : but 'tis thought of every 
 one, Coriolanus will carry it. 
 
 1 Off. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance 
 Jroud, and loves not the common people. 
 
 » luform. « Provender. 
 
 2 Off. 'Faith, there have oeen many great men 
 that have flatter'd the people, who ne'er loved them; 
 and there be many that they have loved, they know- 
 not wherefore ; so that, if they love they know nol 
 why, tiiey hate upon no better a ground : There- 
 fore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they 
 love or hate him, manifests the true knowledge he 
 has in their disposition ; and out of his noble care- 
 lessness, lets them plainly sce't. 
 
 1 Off. If he did not care whether he had then 
 love, or no, he waved indiflerently 'twixt doing 
 them neither good nor harm ; but he seeks their 
 hate with greater devotion than they can render it 
 him : and leaves nothing undone, that may fully 
 discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to 
 aftect the malice and displeasure of the people, is 
 as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for 
 their love. 
 
 2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country: 
 And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as 
 those, who, having been supple and courteous to 
 the people, bonneted ' without any further deed to 
 heave them at all into their estimation and report: 
 but he hath so planted his honors in their eyes, 
 and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues 
 to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind 
 of ingrateful injury : to report otherwise were a 
 malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck re- 
 proof and rebuke from every ear that heard it. 
 
 1 Off. No more of him ; he is a worthy man- 
 Make way, they are coming. 
 
 A Sennet. Enter, ivilh Lictors before them, Comi 
 swa, the Consul, Menexius, Coiuolanus, 
 manij other Senators, Sicinius, and Biiutps. 
 The Senators take their places; the Tribunes 
 take theirs also by themselves. 
 
 Men. Having detcrmin'd of the Voices, and 
 To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, 
 As the main point of this our after-meeting, 
 To gratify his noble service, that 
 Hath thus stood for his country : Therefore picas* 
 
 you. 
 Most reverend and grave elders, to desirn 
 The present consul, and last general 
 In our well-found successes, to report 
 A little of that worthy work perform 'd 
 By Caius Marcius Coriolanus: whom 
 We meet here, both to thank and to remember 
 With honors like himself. 
 
 1 Sen. Speak, good Cominius: 
 
 Leave nothing out for length, and make us think 
 Rather our state's defective for requital. 
 Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' the people 
 We do request your kindest ears: and, after. 
 Your loving motion toward the common body, 
 To yield what passes here. 
 
 Sic. We are convented 
 
 Upon a pleasing treaty; and have hearts 
 Inclinable to honor and advance 
 The theme of our assembly. 
 
 Bru. Which the rather 
 
 We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember 
 A kinder value of the people, than 
 He hath hereto prized them at. 
 
 Men. That's off, that's oil 
 
 I would you rather had been silent: Please you 
 To hear Cominius speak ] 
 
 Bru. Most willingly; 
 
 ' Took off caps. • Nothing to the purpofw 
 
674 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act II 
 
 But yet my caution was more pertinent, 
 Than the rebuke you gave it. 
 
 Men. He loves your people ; 
 
 But tie him not to be their bedfellow. — 
 Worthy Cominius, speak. — Nay, keep your place. 
 [CoKioLANus rises, and q^ers to go away. 
 
 1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus : never shame to hear 
 What you have nobly done. 
 
 Cor. Your honors' pardon ; 
 
 I had rather have my wounds to heal again. 
 Than hear say how I got them. 
 
 Bru. Sir, I hope. 
 
 My words disbench'd you not. 
 
 Cor. No, sir ; yet oft 
 
 When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. 
 You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: But your 
 
 people, 
 I love them as they weigh. 
 
 Men. Pray now, sit down. 
 
 Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head 
 i' the sun. 
 When the alarum were struck, than idly sit 
 To hear my nothings monster'd. 
 
 [_Exit CoRIOLATTUS. 
 
 Men. Masters o' the people. 
 
 Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, 
 (That's thousand to one good one,) when you now 
 
 see. 
 He had rather venture all his limbs for honor. 
 Than one of his ears to hear it? — Proceed, Co- 
 minius. 
 Com. I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus 
 Should not be utter'd feebly. — It is held. 
 That valor is the chiefest virtue, and 
 Most dignifies the haver : if it be, 
 The man I speak of cannot in the world 
 Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, 
 When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought 
 Beyond the mark of others: our then dictator, 
 M^hom with all praise I point at, saw him fight 
 When with his Amazonian'' chin he drove 
 The bristled lips before him : he bestrid 
 An o'er-press'd Roman, and i' the consul's view 
 Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met. 
 And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats. 
 When he might act the woman in the scene. 
 He prov'd best man o'the field, and for his meed' 
 Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
 Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea ; 
 And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since. 
 He lurch'd' all swords o' the garland. For this last. 
 Before and in Corioli, let me say, 
 I cannot speak him home. He stopp'd the fliers; 
 And, by his rare example, made the coward 
 Turn terror into sport: as waves before 
 A vessel under sail, so men obey'd, 
 And fell below his stem: his sword (death's stamp) 
 Where it did mark it took; from face to foot 
 He was a thing of blood, whose every motion 
 Was timed with dying cries; alone he enter'd 
 The mortal gate o' the city, which he painted 
 With shunless destiny, aidless came off, 
 And with a sudden reinforcement struck 
 Corioli, like a planet : now all's his : 
 When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce 
 His ready sense : then straight his doubled spirit 
 ^e-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, ' 
 \ud to the battle came he ; where he did 
 
 ' Without a beard. 
 • iJiBappo^nted. 
 
 • R award. 
 » Wearied. 
 
 Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
 'Twere a pei-petual spoil ; and, till we call'd 
 Both field and city ours, he never stood 
 To ease his breast with panting. 
 
 Men. Worthy man ! 
 
 1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honori 
 Which we devise him. 
 
 Com. Our spoils he kick'd at 
 
 And look'd upon things precious, as they were 
 The common muck o' the world ; he covets IcfcS 
 Than misery ^ itself would give ; rewards 
 His deeds with doing them ; and is content 
 To spend the time to end it. 
 
 Men. He's right noble ; 
 
 Let him be call'd for. 
 
 1 Seri. Call for Coriolanus. 
 
 Off". He doth appear. 
 
 Re-enter Coriolanus. 
 
 Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleaa'd 
 To make thee consul. 
 
 Cor. I do owe them still 
 
 My life, and services. 
 
 3Ten. It then remains, 
 
 That you do speak to the people. 
 
 Cor. I do beseech you 
 
 Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot 
 Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, 
 For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage : please 
 
 you. 
 That I may pass this doing. 
 
 Sic. ■ Sir, the people 
 
 Must have their voices ; neither will they bate 
 One jot of ceremony. 
 
 Men. Put them not to't: — 
 
 Pray you, go fit you to the custom ; and 
 Take to you, as your predecessors have. 
 Your honor with your form. 
 
 Cor. It is a part 
 
 That I tjhall blush in acting, and might well 
 Be taken from the people. 
 
 Bru. Mark you thatl 
 
 Cor. To brag unto them,— thus I did, ami 
 thus ; — 
 Show them the unaching scars which I should hide, 
 As if I had receiv'd them for the hire 
 Of their breath only : — 
 
 3Ien. Do not stand upon't.- • 
 
 We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, 
 Our purpose to them ; — and to our noble consul 
 Wish we all joy and honor. 
 
 Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honor! 
 
 [Flourish. Then exeunt Senatora. 
 
 Bru. You see how he intends to use the people, 
 
 Sic. May they perceive his intent! He that will 
 require them. 
 As if he did contemn what he requested 
 Should be in them to give. 
 
 Bru. Come, we'll inform them 
 
 Of our proceedings here : on the market-place, 
 I know they do attend us. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE m.— The Forum. 
 Enter several Citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we ougbt 
 not to deny him. 
 
 2 Cit. We may, sir, if we will. 
 
 * ATaricM 
 
fcsCENE HI. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 bra 
 
 3 at. We have power in ourselves to do it, but 
 it is a power that we have no power to do: for if 
 he show us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we 
 arc to put our tongues into those wounds, and speak 
 for thern; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must 
 also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingra- 
 titude is monstrous: and for the multitude to be 
 ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multi- 
 tude; of the which, we being members, should 
 bring ourselves to be monstrous members. 
 
 1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a 
 little help will serve: for once, when wc stood up 
 about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the 
 many-headed multitude. 
 
 3 Cit. We have been called so of many ; not 
 that our heads are some brown, some black, some 
 auburn, some bald, but tliat our wits are so diverse- 
 ly colored : and truly I think, if all our wits were 
 to issue out of one sliull, tliey would fly east, west, 
 north, south : and their consent of one direct way 
 should be at once to all the points o' the compass. 
 
 2 C'/7. Think you sol Which way, do you judge, 
 my wit would flyl 
 
 3 Cit. Nay, yourwitwillnotsosoonoutas anoth- 
 er man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in a blockhead: 
 but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward. 
 
 2 Cit. Why that way ] 
 
 3C(7.To lose itself in a fog; where being three parts 
 melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would re- 
 turn for conscience sake to help to get thee a wife. 
 
 2 Cit. You are never without your tricks : — You 
 may, you may. 
 
 3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices? 
 But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I 
 say, if he would incline to the people, there was 
 never a worthier man. 
 
 Enter CouioLAifus and Menen lus. 
 Here he comes, and in the gown of humility : mark 
 his behavior. We are not to say altogether, but 
 to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, 
 and by threes. He's to make his requests by parti- 
 culars : wherein every one of us has a single honor, 
 in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: 
 therefore, follow me, and I'll direct you how you 
 'Bhail go by him. 
 
 All. Content, content. [^Exeunt. 
 
 Men. O sir, you are not right; have you not 
 known 
 The worthiest men have done it 7 
 
 Cor. What must I say 1 — 
 
 [ pray, sir, — Plague upon't! I cannot bring 
 
 My tongue to such a pace: look, sir; my 
 
 wounds ; 
 I got them in my country's service, when 
 Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran 
 From the noise of our own drums. 
 
 Men. me, the gods ! 
 
 You must not speak of that: you must desire them 
 To think upon you. 
 
 Cor. Think upon me 1 Hang 'em ! 
 
 I would they would forget me, like tlie virtues 
 Which our divin;s lose by them. 
 
 Men. You'll mar all ; 
 
 m leave yoa : pray you, speak to them, I pray you. 
 In wholesome manner. [Exit. 
 
 Enter two Citizens. 
 Cor. Bid them wash their faces, [Ijrace. — 
 
 ^nd keep their tectli clean. — So here comes a 
 "on kn*w the cause fir, of my standing here. 
 
 1 Cit. We do, sir ; tell us what hath brought you 
 
 to't. 
 Cor. Mine own desert. 
 
 2 Cit. Your own desert 1 
 
 Cor. Ay, not 
 
 Mine own desire. 
 
 1 Cit. How ! not your own desirel 
 
 Cor. No, sir: 
 'Twas never my desire yet. 
 To trouble the poor with begging. 
 
 1 Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing, 
 We hope to gain by you. 
 
 Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o'the consul- 
 ship T 
 
 1 Cit. The price is, sir, to ask it kindly. 
 Cor. Kindly 
 
 Sir, I pray let me ha't : I have wounds to show you, 
 Which shall be yours in private. —Your good voices 
 
 sir; 
 What say you 1 
 
 2 Cit. You shall have it, worthy sir. 
 Cor. A match, sir: — 
 
 There is in all two worthy voices begg'd :— 
 I have your alms ; adieu. 
 
 1 Cit. But this is something odd. 
 
 2 Cit. An' twere to give again, — But 'tis no 
 
 matter. [Exeunt two Citizens. 
 
 Enter two other Citizens. 
 
 Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune 
 of your voices, that I may be consul, I have here 
 the customary gown. 
 
 3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your country, 
 and you have not deserved nobly. 
 
 Cor. Your enigma? 
 
 3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies, 
 you have been a rod to her friends ; you have not, 
 indeed, loved the common people. 
 
 Cor. You should account me the more virtuous, 
 that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir, 
 flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a dearer 
 estimation of them ; 'tis a condition thej' account 
 gentle : and since the wisdom of their choice is ra 
 ther to have my hat than my heart, I will practise thf 
 insinuating nod, and be off to them mostcounterfeit 
 ly; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchmen! 
 of some popular man, and give it bountifully to the 
 desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I maybe consul, 
 
 4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend ; and there- 
 fore give you our voices heartily. 
 
 3 Cit. You have received many wounds for your 
 country. 
 
 Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with showing 
 them. I will make much of your voices, ar.d so 
 trouble you no further. 
 
 Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! 
 
 [Exeuni 
 
 Cor. Most sweet voices! — 
 Better it is to die, better to starve, 
 'J'han crave the hire which first we do tescrve. 
 W'hy in this wolvish gown should I stand here. 
 To beg of Hob and Dick, that do a])pcar, 
 Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't:- 
 What custom v^'ills, in all things should we do't, 
 The dust on antique time would lie unswept, 
 And mountainous error be too highly hc<ip'd 
 For truth to over-peer. — Rather than tool it so. 
 Let the high ollice and the honor go 
 To one that would do thus. — I am half through 
 The one part suflTer'd. the other will I do 
 
 I 
 
?Ll«le.irlows hlliX' 
 
 ^ !i^;>3;0[L0A 
 
r,T III. Scene I. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 677 
 
 More after our commandment, than as guided 
 By your own true affections: and that, your minds 
 Pre-occupied with what you rather must do 
 Than what you should, made you against the grain 
 To voice him consul : Lay the fault on us. 
 
 Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say, we read lectures to 
 you, 
 How youngly he began to serve his country. 
 How long continued: and what stock he springs of. 
 The noble house o'the Marcians; from whence came 
 That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, 
 Who, after great Hostilius, here was king: 
 Of the same house Publius and Quintus were. 
 That our best water brought by conduits hither ; 
 And Censorinus, darling of the people, 
 And nobly nam'd so, being censor twice. 
 Was his great ancestor. 
 
 Sic. One thus descended. 
 
 That hath beside well in his person wrought 
 'I'o be set high in place, we did commend 
 
 To your remembrances; but you have found 
 Scaling' his present bearing with his past. 
 That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke 
 Your sudden approbation. 
 
 Bru. Say, you ne'ei had done't, 
 
 (Harp on that still,) but by our putting on : 
 And presently, when you have drawn yo"jr numbei", 
 Repair to the Capitol. 
 
 at. We will so : almost all [^Several speak. 
 Repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 Bru. Let them go on ; 
 
 This mutiny were better put in hazard. 
 Than stay, past doubt, for greater: 
 If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
 With their refusal, both observe and answer 
 The vantage of his anger. 
 
 Sic. To the Capitol : 
 
 Come; we'll be there before the stream o' the people; 
 And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own. 
 Which we have goaded onward. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street. 
 
 f^omets. Enter Cobiolanus, Menenius, Comi- 
 Nius, Titus Lartics, Senators, and Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head] 
 
 Lai-t. He had, my lord ; and that it was, which 
 caused 
 Our swifter composition. 
 
 Cor. So then the Voices stand but as at first ; 
 Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road 
 Upon us again. 
 
 Com. They are worn, lord consul, so. 
 
 That we shall hardly in our ages see 
 Their banners wave again. 
 
 Cor. Saw you Aufidius? 
 
 Lart. On safe-guard he came to me ; and did curse 
 Against the Voices, for they had so vilely 
 Yielded the town : he is retir'd to Antium. 
 
 Cur. Spoke he of me 1 
 
 Lart. He did, my lord. 
 
 Cor. How? what? 
 
 La7-t. How often he had met you sword to sword : 
 That, of all things upon the earth, he hated 
 Your person most : that he would pawn his fortunes 
 To hopeless restitution, so he might 
 Be call'd your vanquisher. 
 
 Cor. At Antium lives he ? 
 
 Lart. At Antium. 
 
 Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, 
 To oppose his hatred fully. — Welcome home. 
 
 [To Lartius. 
 
 Enter Sicinius and Bnuxus. 
 
 Behold ! these are the tribunes of the people. 
 The tongues o' the common mouth. I do despise 
 
 them : 
 For they do prank them in authority, 
 Against all noble suflferancc. 
 
 Sic. Pass no further. 
 
 Cor. Ha ! what is that ? 
 
 Bru. It will be dangerous to 
 
 Go on : no further. 
 
 Cor. What makes this change ? 
 
 Men. The matter? 
 
 44 
 
 Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and thu 
 commons? 
 
 Bru. Cominius, no. 
 
 Cor. Have I had children's voices? 
 
 1 Se?i. Tribunes, give way : he shall to the mar- 
 ket place. 
 
 Bill. The people are incens'd against him. 
 
 Sic. Stop. 
 
 Or all will fall in broil. 
 
 Cor. Are these your herd ? — 
 
 Must these have voices, that can yield them now, 
 And straight disclaim their tongues ? — What are 
 
 your offices ? 
 You being their mouths, why rule you not theii 
 
 teeth? 
 Have you not set them on ? 
 
 Men. Be calm, be calm. 
 
 Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, 
 To curb the will of the nobility : — 
 Suffer it, and live with such as cannot rule. 
 Nor ever will be nu'd. 
 
 Bru. Call't not a plot : 
 
 The people cry, y u mock'd them ; and, of latCv 
 When corn was iiivcn them gratis, you repin'd ; 
 Scandal'd the sujpdants for the people; call'd them 
 Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 
 
 Cor. Why, this was known before. 
 
 Bru. Not to them all. 
 
 Cor. Have you inform'd them since ? 
 
 Bru. How! I inform them? 
 
 Cor. You are like to do such business. 
 
 Bru. Not unlike, 
 
 Each way to better yours. 
 
 Cor. Why then should I be consul? By yon clouds, 
 Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
 Your fellow-tribune. 
 
 Sic. You show too much of that, 
 
 For which the people stir: If you will pass 
 To where you ure bound, you must inquire your way, 
 Which you arc out of, with a gentler spirit; 
 Or never be so noble as a consul. 
 Nor yoke with him for tribune. 
 
 Men. Let's be calm. 
 
 • Weighing. 
 
678 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Com. The people are abus'd: — Set on. — This 
 palt'ring' 
 Becomes not Rome ; nor has Coriolanus 
 Desetv'd this so dishonor'd rub, laid falsely 
 I' the plain way of his merit. 
 
 Cor. Tell me of corn ! 
 
 This was my speech, and I will speak't again ; — 
 
 Men. Not now, not now. 
 
 1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 
 
 Cor. Now, as I live, I will. — My nobler friends, 
 1 crave their pardons : — 
 
 For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
 Regard me as I do not flatter, and 
 Therein behold themselves : I say again. 
 In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate 
 The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, 
 Which we ourselves have plough' d for, sow'd, and 
 
 scatter'd. 
 By mingling them with us, the honor'd number; 
 Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
 Which they have given to beggars. 
 
 Me7i. Well, no more. 
 
 1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 
 
 Cor. How ! no more ] 
 
 As for my country I have shed my blood. 
 Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
 Coin words till their decay, against those meazels' 
 Which we disdain should tetter' us, yet sought 
 The very way to catch them. 
 
 Bru. You speak o' the people. 
 
 As if you were a god to punish, not 
 A man of their infirmity. 
 
 Sic. 'Twere well, 
 
 We let the people know't. 
 
 Men. What, whatl his choler? 
 
 Cor. Choler! 
 \\'ere I as patient as the midnight sleep. 
 By Jove, 'twould be my mind. 
 
 Sic. It is a mind, 
 
 That shall remain a poison where it is. 
 Not poison any further. 
 
 Cor. Shall remain ! — 
 
 Hear you this Triton of the minnows'? mark you 
 His absolute shall? 
 
 Com. 'Twas from the canon.' 
 
 Cor. Shall/ 
 
 good, but most unwise patrir'ins, why, 
 You grave, but reckless senators, 1 ave you thus 
 Given Hydra here to choose an ( liicer. 
 That with his peremptory shall Seing but 
 The horn and noise o' the monstet i, wants not spirit 
 To say, he'll turn your current in a ditch. 
 And make your channel his] If he have power. 
 Then vail your ignorance : if none, awake 
 Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned, 
 Be not as common fools; if you are not, 
 IjPt them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, 
 If they be senators : and they are no less. 
 When both your voices blended, the greatest taste 
 Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate ; 
 And such a one as he, who puts his shall, 
 His popular shall, against a graver bench 
 Than ever frown'd in Greece ! By Jove himself. 
 It makes the consuls base : and my soul aches. 
 To know, when two authorities are up, 
 Neitlier supreme, how soon confusion 
 May enter 'tvvixt the gap of both, and take 
 The one by the other. 
 
 ' Shuffling. » Lepers. 
 
 ' Scab. • According to law. 
 
 Com. Well-^on to the market-place. 
 
 Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth 
 The corn o' the store-house gratis, as 'twas used 
 Sometime in Greece, 
 
 3Ien. Well, well, no more of that. 
 
 Cor. (Though there the people had more absolute 
 power,) 
 I say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed 
 The ruin of the state. 
 
 Bru. Why, shall the people giv 
 
 One, that speaks thus, their voice ? 
 
 Cor. I'll give my reasons, 
 
 More worthier than their voices. They know, the 
 
 corn 
 Was not our recompense : resting well assured 
 They ne'er did service for't : Being press'd to the war 
 Even when the navel of the state were touch'd, 
 They would not thread the gates; this kind of 
 
 service 
 Did not deserve corn gratis: being i' the war. 
 Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd 
 Most valor, spoke not for them : The accusation 
 Which they have often made against the senate, 
 All cause unborn, could never be the native'* 
 Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? 
 How shall this bosom multiplied digest 
 The senate's courtesy'' Let deeds express 
 What's like to be their words : — We did request tt- 
 We are the greater poll,^ and in true fear 
 They gave us our demands: — Thus we debase 
 The nature of our seats, and make the rabble 
 Call our cares, fears: which will in time break ope 
 The locks o' the senate, and bring in the crows 
 To peck the eagles. — 
 
 M^7^. Come, enough. 
 
 Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 
 
 Cor. No, take more : 
 
 What may be sworn by, both divine and human. 
 Seal what I end withal ! — This double vi^orship, — 
 Where one part does disdain with cause, the other 
 Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom 
 Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no 
 Of general ignorance, — it must omit 
 Real necessities, and give way the while 
 To unstable slightness: purpose so barr'd,it follows, 
 Nothing is done to purpose: Therefore, beseech 
 
 you,— 
 You that will be less fearful than discreet ; 
 That love the fundamental part of state. 
 More than you doubt* the change oft ; that prefer 
 A noble life before a long, and wish 
 To jump' a body with a dangerous physic 
 That's sure of death without it, — at once pluck out 
 The multitudinous tongue, let them not lick 
 The sweet which is their poison: your dishonor 
 Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state 
 Of that integrity which should become it; 
 Not having the power to do the good it would 
 For the ill which doth control it. 
 
 Bru. He has said enough. 
 
 Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 
 As traitors do. 
 
 Cor. Thou wretch! despite o'erwhelm thee! — 
 What should the people do with these bald tribunes ? 
 On whom depending, their obedience fails 
 To the greater bench: In a rebellion, 
 When what's not meet, but what must be. was law 
 Then were they chosen ; in a better hour, 
 
 » Motive, no doubt, was Shakspeare's word. 
 
 => Number. * Fear. » Risk 
 
Scene I 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 679 
 
 I,et what is »ieet, be said it must be meet, 
 And throw their power i' the dust. 
 
 Bru. Manifest treason. 
 
 Sic. This a consul 1 no. 
 
 Bru. The ffidlles, ho ! — Let him be apprehended. 
 
 Sic. Go, call the people; ^Exit Brutus.] in 
 whose name, myself 
 A.tlach thee, as a traitorous innovator, 
 A foe to the public weal : Obey, I charge thee. 
 And follow to thine answer. 
 
 Cor. Hence, old goat! 
 
 Sen. <^ Pat. We'll surety him. 
 
 Com. Aged sir, hands off. 
 
 Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones 
 Out of thy garments. 
 
 Sic. Help, ye citizens. 
 
 Re-enter BnoTus, with the ^diles, and a Rabble 
 0/ Citizens. 
 
 Men. On both sides more respect. 
 
 Sic. Here's he, that would 
 
 Take from you all your power. 
 
 Bru. Seize him, rodiles. 
 
 at. Down with him, down with him ! 
 
 \_Several speak. 
 
 2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons ! 
 
 [They all bustle about Cohiolanus. 
 Tribunes, patricians, citizens ! — what ho ! — 
 Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens! 
 
 at. Peace, peace, peace ; stay, hold, peace ! 
 
 Men. What is about to be? — lam out of breath; 
 Confusion's near: I cannot speak: — You, tribunes 
 To the people, — Coriolanus, patience : — 
 Speak, good Sicinius. 
 
 Sic. Hear me, people ; — Peace. 
 
 at. Let's hear our tribune ; — Peace, speak, speak, 
 speak. 
 
 Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties: 
 Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius, 
 Whom late you have named for consul. 
 
 Men. Fye, fy&, fye ! 
 
 This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 
 
 1 Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. 
 
 Sic. What is the city, but the people] 
 
 at. True, 
 
 The people are the city. 
 
 Bru. By the consent of all we were established 
 The people's magistrates. 
 
 at. You so remain. 
 
 Men. And so are like to do. 
 
 Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat ; 
 To bring the roof to the foundation ; 
 And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, 
 Fn heaps and piles of ruin. 
 
 »SV'c. This deserves death. 
 
 Bru. Or let us stand to our authority, 
 Or let us lose it: — We do here pronounce, 
 Upon the part o' the people, in whose power 
 ^^'c were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy 
 Of present death. 
 
 Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him : 
 
 Bear him to the rock Tarpeian,^ and from thence 
 l?ito destruction cast him. 
 
 Bru. ^diles, seize him. 
 
 at. Yield, Marcius, yield. 
 
 Men. Hear me one word. 
 
 Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 
 _^di. Peace, peace. 
 
 Men. Be thatyou sccm,truly your country's friend, 
 
 Whence criminals were thrown, and dashed to pieces. 
 
 And temperately proceed to what you AAOuld 
 Thus violently redress. 
 
 Bru. Sir, those cold ways. 
 
 That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
 Where the disease is violent: — Lay hands upon him. 
 And bear him to the rock. 
 
 Cor. No ; I'll die here. 
 
 [^Drawing his Sword, 
 There's some among you have beheld me fighting; 
 Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. 
 
 Me)i. Down with that sword; — Tribunes, with- 
 draw a while. 
 
 Bru. Lay hands upon him. 
 
 Men. Help Marcius! help, 
 
 You that be noble ; help him, young and old , 
 
 at. Down with him, down with him ! 
 
 [In this Mutiny, the Tribunes, the MAi\c9, 
 and the People, are all beat in. 
 
 Men. Go, get you to your house; begone, away, 
 All will be naught else. 
 
 2 Sen. Get you gone. 
 
 Cor. Stand fast* 
 
 We have as many friends as enemies. 
 
 Men. Shall it be put to thati 
 
 1 Sen. The gods forbid > 
 
 I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house; 
 Leave us to cure this cause. 
 
 Men. For 'tis a sore upon u* 
 
 You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech yoi- 
 
 Corn. Come, sir, along with us. 
 
 Cor. I would they were barbarians, (as they are 
 Though in Rome litter'd.) not Romans, (as they 
 
 are not. 
 Though calv'd i' the porch o' the Capitol,) — 
 
 Men. Begone, 
 
 Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
 One time will owe another. 
 
 Cor. On fair ground. 
 
 I could beat forty of them. 
 
 Men. I could myself 
 
 Take up a brace of the best of them ; yea, the two 
 tribunes. 
 
 Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; 
 And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands 
 Against a falling fabric. — Will you hence. 
 Before the tag'' return 1 whose rage doth rend 
 Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear 
 What they are used to bear. 
 
 Men. Pray you, begone ' 
 
 ril try whether my old wit be in request 
 With those that have but little ; this must be patch'd 
 With cloth of any color. 
 
 Com. Nay, come away. 
 
 [Exeunt Con., Com., and othert. 
 
 1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune. 
 Men. His nature is too noble for the world: 
 
 He would not flatter Neptune for his trident. 
 
 Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his 
 
 mouth : 
 What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; 
 And, being angry, does forget that ever 
 He heard the name of death. [A Noise within 
 Here's goodly work ! 
 
 2 Pat. I would they were a-bcd! 
 Men. I would they were in Tybcr! — What, the 
 
 vengeance, 
 
 Could he not speak them fair? 
 
 Re-enter Biiuxus and Sicinius, with the Rabble 
 Sic. Where is this \iper 
 
 '< The lowest of the populace, tag, rig, and bobtaiL 
 
-'■"--—"•■ — 
 
 650 
 
 COmOLAiN'US. 
 
 Act hi 
 
 That would depopulate the city, and 
 Be every man himself! 
 
 Men. You worthy tribunes, 
 
 Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock 
 With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law, 
 And therefore law shall scoi-n him further trial 
 Than the severity of the public power, 
 Which he so sets at nought. 
 
 I at. He shall well know, 
 The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, 
 And we their hands. 
 
 Oit. He shall, sure on't. 
 
 [^Several speak together. 
 
 Men. Sir, — 
 
 Sic. Peace. 
 
 Men. Do not cry, havoc, where you should but 
 hunt 
 "With modest warrant. 
 
 Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you 
 
 Ifave holp to make this rescue? 
 
 Me?i. Hear me speak; — 
 
 As I do know the consul's worthiness. 
 So can I name his faults; • 
 
 Sic. Consul? — What consul? 
 
 Men. The consul Coriolanus. 
 
 Bru. He a consul ? 
 
 at. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good 
 people, 
 I may be heard, I'd crave a word or two; 
 The which shall turn you to no further harm, 
 'J'han so much loss of time. 
 
 Sic. Speak briefly then ; 
 
 For we are peremptory, to despatch 
 l^his viperous traitor: to eject him hence. 
 Were but one danger; and, to keep him here, 
 Our certain death ; therefore it is decreed. 
 He dies to-night. 
 
 Men. Now the good gods forbid, 
 
 That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude 
 Towards her deserved* children is enrolTd 
 In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam 
 Should now eat up her own ! 
 
 Sic. He's a disease, that must be cut away. 
 
 Men. O, he's a limb, that has but a disease; 
 Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. 
 What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death? 
 Killing our enemies? The blood he hath lost, 
 (Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath. 
 By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country : 
 And, what is left, to lose it by his country, 
 Were to us all, that do't, and suffer it, 
 A brand to the end o' the world. 
 
 Sic. This is clean kam.' 
 
 Bru. Merely'' awry : when he did love his country, 
 \i honor'd him. 
 
 Me7i. The service of the foot 
 
 Being once gangren'd, is it not then respected 
 For what before it was? 
 
 Bru. We'll hear no more: — 
 
 Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence; 
 Lest his infection, being of catching nature. 
 Spread further. 
 
 Men. One word more, one word. 
 
 Phis tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
 The harm of unscann'd swiftness,' will, too late. 
 Pie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by pro- 
 cess: 
 
 ■ Deserving. 
 « Absolutely. 
 
 » Quite awry. 
 
 * Inconsiderate liaste. 
 
 Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break ou.. 
 And sack great Rome with Romans. 
 
 Bru. If it were so^-' 
 
 Sic. What do you talk? 
 Have we not had a taste of his obedience? 
 Our aedites smote? ourselves resisted? Comer — 
 
 Men. Consider this ; — He has been bred i'the wan 
 Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 
 In boulted' language; meal and bran together 
 He throws without distinction. Give me leave, 
 I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him 
 Where he shall answer by a lawful form, 
 (In peace,) to his utmost peril. 
 
 1 Sen. Noble tribunes. 
 
 It is the humane way: the other course 
 Will prove too bloody ; and the end of it 
 Unknown to the beginning. 
 
 Sic, Noble Menenias, 
 
 Be you then as the people's officer : 
 Masters, lay down your weapons. 
 
 Bru. Go not home. 
 
 Sic. Meet on the market-place : — We'll att<'.t] 
 you there : 
 Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed 
 In our first way. 
 
 Men. I'll bring him to you : — 
 
 Let me desire your company. [To the Senators.^) 
 
 He must come, 
 Or what is worst will follow. 
 
 1 Sen. Pray you, let's to him. \^Exeu7if 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Coriolanus' House. 
 Enter Coriolanus, and Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears ; present me 
 Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels; 
 Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock. 
 That the precipitation might down stretch 
 Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 
 Be thus to them. 
 
 Enter Volumnia. 
 
 1 Pat. You do the noble. 
 
 Cor. I muse,' my mother 
 Does not approve me further, who was wont 
 To call them wooden vassals, things created 
 To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads 
 In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, 
 When one but of my ordinance' stood up 
 To speak of peace, or war. I talk of you ; 
 
 [To Voi.UMKIA. 
 
 Why did you wish me milder ? Would you have me 
 False to my nature? Rather say, I play 
 The man I am. 
 
 Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 
 
 I would have had you put your power well on. 
 Before you had worn it out. 
 
 Cor. Let go. 
 
 Vol. You might have been enough the man you 
 are. 
 With striving less to be so: Lesser had been 
 The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
 You had not show'd them how you were dispos'd, 
 Ere they lack'd power to cross you. 
 
 Cor, Let them hang 
 
 Vol. Ay, and burn too. 
 
 Enter Menenius, and Senators 
 Men. Come, come, you have been too rough 
 something too rough; 
 You must return, and mend it. 
 
 » Finely sifted. « Wonder. • Ranlc. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 681 
 
 1 Sen. There's no remedy ; 
 
 Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
 Cleave in the midst, and perish. 
 
 VoL Pray, bo counsell'd : 
 
 [ have a heart as little apt as yours. 
 But yet i brain, that leads my use of anger, 
 To better vantage. 
 
 Men. Well said, noble woman : 
 
 Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that 
 The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic 
 For the whole state, I would put mine armor on, 
 Which * can scarcely bear. 
 Cor. What must I do 1 
 Men. Return to the tribunes. 
 
 Cor. Well, 
 
 What then? what then 1 
 
 Men. Repent what you have spoke. 
 
 Cor. For them? — I cannot do it to the gods; 
 Must I then do't to them 1 
 
 Vol. You are too absolute ; 
 
 Though therein you can never be too noble, 
 But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, 
 Honor and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
 r the war do grow together : Grant that, and tell me, 
 In peace, what each of them by th' other lose, 
 That they combine not there. 
 
 Cor. Tush, tush! 
 
 Men. A good demand. 
 
 Vol. If it be honor in your wars, to seem 
 The same you are not, (which, for your best ends. 
 You adopt your policy,) how is it less or worse. 
 That it shall hold companionship in peace 
 With honor as in war; since that to both 
 It stands in like request 1 
 
 Cor. Why force you this 1 
 
 Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
 To the people ; not by your own instruction, 
 Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you to, 
 But with such words that are but roted in 
 Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables 
 Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth. 
 Now, this no more dishonors you at all, 
 Than to take in' a town with gentle words. 
 Which else would put you to your fortune, and 
 The hazard of much blood. — 
 I would dissemble with my nature, where 
 My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requir'd 
 I should do so in honor : I am in this. 
 Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles ; 
 And you will rather show our general lowts'' 
 How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon them. 
 For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard 
 Of what that want might ruin. 
 
 Men. Noble lady !— 
 
 Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so, 
 Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
 Of what is past. 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee, now, my son, 
 
 Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
 And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them,) 
 Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business 
 Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
 More learned than the ears,) waving thy head, 
 Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, 
 That humble, as tlie ripest mulberry, 
 Now will not hold the handling : Or, say to them, 
 «'hou art their soldier, and being bred in broils. 
 Hast not th:; soft way, which, thou dost confess, 
 Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, 
 
 « SubJuo ' Common -towns. 
 
 In asking their good loves; but thou will frame 
 Thyself forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
 As thou hast power, and person. 
 
 ■ Men. This but done, 
 
 Even as she speaks, why, all their hearts were yours: 
 For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
 As words to little purpose. 
 
 Vol. Pr'ythee now. 
 
 Go, and be ruled : although, I know, thou hadst 
 
 rather 
 Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf. 
 Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominiiis. 
 
 Enter Cosiiinus. 
 
 Com. I have been i' the market place: ajid, sir, 
 
 'tis fit 
 You make strong party, or defend yourself 
 By calmness, or by absence, all's in anger. 
 Men. Only fair speech. 
 
 Com. I think, 'twill serve, if he 
 
 Can thereto frame his spirit. 
 
 Vol. He must, and will ; — 
 
 Pr'ythee now, sa}', you will, and go about it. 
 
 Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce?' 
 Must I, 
 With my base tongue, give to my noble heart 
 A lie, that it must bear? Well, I will do't: 
 Yet were there but this single plot to lose, 
 This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, 
 And throw it against the wind. — To the market- 
 place : 
 You have put me now to such a part, which never 
 I shall discharge to the life. 
 
 Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you. 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son ; as thou hast said 
 My praises made thee first a soldier, so, 
 To have my praise for this, perform a part 
 Thou hast not done before. 
 
 Cor. Well, I must do't: 
 
 Away, my disposition, and possess me 
 Some harlot's spirit ! My throat of war be turn'd. 
 Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
 Small as an eunuch, or the virgni voice 
 That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves 
 Tent' in my checks ; and school-boys' tears take up 
 The glasses of my sight ! A beggar's tongue 
 Make motion through my lips ; and my arm'd knees. 
 Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
 That hath receiv'd an alms! — I will not do't: 
 Lest I surcease to honor mine own truth. 
 And by my body's action, teach my mind 
 A most inherent baseness. 
 
 VoL At thy choice then : 
 
 To beg of thee, it is my more dishonor. 
 Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let 
 Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear 
 Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death 
 With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
 Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me. 
 But owe' thy pride thyself. 
 
 Cor. Pray, be content, 
 
 Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
 Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves. 
 Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd 
 Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am <^nng : 
 Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul . 
 Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
 r the way of flaUcry, further. 
 
 Vol. Do your will. [Exit 
 
 • Unshaven l.io'l. • Dwcl) « Own 
 
682 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Cow. Away, the tribunes do attend you : arm 
 yourself 
 To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd 
 With accusations, as I hear, more strong 
 l^han are upon you yet. 
 
 Cor. The word is, mildly: — Pray you, let us go; 
 Let them accuse me by invention, I 
 Will answer in mine honor. 
 
 Men. Ay, but mildly. 
 
 Cm-. Well, mildly be it then ; mildly. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE m.— The Forum. 
 Enter Sicinius and BnuTus. 
 
 Bru. In this point charge him home, that he affects 
 Tjrannical power: If he evade us there. 
 Enforce him with his envy to the people ; 
 And that the spoil, got on the Antiates, 
 Was ne'er distributed. — 
 
 Enter an ^dile. 
 
 What, will he come 1 
 
 jEd. He's coming. 
 
 Bru. How accompanied] 
 
 jEd. With old Menenius, and those senators 
 That always favor'd him. 
 
 Sic. Have you a catalogue 
 
 Of all the voices that wc have procur'd. 
 Set down by the poll] 
 
 jEd. I have ; 'tis ready, here. 
 
 Sic. Have you collected them by tribes ] 
 
 J?c?. I have. 
 
 Sic. Assemble presently the people hither: 
 And when they hear me say. It shall be so 
 Tthe right and strength of the commons, be it either 
 For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them. 
 If I say, fine, cry fine,- if death, cry death; 
 Insisting on the old prerogative 
 And power i'the truth o'the cause. 
 
 Md. I shall inform them. 
 
 Bru. And when such time they have begun to cry. 
 Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd 
 Enforce the present execution 
 Of what we chance to sentence. 
 
 Md. Very well. 
 
 Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, 
 When we shall hap to give't them. 
 
 Bru. Go about it. — 
 
 [Exit JEdile. 
 Put him to choler straight: He hath been used 
 Ever to conquer, and to have his worth 
 Of contradiction: Being once chafed, he cannot 
 Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks 
 What's in his heart; and that is there, which looks 
 With us to break his neck. 
 
 Enter Cohiolancs, Menenius, Cominius, Sena- 
 tors, and Patricians. 
 
 Sic. Well, here he comes. 
 
 Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. 
 
 Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece 
 Will bear the knave ^ by the volume. — The honor'd 
 
 gods 
 Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice 
 Supplied with worthy men ! plant love among us ! 
 Throng our 'large temples with the shows of peace, 
 And not our streets with war ! 
 
 1 Sen. Amen, amen ! 
 
 Men A noble wish. 
 
 * Will bear boiag called a. knave. 
 
 Re-enter .^dile, with Citizens. 
 
 Sic. Draw near, ye people. 
 
 JSrf. List to your tribunes; audience: Peace, 
 say. 
 
 Cor. First, hear me speak. 
 
 Both Tri. Well, say. — Peace, ho 
 
 Cor.Shall I be charged no further than this present' 
 Must all determine here ] 
 
 Sic. I do demand, 
 
 If you submit you to the people's voices, 
 Allow their officers, and are content 
 To suffer lawful censure for such faults 
 As shall be prov'd upon you ] 
 
 Cor. I am content. 
 
 Men. Lo, citizens, he says, he is content. 
 The warlike service he has done, consider ; 
 Think on the wounds his body bears, which show 
 Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 
 
 Cor. Scratches with briars 
 
 Scars to move laughter only. 
 
 Men. Consider further, 
 
 That when he speaks not like a citizen. 
 You find him like a soldier: Do not take 
 His rougher accents for malicious sounds, 
 But, as I say, such as become a soldier. 
 Rather than envy^ you. 
 
 Com. Well, well, no more. 
 
 Cor. What is the matter. 
 That being pass'd for consul with full voico 
 I am sodishonor'd,that the very hour 
 You take it off again ] 
 
 Sic. Answer to us. 
 
 Cor. Say then: 'tis true, I ought so. 
 
 <S;"c. We charge you, that you have contrived to take 
 From Rome all season'd' office, and to wind 
 Yourself into a power tyrannical ; 
 For which, you are a traitor to the people. 
 
 Cor. How! Traitor] 
 
 Men. Nay; temperately: Your promise. 
 
 Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the people ! 
 Call me their traitor? — Thou injurious tribune! 
 Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths. 
 In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 
 Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say, 
 Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free 
 As I do pray the gods. 
 
 Sic. Mark you this, people ] 
 
 Cit. To the rock with him ; to the rock with him ! 
 
 Sic. Peace. 
 
 We need not put new matter to his charge: 
 What you have seen him do, and heard him speak, 
 Beating your officers, cursing yourselves. 
 Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying 
 Those whose great power must try him; even this, 
 So criminal, and in such capital kind. 
 Deserves the extremest death. 
 
 Bru. Pm since he hath 
 
 Serv'd well for Rome, 
 
 Cor. What do you prate of service ' 
 
 Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 
 
 Cor. You ] 
 
 Men. Is thii 
 
 The promise that you made your mother] 
 
 Com. Kn.iw 
 
 I pray you, 
 
 Cor. I'll know no further: 
 
 Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death. 
 Vagabond exile, flaying; pent to linger 
 But with a grain a day^ I would not buy 
 
 > Malice. ♦ Of long standing 
 
A.CT tV. Scene 1. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 68^ 
 
 Their mercy at the price of one fair word ; 
 Nor checli my courage for what they can give, 
 To havc't with saying, Good morrow. 
 
 Sic. For that he has 
 
 (As much as in liim lies) from time to time 
 Envied' against the people, seeking means 
 To plu'ck away their power; as now at last 
 Given hostile strokes, and that not* in the presence 
 Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 
 That do distribute it; In the name o' the people, 
 And in the power of us the tribunes, we, 
 Jven from this instant, banish him our city ; 
 jti peril of precipitation 
 From oir the rock T'arpeian, never more 
 1 o enter our Rome's gates ; I' the people's name, 
 I say, it shall be so. 
 
 at. It shall be so, 
 It shall be so ; let him away : he's banished. 
 And so it shall be. ' [friends ; 
 
 Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
 
 Sic. He's sentenced : no more hearing. 
 
 Com. Let me speak : 
 
 I have been consul, and can show from' Rome, 
 Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
 My country's good, with a respect more tender, 
 More holy, and profound, than mine own life. 
 My dear wife's estimate ;' her womb's increase. 
 And treasure of my loins ; then if I would 
 Speak that 
 
 Sic. We know your drift : Speak what ] 
 
 Bru. There's no more to be said , but he is banish'd, 
 As enemy to the people, and his country : 
 It shall be so. 
 
 at. It shall be so, it shall be so. 
 
 Cor. You common cry' of curs! whose breath 1 
 hate 
 As reek' o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
 As the dead carcasses of unburied men 
 That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
 And here remain with your uncertainty ! 
 Let every feeble rumor shake your hearts ! 
 Your enemies with nodding of their plumes, 
 Fan you into despair ! have the power still 
 To banish your defenders; till, at length. 
 Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels,) 
 Making not reservation of yourselves, 
 (Still your own foes,) deliver you, as most 
 Abated^ captives, to some nation 
 That won you without blows ! despising, 
 For you, the city, thus I turn my back: 
 There is a world elsewhere. 
 
 \_Exeunt Coriolajtcs, Cominius, MenenicSj 
 Senators, and Patricians. 
 
 ^di. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 
 
 at. Our enemy's banish'd! he is gone ! Hoo! 
 hoo! 
 \_The People shout, and throw up their Caps, 
 
 Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him. 
 As he hath foUow'd you, with all despite; 
 Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 
 Attend us through the city. 
 
 at. Come, come, let us see him out at gates ; 
 come : — 
 The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! — Come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before a Gate of the City. 
 
 frt/erConiOI-ANUS, VoLlJM^fIA,VIRGILIA,MEXE- 
 NIUS, CoMiNivs, and several young Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Come, leave your tears ; a brief farewell : — 
 the beast 
 With many heads butts me away. — Nay, mother. 
 Where is your ancient courage 1 you were used 
 To say, extremity was the trier of spirits; 
 That common chances common men could bear; 
 That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike 
 Show'd mastership in floating: fortune's blows. 
 When most struck home, being gentle wounded, 
 
 craves 
 A noble cunning: you were used to load me 
 With precepts, that would make invincible 
 The heart that conn'd them. 
 
 Vi?; O heavens ! O heavens ! 
 
 Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman, — 
 
 Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in 
 Rome, 
 And occupations perish ! 
 
 Cor. What, what, what! 
 
 I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd ! Nay, mother, 
 Resume that spirit, v/hcn you were wont to say. 
 If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
 8ix of his labors you'd have done, and sav'd 
 ifour husband so much sweat. Cominius, 
 Vroop not; adi;u: — Farewell, my wife! my mo- 
 ther! 
 
 Showed hatred. • Not only. ' For. > Value. 
 
 I'll do well yet. — Thou old and true Menenius, 
 Thy tears are saltcr than a younger man's. 
 And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime gen 
 
 eral 
 I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
 Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad wome^, 
 'Tis fond^ to wail inevitable strokes. 
 As 'tis to laugh at them. — My mother, you wot well, 
 My hazards still have been your solace: and 
 Believe't not lightly, (though I go alone 
 Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 
 Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen,) your son 
 Will, or exceed the common, or be caught 
 With cautelous' baits and practice. 
 
 Vol. My first' son, 
 
 Whither wilt thou gol Take good Cominius 
 With thee a while: Determine on some course, 
 More than a wild exposture* to each chance 
 That starts i' the way before thee. 
 
 Cor. O the gods! 
 
 Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee 
 Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us 
 And we of thee : so if the time thrust forth 
 A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
 O'er the vast world, to seek a single man ; 
 And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
 r the absence of the necder. 
 
 Cur. Fare ye well : 
 
 Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full 
 
 3 Pack. 
 * Insidious. 
 
 Vapor. 
 
 ' Subdued. 
 • Noblest. 
 
 » Foolish. 
 ' Exposura 
 
584 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Of /ic war's surfeits, to go rove with one 
 Th>at''s yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate. — 
 Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
 My friends of noble touch,' when I am forth, 
 Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. 
 While I remain above the ground, you shall 
 Jfear from me still ; and never of me aught 
 But what is like me formerly. 
 
 Men. That's worthily 
 
 As any ear can hear. — Come, let's not weep. — 
 If I could shake ofl' but one seven years 
 From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, 
 I'd with thee every foot. 
 
 Cor. Give me thy hand ; — 
 
 (y'ome. ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Slreet near the Gate. 
 Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an ./Edile. 
 
 Sic. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no 
 further. — 
 The nobility are vcx'd, who, we see, have sided 
 In his behalf. 
 
 Bric. Now we have shown our power, 
 
 Let us seem humbler after it is done, 
 Than when it was a doing. 
 
 Sic. Bid them home : 
 
 Say, their great enemy is gone, and they 
 Stand in their ancient strength. 
 
 Bru. Dismiss them home. 
 
 {Exit MiAe. 
 
 Enter Volumnta, Virgilia, and Menenius. 
 
 Here comes his mother. 
 
 Sic. Let's not meet her. 
 
 Bru. Why? 
 
 Sic. They say, she's mad. 
 Bru, They have ta'en note of us : 
 
 Keep on your way. 
 
 Vol. 0, you're well met : The hoarded plague 
 o' the gods 
 Requite your love ! 
 
 Men, Peace, peace ; be not so loud. 
 
 Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should 
 hear, — 
 Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be gone? 
 
 [To Brutus. 
 Vir. You shall stay too: [To Sicin.] I would, 
 I had the power 
 To say so to my husband. 
 
 Sic, Are you mankind ? 
 
 Vol. Ay, fool ; is that a shame? — Note but this 
 fool.— 
 Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship 
 To banish him that struck more blows for Rome, 
 Than thou hast spoken words? 
 
 iSe;. blessed heavens ! 
 
 Vol. More noble blows than ever thou wise words ; 
 
 .\nd for Rome's good. — I'll tell thee what; — 
 
 Yet go : 
 .s''ay but thou shalt stay too: — I would my son 
 W^ere in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, 
 His good sword in his hand. 
 
 Sic. What then? 
 
 Vir. What then '• 
 
 He'd make an end of thy posterity. 
 
 Vol. Bastards, and all. — 
 Uood man, the wounds that he does bear for Roiae! 
 Men. Come, come, peace. 
 
 ' True metal. 
 
 Sic. I would he had continued to bis country. 
 As he began ; and not unknit himself 
 The noble knot he made. 
 
 Bru. 1 would he had. 
 
 Vol. I would he had ? 'Twas you incens'd thi 
 rabble : 
 Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth 
 As I can of those mysteries which heaven 
 Will not have earth to know. 
 
 Bru. Pray, let us go. 
 
 Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone : 
 You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this 
 As far as doth the Capitol exceed 
 The meanest house in Rome: so far, my son, 
 (This lady's husband here, this, do you see,) 
 Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. 
 
 Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you. 
 
 Sic. Why stay we to be baited? 
 
 With one that wants her wits ? 
 
 Vol. Take my prayers with you. — ■ 
 
 I would the gods had nothing else to do, 
 
 [Exeunt Tribunes. 
 But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet them 
 But once a day, it would unclog my heart 
 Of what lies heavy to't. 
 
 Men. You have told them home. 
 
 And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with 
 me? 
 
 Vol. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself. 
 And so shall starve with feeding. — Come, let's go: 
 Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do. 
 In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. 
 
 Men. Fye, fye, fye ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Highway between Rome and 
 Antium. 
 
 Enter a Roman and a Voice, meeting. 
 
 Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me : 
 your name, I think, is Adrian. 
 
 Vol. It is so, sir; truly, I have forgot you. 
 
 Rom. I am a Roman; and my services are, as 
 you are, against them : Know you me yet ? 
 
 Vol. Nicanor? No. 
 
 Rom. The same, sir. 
 
 Vol. You had more beard, when I last saw you ; 
 but your favor" is well appeared by your tongue. 
 What's the news in Rome 1 I have a note from the 
 Volscian state, to find you out there : You have well 
 saved me a day's journey. 
 
 Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insur- 
 rection: the people against the senators, patricians, 
 and nobles. 
 
 Vol. Hath been ! Is it ended then ? Our stato 
 thinks not so; they are in a most warlike prepar- 
 ation, and hope to come upon them in the heat of 
 their division. 
 
 Ro?n. The main blaze of it is past, but a small 
 thing would make it flame again. For the nobles 
 receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy 
 Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness, to take 
 all power from the people, and to pluck from thero 
 their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can 
 tell you, and is almost mature for the violent 
 breaking out. 
 
 Vol. Coriolanus banished ? 
 
 Rom. Banished, sir. 
 
 Vol. You will be welcome witii tb*s inielligenct 
 Nicanor. 
 
 • Countenance 
 
Scene \ , 
 
 CORIOLANUS 
 
 68» 
 
 Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have 
 heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man's wife, 
 is when she's fallen out with her husband. Your 
 noble TuIIus Aufidius will appear well in these 
 wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in 
 no request of his country. 
 
 Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, 
 thus accidentally to encounter you : You have ended 
 my business, and I will merrily accompany you 
 home. 
 
 Bom. I shall, between this and supper, tell you 
 most strange things from Rome; all tending to the 
 good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready. 
 Bay youl 
 
 Vol. A most royal one : the centurions, and their 
 charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertain- 
 ment,' and to be on foot at an hour's warning. 
 
 Rom. I am joyful to hear of iheir readiness, and 
 am the man, I think, that shall set them in present 
 action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad 
 of your compsn". 
 
 Vol. You take my part from me, sir ; I have the 
 most cause to be glad of yours. 
 
 Rom. Well, let us go together. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Antium. Before Aufidius's House. 
 
 Enter Cohiolanus, in mean Apparel, disguised 
 and m,uff.ed. 
 
 Cor. A goodly city is this Antium : City, 
 'Tis I that made thy widows; many an heir 
 Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
 Have I heard groan, and drop: then know me not; 
 Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones. 
 
 Enter a Citizen. 
 
 In puny battle slay me. — Save you, sir. 
 
 Cit. And you. 
 
 Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, 
 
 Where great Aufidius lies: Is he in Antium? 
 
 Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state, 
 At his house this night. 
 
 Cor. Which is his house, 'beseech you 1 
 
 Cit. This, here, before you. 
 
 Cor. Thank you, sir; farewell. 
 
 [Exit Citizen. 
 
 world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn. 
 Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart. 
 Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, 
 Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love 
 Unseparable, shall within this hour, 
 
 On a dissension of a doit,' break out 
 To bitterest enmity ; So fellest foes. 
 Whose passions and whose plots have broke their 
 
 sleep 
 To take the one the other, by some chance. 
 Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, 
 And interjoin their issues. So with me: — 
 My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon 
 This enemy town. — I'll enter: if he slay me, 
 He docs fair j ustice : if he give me way, 
 ni do his country service. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE v.— A Hall in Aufidius's House. 
 Music within. Enter a Servant. 
 
 1 Serv Wine, wine, wine! What service 's here! 
 
 1 think our fellows are asleep. Exit. 
 
 * la pay. « A small coin. 
 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. Where's Cotus 1 my master calls for him 
 Cotus ! [Exit, 
 
 Enter Cohiolancs. 
 
 Cor. A goodly house: The feast smells well: 
 but I 
 Appear not like a guest. 
 
 Re-enter the first Servant. 
 
 1 Sei-v. What would you have, friend 1 Whence 
 are you? Here's no place for you: Pray, go to the 
 door. 
 
 Cor. I have deserved no better entertainment, 
 In being Coriolanus. 
 
 Re-enter secoyid Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the portei 
 his eyes in his heaJ, that he gives entrance to suck 
 companions ] Pray, get you out. 
 
 Cor. Away ! 
 
 2 Serv. Away 1 Get you away. 
 Cor. Now thou art troublesome. 
 
 1 Serv. Are you so brave"! I'll have you talked 
 with anon. 
 
 Enter a third Servant. The first meets him. 
 
 3 Serv. What fellow's this? 
 
 1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on: I 
 cannot get him out o'thc house ; Pr'ythee, call my 
 master to him. 
 
 3 Serv. Whathaveyou to do here, fellow? Pray 
 you, avoid the house. 
 
 Cor. Let me but stand ; I will not hurt your 
 
 3 Serv. What are you ? [hearth. 
 
 Cor. A gentleman. 
 
 3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. 
 
 Cor. True, so I am. 
 
 3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some 
 other station ; here's no place for you ; pray you, 
 avoid: come. 
 
 Cor. Follow your function, go ! 
 And batten' on cold bits. [Pushes him away. 
 
 3 Serv. What, will you not? Pr'ythee, tell my 
 master what a strange guest he has here. 
 
 2 Serv. And I shall. \Exii. 
 
 3 Serv. Where dwcllest thou ? 
 Cor. Under the canopy. 
 
 3 Serv. Under the canopy ? 
 Cor. Ay. 
 
 3 Serv. Where's that ? 
 Cor. V the city of kites and crows. 
 3 Serv. I' the city of kites and crows? — What 
 an ass it is ! — Then thou dwellest with daws too ? 
 Cor. No, I serve not thy master. 
 3 Serv. How, sir! Do you meddle with my 
 master ? 
 
 Cor. Ay ; 'tis an honcster service than to med- 
 dle with thy mistress ; 
 Thou prat'st, and prat'st; serve with thy trencher, 
 hence ! [Beats him away. 
 
 Enter Aufidius, and the second Servant. 
 Auf. Where is this fellow ? 
 2 Serv. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a 
 dog, but for disturbing the lords within. 
 
 Auf. Whence comcst thou? what wouldcst thou? 
 Thy name ? 
 Why speak'st not ? Speak, man: What's t) yname* 
 • feed. 
 
aso 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Cot If, Tullus, [Unmuffling. 
 
 Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not 
 Think me for the man I am, necessity 
 Commands me name myself. 
 
 A\if. What is thy name 1 
 
 [Servants retire. 
 
 Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears. 
 And harsh in sound to thine. 
 
 ■A-xif. Say, what's thy name? 
 
 Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
 Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn. 
 Thou show'st a noble vessel: What's thy name? 
 
 Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown : Know'st thou 
 me yet? 
 
 Auf. I know thee not: — Thy name] 
 
 Cur. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done 
 To thee particularly, and to all the Voices, 
 Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may 
 My surname, Coriolanus: The painful service, 
 The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood 
 Shed for my thankless country, are requited 
 But with that surname; a good memory,' 
 And witness of the malice and displeasure 
 Which thou shouldst bear me : only that name re- 
 mains ; 
 The cruelty and envy of the people, 
 Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
 Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; 
 And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be 
 Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity 
 Hath brought me to thy hearth ; Not out of hope, 
 Mistake me not, to save my life; for if 
 I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
 I would have 'voided thee: but in mere spite, 
 To be full quit of those my banishcrs. 
 Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 
 A heart of wreak ' in thee, that will revenge 
 Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims 
 Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee 
 
 straight. 
 And make my misery serve thy turn ; so use it, 
 That my revengeful services may prove 
 As benefits to thee; for I will fight 
 Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
 Of all the under' fiends. But if so be 
 Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes 
 Thou art tir'd, then, m a word, I also am 
 Longer to live most weary, and present 
 My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice: 
 Which not to cut, would show thee but a fool ; 
 Since I have ever foUow'd thee with hate, 
 Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, 
 And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
 It be to do thee service. 
 
 Auf. O Marcius, Marcius, 
 
 Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my 
 
 heart 
 A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
 Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say, 
 'Ti's true; I'd not believe them more than thee, 
 All noble Marcius. — O let me twine 
 Mine arms about that body, where against 
 My grained ash an hundred times hath broke. 
 And scared the moon with splinters! Here I clip' 
 The anvil of my sword ; and do contest 
 As hotly and as nobly with thy love. 
 As ever in ambitious strength I did 
 Contend against thy valor. Know thou first, 
 
 » Memorial. 
 ' Infernal. 
 
 * Resentment. 
 
 • Embrace. 
 
 I love the maid I married ; never man 
 Sigh'd truer breath ; but that I see thee here, 
 Thou noble thing ! more dances my rapt heart. 
 Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
 Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! Ilellthee 
 We have a power on foot ; and I had ourpose 
 Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,' 
 Or lose mine arm for't: Thou hast beat me oul' 
 Twelve several times, and I have nightly since 
 Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me; 
 We have been down together in my sleep. 
 Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, 
 And wak'd halfdead with nothing. Worthy Marciu* 
 Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that 
 Thou art hence banish'd, we would muster all 
 From twelve to seventy ; and, pouring war 
 Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
 Like a bold flood o'er-beat. O, come, go in. 
 And take our friendly senators by the hands; 
 Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, 
 Who am prepar'd against your territories. 
 Though not for Rome itself. 
 
 Cor. You bless me, gods ! 
 
 Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have 
 The leading of thine own revenges, take 
 The one half of my commission; and set down, 
 As best thou art experienced, since thou know'st 
 Thy country's strength and weakness, — thine own 
 
 ways : 
 Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, 
 Or rudely visit them in parts remote. 
 To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: 
 Let me commend thee first to those, that shall 
 Say, yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes ! 
 And more a friend than e'er an enemy: 
 Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand ! Most 
 
 welcome ! 
 
 [Exeu7it Coriolanus and Aufidius, 
 
 1 Serv. \^Advancing.'] Here's a strange alteration . 
 
 2 Serv. By my hand, I had thought to have 
 strucken him with a cudgel ; and yet my mind gave 
 me, his clothes made a false report of him. 
 
 1 Serv. What an arm he has ! He turned me 
 about with his finger and his thumb, as one would 
 set up a top. 
 
 2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was 
 something in him : He had, sir, a kind of face, me- 
 thought, — I cannot tell how to term it. 
 
 1 Serv. He had so : looking, as it were, — 'Would 
 I were hanged, but I thought there was more in 
 him than I could think. 
 
 2 Serv. So did I, I'll he sworn : He is simply 
 the rarest man i' the world. 
 
 1 Serv. I think he is : but a greater soldier than 
 he, you wot' one. 
 
 2 Serv. Who? my master? 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that. 
 
 2 Serv. Worth six of him. 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to 
 be the greater soldier. 
 
 2 Serv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to 
 say that: for the defence of a town, our general is 
 excellent. 
 
 1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 
 
 Re-enter third Servant. 
 
 3 Serv. O, slaves, I can tell you news; newai 
 you rascals. 
 
 1, 2 Serv. What, what, what? let's partake. 
 ' Arm. • Full. » Know. 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 687 
 
 3 Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all nations; 
 I had as lieve be a condemned man. 
 
 1,2 Serv. Wherefore] wherefore! 
 
 3 Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack 
 our general, — Caius Marcius. 
 
 1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general ? 
 3 Se7-v. I do not say, thwack our general ; but he 
 
 was always good enough for him. 
 
 2 Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends : he 
 was ever too hard for him ; I have heard him say 
 so himself. 
 
 1 Serv. He was too hard for hiui directly, to say 
 the truth on't: before Corioli, he scotched him and 
 notched him like a carbonado." 
 
 2 Serv. An he had been cannibally given, he 
 might have broiled and eaten him too. 
 
 1 Se)-v. But, more of thy news? 
 
 3 Sei'v. Why, he is so made on here within, as 
 if he were son and heir to Mars: sot at upper end 
 o' the table : no question asked him by any of the 
 senators, but they stand bald before him : Our 
 general himself makes a mistress of him ; sanctifies 
 himself with's hand, and turns up the white o' the 
 eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news 
 is, our general is cut i' the middle, and but one half 
 of what he was yesterday ; for the other has half, by 
 the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll 
 go, he says, and sowle' the porter of Rome gates by 
 the ears: He will mow down all before him, and 
 leave his passage polled.' 
 
 2 Serv. And he's as like to do't, as any man I can 
 imagine. 
 
 3 Serv. Do't 1 he will do't : For, look you, sir, 
 he has as many friends as enemies: which friends, 
 sir, (as it were,) durst not (look you, sir) show them- 
 selves (as we term it) his friends, whilst he's in 
 directitude. 
 
 1 Serv. Directitude! what's that? 
 
 3 Serv. But when they shall sec, sir, his crest up 
 again, and the man in blood, they will out of their 
 burrows, like rabbits after rain, and revel all with him. 
 
 1 Serv. But when goes this forward ? 
 
 3 Serv. To-morrow; to-day; presently. You shall 
 have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it 
 were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere 
 they wipe their lips. 
 
 2 Serv. Why then we shall have a stirring world 
 again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, in- 
 crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 
 
 1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds peace, 
 as fir as day does night; it's sprightly, waking, audi- 
 ble, and full of vent.'' Peace is a very apoplexy, 
 lethargy; mulled,'deaf, sleepy, insensible; agetterof 
 moi ? bastard children, than war's a destroyer of men. 
 
 2 Serv. 'Tis so: and as war, in some sort, may 
 be said to be a ravishcr; so it cannot be denied, but 
 peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 
 
 1 Ser'j. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 
 
 3 Serv. Reason ; because they then less need one 
 another. The wars, for my money. I hope to sec 
 Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, 
 they are rising. 
 
 .411. In, in, in, in. ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Rome. A public Place. 
 Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 
 Sic,V/e hear not of him, neither need we fear him: 
 His remcdi'js are tame i' the present peace 
 
 > y.eat out across to be broilod. « Pull. 
 
 » Cut clear. • Humor. • Softened. 
 
 And quietness o' the people, which before 
 Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friend* 
 Blush, that the world goes well ; who rather had, 
 Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold 
 Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see 
 Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and gohig 
 About their functions friendly. 
 
 Enter Menenius. 
 
 Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this Me- 
 nenius ? 
 
 Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he : O, he is growr, most kind 
 Of late.— Hail, sir ! 
 
 Men. Hail to you both . 
 
 Sic. Your Coriolanus, sir, is not much miss'J, 
 But with his friends: the commonwealth doth stand, 
 And so would do, were he more angry at it. 
 
 Men. All's well ; and might have been much 
 He could have temporiz'd. [better, if 
 
 Sic. Where is he, hear you? 
 
 Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife 
 Hear nothing from him. 
 
 Enter three or four Citizens. 
 
 Cit. The gods preserve you both ! 
 
 Sic. Good e'en, our neighbors. 
 
 Bru. Good e'en to you all, good e'en to you all. 
 
 1 Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on oui 
 knees. 
 Are bound to pray for you both. 
 
 Sic. Live and thrive ! 
 
 Bru. Farewell, kind neighbors : we wish'd Co 
 riolanus 
 Had lov'd you as we did. 
 
 Cit. Now the gods keep you 
 
 Botli Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 Sic. This is a happier and more comely time, 
 Than when these fellows ran about the streets. 
 Crying, confusion. 
 
 Bru. Caius Marcius was 
 
 A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent, 
 O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking. 
 Self-loving, 
 
 Sic. And affecting one sole throne, 
 
 Without assistance.^ 
 
 Men. I think not so. 
 
 Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation, 
 If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 
 
 Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome 
 Sits safe and still without him. 
 
 Enter MCule. 
 
 jEcI. Worthy tribunes, 
 
 There is a slave, whom we have put in prison. 
 Reports, — the Voices with two several powers 
 Are entor'd in the Roman territories; 
 And with the deepest malice of the war 
 Destroy what lies before them. 
 
 Men. 'Tis .\ufidius, 
 
 Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, 
 Thrusts forth his horns again into the world : 
 Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stoodfor Rome 
 And durst not once peep out. 
 
 Sic. Come, what talk you 
 
 Of Marcius? 
 
 Bru. Go see this rumorer whipp'd. — It cannr.t 
 be, 
 The Voices dare break with us. 
 
 Men. Cannot bo' 
 
 We have record, that very well it can* 
 • Suffrase. 
 
688 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 And three examples of the like have been 
 Within my age. But reason with the fellow, 
 Before j'ou punish him, where he heard this : 
 Lest you should chance to whip your information, 
 And beat the messenger who bids beware 
 Of what is to be dreaded. 
 
 Sic. Tell not me; 
 
 I know this cannot be. 
 
 Bru, Not possible. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going 
 All to the senate house ; some news is come. 
 That turns their countenances. 
 
 Sic. 'Tis this slave; — 
 
 Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes : — his raising ! 
 Nothing but his report ! 
 
 Mess. Yes, worthy sir, 
 
 The slave's report is seconded ; and more. 
 More fearful is delivered. 
 
 Sic. What more fearful ] 
 
 Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths, 
 (How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius, 
 Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome ; 
 And vows revenge as spacious, as between 
 The young'st and oldest thing. 
 
 Sic. This is most likely! 
 
 Bnt. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish 
 Good Marcius home again. 
 
 Sic. The very trick on't. 
 
 Men. This is unlikely: 
 He and Aufidius can no more atone,' 
 Than violentest contrariety. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Mess. You are sent for to the senate; 
 A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, 
 Associated with Aufidius, rages 
 Upon our territories; and have already 
 O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took 
 What lay before them. 
 
 Enter Cominius. 
 
 Corn. 0, you have made good work! 
 
 Men. What news'? what news? 
 
 Com. You have holp to ravish your own daugh- 
 ters, and 
 To melt the city leads upon your pates ; 
 To see your wives dishonor'd to your noses; 
 
 Men. What's the news ] what's the news 1 
 
 Com. Your temples burn'd in their cement; and 
 Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd 
 Into an augre's bore. 
 
 Men. Pray now, your news? — 
 
 You have made fair work, I fear me: — Pray, your 
 
 If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians,- 
 Com. 
 
 If! 
 
 He is their god; he leads them like a thing 
 Made by some other deity than nature, 
 That shapes man better ; and they follow him. 
 Against us brats, with no less confidence. 
 Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, 
 Or butchers killing flies. 
 
 Me7i. You have made good work, 
 
 You, andyour apron men; you that stood so much 
 Upon the voice of occupation,' and 
 The breath of garlic-eaters ! 
 
 Com. He will shake 
 
 four Rome about your ears. 
 
 ' Unite. ' Mechanics. 
 
 Men. As Hercules 
 
 Did shake down mellow fi-uit : You have made fait 
 work ! 
 
 Bru. But is this true, sirl 
 
 Com. Ay ; and you'll look pale 
 
 Before you find it other. All the regions 
 Do smilingly revolt; and, who resist. 
 Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance. 
 And perish constant fools. Whois'tcan blame him •■. 
 Your enemies, and his, find something in him. 
 
 Men. We are all undone, unless 
 The noble man have mercy. 
 
 Com. Who shall ask iti 
 
 The tribunes cannot do't for shame : the people 
 Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf 
 Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if the}' 
 Should say, Be good to Rome, they charged him evc» 
 As those should do that had deserv'd his hate. 
 And therein show'd like enemies. 
 
 Men. 'Tis true: 
 
 If he were putting to my house the brand 
 That should consume it, I have not the face 
 To say, 'Beseech you cease. — You have made fan 
 
 hands. 
 You and your crafts ! you have crafted fair ! 
 
 Com. You have brought 
 
 A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
 So incapable of help. 
 
 Tri. Say not, we brought it. 
 
 Men. How! Was it wel We lov'd him; but, 
 like beasts, 
 And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusters. 
 Who did hoot him out o' the city. 
 
 Com. But, I fear. 
 
 They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius 
 The second name of men, obeys his points 
 As if he were his officer : — Desperation 
 Is all the policy, strength, and defence, 
 That Rome can make against them. 
 
 Enter a Troop of Citizens. 
 
 Men. Here come the cluster. — • 
 
 And is Aufidius with him? — You are they 
 That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
 Your stinking greasy caps, in hooting at 
 Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming ; 
 And not a hair upon a soldier's head. 
 Which will not prove a whip ; as many coxcombs, 
 As you threw caps up, will he tumble down. 
 And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; 
 If he could burn us all into one coal. 
 We have deserv'd it. 
 
 Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news. 
 
 1 Cit. For mine own pari 
 When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 
 
 2 Cit. And so did I. 
 
 3 Cit. And so did I; and, to say the truth, st 
 did very many of us: That we did, we did for the 
 best: and though we willingly consented to hii 
 banishment, yet it was against our will. 
 
 Com, You are goodly things, 3'ou voices ! 
 
 Men. You have made 
 
 Good work, you and your cry !' — Shall us to the 
 Capitol 1 
 
 Com. O, ay; what else] [Exeunt Go'^y. and M.^v 
 
 Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'd 
 These are a side, that would be glad to have 
 This true, which they so seem to fear. Gohumc 
 And show no sign of fear. 
 
 » Pack ; alluding tc a pack of hounds 
 
'V.CT V. Scene I. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 oys 
 
 1 at. The gods be good \o us! Come masters, 
 let's home. I ever said, we were i' the wrong, 
 when we banished him. 
 
 2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 Bni. I do not like this news. 
 Sic. Nor I. 
 
 Brii. Let's to the Capitol .-—'Would half my 
 wealth 
 Would buy this for a lie. 
 Sic. Pray, let us go. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. — A Camp; at a small distance 
 from Rome. 
 
 Enter Aufidius, and his Lieutenant. 
 
 Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman 1 
 
 Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him ; 
 but 
 Your soldiers use him as die grace 'fore meat. 
 Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; 
 And you are darken'd in this action, sir. 
 Even by your own. 
 
 Auf. I cannot help it now ; 
 
 Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
 Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier 
 Even to my person than I thought he would, 
 When first I did embrace him: Yet his nature 
 In that's no changeling ; and I must excuse 
 What cannot be amended. 
 
 Lieu Yet I wish, sir, 
 
 (I mean for your particular,) you had not 
 Join'd in commission with him ; but either 
 Had borne the action of yourself, or else 
 To him had left it solely. 
 
 Auf I understand thee well; and be thou sure, 
 When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
 What I can urge against him. Although it seems. 
 And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 
 To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly. 
 
 And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state 
 Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon 
 x\s draw his sword: yet he hath left undone 
 That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine, 
 Whene'er we come to our account. 
 
 Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carrj 
 Rome ] 
 
 Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down; 
 And the nobility of Rome are his: 
 The senators, and patricians, love him too. 
 The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 
 Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
 To expel him thence. I think, he'll be to Rome, 
 As is the osprey- to the fish, who takes it 
 By sovereignty of nature. First he was 
 A noble servant to them; but he could not 
 Carry his honors even: whether 'twas pride. 
 Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
 The happy man ; whether defect of judgment 
 To foil in the disposing of those chances 
 Which he was lord of; or whether nature, 
 Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
 From the casque' to the cushion,* but commanding 
 
 peace 
 Even with the same austerity and garb 
 As he controll'd the war; but, one of these, 
 (As he hath spices of them all, not all,' 
 For I dare so far free him,) made him fear'd. 
 So hated, and so banish'd: But he has a merit, 
 To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
 Lie in the interpretation of the time; 
 And power, unto itself most commendable. 
 Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
 To extol what it hath done. 
 One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail, 
 Rights by rights fouler, strengths by strengths do 
 
 ftiil. 
 Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, 
 Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A public Place. 
 
 Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicixius, Bhutus, 
 and others. 
 
 Men. No, I'll not go: you hear, what he hath 
 said, 
 \^'hi?h was sometime his general; who lov'd him 
 In a most dear particular. He call'd me, father: 
 But what of that? Go, you that banish'd him, 
 A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel 
 The way unto his mercy: Nay, if he coy'd* 
 To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. 
 
 Com. He would not seem to know me. 
 
 Men, Do you hear 1 
 
 Com. Yet one time ho did call me by my name : 
 I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops 
 That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
 He would not answer to: forbade all names; 
 He was a kind of nothing, titleless. 
 Till he had forged himself a name i' the fire 
 Oi burning Rome. 
 
 « Condescended unwillingly 
 
 Men. Why, so : you have made good work : 
 A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
 To make coals cheap : ° A noble memory ! 
 
 Com. I minded him, how royal 'twas to pardon 
 When it was less expected: He replied, 
 It was a bare petition of a state 
 To one whom they had punish'd. 
 
 Men. Very well ; 
 
 Could he say less 1 
 
 Com. I olfer'd to awaken his regard 
 For his private friends: His answer to me waa, 
 He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
 Of noisome, musty chafi": He said, 'twas folly, 
 For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt. 
 And still to nose the ofltnce. 
 
 Men. For one poor grain 
 
 Or two] I am one of these; his mother, wife, 
 His child, and this brave fellow too, we are th« 
 grains : 
 
 » An oagle that proys on fish. ' Helmet 
 
 * The ciiair of civil authority. 
 » Not all in their full extent. 
 
 • i. e. Have managed so well for Kome as to get the town 
 barnt to save the expense of co»is. 
 
690 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt 
 A.boi'e the moon: We must be burnt for you. 
 
 Sic. Nay, pray, be patient: If you refuse your aid 
 In this so never-needed help, yet do not 
 Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you 
 Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue 
 More than the instant army we can mak.8, 
 Might stop our countryman. 
 
 Men. No : I'll not meddle. 
 
 Sic. I pray you, go to him. 
 
 Men. What should I do T 
 
 Bru. Only make trial what your love can do 
 For Rome towards Marcius. 
 
 Men. Well, and say that Marcius 
 
 Return me, as Cominius is returned, 
 Unheard; what then? 
 But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
 With his unkindness] Say't be sol 
 
 Sic. Yet your good will 
 
 Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure 
 As you intended well. 
 
 3fen. I'll undertake it: 
 
 I think, he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip. 
 And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
 He was not taken well ; he had not dined : 
 The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then 
 We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
 To give or to forgive ; but when we have stufTd 
 These pipes and these conveyances of our blood 
 With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
 Than in our priest-like fasts; therefore I'll watch him 
 Till he be dieted to my request, 
 And then I'll set upon him. 
 
 Bru. You know the very road into his kindness, 
 And cannot lose your way. 
 
 Men. Good faith, I'll prove him. 
 
 Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge 
 Of my success. [^Exit. 
 
 Com. He'll never hear him. 
 
 Sic. Not] 
 
 Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
 Red as 'twould burn Rome: and his injury 
 The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 
 'Twas very faintly he said. Rise,- dismiss'd me 
 Thus, with his speechless hand : What he would do. 
 He sent in writing after me ; what he would not, 
 Bound with an oath, to yield to his conditions: 
 So, that all hope is vain, 
 Unless his noble mother, and his wife ; 
 Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
 For mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence, 
 And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [E.r. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^??. adimiced Post of (he Volscian 
 Cnjip before Rome. The Guard at their Stations. 
 
 Enter to them Menenius. 
 
 1 G. Stay : Whence are you 1 
 
 2 G. Stand, and go back. 
 Men. You guard like men; 'tis well: But, by 
 
 your leave, 
 
 [ am an officer of state, and come 
 
 To speak with Coriolanus. 
 I G. From whence 1 
 
 Men. From Rome. 
 
 1 G. You may not pass, you must return : our 
 
 general 
 Will no more hear from thence. 
 
 2 G. You'll see your Rome embraced with fire, 
 
 before 
 You'll speak with Coriolanus. 
 
 Men. Good my friends, 
 
 If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
 And of his friends there, it is lots'" to blanks, 
 My name hath touch'd your ears : It is Menenius, 
 
 1 G. Be it so ; go back : the virtue of your name 
 Is not here passable. 
 
 Men. I tell thee, fellow, 
 
 Thy general is my lover : ' I have been 
 The book of his good acts, whence men have read 
 His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified ; 
 For I have ever verified my friends, 
 (Of whom he's chief,) with all the size that verity 
 Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes, 
 Like to a bowl upon a subtle' ground, 
 I have tumbled past the throw ; and in his praise 
 Have almost stamp'd the leasing.' Therefore, 
 
 fellow, 
 I must have leave to pass. 
 
 1 G. 'Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in 
 his behalf, as you have uttered words in your own, 
 you should not pass here: no, though it were as 
 virtuous to lie, as to live chastely. Therefore, go 
 back. 
 
 Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is 
 Menenius, always factionary on the party of your 
 general. 
 
 2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar, (as you 
 say you have,) I am one that, telling true under 
 him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go 
 back. 
 
 Men. Has he dined, canst thou telH for I would 
 not speak with him till after dinner. 
 1 G. You are a Roman, are you ? 
 Men. I am as thy general is. 
 
 1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. 
 Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the 
 very defender of them, and, in a violent popular 
 ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to 
 front his revenges with the easy groans of old 
 women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or 
 with the palsied intercession of such a decayed 
 dotant'' as you seem to be? Can you think to blow 
 out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, 
 with such weak breath as this 1 No, you are de- 
 ceived; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for 
 your execution ; you are condemned, our general 
 has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. 
 
 Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, 
 he would use me with estimation. 
 
 2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. 
 Men. I mean thy general. 
 
 1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say, 
 go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood : — 
 back, — that's the utmost of your having : — back. 
 
 Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow, 
 
 Enter Coiiiolanus and Aufidius. 
 
 Cnr. What's the matter ] 
 
 Men. Now, you companion,' I'll say an errand 
 for you ; you shall know now that I am in esti- 
 mation ; you shall perceive that a Jack' guardant 
 cannot office me from my son Coriolanus ; guess, 
 but by my entertainment with him, if thou stand'st 
 not i' the state of hanging, or of some death more 
 long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; 
 behold now presently, and swoon for what's to 
 come upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly 
 synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thcfi 
 
 ' Prizes. ' Friend. 
 
 « Lie. « Dotard. » Fellow. 
 
 9 Deceitful. 
 * Jack in o£Sc« 
 
Scene III. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 69] 
 
 1.0 worse than thy Did father Mcnenius does! O, 
 rny son! iny son! thou art preparing fire for us; 
 look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly 
 moved to come to thee; but being- assured, none 
 but myself could move thee, I have been blown 
 out of your gates with sighs; and conjure thee to 
 pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. 
 The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the 
 dregs of it upon the varlct here; this, who, like a 
 block, hath denied my access to thee. 
 
 Cor. Away ! 
 
 Men. How ! away 1 
 
 Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not My affairs 
 Are servanted to others: Though I owe 
 My revenge properly, my remission lies 
 In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, 
 Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
 Than pity note how much. — Therefore, begone. 
 Mine ears against your suits are stronger, than 
 Your gates against my force. Yet, for' I lov'd thee. 
 Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, 
 
 [Gives a Letter. 
 And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, 
 I will not hear thee speak. — This man, Aufidius, 
 Was my beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st 
 
 Auf. You keep a constant temper. 
 
 [Exeunt Coriol. and Aufid. 
 
 1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius] 
 
 2 G. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: You 
 , know the way home again. 
 
 1 G. Do you hear how we are shcnt^ for keeping 
 yonr greatness back 1 
 
 2 G. What c.iuse, do j'ou think, I have to swooni 
 Men. I neither care for the world, nor your 
 
 general : for snch things as you, I can scarce think 
 there is any, you are so slight. He that hath a will 
 to die by himself, fears it not from another. Let 
 your general do his worst. For you, be that you 
 are, long ; and your misery increase with your age ! 
 I say to you, as I was said to. Away! [Exit. 
 
 \ G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 
 
 2 G. The worthy fellow is our general : He is the 
 rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Tent of Coriolanus. 
 Enter ConioLANus, Aufidius, and others. 
 
 Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow 
 Set down our host. — My partner in this action, 
 You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly'' 
 I have borne in this business. 
 
 Auf. Only their ends 
 
 You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against 
 The general suit of Rome; never admitted 
 S. private whisper, no, not with such friends 
 That thought them sure of you. 
 
 Cor. This last old man, 
 
 Whom with a crack'd heart I liave sent to Rome, 
 Loved me above the measure of a father ; 
 Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
 Was to send him : for whose old love, I have 
 'Though I show'd sourly to him) once more 
 
 offered 
 The first conditions, which they did refuse, 
 And cannot now accept, to grace him only. 
 That thought he could do more; a very little 
 ' have yielded too Fresh embassies, and suits, 
 
 » Because. • Reprimanded. 
 
 Op*nIy. 
 
 Nor from the state, nor private friends, hercafler 
 Will I lend ear to. — Ha ! what shout is this 1 
 
 [Shout within 
 Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow 
 In the same time 'tis madel I will not. — 
 
 Enter in mourning Habits, Vihgilia, yoLUMxiA, 
 leading young Makcius, Valeria, and At- 
 tendants. 
 
 My wife comes foremost; then the honor'd mould 
 
 Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand 
 
 The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affecticn: 
 
 All bond and privilege of nature, break! 
 
 Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — 
 
 What is that curt'sy worth! or those doves' eyes, 
 
 Which can make gods forsworn 1 — I melt, and am 
 
 not 
 Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows; 
 As if Olympus to a molehill should 
 In supplication nod : and my young boy 
 Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
 Great nature cries. Deny not. — Let the Vclccs 
 Plough Rome, and harrow Italy ; I'll never 
 Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand. 
 As if a man were author of himself, 
 And knew no other kin. 
 
 Vir. My lord and husband . 
 
 Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore ic 
 Rome. 
 
 Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus changed, 
 Makes you think so. 
 
 Cur. Like a dull actor now, 
 
 I have forgot my part, and I am out, 
 Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh. 
 Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say. 
 For that, Forgive our Romans.— O, a kiss 
 Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 
 Now by the jealous queen' of heaven, that kiss 
 I carried from thee; and my true lip 
 Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! I pratti 
 And the most noble mother of the world 
 Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knee i' the earth; 
 
 [Kneelb 
 Of thy deep duty more impression show 
 Than that of common sons. 
 
 Vol. O, stand up bless'd ! 
 
 Whilst with no softer cushion than the fluit, 
 I kneel before thee ; and unproperly 
 Show duty, as mistaken all the while 
 Between the child and parent. [Kneels, 
 
 Cor. What is thisi 
 
 Your knees to me 1 to your corrected son ] 
 Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
 Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds 
 Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun ; 
 Murd'ring impossibility, to make 
 What cannot be, slight work. 
 
 Vol. Thou art my warrior ; 
 
 I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? 
 
 Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, 
 The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle, 
 That's curded by the frost from purest snow, 
 And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria! 
 
 Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours. 
 Which by the interpretation of full time 
 May show like all yourself. 
 
 Cor. The god of soldiers. 
 
 With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
 Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st prov» 
 8 Juno 
 
692 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 To shame unvulnpiablc, and stick i' the wars 
 Like a great sea-mark, stanihng every flaw,' 
 And saving those that eye thee ! 
 
 Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 
 
 Cor. That's my brave boy. 
 
 Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, 
 Are suitors to you. 
 
 Cor. I beseech you, peace: 
 
 Or, if you'd ask, remember this before ; 
 The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never 
 Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
 Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
 Again with Rome's mechanics : — Tell me not 
 Wherein I seem unnatural: Desire not 
 To allay my rages and revenges, with 
 Your colder reasons. 
 
 Vol. O, no more, no more ! 
 
 You have said, you will not grant us any thing; 
 For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
 Which you deny already: Yet we will ask ; 
 That, if you fail in our request, the blame 
 May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us. 
 
 Co): Aufidius, and you Voices, mark ; for we'll 
 Hear nought from Rome in private. — Your request? 
 
 Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our 
 raiment, 
 And state of bodies would bewray' what life 
 We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself. 
 How more unfortunate than all living women 
 Are we come hither : since that thy sight, which 
 
 should 
 Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with 
 
 comforts, 
 Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and 
 
 sorrow ; 
 Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
 The son, the husband, and the father, tearing 
 His country's bowels out. And to poor we, 
 Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us 
 Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
 That all but we enjoy : For how can we, 
 Alas ! how can we for our country pray, 
 Whereto we are bound ; together with thy victory, 
 Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose 
 The country, our dear nurse : or else thy person, 
 Our comfort in the country. We must find 
 An evident calamity, though we had 
 Our wish, which side should win: for either thou 
 Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
 With manacles thorough our streets, or else 
 Triumphantly tread upon thy country's ruin ; 
 And bear the palm, for having bravely shed 
 Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
 [ purpose not to wait on fortune, till 
 These wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee 
 Rather to show a noble grace to both parts. 
 Than seek the end of one, thou shall no sooner 
 March to assault thy country, than to tread 
 (Trust to't thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb, 
 That brought thee to this world. 
 
 Vir. Ay, and on mine, 
 
 Thatbroughtyou forth this boy, to keep your name 
 Living to time. 
 
 Boy. He shall not tread on me ; 
 
 I'll run away, till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. 
 
 Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, 
 Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
 I have sat too long. [^Rising. 
 
 Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 
 
 • Gust, storm. > Betray 
 
 If it were so, that our request did tend 
 To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
 The Voices whom you serve, you might condemn us 
 As poisonous of your honor: No; our suit 
 Is, that you reconcile them ; while the Voices, 
 May say, T/iis mercy we have shoiv'd; the Romans 
 This loe 7-ccciv'd; and each in cither side 
 Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bkss^d 
 Formahhig up thispeace! Thou know'st, great son, 
 The end of war's uncertain ; but this certain, 
 That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
 Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name, 
 Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ; 
 Whose chronicle thus writ, — The man was noble, 
 Bui with his last attempt, he wiped it out; 
 Destroyed his country,- and his name remains 
 To the ensuing age, abhorred. Speak to me, son: 
 Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor, 
 To imitate the graces of the gods; 
 To tear with thunder the wide checks o' the air. 
 And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
 That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak 1 
 Think'st thou it honorable for a noble man 
 Still to remember wrongs? — Daughter, speak you: 
 He cares not for your weeping.- — Speak thou, boy: 
 Perhaps thy childishness will move him more 
 Than can our reasons. — There is no man in the 
 
 world 
 More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate 
 Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 
 Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy; 
 When she, (poor hen !) fond of no second brood. 
 Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
 Loaden with honor. Say, my request's unjust, 
 And spurn me back: But, if it be not so. 
 Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague thee, 
 That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which 
 To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away: 
 Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. 
 To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride, 
 Than pity to our prayers. Down ; an end : 
 This is the last ; — So we will home to Rome 
 And die among our neighbors. — Nay, behold us 
 This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
 But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship, 
 Does reason our petition with more strength 
 Than thou hast to dcny't. — Come, let us go; 
 This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; 
 His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
 Like him by chance : — Yet give us our despatch 
 I am hush'd until our city be afire, 
 And then I'll speak a little. 
 
 Cor. O mother, mother! 
 
 [Holding VoLtiMNiA by the hands, silent. 
 What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, 
 The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
 They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! 
 You have won a happy victory to Rome : 
 But, for your son, — Believe it, 0, believe it. 
 Most dangerously you have with him prevaii'd 
 If not most mortal to him. But, let it come- 
 Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
 I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
 Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard 
 A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? 
 
 Auf. I was mov'd withal. 
 
 Cor. I dare be sworn, you were* 
 
 And, sir, it is no little thing, to make 
 Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sii, 
 What peace you'll make, advise me; For my part 
 
Scene V. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 695 
 
 I'll not to Rome, I'll back vHth you ; and pray you, 
 8tand to me in this cause.-^O mother! wife! 
 Auf. I am glad thou bAst set thy mercy and thy 
 honor 
 At difference in thee : oat of that I'll work 
 Myself a former fortune. \Aside. 
 
 [The Ladies make signs to Cohiolanus. 
 Cor. Ay, by and by ; 
 
 [To VoLUMJfIA, VinoILIA, <SfC. 
 
 But we win drink together; and you shall bear 
 
 A better witness back than words, which we, 
 
 On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 
 
 Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
 
 To have a temple built you ; all the swords 
 
 In Italy, and her confederate arms, 
 
 Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rome. A puhlic Place. 
 Enter Menenius and Sicixius. 
 
 Men. See you yond' coign'' o' the Capitol : yond' 
 corner s'.one ] 
 
 Sic. Why, what of that? 
 
 Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with 
 your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of 
 Rom I, especially his mother, may prevail with him. 
 But I say, there is no hope in't ; our throats are sen- 
 tenced, and stay upon execution. 
 
 Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter 
 the condition of a man 1 
 
 Men. There is differency between a grub, and a 
 butterfly ; yet your butterfly was a grub. This 
 Marcius is grown from man to dragon : he has 
 wings ; he's more than a creeping thing. 
 
 Sic. He loved his mother dearly. 
 
 Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers 
 his mother now, than an eight year old horse. The 
 tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he 
 . Iks, he moves like an engine, and the ground 
 shrinKs S^fore his treading. He is able to pierce a 
 corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum 
 is a battery. He sits in his state,' as a thing made 
 for ' Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished 
 with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but 
 eternity, and a heaven to throne in. 
 
 Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 
 
 Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what 
 mercy his mother shall bring from him : There is no 
 more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male 
 tiger ; that shall our poor city find : and all this is 
 'long of you. 
 
 Sic. The gods be good unto us ! 
 
 Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be 
 good unto us. When we banished him, we re- 
 spected not them : and, he returning to break our 
 necks, they respect not us. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house; 
 The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune. 
 And hale him up and down ; all swearing, if 
 The Roman ladies bring not comfort home. 
 They'll give him death by inches. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Sic. What's the news? 
 
 Mess. Good news, good news ; — The ladies have 
 prevail'd, 
 The Voices are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone: 
 « Angln. » Chair of state. * To resemble. 
 
 45 
 
 A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
 No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 
 
 Sic. Friend, 
 
 Art thou certain this is true 1 is it most certain T 
 
 Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire : 
 Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of iti 
 Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, 
 As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark 
 you; 
 [Trumpets and Hautboys sounded, and Drums 
 beaten, all together. Shouting also loithir... 
 The trumpets, hautboys, psalteries, and fifes. 
 Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, 
 Make the sun dance. Hark you ! [Shouting again 
 
 Men. This is good news . 
 
 I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
 Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, 
 A City full; of tribunes, such as you, 
 A sea and land full : You have prayed well t>day; 
 This morning, for ten thousand of your throats 
 I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy ! 
 
 [Shouting and Music 
 
 Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings; 
 next, 
 Accept my thankfulness. 
 
 Mess. Sir, we have all 
 
 Great cause to give great thanks. 
 
 Sic. They are near the city 1 
 
 3Tess. Almost at point to enter. 
 
 Sic. We will meet them. 
 
 And help the joy. [Goiixg. 
 
 Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patri- 
 cians, and People. They pass over the Stage. 
 
 1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome: 
 Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, 
 And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before 
 
 them : 
 Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, 
 Repeal * him with the welcome of his mother ; 
 Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! — 
 
 All. Welcome, ladies! 
 
 Welcome! [A Flourishwith Drums and Trumpets. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Antium. A public Place. 
 
 Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants. 
 
 Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here. 
 Deliver them this pap^r: having read it. 
 Bid them repair to the marktv . lace ; where I, 
 Even in theirs and in the commons ^ ««. 
 Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse, 
 The city ports' by this hath enter'd, and 
 Intends to appear before the people, hoping 
 To<.purge himself with words : Despatch. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendams 
 
 Enter three or four Conspirators o/" Aufidius' 
 Faction. 
 Most welcome ! 
 
 1 Con. How is it with our general ? 
 
 Auf. Even soi 
 
 As with a man by his own alms empoison'd. 
 And with his charity slain. 
 
 2 Con. Most noble sir. 
 If you do hold the same intent wherein 
 You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you 
 
 Of your great danger 
 
 Auf. Sir, I cannot tell ; 
 
 We must proceed, as we do find the people 
 < Beoall. • OatM 
 
694 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 
 'Twixt you there's difference : but the fall of either 
 Makes the survivor heir of all. 
 
 Auf. I know it; 
 
 And my pretext to strike at him admits 
 A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd 
 Mine honor for his truth : Who being so heighten'd, 
 He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery. 
 Seducing so my friends : and, to this end. 
 He bow'd his nature, never known before, 
 But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 
 
 3 Con. Sir, his stoutness. 
 When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
 Ry lack of stooping, 
 
 Auf. That I would have spoke of : 
 Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth 
 Presented to my knife his throat : I took him ; 
 Made him joint servant with me ; gave him way 
 In all his own desires ; nay, let him choose 
 Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, 
 My best and freshest men ; serv'd his designments 
 In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame. 
 Which he did end all his; and took some pride 
 To do myself this wrong : till, at the last, 
 I seem'd his follower, not partner; and 
 He waged me with his countenance,^ as if 
 I had been mercenary. 
 
 1 Con. So he did, my lord : 
 The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last. 
 When he had carried Rome ; and that we look'd 
 For no less spoil than glory, 
 
 Auf. There was it; — 
 
 For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 
 At a few drops of women's rheum' which are 
 As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labor 
 Of our gi*eat action ; Therefore shall he die. 
 And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark ! 
 
 [Drums and Trumpets sound, with great 
 Shouts of the People. 
 
 1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post. 
 And had no welcomes home ; but he returns, 
 Splitting the air with noise. 
 
 2 Co>i. And patient fools, 
 Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear. 
 With giving him glory. 
 
 3 Con. Therefore, at your 'vantage. 
 Ere he express himself, or move the people 
 With what he would say, let him feel your sword, 
 Which we will second. When he lies along. 
 After your way his tale pronounced shall bury 
 His reasons with his body. 
 
 Auf. Say no more; 
 
 Here come the lords. 
 
 Enter the Lords of the City. 
 
 Lords. You are most welcome home. 
 
 Auf. I have not deserv'd it. 
 
 But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd 
 What I have written to you ? 
 
 Lords. We have. 
 
 1 Lord. And grieve to hear it. 
 
 What faults he made before the last, I think, 
 Might have found easy fines : but there to end. 
 Where he was to begin : and give away 
 The benefit of our levies, answering us 
 With our own charge;' making a treaty, where 
 There was a yielding ; This admits no excuse. 
 
 Auf. He approaches, you shall hear him. 
 
 ' Thought me rewarded with good looks. 
 ' Rewarding us with our own expenses. 
 
 » Tears. 
 
 Enter Cokiolanus, tviih Drums and Colors.- a 
 Crowd of Citizens with him. 
 Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier- 
 No more infected with my country's love. 
 Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
 Under your great command. You are to know 
 That prosperously I have attempted, and 
 With bloody passage, led your wars, even to 
 The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought 
 
 home. 
 Do more than counterpoise, d full third part. 
 The charges of the action. We have made peace, 
 With no less honor to the Antiates, 
 Than shame to the Romans : And we here deliver. 
 Subscribed by the consuls and patricians. 
 Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
 We have compounded on. 
 
 Auf. Read it not, noble lords , 
 
 But tell the traitor, in the highest degree 
 He hath abus'd your powers. 
 Cor. Traitor ! — How now 1 
 Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 
 
 Cor. Marcius 1 
 
 Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius ; Dost thou 
 think 
 I'll gTace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name 
 Coriolanus in Corioli 1 — 
 You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously 
 He has betray'd your business, and given up, 
 For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, 
 (I say, your city,) to his wife and mother: 
 Breaking his oath and resolution, like 
 A twist of rotten silk; never admitting 
 Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears 
 He whin'd and roar'd away your victory ; 
 That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart 
 Look'd wondering each at other. 
 
 Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars ' 
 
 Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears, — 
 Cor. Ha ! 
 
 Auf. No more. 
 
 Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
 Too great for what contains it. Boy ! slave ! — 
 Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 
 I was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave 
 
 lords, 
 Must give this cur the lie : and his own notion 
 (Who wears my stripes impress'd on him ; that must 
 
 bear 
 My beating to his gi ave) shall join to thrust 
 The lie unto him. 
 
 1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak 
 Cor. Cut me to pieces. Voices ; men and lads, 
 
 Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! False hound \ 
 
 If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, 
 
 That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
 
 Flutter'd your Voices in Corioli: 
 
 Alone I did it. — Boy ! 
 
 Auf. Why, noble lords, 
 
 Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune. 
 
 Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 
 
 'Fore your own eyes and ears 1 
 
 Con. Let him die for't. [Several speak at once 
 at. [Speaking promiscuously.'] Tear him tf 
 
 pieces, do it presently. He killed my son; — my 
 
 daughter ; — He killed my cousin Marcus ;— Ho 
 
 killed my father. 
 
 2 Lord. Peace, ho ; — no outrage : — peace. 
 The man is noble, and his fame folds in 
 This orb o' the earth. His last offence to ua 
 
Scene V. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 W8 
 
 Shall have judicious' hearing. — Stand, Aufidius, 
 And trouble not the peace. 
 
 Cor. 0, that I had him, 
 
 With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, 
 To use my lawful sword ! 
 
 Auf, Insolent villain ! 
 
 Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. 
 
 [Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and kill 
 ComoLANvs, who falls, and AuTiDivs stands 
 on him. 
 
 Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold. 
 
 Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 
 
 1 Lord. O Tullus,— 
 
 2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valor will 
 
 weep. 
 
 3 Lord. Tread not upon him. — Masters all, be 
 
 quiet; 
 Put up your swords. 
 
 Aujf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this 
 rage, 
 Piovokcd by him, you cannot) the gfreat danger 
 •JodicW 
 
 Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice 
 That he is thus cut off. Please it your honors 
 To call me to your senate, I'll deliver 
 Myself your royal servant, or endure 
 Your heaviest censure. 
 
 1 Lo7-d. Bear from hence his body, 
 And mourn you for him : let him be regarded 
 
 As the most noble corse that ever herald 
 Did follow to his urn. 
 
 2 Lord. His own impatience 
 Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. 
 Let's make the best of it. 
 
 Auf My rage is gone, 
 
 And I am struck with sorrow. — Take him up : 
 Help, three o'the chiefest soldiers: I'll be one.- 
 Bcat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully : 
 Trail your steel pikes. — Though in this city he 
 Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one. 
 Which to this hour bewail the injury. 
 Yet he shall have a noble memory. — 
 Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body oy ('onioLAHct 
 A dead March aonnded. 
 
JULIUS C^SAH. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 foLius C^sah, 
 
 OcTAVius C^sAR, ^ Triummrs after the Death 
 
 Marcus Antonius, > /• i r r< 
 
 ,, ^ T i ot Julius CaEsar. 
 
 Cicero, Pubhus, Popihus Lena; Senators. 
 
 Marcus Brutus, 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 Casca, 
 
 Trebojjius, 
 
 LiGARIUS, 
 
 Decius Brutus, 
 Metellus Cimber, 
 
 CiNNA, 
 
 Flatius and Marullus, Tribunes. 
 
 Conspirators against 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Artemidorus, a Sophist of Onidos. 
 
 A Soothsayer. 
 
 Cinna, a Poet. 
 
 Another Poet. 
 
 LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, young Cato and 
 
 VoLUMxius ; Frietids to Brutus and Cassius. 
 Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, 
 
 Dardanius; Servants to Brutus. 
 PiNDARus, Servant to Cassius. 
 
 Calphurnia, Wife to Caesar. 
 Portia, Wife to Brutus. 
 
 Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, ^c 
 SCENE, during a great Part of the Play, at Rome : afterwards at Sardis ; and near Philippi. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L— Rome. A Street. 
 
 Enter Flavius, Mahullus, and a Rabble of Citi- 
 zens. 
 
 Flav. Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you 
 home; 
 Is this a holiday 1 What ! know you not. 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk. 
 Upon a laboring day, without the sign 
 Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou? 
 
 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 
 
 Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule 1 
 What dost thou with thy best apparel on 1 — 
 if ou, sir ; what trade are you '! 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, 
 I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 
 
 Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me di- 
 r ictly. 
 
 2 Cit, A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with 
 a safe conscience ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender 
 of bad soles. 
 
 Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty 
 knave, what trade ? 
 
 2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with 
 me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 
 
 Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, 
 thou saucy fellow ? 
 
 2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 
 
 Flav. 'I'hou art a cobbler, art thou ? 
 69ii 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl 
 I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's 
 matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon 
 to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, I re- 
 cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon 
 neat's leather, have gone upon my handy-work. 
 
 Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? 
 Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out meir shoes, to get 
 myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make 
 holiday, to see Cajsar, and to rejoice in his triumph. 
 
 Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings 
 he home? 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? 
 You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless 
 
 things ! 
 0, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
 Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft, 
 Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
 Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
 The live-long day, with patient expectation. 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome . 
 And when you saw his chariot but appear 
 Have you not made an universal shout, 
 That Tyber trembled underneath her banks, 
 To hear the replication of your sounds, 
 Made in her concave shores? 
 And do you now put on your best attire 1 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TULIUS CESAR. 
 
 69? 
 
 And do you now cull out a holiday] 
 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way, 
 
 That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood 1 
 
 Begone; 
 
 Run to your houses, fall upon your knees. 
 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude. 
 
 F!av. Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault, 
 Assemble all the poor men of your sort;' 
 Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears 
 Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
 Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ; 
 They vanish tongue-tiid in their guiltiness. 
 Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
 This way will I: Disrobe the images. 
 If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 
 
 Mar. May we do so] 
 You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. 
 
 Flav. It is no matter; let no images 
 Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about. 
 And drive away the vulgar from the streets: 
 So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
 These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing. 
 Will make him fly an ordinary pitch; 
 Who else would soar above the view of men, 
 And keep us all in servile fearfulness. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— yl public Place. 
 
 tenter, in Procession, with Music,Gxsxn; Antokt, 
 
 for the Course,- CALPHun?fiA, Portia, Decius, 
 
 CicEiio, BnuTcs, Cassius, a7id Casca; a great 
 
 Crowd following, among them a Soothsayer. 
 
 Caes. Calphurnia, — 
 
 Casca. Peace, ho! Ca;sar speaks. 
 
 \^Music ceases. 
 
 Cses. Calphurnia, — 
 
 Cal. Here, my lord. 
 
 Cxs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
 When he doth run his course.' — Antonius, — 
 
 Ant. Cajsar, my lord. 
 
 CsEs. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
 To touch Calphurnia: for our elders say, 
 The barren, touched in this holy chase, 
 Shake off their sterile curse. 
 
 Ant. I shall remember: 
 
 When Ca;sar says. Do this, it is perform'd. 
 
 Cxs. Set on ; and leave no ceremony out. [^Music. 
 
 Sooih, Csesar. 
 
 Css. Ha ! who calls ] 
 
 Casca, Bid every noise be still : — Peace yet again. 
 
 [Music ceases. 
 
 Cxs. Who is it in the press,^ that calls on me] 
 I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music. 
 Cry, CiEsar: Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 
 
 'Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 
 
 Cxs. What man is that] 
 
 Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of 
 March. 
 
 Cxs. Set him before me, let me see his face. 
 
 Ca.s. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon 
 Cffisar. 
 
 Cxs. What say'st thou to me now] Speak 
 once again. 
 
 Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 
 
 Cxs. He is a dreamer; let us leave him; — pass. 
 [Sennet.* Exeunt all but Biiu. and Cas. 
 
 ' Rank, a A ceremony obseryed at the feast ot Lupercalia. 
 » Crowd. * Flourish of instrument-s. 
 
 Cas. Will you go see the order of the couiae" 
 Bru. Not I. 
 Cas. I pray you, do. 
 
 Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack aomepaii 
 Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
 Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires: 
 I'll leave you. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: 
 I have not from your eyes that gentleness, 
 And show of love, as I was wont to have : 
 You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
 Over your friend that loves you. 
 
 Bru. Cassius. 
 
 Be not deceiv'd : if I have veil'd my look, 
 I turn the trouble of my countenance 
 Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, 
 Of late, with passions of some diflerence, 
 Conceptions only proper to myself. 
 Which give some soil, perhaps, to my bcha^^iore : 
 But let not therefore my good friends be grieved; 
 (Among which number, Cassius, be you one;) 
 Nor construe any further my neglect. 
 Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war. 
 Forgets the shows of love to other men. 
 
 Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your 
 passion,' 
 By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 
 Thoughts, of great value, worthy cogitations. 
 Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face] 
 
 Bru. No, Cassius : for the eye sees not itself. 
 But by reflection, by some other things. 
 
 Cas. 'Tisjust: 
 And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
 That you have no such mirrors, as will turn 
 Your hidden worthiness into your eye, 
 That you might see your shadow. I have heard. 
 Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
 (Except immortal Caesar,) speaking of Brutus, 
 And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
 Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 
 Bru. Into what dangers would you lead mc, 
 Cassius, 
 That you would ha^e me seek into myself 
 For that which is not in me] 
 
 Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear: 
 And since you know you cannot see yourself 
 So well as by reflection, I, your glass, 
 Will modestly discover to yourself 
 That of yourself which you yet know not of. 
 And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus: 
 Were I a common laugher, or did use 
 To stale ° with ordinary oaths my love 
 To every new protester; if you know 
 That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 
 And after scandal them; or if you know 
 That I profess myself in banqueting 
 To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 
 
 [Flourish and Shout. 
 Bru. What means this shouting] I do fear, the 
 people 
 Choose Caesar for their king. 
 
 Cas. Ay, do you tear itl 
 
 Then must I think you would not have it so. 
 
 Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him well :— 
 But wherefore do you hold me here so long] 
 What is it that you would impart to me ] 
 If it be aught toward the general good. 
 Set honor in one eye, and death i' the other. 
 And I will look on both indiflbrently : 
 
 » The nature of your fcelingi » Make comraou. 
 
698 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act L 
 
 For, let the gods so speed me, as I love 
 The name of honor more than I fear death. 
 
 Cos. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
 As well as I do know your outward favor. 
 Well, honor is tlie subject of my story. — 
 I cannot tell, what you and other men 
 Think of this life; but, for my single self, 
 I had as lief not be, as live to be 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 I was born free as Ctesar ; so were you : 
 We both have fed as well : and we can both 
 Endure the winter's cold, as well as he. 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day. 
 The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores, 
 Caesar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now, 
 Leap in with me into this angry Jlood, 
 And swim to yoiider point? Upon the word. 
 Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
 And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did. 
 The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
 With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
 But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
 Cffisar cry'd. Help me, Cassius, or I sink. 
 I, as ^Eneas, our great ancestor, 
 Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber 
 Did I the tired Caesar: And this man 
 Is now become a god; and Cassius is 
 A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
 If Ca;sar carelessly but nod on him. 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
 How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake : 
 His coward lips did from their color fly; 
 And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
 Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: 
 Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
 Alas ! it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius, 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
 A man of such a feeble temper' should 
 So get the start of the majestic world. 
 And bear the palm alone. [^Shout. Flourish. 
 
 Bru. Another general shout ! 
 I do believe, that these applauses are 
 For some new honors that are heap'd on Csesar. 
 
 Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, 
 Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
 Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates; 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Drutus and Ca;sar: What should be in that Caesar? 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 
 V\ rito them together, yours is as fair a name; 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 
 Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cffisar. \Shout. 
 Now in the names of all the gods at once. 
 Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
 That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed: 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
 But it was famed with more than with one man ? 
 When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
 That h«r wide walks encompass'd but one man? 
 No-^' is t Rome indeed, and room enough, 
 ' Temperament, constitution. 
 
 When there is in it but one only man. 
 O ! you and I have heard our fathers say. 
 There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd 
 The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 
 As easily as a king. 
 
 Bru. That j'ou do love me, I am nothing jealous, 
 What you would work me to, I have some aim;' 
 How I have thought of this, and of these times, 
 I shall recount hereafter; for this present, 
 I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
 Be any further mov'd. What you have said, 
 I will consider; what you have to say, 
 I will with patience hear: and find a time 
 Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things. 
 Till then, my noble friend, chew" upon this; 
 Brutus had rather be a villager. 
 Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
 Under these hard conditions as this time 
 Is like to lay upon us. 
 
 Cas. I am glad that my weak words 
 Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus 
 
 Re-enter Cjssah, and his Tram, 
 
 Bru, The games are done, and Ca3sar is returning 
 
 Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve 
 And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
 What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day. 
 
 Bru. I will do so: — But look you, Cassius, 
 The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow. 
 And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
 Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 
 Looks with such leiTet' and such fiery eyes. 
 As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
 Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 
 
 Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 
 
 Cses. Antonius, — 
 
 Ant. Cajsar. 
 
 Cses. Let me have men about me that are fat ; 
 Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights: 
 Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look; 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 
 
 Ant. Fear him not. Cffisar, he's not dangerous 
 He is a noble Roman, and well given. 
 
 Cxs. 'Would he were fatter : — But I fear him not 
 Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
 I do not know the pian I should avoid 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; 
 He is a great observer, and he looks 
 Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no playt 
 As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music: 
 Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort, 
 As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease. 
 Whiles they behold a greater than themselves 
 And therefore are they very dangerous. 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, 
 Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. 
 Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 
 And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
 
 [^Exeunt C;n:sAH and his Train. Ca,»c* 
 stays behind. 
 
 Casca. You puU'd me by the cloak; would yoii 
 speak with me? 
 
 Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanced to-day 
 That Cffisar looks so sad. 
 
 Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not? 
 
 Bru. I should not then ask Casca what hath 
 chanced. 
 I • Guess. 9 Ruminate. « A ferret has red eyes 
 
tiCENE III. 
 
 JULIUS CvESAR. 
 
 6<J9 
 
 Casca. Wlij , there wns a crown ofTer'd him : and 
 being ofler'd him, he put it by with the back of his 
 hand, thus ; and then the people fell a shouting. 
 
 Bra. What was the second noise for 1 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Cas. They shouted thrice WHat was the last 
 cry for 1 
 
 Casca. Why, for that t )c>. 
 
 Bru. Was the crown ollercd him thrice? 
 
 Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, 
 every time gentler than other ; and at every putting 
 by, mine honest neighbors shouted. 
 
 Cas, Who offered him the crown 1 
 
 Casca. WHiy, Antony. 
 
 Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 
 
 Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the man- 
 ner of it: it was mere foolery. I did not maik it. 
 I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown; — yet 'twas 
 not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets; 
 — and, as I told you, he put it by once; but, for all 
 that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. 
 Then he offered it to him again ; then he put it by 
 again ; but, to my thinking, he was very loath to 
 lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the 
 third time ; he put it the third time by: and still as he 
 refused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped their 
 chopped hands, and threw up their sweaty night- 
 caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath 
 because Caesar refused the crown, that it had almost 
 choked Caesar; for he swooned, and fell down at it: 
 And for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear 
 of opening my lips, and receiving the bad air. 
 
 Cas. But soft, I pray you: What! did Caesar 
 svi'oon 1 
 
 Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
 foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis very like: he hath the falling-sickness. 
 
 Cas, No, Caesar hath it not ; but you, and I, 
 And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness. 
 
 Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but, 
 I am sure Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people 
 did not clap him, and hiss him, according as he 
 pleased, and displeased them, as they used to do the 
 l)layers in the theatre, I am no true man. 
 
 Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself] 
 
 Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he per- 
 ceived the common herd was glad he refused the 
 crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered 
 tliem his throat to cut. — An I had been a man of 
 any occupation, if I would n H have taken him at a 
 word, I would I might go to holl among the rogues : 
 — and so he fell. When he came to himself again, 
 he said, If he had done, or said anything amiss, he 
 desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. 
 Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, 
 ^ood soul! — and forgave him with all their hearts: 
 But there's no heed to be taken of them; if Ca!sar 
 had stabbed their mothers, they would have done 
 no less. 
 
 Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away ! 
 
 Casca. Ay. 
 
 Cas. Did Cicero say any thing ] 
 
 Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 
 
 Cas. To what effect ? 
 
 Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you 
 i' the flice again: But those that understood him, 
 smiled at one another, and shook their lieads ; but, 
 for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell 
 you more news too; Marullus and Flavins, for 
 'luiiinji scarfs off Cajsar's images, are put to silence. 
 
 Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if 1 
 could remember it. 
 
 Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca 1 
 
 Casca, No, I am promised forth. 
 
 Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 
 
 Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and 
 your dinner worth the eating. 
 
 Cas. Good : I will expect you. 
 
 Casca. Do so: Farewell both. [Exit Casca, 
 
 Bru. What a blunt fellow this is grown to be ; 
 He was quick mettle, when he went to school. 
 
 Cas, So is he now, in execution 
 Of any bold or noble enterprize. 
 However he puts on this tardy form. 
 This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
 Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
 With better appetite. 
 
 Bru, And so it is. For this time I will leave yoffi 
 To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
 I will come home to you ; or, if you will, 
 Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 
 
 Cas. I will do so : — till then, think of the world 
 
 [Exit BnuTcs 
 Well Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see, 
 Thy honorable metal may be wrought 
 From that it is dispos'd : ^ Therefore, 'tis meet 
 That noble minds keep ever with their likes . 
 For who so firm, that cannot be seduced? 
 Cffisar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus 
 If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
 He should not humor' me. I will this night, 
 In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
 As if they came from several citizens. 
 Writings all tending to the great opinion 
 That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely 
 Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: 
 And, after this, let CjEsar seat him sure; 
 For we will shake him, or worse days endure. 
 
 [Exit 
 SCENE III.— ^ Street. 
 
 Thunder and Lightning, Enter, from opposite 
 sides, Cascx, withliis Sword drawn, and Cickro 
 
 Cic. Good even, Casca: Broughtyou Caesar home! 
 Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? 
 
 Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the swav 
 of earth 
 Shs.kes, like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero, 
 I have seen tempests when the scolding winds 
 Havi3 rived the knotty oaks; and I have seen 
 The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
 To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds: 
 But never till to-night, never till now. 
 Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 
 Either there is a civil strife in heaven ; 
 Or else the world, too saucy with the gods. 
 Incenses them to send destruction. 
 
 Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful 1 
 
 Casca. A common slave (you know him well bj 
 sight) 
 Held up his left hand, which did flame, and burn 
 Like twenty torches join'd: and yet his hand, 
 Not sensible of fire, rcmain'd unscorch'd. 
 Besides, (I have not since put up my sword,") 
 Against the Capitol I met a lion. 
 Who glared upon me, and went surly by. 
 Without annoying me; and there were drawn 
 Upon a heap, a hundred ghastly women. 
 Transformed with their fi^ar; who swore, they saw 
 » Disposed to s Cajole 
 
TOO 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR 
 
 Act I 
 
 Men, all on fire, walk up and down tlie streets. 
 And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit, 
 Even at noon-day, upon the market-place. 
 Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies 
 Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, 
 These, are their reasons, — They are natural; 
 For, I believe they are portentous things 
 Unto the climate that they point upon. 
 
 Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
 But men may construe things after their fashion, 
 Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
 Comes Cffisar to the Capitol to-morrow 1 
 
 Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
 Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow. 
 
 Cic. Good night then, Casca : this disturbed sky 
 Is not to walk in. 
 
 Cisca. Farewell, Cicero. 
 
 Enter Cassius. 
 
 Cos. Who's there 1 
 
 Casca. A Roman. 
 
 Cas. Casca, by your voice. 
 
 Casca. Your car is good. Cassius, what night is 
 this] 
 
 Cas, A very pleasing night to honest men. 
 
 Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so ? 
 
 Cas. Those, that have known the earth so full 
 of faults. 
 For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, 
 Submitting me unto the perilous night ; 
 And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, 
 Have bared my bosom to the thunder-storm ; 
 And, when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open 
 The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
 Even in the aim and very flash of it. 
 
 Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt 
 the heavens? 
 It is the part of men to fear and tremble, 
 When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send 
 Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 
 
 Cas. You are dull, Casca; and those sparks of life 
 That should be in a Roman, you do want, 
 Or else you use not: You look pale and gaze. 
 And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder. 
 To see the strange impatience of the heavens: 
 But if you would consider the true cause, 
 Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts. 
 Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind:' 
 Why old men, fools, and children calculate ; 
 Why all these things change from their ordinance. 
 Their natures and pre-formed faculties. 
 To monstrous quality ; why, you shall find. 
 That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits. 
 To make them instruments of fear, and warning. 
 Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, 
 Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night; 
 That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
 As doth the lion in the Capitol : 
 A man no mightier than thyself, or me. 
 In personal action ; yet prcJdigious grown, 
 And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 
 
 Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean ; Is it not, 
 Cassius 1 
 
 Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now 
 Have thews ' and limbs like to their ancestors ; 
 Uut woe the while ! our fathers' minds are dead, 
 \nd we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ; 
 Our yoke and sufferings show us womanish. 
 
 Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morrow 
 
 WTi7 tifty deyiate from quality and nature. » Muscles. 
 
 Mean to establish Caesar as a king: 
 
 And he shall wear his crown by sea and land. 
 
 In every place, save here in Italy. 
 
 Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger thei. 
 Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: 
 Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; 
 Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 
 Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass. 
 Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
 Can be retentive to the strength of spirit ; 
 But life, being weary of these worldly bars, 
 Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
 If I know this, know all the world bes des, 
 That part of tyranny that I do bear, 
 I can shake off at pleasure. 
 
 Casca. So can I: 
 So every bondman in his own hand bears 
 The power to cancel his captivity. 
 
 Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then: 
 Poor man ! I know, he would not be a wolf. 
 But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: 
 He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.* 
 Those that with haste will make a mighty fire. 
 Begin it with weak straws: What trash is Rome, 
 What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves 
 For the base matter to illuminate 
 So vile a thing as Cfesar? But, grief! 
 Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this 
 Before a willing bondman : then I know 
 My answer must be made : But I am arm'd. 
 And dangers are to me indifferent. 
 
 Casca. You speak to Casca ; and to such a man, 
 That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand: 
 Be factious for redress of all these griefs; 
 And I will set this foot of mine as far, 
 As who goes farthest. 
 
 Cas. There's a bargain made. 
 
 Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
 Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans, 
 To undergo, with me, an enterprize 
 Of honorable-dangerous consequence; 
 And I do know, by this, they stay for me 
 In Pompey's porch : for now, this fearful night. 
 There is no stir, or walking in the streets; 
 And the complexion of the element 
 Is favor'd,' like the .work we have in hand, 
 Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 
 Enter Cinxa. 
 
 Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one 
 in haste. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait; 
 He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so? 
 
 Cin. To find out you : Who's that ? Metellui 
 Cimber ? 
 
 Cas. No, it is Casca; one incorporate 
 To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna ? 
 
 Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this? 
 There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 
 
 Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna? tell me. 
 
 Cin. Yes, 
 
 You are. 0, Cassius, if you could but win 
 The noble Brutus to our party 
 
 Cas. Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper, 
 And look you lay it in the prretor's chair. 
 Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this 
 In at his window : set this up with wax 
 Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done. 
 Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find ua 
 Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius, there? 
 
 • Deer. ' Appear*. 
 
Acr IT. Scene I. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 701 
 
 Cm. All but Mctcllus Cimber; and he's gone 
 To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, 
 \nd so bestow these papers as you bade me. 
 
 Cos. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 
 
 [Exit ClNNA. 
 
 Come Casca, you and I will yet, ere day, 
 See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
 Is ours already ; and the man entire. 
 Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. 
 
 Casca. O, hf sits high, in all the people's heart? 
 And that, which would appear offence in us. 
 His countenance, like richest alchymy. 
 Will change to virtue, and to worthiness. 
 
 Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need ol 
 him, 
 You have right well conceited. Let us go. 
 For it is after midnight ; and ere day. 
 We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Brutus's Orchard. 
 
 Enter BnuTus. 
 
 Bru. What, Lucius ! ho ! — 
 \ cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
 Give guess how near to-day. — Lucius, I say ! 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
 When, Lucius, when] Awake, I say: What, Lucius! 
 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Call'd you, my lord 1 
 Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
 When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
 
 Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part, 
 I know no personal cause to spurn at him. 
 But for the general. He would be crown'd : — 
 How that might change his nature, there's the 
 
 question. 
 It is the bright day that brings forth the adder ; 
 And that craves wary walking. Crown him 1 — 
 
 That;— 
 And then, I grant, we put a sting in him. 
 That at his will he may do danger with. 
 The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
 Remorse' from power: And, to speak truth of 
 
 Csesar, 
 [ have not known when his affections sway'd 
 More than his reason. But 'tis a common prooP 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
 Whereto the climber upward turns his face : 
 But when he once attains the upmost round. 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees' 
 By which he did ascend : So Caesar may ; 
 Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
 Will bear no color for the thing he is. 
 Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, 
 Would run to these, and these extremities : 
 And therefore think him as a serpent's egg. 
 Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mis- 
 chievous ; 
 And kill him in the shell. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. The taper burnetii in your closet, sir. 
 Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, 
 [t did not lie there when I went to bod. 
 
 Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day. 
 Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March ] 
 
 Luc. I know not, sir. 
 
 Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me w ord. 
 
 Pity, tenderness. • Experience. ' Low steps. 
 
 Luc. I will, sir. 
 
 Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the aii. 
 Give so much light, that I may read by them. 
 
 [Opens the Letter, and readi, 
 Brutus, thou steepest; awake, and see thyself. 
 Shall Rome, S(C. Speak, strike, redress.' 
 
 Brutus, thou steepest; awake — 
 
 Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
 Where I have took them up. 
 Shall Rome, Sfc. Thus, must I piece it out ; 
 Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What ! 
 
 Rome? 
 My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
 The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
 Speak, strike, redress! — Am I entreated then 
 To speak, and strike! O Rome! I make thee 
 
 promise. 
 If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
 Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus. 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 Luc. Sir, March has wasted fourteen days. 
 
 [Knock within, 
 Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate ; somebody 
 knocks. [Exit Lucius. 
 
 Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 And the first motion, all the inti.^im is 
 Like a phantasma,^ or a hideous dream : 
 The genius, and the mortal instruments. 
 Are then in council ; and the state of man, 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 The nature of an insurrection. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door. 
 Who doth desire to see you. 
 
 Bru. Is he alone 1 
 
 Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 
 Bru. Do you know them 1 
 
 Luc. No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about theii 
 ears, 
 And half their faces buried in their cloaks. 
 That by no means I may discover them 
 By any mark of favor.' 
 
 Bru. Let them entei. 
 
 [Exit Lucius. 
 They are the faction. O conspiracy ! 
 Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, 
 When evils are most free 1 O, then, by day. 
 Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
 To mask thy monstrous visage 1 Seek none, co» 
 
 spiracy ; 
 Hide it in smiles, and affability • 
 
 * Vision. 8 Countenance. 
 
<U2 
 
 JULIUS C^SAK. 
 
 Act n 
 
 For if thou pith, thy native semblance on,' 
 ]Vot Erebuu' itself were dim enough 
 To hide thee from prevention. 
 
 Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metel- 
 
 LVS CiMBER, a?ld TUEBONIUS. 
 
 Cos. I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
 Good morrow, Brutus; Do we trouble you 1 
 
 Bru. I have been up this hour; awake all night. 
 Know I these men, that come along with you 1 
 
 Cas. Yes, every man of them ; and no man here. 
 But honors you : and every one doth wish, 
 You had but that opinion of yourself, 
 Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
 This is Trebonias. 
 
 Bru, He is welcome hither. 
 
 Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 
 
 Bru. He is welcome too. 
 
 Cos. This, Casca; this, Cinna; 
 And this Metellus Cimber. 
 
 Bru. They are all welcome. 
 
 What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
 Betwixt your eyes and night? 
 
 Cas. Shall I entreat a word ■? \_They whisper. 
 
 Dec. Here lies the east : Doth not the day break 
 here 1 
 
 Casca. No. 
 
 Ci/i. 0, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines, 
 That fret the clouds, are messengers of day. 
 
 Casca. You shall confess, that you are both de- 
 ceiv'd. 
 Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises; 
 Which is a great way growing on the south. 
 Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
 Some two months hence, up higher toward the north 
 He first presents his fire ; and the high east 
 Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. 
 
 Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 
 
 Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 
 
 Bru. No, not an oath : If not the face^ of men, 
 The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
 If these be motives weak, break off betimes. 
 And every man hence to his idle bed; 
 So let high-sighted tyranny range on. 
 Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
 As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
 To kindle cowards, and to steel v/ith valor 
 The melting spirits of women ; then, countrymen, 
 What need we any spur, but our own cause. 
 To prick us to redress 1 what other bond. 
 Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word. 
 And will not palter T and what other oath. 
 Than honesty to honesty engaged, 
 ! bit this shall be, or we will fall for it? 
 Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous," 
 Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls 
 I'hat welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear 
 Such creatures as men doubt; hut do not stain 
 The even virtue of our enlerprize, 
 Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits. 
 To think, that, or our cause, or our performance. 
 Did need an oath; when every drop of blood. 
 That eveiy Roman bears, and nobly bears. 
 Is guilty of a several bastardy, 
 ff he do break the smallest particle 
 Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 
 
 Cas. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him? 
 I think, he will stand very strong with us. 
 
 » Hell. 
 
 * Walk in thy true form. 
 
 * Perhaps Sh\ ■c-- oeare wrote faith. 
 " ProTaricat" 
 
 • Cautious. 
 
 Casca. Let us not leave him out. 
 Cin. No, by no means 
 
 Mei. O, let us have him ; for his silver hairs 
 Will purchase us a good opinion. 
 And buy men's voices to commend our deeds; 
 It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands: 
 Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear. 
 But all be buried in his gravity. 
 
 Bru. O, name him not; let us not break with him ;' 
 For he will never follow any thing 
 That other men begin. 
 
 Cas. Then leave him out, 
 
 Casca. Indeed, he is not fit. 
 
 Dec. Shall no man else be toucL'd but onlj 
 Cffisar? 
 
 Cas. Decius, well urged : — I think it is not meet 
 Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar, 
 Should outlive Caesar. We shall find of him 
 A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his means, 
 If he improves them, may well stretch so far, 
 As to annoy us all : which to prevent. 
 Let Antony, and Ca;sar, fall together. 
 
 Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caiui 
 Cassius, 
 To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs ; 
 Like wrath in death, and envy' afterwards: 
 For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. 
 Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius. 
 We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; 
 And in the spirit of men there is no blood: 
 O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit. 
 And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, 
 Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends. 
 Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfuUy ; 
 Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
 Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds : 
 And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
 Stir up their servants to an act of rage. 
 And after seem to chide them. This shall mak« 
 Our purpose necessary, and not envious : 
 Which so appearing to the common eyes. 
 We shall be call'd purgcrs, not murderers. 
 And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
 For he can do no more than Caesar's arm, 
 When Caesar's head is off. 
 
 Cas. Yet I do fear him : 
 For in the ingrafted love he bears to Ca3sar : 
 
 Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: 
 If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
 Is to himself; take thought, and die for Caesar: 
 And that were much he should; for he is given 
 To sports, to wildness, and much company. 
 
 Treb. There is no fear in him, let him not die ; 
 For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 
 
 [Chc/c sirikea, 
 
 Bru. Peace, count the clock. 
 
 Cas. The clock hath stricken three 
 
 Treb. 'Tis time to paxt. 
 
 Cas. But it is doubtful yet( 
 
 Whe'r CfBsar will come forth to day, or no; 
 For he is superstitious grown of late; 
 Quite from the main opinion he held once 
 Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies; 
 It may be, these apparent prodigies. 
 The unaccustom'd terror of this night. 
 And the persuasion of his augurers. 
 May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 
 
 Dec. Never fear that : If he be so resolv'd, 
 I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear, 
 
 B Let us not break the matter to him. > Malloe, 
 
 _ 
 
Scene I 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 ro3 
 
 That nnicoms may be betray 'd with trees. 
 And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, 
 Lions wit 1 toils, and men with flatterers. 
 But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers, 
 He says, he does; being then most flattered. 
 IiOt me work; 
 
 For I can giv»i his humor the true bent; 
 And I will bring him to the Capitol. 
 
 C'as. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. 
 
 Bru. By the eighth hour: Is that the uttermost! 
 
 Ctn. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 
 
 Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Coesar hard. 
 Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey ; 
 I wonder, none of you have thought of him. 
 
 Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him :' 
 He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; 
 Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. 
 
 Cas. The morning comes upon us: We'll leave 
 you, Brutus: — 
 And, friends, disperse yourselves: but all remember 
 What you have said, and show yourselves true 
 Romans. 
 
 Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; 
 Let not our looks put on our purposes ; 
 But bear it as our Roman actors do. 
 With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy: 
 And so, good morrow to you every one. 
 
 [_Exeunt all but Brutus. 
 Boy! Lucius! — Fast asleep] It is no matter; 
 Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 
 Thou hast no figures,' nor no fantasies. 
 Which busy care draws in the brains of men; 
 Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 
 
 Enter Portia. 
 
 For. Brutus, my lord ! 
 
 Bru. Portia, what mean you 1 Wherefore rise 
 you now] 
 It is not for your health thus to commit 
 Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. 
 
 For. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, 
 Brutus, 
 Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper 
 You suddenly arose, and walk'd about. 
 Musing, and sighing, with your arms across: 
 And when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
 You stared upon me with ungentle looks: 
 I urged you further ; then you scratch'd your head, 
 And too impatiently stamp'd with j'our foot: 
 Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not; 
 But with an angry wafture of your hand, 
 Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did; 
 Fearing to strengthen that impatience, 
 Which seem'd too much enkindled; and, withal, 
 Hoping it was but an effect of humor. 
 Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
 [t will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep; 
 And, could it work so much upon your shape 
 Ay it hath much prevail'd on your condition,* 
 I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord. 
 Make me acquainted with j'our cause of grief. 
 
 Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 
 
 I'lir. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health. 
 He would embrace the means to come by it. 
 
 Bru. Why, so I do: — good Portia, go to bed. 
 
 For. Is Brutus sick; and is it physical 
 To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors 
 Of the dank' morning] What, is Brutus sick; 
 
 ' By bis house. ' Shapes created by imagination. 
 
 Temper. • Damp. 
 
 And will he steal out of his wholesome br\l. 
 To dare the vile contagion of the night; 
 And tempt the rheumy* and unpurged air 
 To add unto his sickness] No, my Brutus; 
 You have some sick offence within your mind. 
 Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
 I ought to know of: And, upon my knees, 
 I charm you, by my once commended beauty, 
 By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
 Which did incorporate and make us one. 
 That you unfold to me, yourself, your half. 
 Why you are heavy; ind what men to-night 
 Have had resort to you : for here have been 
 Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
 Even from darkness. 
 
 Bru. Kneel not, gentle Porjia. 
 
 For, I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus 
 Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
 Is it excepted, I should know no secrets 
 That appertain to you] Am I yourself. 
 But, as it were, in sort, or limitation; 
 To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 
 And talk to you sometimes ] Dwell I but in th<« 
 
 suburbs 
 Of your good pleasure ] If it be no more, 
 Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 
 
 Bru. You are my true and honorable wife; 
 As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart. 
 
 For. If this were true, then should I know thi« 
 secret. 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
 A woman that lord Brutus took to wife: 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
 A woman well reputed: Cato's daughtei. 
 Think you, I am no stronger than my sex. 
 Being so father'd, and so hu.sbanded ] 
 Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them . 
 I have made strong proof of my constancy. 
 Giving myself a voluntary wound 
 Here, in the thigh : Can I bear that with patience, 
 And not my husband's secrets] 
 
 Bru. O ye gods. 
 
 Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 
 
 f_Knocking ivithin. 
 Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in a while ; 
 And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
 The secrets of my heart. 
 All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
 All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
 Leave me with haste. [Exit Poutia. 
 
 Enter Lucius and Ligahius. 
 
 Lucius, who is that knocks ] 
 
 Luc. Here is a sick man,that would speak with you. 
 
 Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake cf. — 
 Boy, stand aside. — Caius Ligarius! how] 
 
 L?'^. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue, 
 
 Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, bravts 
 Caius, 
 To wear a kerchief! 'Would you were not sick! 
 
 Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
 Any exploit worthy the name of honor. 
 
 Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius. 
 Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 
 
 Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow beftrc, 
 I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome! 
 Brave son, deriv'd from honorable loins ! 
 Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 
 • Moist 
 
ro4 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act II 
 
 My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, 
 And I will strive with tilings impossible; 
 Vea, get the better of them. What's to do ? 
 
 Bru. A piece of work, that will make sick men 
 whole. 
 
 Lig. But are not some whole, that we must 
 make sickl 
 
 Bru That must we also. What it is, my Caius, 
 I 3hall unfold to thee, as we are going; 
 To whom it must be done. 
 
 Lig. Set on your foot; 
 
 And with a heart new fired, I follow you, 
 To do I know not what: but it sufficeth, 
 That Brutus leads me on. 
 
 Bru. Follow me then. 
 
 \^Exeunl. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in Cfesar's Palace. 
 
 Thunder and Lightning. Enter CiESAH, in his 
 Night-gown. 
 
 Cses. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace 
 to-night : 
 Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, 
 Help, ho.' they murder Caesar.' Who's within ? 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Se7-v. My lord ] 
 
 Cses. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, 
 And bring me their oj)inions of success. 
 
 Serv. I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Calpuuhnia. 
 
 Cal. What mean you, Caesar'? Think you to 
 walk forth] 
 You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 
 
 Cses. Caesar shall forth : The things that threat- 
 en'd me. 
 Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall see 
 The face of Caesar, they are vanished. 
 
 Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies,'' 
 Yet now they fright me. There is one within. 
 Besides the things that we have heard and seen. 
 Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
 A lioness hath whelped in the streets; 
 And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead : 
 Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds. 
 In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war. 
 Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol : 
 The noise of battle hurtled' in the air, 
 HjT^es did neigh, and dying men did groan; 
 And ghosts did shriek, and squeal about the streets. 
 
 Cffisar! these things are beyond all use. 
 And I do fear them. 
 
 Cacs. What can be avoided, 
 
 Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods? 
 Yet Caesar shall go forth: for these predictions 
 Are to the world in general, as to Caesar. 
 
 Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets seen ; 
 The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of 
 princes. 
 
 Cses- Cowards die many times before their deaths; 
 
 1 he valiant never taste of death but once. 
 O ." all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
 
 It aeems to me most strange that men should fear; 
 Beeing that death, a necessary end, 
 Will come, when it will come. 
 
 Re-enter a Servant. 
 
 What say the augurers? 
 
 Serv. They would not have you to stir ibrth to-day. 
 
 Nfiver paid regard to prodigies or omens. • Encountered. 
 
 Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, 
 They could not find a heart within the beast. 
 
 Cses. The gods do this in shame of cowardice 
 Caesar should be a beast without a heart, 
 If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
 No, Ca3sar shall not : Danger knows full well. 
 That Ca3sar is more dangerous than he. 
 We were two lions htter'd in one day, 
 And I the elder and more terrible ; 
 And Caesar shall go forth. 
 
 Cal. Alas, my lord. 
 
 Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
 Do not go forth to-day : Call it my fear. 
 That keeps you in the house, and not your own. 
 We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house ; 
 And he shall say, you are not well to-day : 
 Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. 
 
 Cses. Mark Antony shall say, I am not well; 
 And, for thy humor, I will stay at home. 
 
 Enter Decius. 
 Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 
 
 Dec. CfEsar, all hail ! Good morrow, worthy Caesar 
 I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 
 
 Cses. And you are come in very happy timo 
 To bear my greeting to the senators. 
 And tell them, that I will not come to-day 
 Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser; 
 I will not come to-day : Tell them so, Decius. 
 
 Cal. Say, he is sick. 
 
 Cses. Shall Caesar send a lie'' 
 
 Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far. 
 To be afeard to tell grey -beards the truth 1 
 Decius, go tell them, Caesar will not come. 
 
 Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, 
 Lest I be laugh'd at, when I tell the.m so. 
 
 Cses. The cause is in my will, I will not coBie; 
 That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
 But, for your private satisfaction. 
 Because I love you, I will let you know. 
 Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: 
 She dreamt to-night she saw my statua. 
 Which like a fountain with a hundred spouts. 
 Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans 
 Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it. 
 And these does she apply for warnings, portents 
 And evils imminent ; and on her knee 
 Hath bcgg'd, that I will stay at home to-day. 
 
 Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted ; 
 It was a vision, fair and fortunate: 
 Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
 In which so many smiling Romans bath'd, 
 Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
 Reviving blood ; and that great men shall press 
 For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. 
 This by Calphurnia's dream is signified. 
 
 Cses. And this way have you well expounded il 
 
 Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say • 
 And know it now; The senate have concluded 
 T© give, this day, a crown to mighty Caesar. 
 If you shall send them word, you will not come, 
 Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock 
 Apt to be rendered, for some one to say. 
 Break up the senate till another time, 
 When Cassar's ivife shall meet ivith better dream* 
 If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisjxr, 
 Lo, Csesur is afraid? 
 Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear, dear love 
 To your proceeding bids me tell yow this; 
 And reason to my love is liable.' 
 ' Subordinate. 
 
.■^CENE 111 
 
 JULIUS CtESAR 
 
 705 
 
 Cxs. How foolish do your fears seem now, Cal- 
 phurnia ? 
 I am ashamed I did yield to them. — 
 Give me my robe, for I will go: — 
 
 Enter Publics, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, 
 Casca, Tkebonius, and Cinna. 
 
 And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 
 
 Pub. Good-morrow, Caesar. 
 
 Cass. Welcome, Publius. — 
 
 What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too 7 — 
 Good-morrow, Casca. — Caius Ligarius, 
 Cffisar was ne'er so much your enemy, 
 As that same ague which hath made you lean. — 
 vVhat is't o'clock 1 
 
 Bru. Csesar, 'tis strucken eight. 
 
 Cxs. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 
 
 Enter Antony. 
 
 See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 
 Is notwithstanding up : — 
 Good-morrow, Ait^ony. 
 
 Ant. So to most noble Cssar. 
 
 Cxs. Bid them prepare within: — 
 I am to blame to be thus waited for. — • 
 Now, Cinna: — Now, Metellus: — What, Trebo- 
 
 nius ! 
 I have an hour's talk in store for j'ou; 
 Remember that you call on me to-day: 
 Be near me, that I may remember you. 
 
 Treb. Caesar, I will: — and so near will I be, 
 
 [^Aside. 
 That your best friend shall wish I had been further. 
 
 Caes. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine 
 with me; 
 And we, like friends, will straightway go together. 
 
 Bru. That every like is not the same, O Cssar, 
 The heart of Brutus yearns' to think upon ! 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Street near the Capitol. 
 
 E/i/er Artemidorus, reading a Paper. 
 
 Art. Caesar, icftjareo/ Brutus; take heed of Cas- 
 sius; come not near Casca; liave an eye to Cinna; 
 trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Ciraber; 
 Decius Brutus loves thee 7iot,- tlivu hast wronged 
 Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these 
 men, and it is bent against Cajsar. If thou be'st 
 not immortal, look about you: Security gives way 
 to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee/ 
 Thy lover, 
 
 Artemidohus. 
 Here will I stand, till Cajsar pass along 
 And as a suitor will I give him this. 
 My heart laments, that virtue cannot live 
 Out of the teeth of emulation.' 
 [f thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live ; 
 If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [^Exit. 
 'QrleTes 'Envy 
 
 SCENE W.— Another Part of the i^ame Street^ 
 before the House of Buutus. 
 
 £rt^er Portia and Lucius. 
 
 Por. I pr'ythee, boy. run to the senate-house: 
 Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: 
 Why dost thou stay ? 
 
 Luc. To know my errand, madam 
 
 Por. I would have had thee there, and here againj 
 
 Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.-— 
 
 Constancy, be strong upon my side ! 
 
 Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue 
 
 1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
 How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! 
 Art thou here yet ? 
 
 Luc. Madam, what should I do? 
 
 Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ? 
 And so return to you, and nothing elsel 
 
 Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look 
 well. 
 For he went sickly forth : And take good note. 
 What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 
 Hark, boy, what noise is thatl 
 
 Luc. I hear none, madam. 
 
 Por. Pr'ythee, listen well 
 
 I heard a bustling rumor like a fray. 
 And the wind brings it from the Capitol. 
 
 Luc. Sooth,' madam, I hear nothing. 
 Enter Soothsayer. 
 
 Por. Come hither, fellow ! 
 
 Which way hast thou been ] 
 
 Sooth. At mine own house, good lady 
 
 Por. What is't o'clock: 
 
 Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady 
 
 Por. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol ? 
 
 Sooth. Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand, 
 To see him pass on to the Capitol. 
 
 Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not! 
 
 Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please Caesar 
 To be so good to Cfesar, as to hear me, 
 I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 
 
 Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended 
 towards himl 
 
 Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I 
 fear may chance. 
 Good-morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: 
 The throng that follows Caesar at the heels. 
 Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, 
 M'ill crowd a feeble man almost to death : 
 I'll get me to a place more void, and there 
 Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. [_Exit, 
 
 Por. I must go in. — Ah me ! how weak a thing 
 The hera-t of woman is! Brutus! 
 The heaven speed thee in thy entcrprize ! 
 Sure the boy heard me: — Brutus hath a suit, 
 That Caesar will not grant. — O, I grow faint:—- 
 Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; 
 Say, I am merry: come to me again. 
 And bring me v/ord what he doth say tr thee. 
 
 lExewu 
 *In truth. 
 
7()(i 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Aci in 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE l.—The Capitol; the Senate sitting. 
 
 A Croiod of People in the Street leading to the 
 
 Capitol: among them Artemiuohus a7id the 
 
 Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter C^sah, Buutus, 
 
 Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Thebo- 
 
 Nicrs, CiNNA, Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, 
 
 PuBLius, a7id others. 
 
 Cees. The Ides of March are come. 
 
 Sooth. Ay, Cfflsar; but not gone. 
 
 Art. Hail, CaBsar! Read this schedule. 
 
 Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read, 
 At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 
 
 Art. O Ca3sar, read mine first; for mine's a suit 
 That touches Cffisar nearer: Read it, great Cffisar. 
 
 Cses. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd. 
 
 Art. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. 
 
 Cass. What, is the fellow mad ] 
 
 Pub. Sirrah, give place. 
 
 Cos. What, urge you yourpetitions in the street! 
 Come to the Capitol. 
 
 C;esak enters the Capitol, the rest following. 
 All the Senators rise. 
 
 Pop. I wish your enterprize to-day may thrive. 
 
 Cas. What enterprize, Popilius ] 
 
 Pop. Fare you well. 
 
 \^Advances to C^sah. 
 
 Bru. What said Popilius Lena 7 
 
 Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprize might thrive. 
 I fear, our purpose is discovered. 
 
 Bru. Look, how he makes to Coesar : Mark him. 
 
 Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. 
 Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, 
 Cassius or Cajsar never shall turn back, 
 For I will slay myself. 
 
 Bru. Cassius, be constant : 
 
 Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
 For, look, he smiles, and Casar doth not change. 
 
 Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for look you, 
 Brutus, 
 He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony and Tuebonius. CassAii 
 and the Senators tahe their Seats. 
 
 Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber] Let him go. 
 And presently prefer his suit to Csesar. 
 
 Bru. He is add ress'd:' press near, and second him. 
 
 Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. 
 
 Cess. Are we all ready 7 what is now amiss, 
 Tliat Caesar and his senate must redress 1 
 
 Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puis- 
 sant Cffisar, 
 Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
 An humble heart: — [Kneeling. 
 
 Cees. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 
 
 These couchings, and these lowly courtesies, 
 Might fire the blood of ordinary men. 
 And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree, 
 Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
 To think that Csesar bears such rebel blood, 
 That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
 With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, 
 Ijow-crooked courtesies, and base spaniel fawning. 
 Thy brother by decree is banished ; 
 If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him, 
 * Keadj. 
 
 I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
 
 Know, Caesar doth not wrong; nor without can8< 
 
 Will he be satisfied. 
 
 Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own 
 To sound more sweetly in great CfEsar's ear, 
 For the repealing of my banish'd brother? 
 
 Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Cssar 
 Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may 
 Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 
 
 Caes. What, Brutus 1 
 
 Cas. Pardon, CjEsar; Caesar, pardon 
 
 As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. 
 To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 
 
 Cass. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you; 
 If I could pray to move, prayers would move me 
 But I am constant as the northern star, 
 Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality, 
 There is no fellow in the firmament. 
 The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, 
 They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 
 But there's but one in all doth hold his place : 
 So, in the world ; 'tis furnish'd well with men, 
 And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ;• 
 Yet, in the number, I do know but one 
 That unassailable holds on his rank, 
 Unshaked of motion:^ and, that I am he, 
 Let me a little show it, even in this; 
 That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd, 
 And constant do remain to keep him so. 
 
 Cin. Caesar, 
 
 Cass. Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus'; 
 
 Dec. Great Caesar, 
 
 Cses. Doth not Brutas bootless' kneel 1 
 
 Casca. Speak, hands, for me ! 
 
 [Casca stabs C^sar in the neck. Cmsam 
 catches hold of his arm. He is then 
 stabbed by several other Conspirators, 
 and at last by Mahcts Brutus. 
 
 Cffis. Et tu, BruteP'—Thcn, fall, Cajsar. 
 
 [Dies. The Senators and People retire in 
 confusion. 
 
 Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! — 
 Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 
 
 Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out, 
 Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement! 
 
 Bru. People, and senators ! be not affrighted ; 
 Fly not; stand still: — ambition's debt is paid. 
 
 Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 
 
 Dec. And Cassius too. 
 
 Bru. Where's Publius 1 
 
 Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 
 
 Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of 
 Caesar's 
 Should chance 
 
 Bru. Talk not of standing; — Publius, good cheer; 
 There is no harm intended to your person. 
 Nor to no Roman else ; so tell them, Publius. 
 
 Cas. And leave us, Publius, lest that the people, 
 Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief 
 
 Bru. Do so; — and let no man abide this dce^ 
 But we the doers. 
 
 Re-ejiter Trebonius. 
 
 Cas. Where's Antony 7 
 
 » Intelligent. 
 ' Unsuccessfully. 
 
 • Solicitation. 
 
 • And tho^ £mtsu I 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 707 
 
 Trc. Fled to his house amaz'd : 
 
 Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run, 
 As it were doomsday. 
 
 Bru. Fates ! we will know your pleasures : — 
 That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time, 
 And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 
 
 Cos. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, 
 Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 
 
 Bra Grant that, and then is death a benefit: 
 So are we Ca;sar's friends, that have abridg'd 
 His time of fearing death. — Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
 And let us bathe our hands in Ca?sar's blood 
 Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: 
 Then walk we forth, even to the market-place : 
 And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads. 
 Let's all cry, Peace ! Freedom ! and Liberty ! 
 
 Cos. Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages 
 hence. 
 Shall this our lofty scene be acted over. 
 In states unborn, and accents yet unknown ! 
 
 Bru. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, 
 That now on Pompey's basis lies along, 
 No wortliier than the dust! 
 
 Cas. So oft as that shall be, 
 
 Bo often shall the knot of us be call'd 
 The men that gave our country liberty. 
 
 Dec. What, shall we forth! 
 
 Cas. Ay, every man away : 
 
 Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels 
 With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Bru. Soft, who comes here 1 A friend of An- 
 tony's. 
 
 Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel; 
 Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down: 
 And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say, 
 Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; 
 Cassar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: 
 Say, I love Brutus, and I honor him ; 
 Say, I fear'd Csesar, honor'd him, and lov'd him ; 
 If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony 
 May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
 How Cffisar hath dcserv'd to lie in death, 
 Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
 So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 
 The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus 
 Thorough the hazards of this untrod state. 
 With ail true faith. So says my master Antony. 
 
 Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; 
 I never thought him worse. 
 Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 
 He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honor, 
 Depart untouch'd. 
 
 Serv. I'll fetch him presently. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Bru. I know that we shall have him well to friend. 
 
 Cas. I wish we may ; but yet have I a mind, 
 That fears him much; and my misgiving still 
 Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 
 
 Re-enter Antojty. 
 
 Bru. But here comes Antony. — Welcome, Mark 
 
 Antony. 
 Ant. O mighty Crrsar ! Dost thou lie so low 1 
 Arc all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
 Bhrunk to this little measure 1 — Fare thee well. — 
 [ know not, gentlemen, what you intend. 
 Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:' 
 * Grown too high for the public safety. 
 
 If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
 
 As Ca;sar's death's hour; nor no instrument 
 
 Of half that worth, as those your swords, made ricb 
 
 With the most noble blood of all this world. 
 
 I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard. 
 
 Now, whilst your purpled hands do reck and smoke, 
 
 Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
 
 I shall not find myself so apt to die; 
 
 No place will please me so, no mean of death, 
 
 As here by Cssar, and by you cut olf, 
 
 The choice and master spirits of this age. 
 
 Bru. O Antony! beg not your death of us. 
 Though now we must appear bloody and cruel. 
 As, by our hands, and this our present act. 
 You sec we do ; yet see you but our hands, 
 And this the bleeding business they have done : 
 Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful ; 
 And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
 (As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity) 
 Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part. 
 To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: 
 Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts, 
 Of brother's temper, do receive you in 
 With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 
 
 Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's, 
 In the disposing of new dignities. 
 
 Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
 The multitude, beside themselves with fear. 
 And then we will deliver you the cause, 
 Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him. 
 Have thus proceeded. 
 
 Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 
 
 Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
 First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you : — 
 Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
 Now, Decius Brutus, yours; — now yours, Me- 
 
 tellus; 
 Yours, Cinna ; — and, my valiant Casca, yours ; — 
 Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebo- 
 
 nius. 
 Gentlemen all, — alas ! what shall I say ? 
 My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
 That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, 
 Either a coward, or a flatterer. — 
 That I did love thee, Ctesar, O, 'tis true : 
 If then thy spirit look upon us now. 
 Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, 
 To see thy Antony making his peace. 
 Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes. 
 Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse 1 
 Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 
 Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 
 It would become me better, than to close 
 In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
 Pardon me, Julius ! — Here wast thou bay'd, brav€ 
 
 hart ; 
 Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, 
 Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. 
 O world ! thou wast the forest to this hart ; 
 And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. — 
 How like a deer, stricken by many princes, 
 Dost thou here lie ! 
 
 Cas. Mark Antony, 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius 
 
 The enemies of Ca;sar shall say this; 
 Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 
 
 C«.s. I blame you not for praising Caesar so ; 
 But what compact mean you to have with us] 
 Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; 
 Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? 
 
(08 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act IIJ 
 
 ^n^.Thereforel tookyourhands; but was, indeed, 
 Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Csesar. 
 Friends am I with you all, and love you all ; 
 Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons, 
 Why, and wherein, Ca?sar was dangerous. 
 
 Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
 Our reasons are so full of good regard. 
 That were you, Antony, the son of Ca?sar, 
 You should be satisfied. 
 
 Atit. That's all I seek: 
 
 And am moreover suitor, that I may 
 Produce his body to the market-place ; 
 And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
 Speak in the order of his funeral. 
 
 Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, a word with you. — 
 
 You know not what you do; Do not consent, 
 
 l_Aside. 
 That Antony speak in his funeral : 
 Know you how much the people may be mov'd 
 By that which he will utter 1 
 
 Br-ii. By your pardon ; 
 
 I will myself into the pulpit first. 
 And show the reason of our Caesar's death : 
 What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
 He speaks by leave and by permission; 
 And that we are contented, Ctesar shall 
 Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies. 
 It shall advantage more, than do us wrong. 
 
 Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it not. 
 
 Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. 
 You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, 
 Dut speak all good you can devise of Cjesar; 
 And say, you do't by our permission; 
 Else shall you not have any hand at all 
 About his funeral : And you shall speak 
 In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 
 Artcr my speech is ended. 
 
 An(. Be it so; 
 
 1 ilo desire no more. 
 
 Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Antony. 
 
 Ant. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth. 
 That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man. 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
 Over thy wounds now do I prophesy — 
 Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips. 
 To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ; — 
 A curse shall light upon the Ihnbs of men ; 
 Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife. 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ; 
 Blood and destruction shall be so in use, 
 And dreadful objects so familiar, 
 That mothers shall but smile, when thev behold 
 Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; 
 All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds : 
 And Cffisar's spirit, ranging for revenge. 
 With Ate by his side, come hot from hell, 
 Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, 
 Cry, Havoc.'^ and let slip the dogs of war ; 
 Thst thh foul deed shall smell above the earth, 
 With rarrion men groaning for burial. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 i'ou serve Octavius Cassar, do you notl 
 Serv. I do, Mark Anton-'. 
 
 Ant. Cffisar aid write f'^r him to come to K(»'ne. 
 ' The signal for piving no (jnarter 
 
 Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming . 
 And bid me say to you by word of mouth, — 
 
 Casar ! [Seeing the Body 
 
 Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep 
 
 Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes 
 Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, 
 Began to water. Is thy master coming 1 
 
 Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of 
 Eome. 
 
 Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath 
 chanced : 
 Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
 No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 
 Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay a while; 
 Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this coise 
 Into the market-place : there shall I try. 
 In my oration, how the people take 
 The cruel issue of these bloody men; 
 According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
 To young Octavius of the state of things. 
 Lend me your hand. [Exeunt, with OassAu's Body. 
 
 SCENE Yl.—The Forum. 
 
 Enter BnuTus and Cassius, and a Throng of 
 Citizens. 
 
 at. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 
 
 Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience 
 friends. — 
 Cassius, go you into the other street, 
 And part the numbers. — 
 
 Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here; 
 Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
 And public reasons shall be rendered 
 Of CfEsar's death. 
 
 1 at. I will hear Brutus speak. 
 
 2 at. I will hear Cassius, and compare their 
 
 reasons, 
 When severally we hear them rendered. 
 
 [Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. 
 Bhutus goes into the Rostrum. 
 
 3 at. The noble Brutus is ascended: Silence! 
 Bru. Be patient till the last. 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers I'' hear me for m}? 
 cause; and be silent that ye may hear; believe me 
 for mine honor ; and have respect to mine honor, 
 that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom; 
 and awake your senses that you may the better 
 judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear 
 friend of Csesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love 
 to Ccesar was no less than his. If then that friend 
 demand, why Brutus rose against Casar, this is my 
 answer, — Not that I loved Csesar less, but that I 
 loved Rome more. Had you rather Crosar were 
 living, and die all slaves ; than that Ca;sar were 
 dead to live all free men 1 As Ca;sar loved me, I 
 weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; 
 as he was valiant, I honor him: but, as he was 
 ambitious, I slew him : There is tears, for his love ; 
 joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valor; and 
 death, for his ambition. Who is here so base, that 
 would be a bondman] If any, speak; for him 
 have I offended. Who is here so rude that would 
 not be a Roman 1 If any, speak; for him have I 
 offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love hia 
 country? If any, speak; for him have I cfiended. 
 
 1 pause for a reply. 
 
 at. None, Brutus, none. 
 
 [Several speaking at <mtc<j 
 
Scene II. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 709 
 
 Bru. Then none have I offended, I have done no 
 more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The 
 question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol : his 
 glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor 
 his oUences enforced, for which he suffered death. 
 
 Enter Antont and others, with Cjesah's Bodt/^ 
 
 Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : 
 Who, though he had no hand in his death, shall 
 receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the 
 commonwealth : As which of you shall not ? With 
 this I depart ; That as I slew my best lover for the 
 good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, 
 when it shall please my country to need my death. 
 Cii. Live, Brutus, live! live! 
 
 1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his 
 
 house. 
 
 2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 3 Cit. Let him be Caesar. 
 
 4 Cit. Csesar's better parts 
 Bhall now be crown'd in Brutus. 
 
 1 Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts 
 
 and clamors. 
 Bru. My countrymen, — 
 
 2 Cit. I'eace; silence! Brutus speaks. 
 1 Cit. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Bru. Good count) y men, let me depart alone, 
 And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 
 Do grace to Cassar's corpse, and grace his speech 
 Tending to Ccesar's glories: which Mark Antony, 
 By our permission, is allowed to make. 
 I do entreat you not a man depart. 
 Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [^Exit. 
 
 Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 
 
 3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair; 
 We'll hear him : — Noble Antony, go up. 
 
 Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 
 
 4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus 1 
 
 3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake. 
 He finds himself beholden to us all. 
 
 4 Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 
 
 1 Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 
 3 Cit. Nay, that's certain: 
 
 We are bless'd that Rome is rid of him. 
 
 2 Cit. Peace; let us hear what Antony can say. 
 Atit. You gentle Romans, 
 
 Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 
 
 Ant, Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me 
 your ears; 
 I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
 The evil, that men do, lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 So let it be with Ca3sar. The noble Brutus 
 Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious ; 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
 And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
 (For Brutus is an honorable man ; 
 So are they all, all honorable men ;) 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 He was my friend, faithful an<l just to me : 
 But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honorable man. 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? 
 When that the poor have cried, Cresar hath wept: 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honoraMe man. 
 4tj 
 
 You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 
 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown. 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition "• 
 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 
 And, sure, he is an honorable man. 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. 
 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 
 You all did love him once, not without cause ; 
 
 What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? 
 
 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
 And men have lost their reason! — bear with me; 
 My heart is in the coffm there with Caesar, 
 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 1 Cit. Mclhinks there is much reason in his 
 
 sayings. 
 
 2 Cii. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
 Cffisar has had great wrongs. 
 
 3 Cit. Has he, masters* 
 
 1 fear, there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words 1 He would not take 
 
 the crown ; 
 Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 
 
 1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 
 2 Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with 
 
 weeping. 
 
 3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than 
 
 Antony. 
 
 4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
 Ant. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 
 
 Have stood against the world: now lies he there. 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 
 masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 
 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wronj,. 
 Who, y iu all know, are honorable men : 
 
 I will ne^ do them wrong; I rather choose 
 
 To wi-ong the dead, to wrong myself, and you. 
 
 Than I will wrong such honorable men. 
 
 But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, 
 
 I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : 
 
 Let but the commons hear this testament, 
 
 (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 
 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 
 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 
 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills 
 
 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy. 
 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 4 CiY. We'll hear the will; Read it, Mark Antony 
 
 Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Caesar's will. 
 
 Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not 
 read it; 
 It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you. 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
 And being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 
 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs , 
 For if you should, O, what would come of it! 
 
 4 Cit. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony, 
 You shall read us the will ; Cesar's will. 
 
 Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile! 
 I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
 I fear, I wrong the honorable men. 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd Cssar: I do fear it. 
 
 4 Cit. 'IMicy were traitors : Honorable men ! 
 
 Cit. The w'ill ! the testament! 
 
 2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: The will! 
 read the will ! 
 
 Ant. You will compel me then to read the will' 
 Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
 
710 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 And let me show you him that made the will. 
 Shall I descend? And will you give me leave? 
 at. Come down. 
 
 2 Cif. Descend. l^He comes down fromtJte Pulpit. 
 
 3 at. You shall have leave. 
 
 4 at. A ring ; stand round. 
 
 1 at. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 
 
 2 at. Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony. 
 Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
 at. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 
 
 Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them 
 now. 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent; 
 That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
 Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through : 
 See, what a rent the envious Casca made: 
 Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd: 
 And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ; 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
 If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
 Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cffisar lov'd him ! 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
 For when the noble Cssar saw him stab. 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms. 
 Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart; 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statua, ° 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
 O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
 O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
 The dint* of pity : these are gracious drops. 
 Kitid souls, what, weep you, when you but behold 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 1 at. O piteous spectacle ! 
 
 2 at. noble Casar ! 
 
 3 at. Owofulday! 
 
 4 at. O traitors, villains ! 
 
 1 at. O most bloody sight ! 
 
 2 at. We will be revenged : revenge ; about, 
 — seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a 
 traitor live. 
 
 Atit. Stay, countrymen. 
 
 1 at. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony. 
 
 2 at. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll 
 die with him. 
 
 Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir 
 you up 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
 They, that have done this deed, are honorable ; 
 What private griefs ' they have, alas, I know not, 
 That made them do it; they are wise and honorable, 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is: 
 But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
 That love my friend: and that they know full well 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech. 
 To stir men's blood: I only speak right on ; 
 1 tell you that, which you yourselves do know : 
 
 » Statua for statue, is common among the old writers. 
 * Impression • Grievances 
 
 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb 
 
 mouths. 
 And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
 at. We'll mutiny. 
 
 1 at. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
 
 2 at. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 
 Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen, yet hear me speak. 
 at. Peace, ho1 Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 
 A?it. Why, friends, you go to do you know rot 
 
 what: 
 Wherein hath Caesar thus deserv'd your loves? 
 Alas, you know not : — I must tell you then: — 
 You have forgot the will I told you of. 
 
 at. Most true ; — the will ; — let's stay, and heai 
 
 the will. 
 Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
 To every Roman citizen he gives. 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.* 
 
 2 at. Most noble Caesar! — we'll revenge hia 
 
 death. 
 
 3 at. O royal Ca;sar ! 
 Ant. Hear me with patience. 
 at. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
 His private arbors, and new-planted orchards, 
 On this side Tyber : he hath left them you. 
 And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
 To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a Cresar: When comes such another 1 
 
 1 at. Never, never; — Come, away, away: 
 We'll burn his body in the holy place. 
 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 Take up the body. 
 
 2 ai Go, fetfJi fire. 
 
 3 at. Pluck down benches. 
 
 4 at. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens iviih the Body. 
 Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. 
 Take thou what course thou wilt! — How now, 
 fellow ? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 
 
 Ant. Where is he ? 
 
 Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 
 
 Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him ; 
 He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry. 
 And in this mood will give us any thing. 
 
 Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 
 Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. 
 
 Ant. Belike, they had some notice of the people 
 How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Street. 
 
 Enter Cinna, the Poet. 
 
 Cin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast with rjajsai 
 And things unluckily charge my fantasy : 
 I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
 Yet something leads me forth. 
 
 Enter Citizens. 
 
 1 at. What is your name ? 
 
 2 at. Whither are you going ? 
 
 « Near fifty shillinfCB. 
 
A.CT IV. ScSNK I. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 71 i 
 
 3 Cit. Where do you dwell 1 
 
 4 Cit. Are you a married man, or a bachelor 1 
 
 2 Cit Answer every man directly. 
 
 1 Cit. Ay, and briefly. 
 4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 
 
 3 Oit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 
 
 Cin What is my name ] Whither am I going 1 
 Where do I dwell? Am I a married man, or a 
 bachelor ] Then to answer every man directly and 
 briefly, wisely, and truly. Wisely I say, I am a 
 bachelor. 
 
 2 Cit. That's as much as to say they are fools 
 that marry. — You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. 
 Proceed; directly. 
 
 Cin. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 
 1 Cit. As a friend, or an enemy ] 
 Cin. As a friend. 
 
 2 Cit. That matter is answered directly. 
 4 Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly. 
 Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 
 4 Cit. Your name, sir, truly 
 Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna. 
 
 1 Cit. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. 
 Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet 
 4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for 
 
 his bad verses. 
 
 Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 
 
 2 Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna; pluck 
 but his name out of his heart, and turn him going. 
 
 3 Cit. Tear him, tear him. Come, brands, hoi 
 firebrands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. 
 Some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's: seme 
 to Ligarius': away; go. 
 
 [^Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Antony's House. 
 
 Antoxt, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a 
 Table. 
 
 Ant. These many then shall die; their names 
 are prick'd. 
 
 Oct. Your brother too must die; consent you, 
 Lepidus ' 
 
 Lep. I do consent. 
 
 Oct. Prick'' him down, Antony. 
 
 Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live, 
 Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 
 
 Ant. He shall not live ; look, with a spot I damn' 
 him. 
 But, Lepidus, go you to Ca;sar's house ; 
 Fetch the will hither, and we will determine 
 How to cut olf some charge in legacies. 
 
 Lep. What, shall I find you here ] 
 
 Oct. Or here, or at 
 
 The Capitol. [^Exit Lepidus. 
 
 Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man. 
 Meet to be sent on errands : Is it fit. 
 The three-fold world divided, he should stand 
 One of the three to share it 1 
 
 Oct. So you thought him ; 
 
 And took his voice who should be prick'd to die. 
 In our black sentence and proscription. 
 
 Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you; 
 And though we lay these honors on this man, 
 To case ourselves of divers slanderous loads. 
 He shiU but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
 To gro;\n and sweat under the business, 
 Either led or driven, as Vire point the way; 
 And having brought our treasure where we will. 
 Then take we down this load, and turn him off, i 
 Like the empty ass, to shake his ears, ' 
 
 And graze in commons. 
 
 Oct. You may do your will ; 
 
 But he's a tried and valiant soldier. 
 
 Ant. So is my horse, Octavius; and, for that, 
 ' do appoint him store of provender, 
 t is a creature that I teach to fight. 
 To wind, to stop, to run directly on ; 
 His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
 And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so ; 
 He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth 
 ' Sot, mark. • Condemn. 
 
 A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds 
 
 On objects, arts, and imitations; 
 
 Which, out of use, and stal'd by other men. 
 
 Begin his fashion : Do not talk of him. 
 
 But as a property. And now, Octavius, 
 
 Listen great things. — Brutus and Cassius, 
 
 Are levying powers : we must straight make head 
 
 Therefore, let our alliance be combin'd. 
 
 Our best friends made, and our best means stretch 'd 
 
 out; 
 And let us presently go sit in council. 
 How covert matters may be best disclos'ii, 
 And open perils surest answered. 
 
 Oct. Let us do so ; for we are at the stake. 
 And bay'd' about with many enemies; 
 And some, that smile, have in their hear is, I fear, 
 Millions of mischief. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IL— Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp 
 near Sardis. 
 
 Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and 
 Soldiers : Titixius and Pindarus meeting them. 
 
 Bru. Stand here. 
 
 Luc. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 
 
 Bru. What now, Lucilius] is Cassius nearl 
 
 Luc. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
 To do you salutation from his master. 
 
 [Pindarus ^j'l'es a letter to Brutub, 
 
 Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pin* 
 darus. 
 In his own charge, or by ill oflices. 
 Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
 Things done, undone : but, if he be at hand, 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 
 Pin. I do not doubt 
 
 But that my noble master will appear 
 Such as he is, full of regard and honor. 
 
 Bru. He is not doubted. — A word, Lucilius: 
 How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 
 
 Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough 
 But not with such familiar instances. 
 Nor with such free and friendly conference. 
 As he hath used of old. 
 
 Bru. Thou hast describ'c/ 
 
 A hot friend cooling : Ever note, Lucilius. 
 » Surrounded, baited. 
 
712 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Aet IV. 
 
 When love begins to sicken and decay, 
 
 It useth an enforced ceremony. 
 
 There are no tricks in plain and simple faith : 
 
 But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, 
 
 Make gallant show and promise of their mettle: 
 
 But when they should endure the bloody spur. 
 
 They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades. 
 
 Sink in the trial. Comes his army on 1 
 
 Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be quar- 
 ter'd; 
 The greater part, the horse in general, 
 Are come with Cassius. [ilforcA within. 
 
 Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd : — 
 
 March gently on to meet him. 
 
 Enter Cassius nnd Soldiers. 
 
 Cos. Stand, ho ! 
 
 Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak (lie word along. 
 
 [Within.'] Stand. 
 
 \Withini] Stand. 
 
 [WiY/n'/z.] Stand. 
 
 Cos. Most noble brother, you hcvve done me wrong. 
 
 Bru. Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine ene- 
 mies 1 
 And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother? 
 
 Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides 
 wrongs ; 
 And when you do them 
 
 Bru. Cassius, Ve content, 
 
 Speak your grief softly, — I do know you well :— 
 Before the eyes of both our armies here. 
 Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 
 Let us not wrangle : Bid them move away : 
 Then, in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs 
 And I will give you audience. 
 
 Cas. Pindarus, 
 
 Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
 A little from this ground. 
 
 Bru. Lucilius, do the like; and let no man 
 Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. 
 Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Within the Teiit of Brutus. 
 
 Lucius, and Tixixius, at some distance from it. 
 
 Enter Brutus and Cassius. 
 
 Cas. That you have wrong'd me, doth appear 
 in this: 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 Wherein my letters, praying on his side. 
 Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 
 
 Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a 
 case. 
 
 Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
 Tliat every nice' offence should bear his comment. 
 
 Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 Arc much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
 To sell and mart your offices for gold. 
 To undeservers. 
 
 Cas. I an itching palm 1 
 
 You know that you are Brutus that speak this. 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else you last. 
 
 Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, 
 Kni\ chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 
 
 Cas. Chastisement ! 
 
 Bni. Remember March, the ides of March re- 
 member! 
 Di*l not great Julius bleed for justice' sakeT 
 « Trifling. 
 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
 And not for justice 1 What, shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
 But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes'! 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honors. 
 For so much trash, as may be grasped thus] — 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, bay not me ; 
 
 I'll not endure it ; you forget yourself 
 To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 Bru. Go to ; you're not, Cassiua 
 
 Cas. I am. 
 
 Bru. I say, you are not. 
 
 Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further 
 Bru. Away, slight man ! 
 Cas. Is't possible? 
 
 Bru. ' Hear me, for I will speak. 
 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler! 
 Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares? 
 
 Cas. ye gods ! ye gods ! Must I endure all thial 
 Bru. All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud 
 heart break; 
 Go show your slaves how choleric you are. 
 And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
 Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
 Under your testy humor ? By the gods. 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
 Though it do split you : for, from this day forth, 
 I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter. 
 When you are waspish. 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this ? 
 
 Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : 
 Let it appear so; make your vaunting true. 
 And it shall please me well : For mine own part, 
 I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Cas. You wrong me eveiy way ; you wrong me, 
 Brutus : 
 I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
 Did I say, better ? 
 
 Bru. If you did, I care not. 
 
 Cas. When Cssar lived, he durst not thus have 
 
 mov'd me. 
 Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted 
 
 him. 
 Cac. I durst not ? 
 i?m. No. 
 
 Cas. What? durst not tempt him? 
 Bru. For your life you di^rst no> 
 
 Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love 
 I may do that f shall be sorry for. 
 
 Bru. You have done that you should be sorry fir 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats : 
 For lam arm'd so strong in honesty. 
 That they pass by me, as the idle wind 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ;— 
 For I can raise no money by vile means : 
 By heaven, I had rather coin my heart. 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
 By any indirection. I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions. 
 Which you denied me: Was that done liki v''-«iiis' 
 Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so ' 
 When Marcus Brutus grows so covntous, 
 
Scene TIL 
 
 JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 713 
 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
 Be ready, gods, with .ill your thunderbolts. 
 Dash him to pieces! 
 
 Cas. I denied you not 
 
 Bru. You did. 
 
 Cas. I did not: — he was but a fool, 
 
 That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath rived^ 
 
 my heart: 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 
 Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 
 Cas. You love me not. 
 
 B7U. 1 do not like your faults. 
 
 Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 
 Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do 
 appear 
 As huge as high Olympus. 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come. 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
 Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; 
 Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd, 
 Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, 
 To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
 My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger. 
 And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
 If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: 
 Strike, as thou didst at Caisar ; for, I know. 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him 
 
 better 
 Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 
 
 Bru. Sheathe your dagger: 
 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; 
 Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
 O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
 That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; 
 Who much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 
 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth himl 
 Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tcmper'd too. 
 Cas. Do you confess so much] Give me your 
 
 hand. 
 Bru. And my heart too. 
 
 Cas. O Brutus! 
 
 Bru. What's the matter? 
 
 Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me. 
 When that rash humor, which my mother gave me. 
 Makes me forgetful? 
 
 Bru. Yes, Cassius; and henceforth. 
 
 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
 He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
 [^Noise wii'hin. 
 Poet. \_Within.'\ Let me go in to see the generals : 
 There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet 
 They be alone. 
 
 Luc. \_Wifhin.'] You shall not come to them. 
 Poet.[^WitAin.^ Nothing but death shall stay me. 
 
 Enter Poet. 
 Cas. How now? What's the matter? 
 Poet. For shame, you generals: What do you 
 mean? 
 [iOve, and be friends, as two such men should be; 
 For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye. 
 Caj. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! 
 
 'Split. 
 
 Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hencew 
 Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. 
 Bru. I'll know his humor, when he knows his 
 time; 
 What should the wars do with these jigging foclsl 
 Companion," hence. 
 
 Cos. Away, away, begone. 
 
 [Exit Poeti 
 
 Enter Lucilius and Titinics. 
 
 Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commander* 
 Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 
 
 Cos. And come yourselves, and bring Messata 
 
 with you. 
 Immediately to us. ^Ex. Lucilius and Titiwixjs, 
 Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 
 
 Cas. I did notthink,you could have been so angry. 
 Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
 Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 B7u, No man bears sorrow better: — Portia u 
 
 dead. 
 Cas. Ha! Portia? 
 Bru. She is dead. 
 Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you 
 
 so? — 
 
 insupportable and touching loss ! — 
 Upon what sickness? 
 
 Bru. Impatient of my absence ; 
 
 And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
 Have made themselves so strong; — for with her 
 
 death 
 That tidings came ; — With this she fell distract. 
 And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire 
 
 Cas. And died so ? 
 
 Bru. Even so. 
 
 Cas. O ye immortal gods! 
 
 Enter Lucius, with Wine and Tapers. 
 
 Bru. Speak no more of her. — Give me a bowl 
 of wine : — 
 In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. 
 
 Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge : — ■ 
 Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 
 
 1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Drinks. 
 
 Re-enter Titinius, with Messala. 
 
 Bru. Come in, Titinius : — Welcome, good Me» 
 sala. — 
 Now sit we close about this taper here, 
 And call in question our necessities. 
 
 Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 
 
 Bru. No more, I pray you.-« 
 
 Messala, I have here received letters, 
 That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
 Come down upon us with a mighty power, 
 Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 
 
 3Ies. Myself have letters of the self-same tenor 
 
 Bru. With what addition ? 
 
 Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, 
 Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
 Have put to death an hundred senators. 
 
 Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree: 
 Mine speak of seventy senators, that died 
 By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 
 
 Cas. Cicero one? 
 
 Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead, 
 
 And by that order of proscription. — 
 Had you your letters from your wife, my lord* 
 
 » Fellow. 
 
ri4 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Bru. No, Messala. 
 
 Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her 1 
 
 Bru. Nothing, Messala. 
 
 Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 
 
 Bru. Why ask youl Hear you aught of her in 
 
 yours ? 
 Mes. No, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 
 Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
 For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 
 Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. — We must die, 
 Messala : 
 With meditating that she must die once, 
 I have the patience to endure it now. 
 
 Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. 
 Cos. I have as much of this in art' as you; 
 But yet my nature could not bear it so. 
 
 Bru.WeW, to our work alive. What do you think, 
 Of marching to Philippi presently ? 
 Cos. I do not think it good. 
 Bru. Your reason 1 
 
 Cos. This it is : 
 
 'Tis better, that the enemy seek us : 
 So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
 Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still, 
 Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 
 
 Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to 
 better. 
 The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground, 
 Do stand but in a forced affection ; 
 For they have grudg'd us contribution : 
 The enemy, marching along by them, 
 By them shall make a fuller number up. 
 Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged ; 
 From which advantage shall \/e cut him off. 
 If at Philippi we do face him there. 
 These people at our back. 
 
 Cas. Hear me, good brother. 
 
 Bru. Under your pardon. — You must note be- 
 side, 
 That we have tried the utmost of our friends, 
 Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
 The enemy increaseth every day. 
 We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men. 
 Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat ; 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 Cas. Then, with your will, go on ; 
 
 We'll on ourselves, and meet him at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk. 
 And nature must obey necessity ; 
 Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
 There is no more to say? 
 
 Cas. No more. Good night ; 
 
 Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 
 
 Bru. Lucius, my gown. [^Exit Lucius.] Fare- 
 well, good Messala: — 
 Good night, Titinius : — Noble, noble Cassius, 
 Good night, and good repose. 
 
 Cas. O my dear brother ! 
 
 This was an ill beginnmg of the night: 
 Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
 Let it not, Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Every thing is well. 
 
 Cos. Good night, my lord. 
 * Theory. 
 
 Bru. Good night, good brother 
 
 Tit. Mes. Good nighl, lord Brutus. 
 Bru. Farewell, every one 
 
 [Exeunt Cas., Tit., and Me8 
 
 Re-enter Lucius, with the Gown. 
 
 Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? 
 
 Luc. Here in the tent. 
 
 Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? 
 
 Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd 
 Call Claudius, and some other of my men; 
 I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent 
 
 Luc. Varro, and Claudius ! 
 
 Enter Variio and Claudius. 
 
 Var. Calls my lord? 
 
 Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep 
 It may be, I shall raise you by and by 
 On business to my brother Cassius. 
 
 Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch 
 your pleasure. 
 
 Bi-u. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; 
 It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. 
 Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; 
 I put it in the pocket of my gown. 
 
 [Servants lie down. 
 
 Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give it me. 
 
 Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much for- 
 getful. 
 Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
 And touch thy instrument a strain or two. 
 
 Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you. 
 
 Bru. It does, my boy : 
 
 I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 
 
 Luc. It is my duty, sir. 
 
 Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; 
 I know, young bloods look for a time of rest. 
 
 Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
 
 Bru. It is well done; and thou shalt sleep again; 
 I will not hold thee long: if I do live, 
 I will be good to thee. [Music and a Song. 
 
 This is a sleepy tune: — O murd'rous slumber! 
 Lay'st thou thy leaden mace' upon my boy. 
 That plays thee music 1 — Gentle knave, good 
 
 night ; 
 I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
 If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument ; 
 I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. 
 Let me see, let me see; — Is not the leaf turn'd 
 
 down. 
 Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think. 
 
 [He sits down. 
 
 Enter the Ghost of C^sah. 
 
 How ill this taper burns! — Ha! who comes herd 
 
 I think it is the weakness of mine eyes. 
 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 
 It comes upon me — art thou any thing? 
 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
 
 That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare ' 
 
 Speak to me, what thou art. 
 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Why com'st thou ? 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi 
 
 Bru. Well; 
 Then I shall see thee again? 
 
 Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 
 
 [Ghost vanishes 
 ' Sceptre. 
 
Act V Scene I. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 71t» 
 
 Bfu. Why, I will see hee at Philippi then. — 
 Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest: 
 111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. — 
 Boy! Lucius! — Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! — 
 Claudiua ! 
 
 Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 
 
 Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. — 
 Lucius, awake. 
 
 Luc. My lord ! 
 
 Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so 
 cry'dst out? 
 
 Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 
 
 Bru, Yes, that thou didst : Didst thou see any 
 
 thing ■? 
 Luc. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. — Sirrah, ClauJiual 
 Fellow thou ! awake. 
 
 Var. My lord ! 
 
 Clau. My lord! 
 
 Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep. 
 
 Var. Clau. Did we, my lord ] 
 
 Bru. Ay; Saw you any thing 1 
 
 Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 
 
 Clau. Nor I, my lord 
 
 Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassiusi 
 Bid him set on his powers betimes before. 
 And we will follow. 
 
 Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. 
 
 [^Exeuni 
 
 ACTY. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Plains of Philippi. 
 
 Enler Octavius, Antont, and their Army. 
 
 Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered : 
 You said the enemy would not come down, 
 But keep the hills and upper regions ; 
 It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
 They mean to warn" us at Philippi here, 
 Answering before we do demand of them. 
 
 Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know, 
 Wherefore they do it: they could be content 
 To visit other places ; and come down 
 With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face. 
 To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage ; 
 But 'tis not so. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Prepare you, generals: 
 
 The enemy comes on in gallant show; 
 Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
 And something's to be done immediately. 
 
 Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, 
 Upon the left hand of the even field. 
 
 Oct. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left. 
 
 Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? 
 
 Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. 
 
 [^March. 
 
 Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army,- 
 LcciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, and others. 
 
 Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 
 
 Cas, Stand fast, Titinius: We must out and talk. 
 
 Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle] 
 
 Ant. No, CiEsar, we will answer on the charge. 
 Make forth, the generals would have some words. 
 
 Oct. Stir not until the signal. 
 
 Bru. Words before blows : Is it so, countrymonl 
 
 Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 
 
 Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, 
 Octavius. 
 
 Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
 words : 
 Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart. 
 Crying, Long live.' hail Cxsar! 
 
 Cas. Antony, 
 
 The posture of your blows are yet unknown; 
 But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, 
 A^nd leave them hcneyless. 
 
 t Summoii. 
 
 Ant. Not stingless too. 
 
 Bru. O, yes, and soundless too ; 
 For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
 And, very wisely, threat before you sting. 
 
 Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vil« 
 daggers 
 Hack'd one another in the sides of Csesar : 
 You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like 
 
 hounds, 
 And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Csesar's feet, 
 Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind. 
 Struck Caesar on the neck. O flatterers ! 
 
 Cas. Flatterers ! — Now, Brutus, thank yourself: 
 This tongue had not offended so to-day. 
 If Cassius might have ruled. 
 
 Oct. Come, come, the cause : If arguing make us 
 sweat, 
 The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
 Look; 
 
 I draw a sword against conspirators ; 
 When think you that the sword goes up again? — 
 Never till Caesar's three and twenty wounds 
 Be well avenged ; or till another Caesar 
 Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 
 
 Bru. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' handS; 
 Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 
 
 Oct. So I hope; 
 
 I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 
 
 Bru. 0, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain. 
 Young man, thou couldst not die more honorable. 
 
 Cas. A peevish school-boy, worthless of such 
 honor, 
 Join'd with a masker and a reveller. 
 
 Ant. Old Cassius still ! 
 
 Oct. Come, Antony ; away. — 
 
 Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth : 
 If you dare fight to day, come to the field ; 
 If not, when you have stomachs. 
 
 [Exeunt Octavius, AjiroyY, and their Army. 
 
 Cas. Why now, blow wind; swell, billow; and 
 swim, bark ! 
 The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 
 
 Brit. Ho! 
 Lucilius ; hark, a word with you. 
 
 Luc. My lord. 
 
 [Brutus and livcizivs converse apart, 
 
 Cas. Messala, — 
 
 Mes. What says my general 1 
 
 Cos. Messal* 
 
716 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act V 
 
 This is my birth-clay; as this very day 
 
 Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: 
 
 Be thou my witness, that, against my will, 
 
 As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
 
 Upon one battle all our liberties. 
 
 You know, that I held Epicurus strong, 
 
 And his opinion: now I change my mind, 
 
 And partly credit things that do presage. 
 
 Coming from Sardis, on our former' ensign 
 
 Two mighty eagles fell, and there they pcrch'd, 
 
 Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands; 
 
 Who to Philippi here consorted' us; 
 
 This morning are they fled away, and gone ; 
 
 And in their steads, do ravens, crows, and kites, 
 
 Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us, 
 
 As we were sickly prey; their shadows seem 
 
 A canopy most fatal, under which 
 
 Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 
 
 Mess. Bqjieve not so. 
 
 Cos. I but believe it partly ; 
 
 For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd 
 To meet all perils very constantly. 
 
 Bru. Even so, Lucilius. 
 
 Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 
 
 The gods to day stand friendly ; that we may. 
 Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age ! 
 But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain. 
 Let's reason with the worst that may befall. 
 If we do lose this battle, then is this 
 The very last time we shall speak together: 
 What are you then determined to do 1 
 
 Brii. Even by the rule of that philosophy, 
 By which I did blame Cato for the death 
 Which he did give himself: — I know not how. 
 But I do find it cowardly and vile. 
 For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
 The time of life: arming myself with patience. 
 To stay tlie Providence of some high powers 
 That govern us below. 
 
 Cas, Then, if we lose this battle. 
 
 You are contented to be led in triumph 
 Thorough the streets of Rome ? 
 
 Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble 
 Roman, 
 That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; 
 He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
 Must end that work the ides of March begun ; 
 And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
 Therefore our everlasting farewell take: — 
 For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! 
 If we do meet again, why we shall smile; 
 If not, why then this parting was well made. 
 
 Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 
 If we do meet again, v^'e'll smile indeed: 
 ff not, 'tis true, this paiting was well made. 
 
 Bru. Why then, lead on. — O, that a man might 
 know 
 The end of this day's business, ere it come! 
 But it sutficeth, that the day will end, 
 And then the end is known. — Come, ho! away! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.—The Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. 
 
 Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these 
 bills' 
 Unto the legions on the other side : [Loud Alarum. 
 
 ' Foremost. « AccompiUlied. 
 
 Directions for the oiSiers. I 
 
 Let them set on at once ; for I perceive 
 But cold demeanor-in Octavrus' wing, 
 And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
 Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 
 
 Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly: 
 Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy : 
 This ensign here of mine was turning lack, 
 I slew the coward and did take it from him. 
 
 Tit. Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early 
 Who, having some advantage on Octavius, 
 Took it too eagerly : his soldiers fell to spoil, 
 Whilst we by Antony were all enclos'd. 
 
 Enter Pikdahus. 
 
 Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; 
 Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord ! 
 Fly therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. 
 
 Cas, This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius; 
 Are those my tents, where I perceive the fire 1 
 
 Tit. They are, my lord. 
 
 Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me, 
 
 Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him, 
 Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops. 
 And here again ; that I may rest assur'd, 
 Whether yond' troops are friend or enemy. 
 
 Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ; 
 My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius, 
 And tell me what thou not'st about the field. — 
 
 [Exit Pindarus. 
 This day I breathed first: time is come round, 
 And where I did begin, there I shall end ; 
 My life is run his compass. — Sirrah, what new«' 
 
 Pin. [Above.'\ O my lord ! 
 
 Cas. What news? 
 
 Pin. Titinius is 
 Enclosed round about with horsemen, that 
 Make to him on the spur: — yet he spurs on. — 
 Now they are almost on him ; now, Titinius ! — 
 Now some 'hght; — 0, he 'lights too — he's ta'en 
 — and, hark ! [Shout. 
 
 They shout for joy. 
 
 Cas. Come down, behold no more. — 
 
 O, coward that I am, to live so long, 
 To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 
 
 Enter Pindarus. 
 Come hither, sirrali: 
 In Parthia did I take thee prisoner; 
 And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, 
 That whatsoever I did bid thee do, 
 Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thint 
 
 oath! 
 Now be a freeman ; and with this good sword, 
 That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. 
 Stand not to answer: Here, take thou the hilts; 
 And, when my face is cover'd as 'tis now, 
 Guide thou the sword, — Caesar, thou art reveng'd^ 
 Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies 
 
 Pin. So I am free, yet would not so have been. 
 Durst I have done my will. O Cassius ! 
 Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
 Where never Roman p'^aII take note of him. 
 
 [Exit 
 
Scene V. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 717 
 
 Re-enter Titinius with Messala. 
 
 Mes. It is but change, Titinius ; for Octavius 
 la overthrown by noble Brutus' power, 
 As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 
 
 Tit, These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 
 
 Mes. Where did you leave himi 
 
 Tit. All disconsolate, 
 
 With l^iidarus his bondman, on this hill. 
 
 Mes. Is not that he, that lies upon the ground ] 
 
 Tit. He lies not like the living, my heart ! 
 
 Mes. Is not that he 1 
 
 Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 
 
 But Cassius is no more. — setting sun! 
 As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night. 
 Bo in his red blood Cassius' day is set; 
 The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; 
 Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are 
 
 done ; 
 Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 
 
 Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. 
 O hateful error, melancholy's child ! 
 Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
 The things that are not 1 error, soon conceiv'd, 
 Thou never com'st unto a happy birth. 
 But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. 
 
 Tit. What, Pini'arus! Where art thou, Pindarusl 
 
 Mes. Seek him, Titinius : whilst I go to meet 
 The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
 Into his ears: I may say thrusting it; 
 For piercing steel, and darts envenomed. 
 Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus, 
 As tidings of this sight. 
 
 Tit. Hie you, Messala, 
 
 And I wiU seek for Pindarus the while. 
 
 \^Exit Messala. 
 Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius 1 
 Did I not meet thy friends, and did not they 
 Put on my brows this wreath of victory, 
 And bid me giv't theel Didst thou not hear their 
 
 shouts 1 
 Alas ! thou hast misconstrued every thing. 
 But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow ; 
 Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I 
 Will do his bidding. — Brutus, come apace. 
 And see how I regarded Ciius Cassius. — 
 By your leave, gods. — This U a Roman's part : 
 Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. 
 
 [^Dies. 
 
 AJart4m. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young 
 Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius. 
 
 Bru. Where, where Messala, doth his body lie? 
 
 Mes. Lo, yonder ; and Titinius mourning it. 
 
 Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 
 
 Cato. He is slain. 
 
 Bru. Julius Ccesar, thou art mighty yet ! 
 I'h.y spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
 In our own proper entrails. \^Low Alarums. 
 
 Cato. Brave Titinius! 
 
 Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius ! 
 
 Bru. Are yet two Romans living such asthesel— 
 The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
 It is impossible that ever Rome 
 Should breed thy fellow. — Friends, I owe more tears 
 I'o tiiis dead man, than you shall see me pay. — 
 [ shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. — 
 Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body; 
 His funeral shall not be in our camp, 
 L it discomfort us. — Lucilius, come; 
 
 And come, young Cato, let us to the field. — 
 Labeo, and Flavins, set our battles on : — 
 'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night 
 We shall try fortune in a second fight. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE lY.— Another Fart of the Field. 
 
 Alarum. Enter,Jighting, Soldiers of both ArmieSi 
 then BnuTus, Cato, Lucilius, and others. 
 
 Bru. Yet countrymen,©, yet hold up your heads! 
 Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go wi*' 
 me? 
 I will proclaim my name about the field : 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ; 
 I am the sou of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 
 [Charges the Enemu 
 Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; 
 Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus. 
 [Exit, charging the Enemy. Cato is over 
 powered, and falls. 
 Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou downl 
 Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 
 And mayst be honor'd, being Cato's son. 
 1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 
 Luc. Only I yield to die : 
 
 There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight; 
 
 [Offering Money. 
 Kill Brutus, and be honor'd in his death. 
 
 1 Sold. We must not. — A noble prisoner ! 
 
 2 Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, 13rutus is ta'en. 
 1 Sold. I'll tell the news. — Here comes the ge- 
 neral : 
 
 Enter Antont. 
 
 Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Where is he? 
 
 Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough 
 I dare assure thee, that no enemy 
 Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus: 
 The gods defend him from so great a shame! 
 When you do find him, or alive, or dead. 
 He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 
 
 Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you, 
 A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe, 
 Give him all kindness: I had rather have 
 Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, 
 And see whe'r Brutus be alive, or dead: 
 And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent. 
 How every thing is chanced. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE v.— Another Pari of the Field. 
 
 Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, 
 and VoLTJMNius. 
 
 Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this 
 rock. 
 
 Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light ; but, my lord, 
 He came not back; he is or ta'en, or slain. 
 
 Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus, slaying is the word 
 It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. — 
 
 [ Whispering 
 
 Cli. What, I, my lord ? No, not for all the world. 
 
 Bru. Peace, then, no words. 
 
 Cli. I'll rather kill myself 
 
 Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius ! [ Whispers him. 
 
 Dar. I do such a ieedl 
 
 Cli. O, Dardanius! 
 
 Dar. O, Clitus ! 
 
 Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee 
 
718 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Dar. To kill him, Clitus : Look, he meditates. 
 
 Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
 That it runs over even at his eyes. 
 
 Bi^. Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word. 
 
 Vol. What says my lordl 
 
 Bru. Why this, Volumnius: 
 
 The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me 
 Two several times by night: at Sardis, once; 
 And, this last night, here in Philippi' fields. 
 I know my hour is come. 
 
 Vol. Not so, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
 Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; 
 Our enemies have beat us to the pit: 
 It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, 
 Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
 Thou know'st, that we two went to school together ; 
 Even for that our love of old I pray thee. 
 Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 
 
 Vol. That's not an office for a friend, my lord. 
 
 [Alarum still. 
 
 Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying here. 
 
 Bru. Farewell to you ; — and you ; — and you, 
 Volumnius. — 
 Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; 
 Farewell to thee, too, Strato. — Countrymen, 
 My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life, 
 I found no man, but he was true to me. 
 I shall have glory by this losing day. 
 More than Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
 By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
 So fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
 Hath almost ended his life's history : 
 Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest, 
 That have but labor'd to attain this hour. 
 
 [Alarum. Cry within,- Fly, fly, fly. 
 
 Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 
 
 Bru. Hence; I will follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Clitus, Daud anius, aitd Volumnius. 
 pr'y thee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
 Thou art a fellow of a good respect ; 
 Thy life hath had some snatch of honor in it : 
 Hold then my sword and turn away thy face, 
 While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? 
 
 Stra. Give me your hand first r Fare you wdlj 
 
 my lord. 
 Bru. Farewell, good Strato. — CiEsar, now be 
 still, 
 I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. 
 
 [He runs on his Sword, and dies. 
 
 Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, AnToirr, 
 Messala, Lucilius, a7id their Army. 
 
 Oct. What man is that 1 
 
 Mes. My master's man. — Strato, where is thy 
 master 7 
 
 Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala ; 
 The conquerors can but make a fire of him ; 
 For Brutus only overcame himself. 
 And no man else hath honor by his death. 
 
 Luc. So Brutus should be found, — I thank thee, 
 Brutus, 
 That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. 
 
 Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them.' 
 Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ? 
 
 Sira. Ay, if Messala will prefer'^ me to you. 
 
 Oct. Do so, Messala. 
 
 Mes. How died my master, Strato 1 
 
 Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 
 
 Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, 
 That did the latest service to my master. 
 
 Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all. 
 All the conspirators, save only he. 
 Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 
 He only, in a general honest thought, 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 His life was gentle, and the elements 
 So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, 
 And say to all the world, This was a man! 
 
 Oct. According to his virtue let us use him, 
 With all respect and rites of burial. 
 Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie. 
 Most like a soldier, order'd honorably. — 
 So, call the field to rest : and let's away, 
 To part the glories of this happy day. 
 
 [Extuni 
 
 ReceiTe int> mj service. 
 
 « RecoEMnead. 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 M. Antoxt, 
 OcFAvius Cjjsah 
 M. JGmil. Lepuius, ) 
 Sextus Pompeius. 
 DoMiTius Enobabbus, 
 Ventiuius. 
 Enos, 
 
 SCABUS, 
 
 Dercetas, 
 
 Demetrius, 
 
 Philo, 
 
 Mec^xas, 
 
 Agrippa, 
 
 dolaiiella, 
 
 Proculeius, 
 
 TUYREUS, 
 
 v'tallcs, 
 
 Triumvirs. 
 
 Friends of Pompey, 
 
 'Friends of Antony. 
 
 Menas, 
 
 Menecrates, 
 
 Varrius, ) 
 
 Taurus, Lieutenant-Geyieral to Csesar. 
 
 Canidius, Lieutenant- Generalto Antony. 
 
 SiLius, an Officer in Ventidius's Army. 
 
 EuPHRONius, an Ambassador from Antony h 
 
 Cajsar. 
 Alexas, Mardian, Seleucus, and Diomedes^ 
 
 Attendants on Cleopatra. 
 A Soothsayer. 
 A Clown. 
 
 Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. 
 OcTAViA, Sister to Ccesar, and Wife to Antony. 
 
 ChARMIAN, ) a,, j . r-i, 
 
 Iras I Attendants on Cleopatra. 
 
 Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, andothtr Attendants 
 SCENE, dispersed; in several parts of the Roman Empire. 
 
 > Friends to Coesar. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra's 
 Palace. 
 Enter Demetrius and Philo. 
 Fhi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's, 
 O'erflows the measure : Those his goodly eyes, 
 That o'er the files and musters of the war 
 Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn. 
 The office and devotion of their view 
 Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart, 
 Which in the scuffles of great fights had burst 
 The buckles on his breast, reneges' all temper ; 
 And is become the bellows and the fan. 
 To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come! 
 
 Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with 
 
 their Trains,- Eunuchs fanning her. 
 Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
 The triple pillar of the world transform'd 
 Fnto a strumpet's fool: behold and see. 
 
 Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 
 
 Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be 
 reckv>n'd. 
 
 Cleo. I'll set a bourn* how far to be belov'd. 
 
 Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 
 new earth. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Att. News, my good lord, from Rome. 
 
 Ant. Grates' me : — The sum 1 
 
 Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony, 
 f ulvia, perchance, is angry ; Or, who knows 
 If the scarce-bearded C-csar have not sent 
 His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or this ; 
 Take in' that kingdom, and enfranchise that; 
 Perform't, or else we damn thee. 
 
 Ant. How, my love ! 
 
 Cleo. Perchance, — nay, and most like. 
 You must not stay here longer, your dismission 
 Is come from Ca;sar ; therefore hear it, Antony. — 
 
 • Renounces. « Bound or limit. 
 
 • Offends. « Subdue, conquer. 
 
 719 
 
 Where's Fulvia's process?" Ccesar's, I would sayl 
 
 —Both 7— 
 Call in the messengers. — As I am Egypt's queen. 
 Thou blushest, Antony ; and that blood of thine 
 Is Caesar's homager ; else so thy check pays shame, 
 When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. — The mes« 
 sengers. 
 
 Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt! and the wide arch 
 Of the ranged empire fall ! Here is my space ; 
 Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike 
 Feeds beast as man : the nobleness of life 
 Is, to do thus; when such a mutual pair [^Embracing 
 And such a twain can do't, in which, I bind. 
 On pain of punishment, the world to weet,* 
 We stand up peerless, 
 
 Cleo. Excellent falsehood ! 
 
 Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her ? — 
 I'll seem the fool I am not : Antony 
 Will be himself. 
 
 Ant. But stiiT'd by Cleopatra.- • 
 
 Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, 
 Let's not confound' the time with conference harsh: 
 There's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
 Without some pleasure now: What sport to-night 7 
 
 Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 
 
 Ant. Fye, wrangling queen I 
 
 Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh, 
 To weep ; whose every passion fully strives 
 To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd ! 
 No messenger ; but thine and all alone. 
 To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and nota 
 The qualities of people. Come, my queen ; 
 Last night you did desire it: — Speak not to us. 
 [^Exeunt Ant. aitd Cleop. with their Train, 
 
 Dem. Is Cffisar with Antonius priz'd so slight! 
 
 Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antory, 
 He comes too short of that groat property 
 Which still should go with Antony. 
 
 i Summons. •Know. 'Consmne. 
 
720 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act T. 
 
 Dem. I am full sorry, 
 
 That he approves the common liar,' who 
 Thus speaks of him at Rome : But I will hope 
 Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy ! 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 SCENE II.— Another Room. 
 
 Enter Charmian, Iras, Alexas, atid a Soothsayer. 
 
 Char. liOrd Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing 
 Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the 
 soothsayer that you praised so to the queen 1 O, that 
 I knew this husband, which, you say, must change 
 his horns with garlands ! 
 
 Alex. Soothsayer. 
 
 Sooth. Your will 1 [things 1 
 
 Char. Is this the man 1 — Is't you, sir, that know 
 
 Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy, 
 A little I can read. 
 
 Alex. Show him your hand. 
 
 Enter E nob A reus. 
 
 Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly: wine enough, 
 Cleopatra's health to drink. 
 
 Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 
 
 Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 
 
 Char. Pray, then, foresee me one. 
 
 Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 
 
 Char. He means, in flesh. 
 
 L-as. No, you shall paint when you are old. 
 
 Char. Wrinkles forbid ! 
 
 Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. 
 
 Char. Hush ! 
 
 Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than beloved. 
 
 Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 
 
 Alex. Nay, hear him. 
 
 Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let 
 me be married to three kings in a forenoon, and 
 widow them all : let me have a child at fifty, to 
 whom Herod of Jewry may do homage : find me 
 to marry me with Octavius Cajsar, and companion 
 me with my mistress. 
 
 Sooth. Yob shall outlive the lady whom you serve. 
 
 Char. O excellent! I love long life better than figs. 
 
 Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former 
 Than that which is to approach. [fortune 
 
 Char. Then, belike, my children shall have no 
 names :* Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches 
 must I have 1 
 
 Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb. 
 And fertile every wish, a million. 
 
 Char. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch. 
 
 Alex. You think, none but your sheets are privy 
 (o your wishes. 
 
 Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. 
 
 Alex. We'll know all our fortunes. 
 
 Eno. Mme, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 
 shall be — drurJc to bed. 
 
 Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if no- 
 thing else. 
 
 Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth 
 famine. 
 
 Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. 
 
 Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog- 
 nostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. — Pr'ythee, 
 lell her but a worky-day fortune. 
 
 Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 
 
 Iras. But how] but how? give me particulars. 
 
 Sooth. I have said. 
 
 Iras. Ami not an inch of fortune better than she? 
 
 Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune 
 Better than I, where would you choose it ? 
 » Fame. ■ Shall be bastards. 
 
 Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 
 
 Char. Our worscr thoughts ht^aven mund ! Alexas. 
 —come, his fortune, his fortune. — O, let him marry 
 a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis,' I beseech thee! 
 And let her die too, and give him a worse ! and let 
 worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him 
 laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold ! Good 
 Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a 
 matter of more weight ; good Isis, I beseech thee ! 
 
 Iras. Amei. Dear goddess, hear that prajer of the 
 people ! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a hand- 
 some man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to 
 behold a foul knave uncuckolded ; Therefore, dear 
 Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly ! 
 
 Char. Amen. 
 
 Alex. Lo, now ! if it lay in their hands to make 
 me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, 
 but they'd do't. 
 
 E?io. Hush ! here comes Antony. 
 
 Char. Not he, the queen 
 
 Enter Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo. Saw you my lord 1 
 
 Eno. No, lady. 
 
 Cleo. Was he not here • 
 
 Char. No, madam. 
 
 Cleo. He was disposed to mirth ; but on a sudden 
 A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enobarbus. 
 
 Eno. Madam. 
 
 Cleo. Seek him and bring him hither. Where'a 
 Alexas 1 
 
 Alex. Here, madam, at your service. — My lord 
 approaches. 
 
 Enter Antony, with a Messenger a7id Attendants. 
 
 Cleo. We will not look upon him : Go with us. 
 
 [^Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Iras, 
 Charmian, Soothsaj'^er and Attendants. 
 
 Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 
 
 Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 
 
 Mess. Ay : 
 
 But soon that war had end, and the time's state 
 Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst 
 Whose belter issue in the war, from Italy, [CiEsar; 
 Upon the first encounter, drave them. 
 
 A7if. Well, 
 
 What worst ? 
 
 Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller. 
 
 Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward. — On: 
 Things, that are past, are done with me. — 'Tisthus", 
 Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, 
 I hear him as he flatter'd. 
 
 Mess. Labienus 
 
 (This is stifll"news) hath, with his Parthian fortt.. 
 Extended^ Asia from Euphrates ; 
 His conquering banner shook, from Syria 
 To Lydia, and to Ionia ; 
 Whilst 
 
 Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say — 
 
 Mess. 0, my lord. 
 
 A7it. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
 tongue ; 
 Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome ; 
 Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase : and taunt my faults 
 With such full license, as both truth and malice 
 Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth v/eeds, 
 When our quick winds' lie still ; and our ills told us. 
 Is as our earing.* Fare thee well a while. 
 
 » An Egyptian goddess. a Over-run. 
 
 s In some editions, minds. 
 
 ♦ Tilling, ploughing; prepare us to produce good seed 
 
fc'CENE n. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 721 
 
 Mess. At your noble pleasure. \^Exit. 
 
 Ant. From Sicj'on how the news *? Speak there. 
 
 1 Alt. The man from Sicyon.— Is there such an 
 
 one? 
 'i Alt. He stays upon your will. 
 Ant. Let him appear.— 
 
 f hese strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Or lose myself in dotage. — What are you 1 
 
 2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 
 
 Ant. Where died she 7 
 
 2 Mess. In Sicyon : 
 Her length of sickness, with what else more serious 
 Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a letter. 
 
 Ant. Forbear me. — 
 
 \_Exit Messenger. 
 There's a great spirit gone ! Thus did I desire it: 
 What our contempts do often hurl from us. 
 We wish it ours again ; the present pleasure, 
 By revolution lowering, does become 
 The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone ; 
 The hand could pluck her back, that shov'd her on. 
 I must from this enchanting queen break off; 
 Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know. 
 My idleness doth hatch. — How now! Enobarbus! 
 
 Enter Enobarbus. 
 
 Eno. What's your pleasure, sir 7 
 
 Ant. I must with haste from hence. 
 
 Eno. Why then, we kill all our women : We see 
 how mortal an unkindness is to them ; if they suf- 
 fer our departure, death's the word. 
 
 Ant. I must be gone. 
 
 E710. Under compelling occasion, let women die. 
 It were pity to cast tliem away for nothing; though, 
 between them and a great cause, they should be 
 esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the 
 least noise of this, dies instantly ; I have seen her die 
 twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think, 
 there is mettle in death, which commits some loving 
 act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying. 
 
 A7it. She is cunning past man's thought. 
 
 Eno. Alack, sir, no ; her passions are made of 
 nothing but the finest part of pure love : We can- 
 not call her winds and waters, sighs and tears ; they 
 are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can 
 report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she 
 makes a shower of rain as well as Jove. 
 
 Ant. 'Would I had never seen her ! 
 
 Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonder- 
 ful piece of work ; which not to have been blessed 
 withal, would have discredited your travel. 
 
 Anf. Fulvia is dead. 
 
 E)io. Sir? 
 
 Ant. Fulvia is dead. 
 
 Eno. Fulvia? 
 
 Ant. Dead. 
 
 Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thaniiful sacrifice. 
 When it plcaseth their deities to take the wife of a 
 man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the 
 earth ; comforting therein, that when old robes are 
 worn out, there are members to make new. If 
 there were no more women but Fulvia, then had 
 you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented : this 
 grief is crowned with consolation ; your old smock 
 brings forth a new petticoat: — and, indeed, the tears 
 live in an onion, that should water this sorrow. 
 
 Ant. The business she hath broached in the state. 
 Uannot endure my absence. 
 
 Eno. And the business you have broached here 
 cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, 
 which wholly depends on your abode. 
 
 Ant. No more light answers. Let our officeri 
 Have notice what we propose. I shall break 
 The cause of our expedience' to the queen, 
 And get her love* to part. For not alone 
 The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, 
 Do strongly speak to us : but the letters too 
 Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
 Petition us at home: Sextus Pompcius 
 Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands 
 The empire of the sea: our slippery people 
 (Whose love is never link'd to the deserver, 
 Till his deserts are past) begin (3 throw 
 Poinpey the great, and all his dignities, 
 Upon his son ; who, high in name and power, 
 Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
 For the main soldier: whose quality, going on, 
 The sides o'the world may danger. Much is breeding, 
 Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life. 
 And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure, 
 To such whose place is under us, requires 
 Our quick remove from hence. 
 
 Eno. I shall do't. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 Enter Cleopatha, Chahmian, Ihas, and Aleias. 
 
 Cko. Where is lie ? 
 
 Char. I did not see him since. 
 
 Cko. See where he is, who's with him, what he 
 does: — 
 I did not send you :' — If you find him sad, 
 Say, I am dancing ; if in mirth, report 
 That I am sudden sick : Quick, and return. 
 
 l_Exit AtEXAs. 
 
 Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him 
 dearly, 
 You do not hold the method to enforce 
 The like from him. 
 
 Cleo. What should I do, I do not ? 
 
 Char. In each thing give liim way, cross him 
 in nothing. 
 
 C/eo. Thou teachestlikeafool: the way to lose him. 
 
 Char. Tempt him not so too far: I wish, forbear ; 
 In time we hate that which we often fear. 
 
 Enter Antoni. 
 
 But here comes Antony. 
 
 Cko. I am sick, and sullen. 
 
 Anf. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose. 
 
 Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall ; 
 It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
 Will not sustain it. 
 
 Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — 
 
 Cko. Pray you, stand further from me. 
 
 Ant, What's the matter? 
 
 Cko. I know, by that same eye, there's some 
 good news. 
 What says the married woman ? — You may go , 
 'Would, she had never given you leave to come' 
 Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here, 
 I have no power upon you; hers you are. 
 
 Ant. The gods best know, — 
 
 Cko. O, never was there qucei» 
 
 So mightily betray'd ! Yet, at the first, 
 I saw the treasons planted. 
 
 ' Expedition. 
 
 ' Look as if I did not tend tou 
 
 • Leave 
 
r22 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Ant. Cleopatra, — 
 
 Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and 
 true, 
 Though you in swearing shake the throned gods. 
 Who have been false to Fulvia 1 Riotous madness, 
 To be entangled with those mouth-made vows. 
 Which break themselves in swearing ! 
 
 Ant. Most sweet queen, — 
 
 Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no color for your going. 
 But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying, 
 Then was the time for words : No going then ; — 
 Eternity was in our lips and eyes ; 
 Bliss in our brows bent;'' none our parts so poor, 
 But was a race" of heaven ; They are so still, 
 Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, 
 Art turn'd the greatest liar. 
 
 Ant. How now, lady ! 
 
 Cleo. I would, I had thy inches; thou shouldst 
 know, 
 There were a heart in Egypt. 
 
 Ant. Hear me, queen : 
 
 The strong necessity of time commands 
 Our services awhile; but my full heart 
 Remains in use with you. Our Italy 
 Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius 
 Makes his approaches to the port' of Rome: 
 Equality of two domestic powers 
 Breeds scrupulous faction : The hated, grown to 
 
 strength, 
 Are newly grown to love : the condemn'd Pompey, 
 Rich in his father's honor, creeps apace 
 [nto the hearts of such as have not thrived 
 Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten ; 
 And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge 
 By any desperate change : My more particular, 
 And that which most with you should safe my going, 
 [s Fulvia's death. 
 
 Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me 
 freedom, 
 It does from childishness : — Can Fulvia die ] 
 
 Ant. She's dead, my queen : 
 Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read 
 The garboils she awaked ;' at the last, best : 
 See, when, and where she died. 
 
 Cleo. O most false love ! 
 
 Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill 
 With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see. 
 In Fulvia's death, how mine received shall be. 
 
 Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know 
 The purposes I bear; which are, or cease. 
 As you shall give the advice : Now, by the fire. 
 That quickens Nilus' shme, I go from hence. 
 Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war, 
 As thou affect'st. 
 
 Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ; — 
 
 Dut let it be. — I am quickly ill, and well : 
 So Antony loves. 
 
 Ant. My precious queen, forbear ; 
 
 And give true evidence to his love, which stands 
 An honorable trial. 
 
 Cleo. So Fulvia told me. 
 
 I pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her ; 
 Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears 
 Belong to Egypt:' Good now, play one scene 
 Of excellent dissembling ; and let it look 
 Like perfect honor. 
 
 Ant. You'll heat my blood ; no more. 
 
 > The arch of our eye-brows. • Smack or flavor. 
 
 Gate. « The commotion she occasioned, 
 
 lo me, the queen of 'Egypt. 
 
 Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly 
 
 Ant. Now by my sword, 
 
 ^leo. And target, — Still he mends; 
 
 But this is not the best: Look, pr'ythee, Charmian, 
 How this Herculean Roman does become 
 The carriage of his chafe.' 
 
 Ant. I'll leave you, lady. 
 
 Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 
 Sir, you and I must part, — but that's not it : 
 Sir, you and I have lov'd, — but there's not it; 
 That you know well : Something it is I would, — 
 0, my oblivion' is a very Antony, 
 And I am all forgotten. 
 
 Ant. But that your royalty 
 
 Holds idleness your subject, I should take you 
 For idleness itself 
 
 Cleo. 'Tis sweating labor, 
 
 To bear such idleness so near the heart 
 As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me; 
 Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
 Eye well to you : Your honor calls you hence ; 
 Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly. 
 And all the gods go with you ! upon your swor<i 
 Sit laurel'd victory ! and smooth success 
 Be strew'd before your feet! 
 
 Ant. Let us go. Come; 
 
 Our separation so abides and flics, 
 That you, residing here, go'st yet with me. 
 And I, hence fleeting, hero remain with thee. 
 Away. [^Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV. — Rome. Aii Apartment in Ccesar's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Octavius CassAii, Lepidus, and Attend 
 ants. 
 
 Caes. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know 
 It is not CiEsar's natural vice to hate 
 One great competitor: From Alexandria 
 This is the news : He fishes, drinks, and wastes 
 The lamps cf night in revel : is not more manlike 
 Than Cleopatra ; nor the queen Ptolemy 
 More womanly than he : hardly gave audience, ot 
 Vouchsafed to think he had partners : You shall 
 
 find there 
 A man, that is the abstract of all faults 
 That all men follow. 
 
 Lep. I must not think, there are 
 
 Evils enough to darken all his goodness: 
 His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven ; 
 More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary. 
 Rather than purchas'd ; ' what he cannot change. 
 Than what he chooses. 
 
 CsES. You are too indulgent; Letusgrant,it isnoS 
 
 Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy ; 
 
 To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit 
 
 And keep the turn of tippling with a slave ; 
 
 To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet 
 
 With knaves that smell of sweat: say, this become* 
 
 (As his composure must be rare indeed, [him, 
 
 Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet musi 
 
 Antony 
 
 No way excuse his soils, when we do bear 
 
 So great weight in his lightness. If he fiU'd 
 
 His vacancy with his voluptuousness. 
 
 Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones. 
 
 Call on him^for't: but, to confound' such time, 
 
 That drums him from his sport, and speaks as lou4 
 
 ' Rage. * Oblivious memory. 
 
 ' Procured by his own fault. 
 
 * Visit him. '' Consume. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 723 
 
 As his own state and oars, — 'tis to be chid 
 As we rate boys ; who being mature in knowledge, 
 Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, 
 And so rebel to judgment. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Lep. Here's more news. 
 
 Mess Thy biddings have been done ; and every 
 Most noble Ccesar, shalt thou have report [hour. 
 How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ; 
 And it appears, he is belov'd of those 
 That only have fear'd Ca;sar : to the ports 
 The discontents' repair, and men's reports 
 Give him much wrong'd. 
 
 Cass. I should have known no less : — 
 
 It hath been taught us from the primal state. 
 That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were ; 
 And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love, 
 Comesdear'd,bybeinglack'd.' This common body, 
 Like a vagabond flag upon the stream, 
 Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
 To rot itself with motion. 
 
 Mess. Cffisar, I bring thee word, 
 
 Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates. 
 Make the sea serve them ; which they ear and wound 
 With keels of every kind: Many hot inroads 
 They make in Italy ; the borders maritime 
 Lack blood' to think on't, and flush youth revolt : 
 No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon 
 Taken as seen ; for Pompey's name strikes more, 
 Than could his war resisted. 
 
 Cs:s. Antony, 
 
 Leave thy lascivious wassels.^ When thou once 
 Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
 Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel 
 Did fvminc follow; whom thou fought'st against. 
 Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
 Than savages could suffer : Thou didst drink 
 The stale" of horses, and the gilded puddle* 
 Which beasts would cough at : thy palate then did 
 
 deign 
 The roughest berry on the rudest hedge ; 
 Yea. like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets, 
 The barks of trees thou browsed'st ; on the Alps, 
 It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh. 
 Which some did die to look on : And all this 
 (It wounds thine honor, that I speak it now) 
 Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek 
 So much as lank'd not. 
 
 Lep. It is pity of him. 
 
 Cses. Let his shames quickly 
 Drive him to Rome : 'Tis time we twain 
 Did show ourselves i' the field ; and, to that end, 
 Assemble we immediate council : Pompey 
 Thrives in our idleness. 
 
 I^ep. To-morrow, Caesar, 
 
 I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly 
 Both, what by sea and land I can be able. 
 To 'front this present time. 
 
 Cxs. Till which encounter. 
 
 It is my business too. Farewell. 
 
 Lep. Farewell, my lord : What you shall know 
 mean time 
 Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir. 
 To let me be partaker. 
 
 Cses. Doubt not, sir : 
 
 I knew it for my bond.' [^Exeunt. 
 
 e Di^oontontcJ. » Endeared by being missed. 
 
 ' Turn pale. 
 
 tFi'iistings; in the old copy it is vaissaiks, i. e. vassals. 
 * I'rine. « Stagnant, slimy water. 
 
 My lx>unden duty. 
 
 SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in ike Palace^ 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmtan, Iras and Mardian 
 
 Cleo. Charmian,— - 
 
 Char. Madam. 
 
 Cleo. Ha, ha !— 
 Give me to drink mandragora.' 
 
 Char. Why, madam ] 
 
 Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of 
 My Antony is away. [time 
 
 Char. You think of bim 
 
 Too much. 
 
 Cleo. O, treason . 
 
 Char. Madam, I trust, r.ct sc 
 
 Cleo. Thou, eunuch ! Mardian ! 
 
 Mar. What's your highness' pleasure ! 
 
 Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing ; I take no plea« 
 In aught an eunuch has : 'Tis well for thee, [sura 
 That, being unseminar'd,' thy freer thoughts 
 May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou aflfectionsl 
 
 Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 
 
 Cleo. Indeed 1 
 
 Mar. Not in deed, madam : for I can do nothing 
 But what /u deed is honest to be done : 
 Yet have I fierce aflfections, and think, 
 What Venus did with Mars. 
 
 Cleo. Charmian, [sits he 1 
 
 Where think'st thou he is now 1 Stands he, or 
 Or does he walk 1 or is he on his horse 1 
 O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony ! 
 Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou 
 The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm [mov'st? 
 And burgonct' of men. — He's speaking now, 
 Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile ? 
 For so he calls me : Now I feed myself 
 With most delicious poison : — Think on me, 
 That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black. 
 And wrinkled deep in time ? Broad-fronted Caesar, 
 When thou wast here above the ground, I was 
 A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey 
 Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my browj 
 There would he anchor his aspect, and die 
 With looking on his life. 
 
 Enter Alexas. 
 
 Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail! 
 
 Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony ! 
 Yet coming from him, that great medicine hath 
 With his tinct gilded thee. — 
 How goes it with my brave Mark Antony ? 
 
 Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen. 
 He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, — 
 This orient pearl ; — his speech sticks in my heart. 
 
 Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 
 
 Alex. Good friendj quoth he, 
 
 Say, The firm Roman to g^reat Egypt ^tnds 
 This trea^ire of an oyster ,- at whose foot. 
 To mend the petty present, I will piece 
 Her opulent throne ivith kingdonu; All the east 
 Say tliou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded 
 And soberly did mount a termagant' steed. 
 Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke 
 Was beastly dumb'd by him. 
 
 Cleo. What, was he sad, or meTy ? 
 
 Alex. Like to the time o' the year between the 
 extremes 
 Of hot and cold ; he was nor sad, nor merry. 
 
 Clen. well-divided disposition I — Note him, 
 Note him,goodCharmian,'tis the man; but note hm 
 He was not sad : for he would shine on those 
 
 A sleepy potion. 
 • A helmet. 
 
 ' Unmanned. 
 » Furioua. 
 
724 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act II 
 
 That make their loolis by his : he was not merry ; 
 
 Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay 
 
 In Egypt with his joy : but between both ; 
 
 O heavenly mingle ! — Be'st thou sad or merry, 
 
 The violence of either thee becomes ; 
 
 So does it no man else. — Met'st thou my posts ] 
 
 Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers; 
 Why do you send so thick 1 
 
 Cleo. Who's born that day 
 
 When I forget to send to Antony, 
 Shall die a beggar. — Ink and paper, Charmian. — 
 Welcome, my good Alexas. — Did I, Charmian, 
 Ever love Ca;sar so 1 
 
 Char. that brave CjEsar ! 
 
 Cko. Be choked with such another emphasis! 
 Say, the brave Antony. 
 
 C/ia7: The valiant Ca;sar! 
 
 Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, 
 If thou with Caisar paragon again 
 My man of men. 
 
 Char. By your most gracious pardon, 
 
 I sing but after you. 
 
 Cleo. My salad days ; 
 
 When I was gi-een in judgment : — Cold in blood, 
 To say, as I said then ! — But, come, away: 
 Get me ink and paper : he shall have every day 
 A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt. 
 
 [^Exeunt 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 SCENE I. — Messina. A Room in Pompey's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Pompet, Menecrates, and Menas. 
 
 Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist 
 The deeds of justcst men. 
 
 Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, 
 
 That what they do delay, they not deny. 
 
 Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, 
 decays 
 The thing we sue for. 
 
 Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, 
 
 Beg often our own arms, which the wise powers 
 Deny us for our good; so find we profit, 
 By losing of our prayers. 
 
 Pom. I shall do well: 
 
 The people love me, and the sea is mine ; 
 My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope 
 Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony 
 In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
 No wars without doors : Cffisar gets money, where 
 He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both. 
 Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves. 
 Nor either cares for him. 
 
 Men. Caesar and Lepidus 
 
 Are in the field; a mighty strength they carry. 
 
 Pom. Where have you this 1 'tis false. 
 
 Men. From Silvius, sir. 
 
 Pom. He dreams ; I know, they are in Rome 
 together. 
 Looking for Antony : But all charms of love. 
 Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd' lip! 
 Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both ! 
 Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, 
 Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks. 
 Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite; 
 That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honor, 
 Even tilP a Lethe'd dulness. — How now, Varrius? 
 
 Enter Vahhius. 
 
 Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver : 
 Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 
 Expected ; since he went from Egypt, 'tis 
 A. space for further travel. 
 
 Pom. I could have given less matter 
 
 A better ear. — Menas, I did not think. 
 This amorous surfeiter would have don'd' his helm* 
 For such a petty war : his soldiership 
 Is twice the other twain : But let us rear 
 The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
 
 » Declined, faded. 
 
 » Done on ; i. e. put on 
 
 a To. 
 
 * Helmet. 
 
 Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
 The ne'er lust-wearied Antony. 
 
 Men. I cannot hope, 
 
 Caesar and Antony shall well greet together : 
 His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Caesar; 
 His brother warr'd upon him ; although, I thir.k, 
 Not mov'd by Antony. 
 
 Pom. I know not, Menas, 
 
 How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
 Wer't not that we stand up against them all, 
 'Twere pregnant they should square ' between 
 
 themselves; 
 For they have entertained cause enough 
 To draw their swords : but how the fear of us 
 May cement their divisions, and bind up 
 The petty difference, we yet not know. 
 Be it as our gods will have it ! It only stands 
 Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands. 
 Come, Menas. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Rome. A Room {?i the House of 
 Lepidus. 
 
 Enter Enobaubus and Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed. 
 And shall become you well, to entreat your captaH 
 To soft and gentle speech. 
 
 Eno. I shall entreat him 
 
 To answer like himself: If Caesar move him, 
 Let Antony look over Cesar's head, 
 And speak" as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
 Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
 I would not shave to-day. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis not a time 
 
 For private stomaching. 
 
 £no. Every time 
 
 Serves for the matter that is then born in it. 
 
 Lep. But small to greater matters must give way 
 
 Eno. Not if the small come first. 
 
 Lep. Your speech is passion 
 
 But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes 
 The noble Antony. 
 
 Enter Antoxt and Ventidius. 
 Eno. And yonder, Caesar. 
 
 Enter Cjesab, Mec^nas, and Aghippa. 
 
 Ant. If we compose ° well here, to Parthia: 
 Hark you, Ventidius. 
 
 Cses. I do not know, 
 
 Mecaenas ; ask Agrippa 
 
 • Quarrel. • Agree, 
 
Scene II. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 72?) 
 
 Lep. Noble friends, 
 
 riiot which combin'd us was most great, and let not 
 A k'LUicr action rend us. What's amiss, 
 May it be gently heard: When we debate 
 Our trivial difference loud, we do commit 
 Murder in healing wounds: Then, noble partners, 
 (The lather, for I earnestly beseech,) 
 Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, 
 Nor curstncss" grow to the matter. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis spoken well; 
 
 Were we before our armies, and to fight, 
 I should do thus. 
 
 Cxs. Welcome to Rome. 
 
 Ant. Thank you. 
 
 Cses. Sit. 
 
 Ant. Sit, sir ! 
 
 Cxs. Nay, 
 
 Then— 
 
 Ant. I learn, you take things ill, which are not so; 
 Or, being, concern you not. 
 
 Cscs. I must be laugh'd at. 
 
 If, or for nothing, or a little, I 
 Should say myself ofl'ended; and wiih you 
 Chiefly i' the world: more laugh'd at, that I should 
 Once name you derogately, when to sound your 
 
 name 
 It not conccrn'd me. 
 
 Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar, 
 
 What was't to you 1 
 
 Cses. No more than my residing here at Rome 
 Might be to you in Egypt: Yet, if you there 
 Did practise' on my state, your being in Egypt 
 Might be my question.' 
 
 Ant. How intend you, practis'd ? 
 
 Cxs. You may be plcas'd to catch at mine intent. 
 By what did here befall me. Your wife, and brother. 
 Made wars upon me ; and their contestation 
 Was theme for you, you were the word of war. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake your business ; my brother 
 never 
 Did urge me in his act: I did enquire it; 
 And have my learning from some true reports. 
 That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather 
 Discredit my authority with yours; 
 And make the wars alike against my stomach. 
 Having alike your cause] Of this, my letters 
 Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel, 
 As matter whole you have not to make it with. 
 It must not be with this. 
 
 Cxs. You praise yourself 
 
 By laying defects of judgment to me; but 
 You patch'd up your excuses. 
 
 Ant. Not so, not so; 
 
 I know you could not lack, I am certain on't, 
 Very necessity of this thought, that I, 
 Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought. 
 Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 
 Which fronted' mine own peace. As for my wife, 
 I would you had her spirit in such another: 
 The third o' the world is yours; which witli a snaffle 
 You may pace easy, but not such a wife. 
 
 Eno. 'Would we had all such wives, that the men 
 might go to wars with the womon ! 
 
 Ant. So much uncurable, her garboils," Cassar, 
 Made out of her impatience, (w'lich nut wanted 
 Shrewdness of policy too.) I griiiving grant, 
 Dill you too much disiiuict: {•>{ that, you must 
 But say, I could not help it. 
 
 'Lot not ill humor be adilud. • Use bad irts or stratagems. 
 •Subjiict of conversation. 'Opposed. » Commotions. 
 
 47 
 
 Cass. I wrote to yoti. 
 
 When rioting in Alexandria; you 
 Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
 Did gibe my missive' out of audience. 
 
 Ant. Sir, 
 
 He fell upon me, ere admitted ; then 
 Three kings I had newly fea.sted, and did want 
 Of what I was i' the morning: but, next day, 
 I told him of myself; which was as much 
 As to have ask'd him pardon: Let this fellow 
 Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, 
 Out of our question'' wipe him. 
 
 Cses. You have la-ckea 
 
 The article of your oath; which you shall never 
 Have tongue to charge me with. 
 
 Lep. Soft, Caisar. 
 
 Ant. No, Lcpidus, let him speak ; 
 The honor's sacred which he talks on now, 
 Supposing that I lack'd it: But on, Ca3sar ; 
 The article of my oath, — 
 
 Cxs. To lend me arms, and aid, when I required 
 them ; 
 The which you both denied. 
 
 Ant. Neglected, rather ; 
 
 And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up 
 From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
 I'll play the penitent to you: but mine honesty 
 Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my powe» 
 Work without it: Truth is, that Fulvia, 
 To have me out of Egypt, made wars here; 
 For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
 So far ask pardon, as befits mine honor 
 To stoop in such a case. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis nobly spoken. 
 
 Mec. If it mightplease you, to enforce no furthe/ 
 The griefs' between ye: to forget them quite, 
 Were to remember that the present need 
 Speaks to atone" you. 
 
 Lep. Worthily spoke, Meca;nas. 
 
 Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for 
 the instant, you may, when you hear no more words 
 of Pompey, return it again : you shall have time to 
 wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do. 
 
 Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more. 
 
 Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost 
 forgot. 
 
 Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak 
 no more. 
 
 Eno. Go to, then ; your considerate stone. 
 
 Cxs. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
 The manner of his speech : for it cannot be. 
 We shall remain in friendship, our conditions' 
 So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
 What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge 
 O' the world I would pursue it. 
 
 ■^gr. Give me leave, Ccesar,-- 
 
 Cxs. Speak, Agrippa. 
 
 Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side^ 
 Admir'd Octavia : great Mark Antony 
 Is now a widower. 
 
 Cxs. Say not so, Agrippa, 
 
 If <]'leopatra heard you, your reproof 
 Were well deserv'd of rashness. 
 
 Ant. I am not married, Cffisar: let me hear 
 .A.grippa further speak. 
 
 Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity, 
 To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts 
 With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
 
 3 Messenger. 
 ' Recon'-ile. 
 
 ■* Conrer.'iation. 
 ' Dispositions 
 
 » GrieTancM 
 
726 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Octavia to his wife: v.'hose beauty claims 
 No worse a husband than the best of men ; 
 Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak 
 That which none else can utter. By this marriag ), 
 All little jealousies, which now seem great, 
 And all great fears, which now import their dangers, 
 Would then be nothing: truths would be but tales 
 Where now half talcs be truths : her love to both, 
 Would, each to other, and all loves to both, 
 Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke ; 
 For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, 
 By duty ruminated. 
 
 Ant. Will Cajsar speak '' 
 
 Cses Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
 With what is spoke already. 
 
 Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 
 
 If I would say, Agrippa, be it so, 
 To make this good 1 
 
 Cses. The power of Cfesar, and 
 
 His power unto Octavia. 
 
 Ant, May I never 
 
 To this good purpose, that so fairly shows. 
 Dream of impediment ! — Let me have thy hand : 
 Further this act of grace; and, from this hour. 
 The heart of brothers govern in our loves. 
 And sway out great designs ! 
 
 Cass. There is my hand. 
 
 A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
 Did ever love so dearly : Let her live 
 To join our kingdoms, and our hearts ; and never 
 Fly off our loves again ! 
 
 Lep. Happily, amen ! 
 
 Ant. I did not think to drav/ my sword 'gainst 
 Pompey; 
 For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great, 
 Of late upon me: I must thank him only, 
 Lttst my remembrance suffer ill report; 
 At heel of that, defy him. 
 
 Lep. Time calls upon us : 
 
 Of us must Pompey presently be sought. 
 Or else he seeks out us. 
 
 Ant. And where lies he 1 
 
 Cass. About the Mount Misenum. 
 
 Ant, What's his strength 
 
 By land? 
 
 Cass. Great and increasing : but by sea 
 He is an absolute master. 
 
 Ant. So is the fame. 
 
 'Would, we had spoke together! Haste we for it: 
 Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
 The business we have talk'd of. 
 
 Cses, With most gladness; 
 
 And do invite you to my sister's view, 
 Whither straight I will lead you. 
 
 Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 
 
 Not lack your company, 
 
 Lep. Noble Antony, 
 
 Not .lickneso should detain me. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt CiESAU, Antoxt, and 
 Lf.pidus. 
 
 Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 
 
 E710. Half the heart of Cffisar, worthy Mecsenas! 
 — my honorable friend, Agrippa ! — 
 
 Agr, Good Enobarbus ! 
 
 Mec. We have cause to be glad, that matters are 
 so well digested. You staid well by it in Egypt. 
 
 Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of counte- 
 nance, and made the night light with drinking. 
 
 Mec. Eigiit wild Ijoars roasted whole at a break- 
 fast, ami but twelve persons there; Is this true] 
 
 Eno. This was but as n fly b)' an eagle : we hac 
 much more monstrous matter offcast, which worthj* 
 ly deserved noting. 
 
 Mec. She's a most triumphant lady, if repoit be 
 square' to her. 
 
 Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, slie 
 pursed up his heart upon the river ofCydnus. 
 
 Agr. There she appeared indeed : 01 my Reporter 
 devised well for her. 
 
 Eno. I will tell you : 
 The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd taronc, 
 Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; 
 Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that 
 The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were 
 
 silver; 
 Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
 The water, which they beat, to follow faster. 
 As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
 It beggar'd all descrif)tion : she did lie 
 In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,) 
 O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see. 
 The fancy out-work nature: on each side her, 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 With diverse-color'd fans, whose wind did seem 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool. 
 And what they undid, did. 
 
 Agr. O, rare for Antony 
 
 Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
 So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes. 
 And made their bends adornings : at the helm 
 A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackles 
 Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
 That yarely frame' the office. From the barge 
 A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
 Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
 Her people out upon her; and Antony, 
 Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone, 
 Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, 
 And made a gap in nature. 
 
 Agr. Rare Egyptian! 
 
 Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her. 
 Invited her to supper: she replied, 
 It should be better, he became her guest; 
 Which she entreated ; Our courteous Antony, 
 Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard speak, 
 Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast ; 
 And, for his ordinary, pays his heart, 
 For what his eyes eat only. 
 
 Agr. Royal wench! 
 
 She made great Cffisar lay his sword to bed ; 
 He plough'd her, and she ciopp'd. 
 
 E?io. I saw her once 
 
 Hop forty paces through the public street : 
 And having lost her breath, she spoke and panted, 
 That she did make defect, perfection. 
 And, breathless, power breathe forth. 
 
 Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 
 
 Eno. Never; he will not. 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety: Other women 
 Cloy th' appetites they feed ; but she makes hungrj 
 Where most she satisfies. For vilest things 
 Become themselves in her; that the holy priests 
 Bless her, when she's riggish.' 
 
 Mec. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle 
 The heart of Antony, Octavia is 
 A ble-ssed lottery to him. 
 
 Agr. Let us go. — 
 
 ' Suit with ber merits. ' Readily perform. ' Wantou. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 721 
 
 liood Enobarbiis, make yoursolf my guest, 
 \V liilst you abide here. 
 
 Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in Ctesar's House. 
 
 Enter Cit:SAR, Antony, Octavia betiueen fhem,- 
 Attendants, a?id a Soothsayer. 
 
 Anf. The world, and my great office, will some- 
 Divide me from your bosom. [times 
 
 Oct a. All which time 
 
 Before the gods my knee shall bow in prayers 
 To them for you. 
 
 Atif. Good night, sir. — My Octavia, 
 
 Read not my blemishes in the world's report; 
 I have not kept my square ; but that to come 
 Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear lady. 
 
 Oct a. Good night, sir. 
 
 Cses. Good night. [Ex. CtKSAr a7id Octavia. 
 
 Ant. Now, sirrah ! you do wish yourself in Egypt 1 
 
 Snoth. Would I had never come from thence, 
 Thither! [nor you 
 
 Anf. If you can, your reason 7 
 
 Sdolh. I see't in 
 
 My motion, have it not in my tongue: But yet 
 Hie you again to Egypt. 
 
 Ant. Say to me, 
 
 Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Cffisar's, or mine] 
 
 Sooth. Caesar's. 
 'I'hercfore, O Antony, stay not by his side: 
 Thy dcemon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
 Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable. 
 Where Caesar's is not; but near him, thy angel 
 Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpovver'd ; therefore 
 Make space enough between you. 
 
 Ant. Speak this no more. 
 
 Sooth. To none but thee ; no more, but when to 
 thee. 
 If thou dost play with him at any game. 
 Thou art sure to lose ; and, of that natural luck, 
 He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy lustre thickens, 
 When he shines by : I say again, thy spirit 
 Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; 
 But, he away, 'tis noble. 
 
 Ant. Get thee gone: 
 
 Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him : 
 
 [Exit Soothsayer. 
 He shall to Parthia. — Be it art, or hap. 
 He hath spoken true : the very dice obey him ; 
 And, in our sports, my better cunning faints 
 Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds: 
 His cocks do win the battles still of mine, 
 When it is all to nought; and his quails' ever 
 Beat mine, inhoop'd^ at odds. I will to Egypt: 
 And though I make this marriage for my peace. 
 Enter Ventidius. 
 
 V the east my pleasure lies: — O, come, Ventidius, 
 Vou must to Parthia; your commission's ready: 
 Follow me, and receive it. [Exeufit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— yl Street. 
 
 Enter Lki'idus, MKCiENAS, and Agrippa. 
 
 Lep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you 
 hasten 
 four generals after. 
 
 A<:;r. Sir, Mark Antony 
 
 Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow. 
 
 ' The 8noicn(9 used to match quails as we match cocks. 
 Inclosed. 
 
 Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress 
 Which will become you both, farewell. 
 
 Mec. We shall 
 
 As I conceive the journey, be at mouiH^ 
 Before you, Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Your way is shorter. 
 
 My purposes do draw me much about; 
 You'll win two days upon me. 
 
 Mcc. Agr. Sir, good success! 
 
 Lep. Farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Cleopatra, CaARMiAif, Iras, and Alexas 
 
 • Cleo. Give me some music ; music, moody * food 
 Of us that trade in love. 
 
 Attend. The music, ho ! 
 
 Enter Mardian. 
 
 Cleo. Let it alone ; let us to billiards : 
 Come, Charmian. 
 
 Char. My arm is sore, best play with Mardian. 
 
 Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd, 
 As with a woman : — Come, you'll play with me, sir'' 
 
 Mar. As well as I can, madam. [too short, 
 
 C7eo. And when good will is show'd,though it come 
 The actor may plead pardon. I'll none nov/ : — 
 Give me mine angle, — We'll to the river: there 
 My music playing far off, I will betray 
 Tawny-tinn'd fishes; my bended hook shall piercfl 
 Their slimy jaws ; and, as I draw them up, 
 I'll think them every one an Antony, 
 And say. Ah ! ha! you're caught. 
 
 Char. 'Twas merry, when 
 
 You wager'd on your angling; when your diver 
 Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he 
 With fcn'cncy drew up. 
 
 Cleo. That time 1—0 times !— 
 
 I laughed him out of patience ; and that night 
 I laugh'd him into patience : and next morn, 
 Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ; 
 Then put my tires' and mantles on him, whilst 
 I wore his sword Philippan. O! from Italy; 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, 
 That long time have been barren. 
 
 Mess. Madam, madam, — 
 
 Cleo. Antony's dead ? 
 If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress : 
 But well and free. 
 
 If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
 My bluest veins to kiss; a hand, that kings 
 Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 
 
 Mess. First, madam, he's well. 
 
 Cleo. Why, there's more gold. B ut, sirrah, mark ; 
 We use 
 To say, the dead are well ; bring it to that, 
 The gold I give thee, will I melt, and pour 
 Down thy ill-uttering throat. 
 
 Mess. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Cleo. Well, go to, I will 
 
 But there's no goodness in thy face : if Antony 
 Be free and healthful, — why so tart a favor^ 
 To trumpet such good tidings? If not well, 
 Thou shouldst come like a fury ciown'd with snakes, 
 Not like a formal man.'' 
 
 Mess. Will't please you hear me? 
 
 Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou 
 speak'st: 
 
 3 Mount Misenum. * Melancholy. » Head dress. 
 • So sour a countenance. ' A man in his seiues 
 
'•28 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act li 
 
 For wliat good turn 1 
 
 Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, is well, 
 Or friends with Cssar, or not captive to him, 
 I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 
 Rich pearls upon thee. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he's well. 
 
 Cleo. Well said. 
 
 iMess. And friends with Ccesar. 
 
 Cleo, Thou'rt an honest man. 
 
 Mess. Csesar and he are greater friends than ever. 
 
 Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 
 
 Mess. But yet, madam — 
 
 Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay 
 The good precedence; fye upon hut yet: 
 But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth 
 Borne monstrous m.alefactor. Pr'ythee, friend. 
 Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, [Cresar; 
 The good and bad together : He's friends with 
 In state of health, thou siiy'st; and, thou say 'st, free. 
 
 Mess. Froc, madam ! no ; I made no such report • 
 He's bound unto Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. 
 
 Mess. For the best turn i'the bed 
 
 Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee \ 
 
 [^Strikes him down. 
 
 Mess. Good madam, patience. 
 
 Cleo. What say you? — Hence, 
 
 [Strikes him again. 
 Horrible villain ! or Tl! spurn thine eyes 
 Like balls before me ; I'll unhair thy head ; 
 
 [She hales him rip and down. 
 Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stevv'd in brine. 
 Smarting in ling'ring pickle. 
 
 Mess. Gracious madam, 
 
 I, that do bring the news, made not the match. 
 
 Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee. 
 And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadst 
 Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage ; 
 And I will boot' thee with what gift beside 
 Thy modesty can beg. 
 
 Mess. He's married, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. 
 
 [Draws a dagger. 
 
 Mess. Nay, then I'll run : — 
 
 What mean you, madam ? I have made no fault. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Char. Good madam,kecp yourself within yourself; 
 The man is innocent. [bolt. — 
 
 Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder- 
 Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
 Turn all to serpent:?! — Call the slave again; 
 Though I am mad, I will not bite him : — Call. 
 
 Char. He is afear'd to come. 
 
 Cleo. I will not hurt him : — 
 
 These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
 A meaner than myself; since I myself 
 Have given myself the cause. — Come hither, sir. 
 
 Re-enter Messenger. 
 
 Though it be honest, it is never good 
 To bring bad news: Give to a gracious message 
 \n host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell 
 Fhcmselvcs, when they be felt. 
 
 Mess. I have done my duty. 
 
 Cleo. Is he married 1 
 J cannot hate thee worser than I do, 
 If thou again say. Yes. 
 
 Mess. He is married, madam. 
 
 » Kecompense. 
 
 Cleo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou hold 
 there still? 
 
 Mess. Should I lie, madam 1 
 
 Cleo. 0, I would, thou didst 
 
 So half my Egypt were submcrg'd, and made 
 A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee Iiencc; 
 Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
 Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married! 
 
 Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. 
 
 Cleo. He is manieJ! 
 
 Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend 
 you: 
 To punish ine for what you make me do. 
 Seems much unequal: He is married to Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. O, that his fault should make a knave of thee. 
 That art not!— What? thou'rt sure oft?— Get 
 
 thee hence : 
 The merchandize which thou hast brought from 
 
 Rome 
 Are all too dear for me ; Lie they upon thy hand, 
 And be undone by 'cm ! [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Char. Good your highness, patience. 
 
 Cleo. In praising Antony, I have dispraised Caiisar. 
 
 Char. Many times, madam. 
 
 Cleo. I am paid for't now. 
 
 Lead me from hence, 
 
 I fliint ; O Iras, Charmian, — 'Tis no matter :- 
 Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him 
 Report the feature of Octavia, her years, 
 Her inclination, let him not leave out 
 The coloT of her hair : — bring me word quickly. — 
 
 [Exit Alkxas. 
 Let him for ever go; — Let him not — Charmian, 
 Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
 T'other way he's a Mars: — Bid yon Alexas 
 
 [To MAnniAH. 
 Bring me word, how tall she is. — Pity me, Chai 
 
 mian, 
 But do not speak to me. — Lead me to my chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Y J.— Near Misenum. 
 
 Enter Pompet and Mexas, at one side, luith Dnnn 
 and Trumpet: at another, Cjesaii, Lepidus, 
 Antony, Enobahbus, Mec^nas, with Soldiers 
 marching. 
 
 Torn. Your hostages I have, so have you mine; 
 And we shall talk before we fight. 
 
 Cses. Most meet, 
 
 That first we come to words ; and therefore have we 
 Our written purposes before us sent ; 
 Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know 
 If 't will tie up thy discontented sword; 
 And carry back to Sicily much tall" youth 
 That else must perish here. 
 
 Pom. To you all thret 
 
 The senators alone of this great world. 
 Chief factors for the gods, — I do not know. 
 Wherefore my father should revengers want. 
 Having a son, and friends ; since Julius Cffsai, 
 Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,' 
 There saw you laboring for him. What was it. 
 That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire ? And wha 
 Made the all-honor'd, honest, Roman Brutus, 
 With the arm'd rest, courteous of beauteous free 
 
 dom. 
 To drench the Capitol ; but that they would 
 Have one man but a man ? And that is it. 
 Hath made me rig my navy; at whose burden 
 » Brave. • Haunted 
 
SOENE VI. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 72b 
 
 The anger'd ocean foams ; with which I meant 
 To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome 
 Cast on my noble father. 
 
 Cxs. Take your time. 
 
 Ani. Thou canst not fear^ us, Pompey, with thy 
 sails; 
 We'll speak with thee at sea : at land, thou know'st 
 How much we do o'er-count thee. 
 
 Pom. At land, indeed, 
 
 Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house: 
 But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, 
 Remain in't as thou mayst. 
 
 Lcp. Be pleas'd to tell us, 
 
 (For this is from the present,') how you take 
 The offers we have sent you. 
 
 Cxs. There's the point. 
 
 Anl. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
 What it is worth embraced. 
 
 Cxs. And what may follow, 
 
 To try a larger fortune. 
 
 Pom. You have made me offer 
 
 Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must 
 Rid all the sea of pirates ; then, to send 
 Measures of wheat to Rome : This 'greed upon, 
 To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
 Our targe' undinted. 
 
 Cxs. Ant. Lep, That's our offer. 
 
 Pom. Know then, 
 
 I came before you, here, a man prepar'd 
 To take this offer: But Mark Antony 
 Put me to some impatience : — Though I lose 
 The praise of it by telling, you must know, 
 When Ca3sar and your brothers were at blows, 
 Your mother came to Sicily, and did find 
 Her welcome friendly. 
 
 Ant. I have heard it, Pompey ; 
 
 And am well studied for a liberal thanks. 
 Which I do owe you. 
 
 Pom. Let me have your hand : 
 
 I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 
 
 Ant. The beds i'the east are soft ; and thanks to 
 you, 
 That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither, 
 For I have gain'd by it. 
 
 Cxs. Since I saw you last, 
 
 There is a change upon you. 
 
 Pum. Well, I know not 
 
 What counts' harsh fortune casts upon my face; 
 But in my bosom shall she never come, 
 To make my heart her vassal. 
 
 Lep. Well met here. 
 
 Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. — Thus we are agreed : 
 I crave, our composition may be written. 
 And seal'd between us. 
 
 Cxs. That's the next to do. 
 
 Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part ; and 
 let us 
 Draw lots who shall begin. 
 
 Ant. That will I, Pompey. 
 
 Pom. No, Antony, take the lot; but, first. 
 Or last, your line Egyptian cookery 
 Shall have the fame. I have heard, that Julius Caesar 
 Grew fat with feasting there. 
 
 Ant. You have heard much. 
 
 Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 
 
 Ant. And fair words to them. 
 
 Pom. Then so much have I heard : 
 \nd I have heard, Apollodorus carried — 
 
 for, I perceive, 
 Let me shake thy hand' 
 
 have 
 hava 
 
 » ACfright. 
 
 * Tuget, shield. 
 
 * I'rcsont subject. 
 » Scores, marks. 
 
 E710. No more of that: — He did so. 
 
 Pom. What, I pray you^ 
 
 Eno. A certain queen to Csesar in a mattrass. 
 
 Pom. I know thee now ; — How far'st thou, 
 soldier? 
 
 Eno. Well : 
 
 And well am like to do 
 Four feasts are toward. 
 
 Pom. 
 I never hated thee : I have seen thee fight. 
 When I have envied thy behavior. 
 
 Eno. Sir, 
 
 I never loved you much : but I have prais'd you, 
 When you have well deserv'd ten times as much 
 As I have said you did. 
 
 Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 
 
 It nothing ill becomes thee. — 
 Aboard my galley, I invite you all : 
 Will you lead, lords? 
 
 Cxs. Ant. Lep. Show us the way, sir. 
 
 Pom. Come-. 
 
 [Exeunt Pompkt, Cjesah, Antony, Le- 
 pidus, Soldiers, a;zd Attendants. 
 
 Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er 
 made this treaty. — \_Aside.'] — You and I 
 known," sir. 
 
 Eno. At sea, I think. 
 
 Men. We have, sir. 
 
 Eno. You have done well by water. 
 
 Men. And you by land. 
 
 Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me 
 though it cannot be denied what I have done by 
 land. 
 
 Men. Nor what I have done by water. 
 
 Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own 
 safety: you have been a great thief by sea. 
 
 Men. And you by land. 
 
 Eno. There I deny my land service. But give 
 me your hand, Menas: If our eyes had authority, 
 here they might take two thieves kissing. 
 
 Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their 
 hands are. 
 
 Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true 
 face. 
 
 Men, No slander; they steal hearts. 
 
 Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 
 
 Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a 
 drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away his 
 fortune. 
 
 Eno. If he do, sure he cannot weep it back again. 
 
 Men. You have said, sir. We looked not foi 
 Mark Antony here; Pray you, is he married to 
 Cleopatra? 
 
 Eno. CaBsar's sister is called Octavia. 
 
 Men. True, sir; she was the wifeof Caius Mar 
 cellus. 
 
 Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. 
 
 Men. Pray 3'ou, sir? 
 
 Eno. 'Tis true. 
 
 Men. Then is Caesar and he forever knit together. 
 
 Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I 
 would not prophesy so. 
 
 Men. I think the policy of that purpose made 
 more in the marriage, than the love of the parties, 
 
 Eno. I think so too. But you shall find, tho 
 band that seems to tie their friendship together, 
 will be the very strangler of their amity ; Octavij 
 is of a holy, cold, and still conversation. 
 
 Men. Who would not have his wife boI 
 < Been acqu&inted 
 
730 
 
 ANTON V' AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act II, 
 
 E)W Not he, that himself is not so; which is 
 Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again : 
 then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in 
 Caesar: and, as I said before, that which is the 
 strength of their amity, shall prove the immediate 
 author of their variance. Antony will use his affec- 
 tion where it is; he married but his occasion here. 
 
 Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you 
 aboard 1 I have a health for you. 
 
 E710. I shall take it, sir : we have used our throats 
 in Egypt 
 
 Men. Come ; let's a%vay. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Y\\.— On hoard Ponipey's Galley, 
 lying near Misenum. 
 
 Music. Enter two or three Servants, iwi/A a Banquet. 
 
 iServ.Here they'll he, man: Soineo' their plants" 
 are ill-rooted already ; the least wind i' the world 
 will blow them down. 
 
 2 Serv. Lcpidus is high-colored. 
 
 1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 
 
 2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the dis- 
 position, he cries out. No more; reconciles them to 
 his entreaty, and himself to the drink. 
 
 1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between 
 him and his discretion. 
 
 2 Serv. Why this it is to have a name in great 
 men's fellowship : I had as lief have a reed that will 
 do me no service, as a partizan ' I could not heave. 
 
 1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not 
 to be seen to move in't, are the holes where eyes 
 should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. 
 
 A Sennet sounded. Enter CiESAii, Antony, Pom- 
 pey,Lkpii)us, AGnippA,MEc^NAs, Enobarbus, 
 Mknas, witk other Captains. 
 
 Ant. Thus do they, sir: [To Cesaii.] They 
 take the flow o' the Nile 
 By certain scales i' the pyramid ; they know, 
 By the height, the lowness, or the me^in, if dearth, 
 Or foison,'' follow: The higher Nilus swells, 
 The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman 
 Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 
 And shortly comes to harvest. 
 
 Lep. You have strange serpents there. 
 
 Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your 
 inud by the operation of your sun ; so is your cro- 
 codile. 
 
 Ant. They are so. 
 
 Fom. Sit, — and some wine. — A health to Le- 
 pidus. 
 
 Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll 
 ne'er out. 
 
 Eno. Not till you have slept ; I fear me, you'll 
 be in, till then, 
 
 Lep. Nay, certainly,! have heard, the Ptolemies' 
 pyramises are very goodly things ; without contra- 
 diction, I have heard that. 
 
 Men. Pompey, a word. \^Aside. 
 
 Pom. Say in mine car : What is't 1 
 
 Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain. 
 And hear me speak a word. [Aside. 
 
 Fom. Forbear me till anon, — 
 
 This wine for Lcpidus. 
 
 Lep. W'hat manner o' thing is your crocodile] 
 
 Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad 
 as it hath breadth; it is just so high as it is, and 
 moves with its own organs: it lives by that which 
 » Feet. « Pike. » Plenty. 
 
 nourisheth it ; and the elements once out of it, it 
 transmigrates. 
 
 Lep. What color is it of? 
 
 Ant. Of its own color too. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. 
 
 Cxs. Will this description satisfy him 1 
 
 Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him. 
 else he is a very epicure. 
 
 Pom. \To Menas aside."] Go, hang, sir, hang! 
 Tell me of that? away! 
 Do as I bid you. — Where's this cup I call'd for? 
 
 Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me, 
 Rise from thy stool. \_Aside, 
 
 Pom. I think, thou'rt mad. The matter? 
 
 [Rises, and walks aside. 
 
 Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. 
 
 Pom. Thou hast scrv'd me with much faith* 
 What's else to say ? 
 Be jolly, lords. 
 
 Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, 
 
 Keep off them, for you sink. 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world J 
 
 Pom . What sayst thou ? 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world' 
 That's twice. 
 
 Fom. How should that be ? 
 
 Men. But entertain it, and, 
 
 Although you think me poor, I am the man 
 Will give thee all the world. 
 
 Pom. Hast thou drunk well 1 
 
 Men. No, Pompey, T have kept me from the cup. 
 Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove : 
 Whate'er the ocean pales,' or sky inclips,* 
 Is thine, if thou wilt have't. 
 
 Pom. Show me which way. 
 
 Men. These three world-sharers, these compeu- 
 tors,' 
 Are in thy vessel: Let me cut the cable; 
 And, when we are put off, fall to their throats; 
 All there is thine. 
 
 Fom. Ah, this thou shouldst have done, 
 
 And not have spoken on't ! in me, 'tis villany ; 
 In Chee, it had been good service. Thou must know, 
 'Tis not my profit that doth lead mine honor; 
 Mine honor, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue 
 Hath so betray'd thine act: Being done unknown, 
 I should have found it afterwards well done; 
 But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 
 
 Men. For this? [Aside. 
 
 I'll never follow thy pall'd" fortunes more. — 
 Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, 
 Shall never find it more. 
 
 Po)n. This health to Lepidi's. 
 
 Ant. Bear him ashore. — I'll pledge it for him, 
 Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Here's to thee, Menas. 
 
 Men. Enobarbus, welcome. 
 
 Pom. Fill till the cup be hid. 
 
 Eno. There's a strong fellow, Menas. 
 
 [Pointing to the Attendant who carriis 
 off Lepidus. 
 
 Men. Why ? 
 
 Eno. He bcara 
 
 The third part of the world, man; Seest not? 
 
 Men. The third part then is drunk: 'Would it 
 v/ere all. 
 That it might go on wheels ! 
 
 Eno. Drink thou; incrrase the reels. 
 ' Encompasses. * Embraces. ' Confederates. ' Cloyed 
 
 V 
 
Act III. Scene I, 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 731 
 
 Men. Come. 
 
 Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 
 Ant. It ripens towards it. — Strike the ^ssels, ho! 
 Here is to Csesar. 
 
 Cses. I could well forbear it. 
 
 It's monstrous labor when I wash my brain 
 And it grows fouler. 
 
 Ant. Be a child o' the time. 
 
 Cses. Possess' it, I'll make answer: But I had 
 rather fast 
 From all, four days, than drink so much in one. 
 
 Eno. Ha, my brave emperor ! \_7'o Antosy. 
 Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
 And celebrate our drink ? 
 
 Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier. 
 
 Ant. Come, let us all take hands ; 
 Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense 
 In soft and delicate Lethe. 
 
 Eno. All take hands. — 
 
 Make battery to our ears with the loud music: — 
 The while, I'll place you: Then the boy shall sing; 
 The holding' every man shall bear, as loud 
 As his strong sides can volley. 
 
 l^Music plays. ExoBAnBus jo/aces them 
 hand in hand. 
 SONG. 
 Come, thou monarch of the vine, 
 Pliimpy Bacchus with pink eyne.-^ 
 In thy vats our cares be drowned,- 
 With thy jrrapes our hairs be crown'd; 
 Cup us, till the world go round; 
 Cup us till the world go round.' 
 
 Cxs. What would you more 1 — Pompey, goo^ 
 night. Good brother, 
 Let me request you olf: our graver business 
 Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords, let's part; 
 You see, we have burnt our cheeks : Strong Eno 
 
 barbe 
 Is weaker than the wine ; and mine own tongue 
 Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath al- 
 most 
 Antic'd us all. What needs more words ! Good 
 
 night,— 
 Good Antony, your hand. 
 
 Pom. I'll try you o' the shor*; 
 
 Ant. And shall, sir; give's your hand. 
 Pom. O, Antony, 
 
 You have my father's house. — But what ] we are 
 
 friends: 
 Come, down into the boat. 
 
 Eno. Take heed you tall not. — 
 
 l_Exeunt Pompet, Cjesah, Antoxt, and 
 Attendants. 
 Menas, I'll not on shore. * 
 
 Me)i. No, to my cabin. — 
 
 These drums, these trumpets, flutes! what! — 
 Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
 To these great fellows : sound, and be hang'd, 
 sound out. 
 
 A Flourish of Trumpets, with Drums. 
 Eno. Ho, says 'a ! — There's my cap. 
 Men. Ho ! — noble captain ! 
 
 Come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ Plain in Syria. 
 
 Enter Yi.'STivivs, as after Conquest, with Silius, 
 and other Romans, Officers, arid Soldiers ; the 
 dead Body of Pacorus borne before him. 
 
 Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck ; and 
 now 
 PIcas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
 Make me revenger. — Bear the king's son's body 
 Before our army: — Thy Pacorus, Orodes,' 
 Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 
 
 Sil. Noble Ventidius, 
 
 Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, 
 The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through Media, 
 Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither 
 The routed fly: so thy grand captain Antony 
 Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and 
 Pr.t garlands on thy head. 
 
 Ven. O Silius, Silius, 
 
 I have done enough: a lower place, note well, 
 May make too great an act: For learn this, Silius; 
 Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire 
 Too high a fame, when him we serve's away. 
 Ceesar, and Antony, have ever won 
 More in their officer, than person : Sossius, 
 Jue of my place in Syria, his lieutenant. 
 For quick accumulation of renown, 
 Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favor* 
 Who docs i' the wars more than his captain can, 
 
 ' Uinlorstand. ' Burdi^n, chorus. « Eyes. 
 
 ' I'acorus vras the son of Orodes, king of Parthia. 
 
 Becomes his captain's captain ; and ambition, 
 
 The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss. 
 
 Than gain, which darkens him. 
 
 I could do more to do Antonius good. 
 
 But 'twould offend him; and in his offence 
 
 Should my performance perish. 
 
 Sil. Thou hast Ventidius 
 
 That without which a soldier, and his sword. 
 Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to An- 
 tony ? 
 
 Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name, 
 That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
 How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, 
 The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
 We have jaded out o' the field. 
 
 Sil. Where is he now ? 
 
 Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither with 
 what haste 
 The weight we must convey with us will permit, 
 We shall appear before him. — On, there; pass along. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Rome. An Ante-chamber in Ojb- 
 sar's House. 
 
 Enter Aruippa and Enobahbus, meeting. 
 
 Agr. What, are the brothers parted ! 
 
 Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he if 
 gone ; 
 The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps 
 To part from Rome; Caesar is sad; and Lepidus, 
 
732 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
 With the green-sickness. 
 ■Agr, 'Tis a noble Lepidus. 
 
 Eno. A very fine one: O, how he loves Csesar! 
 Agr. Nay, but how clearly he adores Mark An- 
 tony! 
 Eno. Cassar, why he's the Jupiter of men. 
 Agr. What's Antony ] The god of Jupiter. 
 Eno. Spake you of Cajsarl How 1 tlic nonp;\reil ! 
 Agr. Antony ! O thou Arabian bird ! ^ 
 Eno. Would you praise Ccesar, say, — Ofesar; — 
 
 go no further. 
 Agr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellent 
 
 praises. 
 Eno. But he loves Cresar best; — Yet he loves 
 Antony : 
 Ho I hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, 
 
 cannot 
 Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love 
 To Antony. But as for Cassar, 
 Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 
 
 Agr. Both he loves. 
 
 Eno. They are his shards,* and he their beetle. 
 So. — [ Trumpets. 
 
 This is to horse. — Adieu, noble Agrippa. 
 
 Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier; and farewell. 
 
 Enter Cmsku, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia. 
 
 Ant. No further, sir. 
 
 Cses. You take from me a great part of myself; 
 Use me well in it. — Sister, prove such a wife 
 As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band* 
 Shall pass on thy npproof. — Most noble Antony, 
 Let not the piece of virtue,'' which is set 
 Betwixt us, as the cement of our love. 
 To keep it buikled, be the ram, to batter 
 The fortress of it: for better might we 
 Have loved without this mean, if on both parts? 
 This be not cherish'd. 
 
 Ant. Make me not offended 
 
 In your distrust. 
 
 Cses. I have said. 
 
 Ant. You shall not find. 
 
 Though you be therein curious,' the least cause 
 For what you seem to fear: So, the gods keep you, 
 And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends! 
 We will here part. 
 
 Caes. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee Vi^ell ; 
 The elements be kind to thee, and make 
 Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well. 
 
 Oda. My noble brother ! — • 
 
 Ant. The April's in her eyes : It is love's spring. 
 And these the showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful. 
 
 Oda. Sir, 1 )ok well to my husband's house; and — 
 
 Cxs. What, 
 
 Octavia 1 
 
 Oda. I'll tell you in your ear. 
 
 Ant. Iler tongue will not obey her heart, nor can 
 U i* heart inform her tongue : the swan's down 
 
 feather, 
 That stands upon the swell at full of tide, 
 And neither way inclines. 
 
 Eno. Will Cffisar weep? [^sjc?c /o Aruippa. 
 
 Agr. He has a cloud in's face. 
 
 Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse ; 
 So is he, being a man. 
 
 Agr. Why, Enobarbus'! 
 
 When Antony found Julius CiEsar dead, 
 
 5 The phoenix. 
 « Octavia. 
 
 * Wing-cases. 
 ■" Scrupulous. 
 
 « Bond. 
 
 He cried almost to roaring; and he wept, 
 When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 
 
 Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a 
 rheum ; 
 What willingly he did confound,' he wail'd : 
 Believe it, till I weep too. 
 
 Cxs. No, sweet Octavia, 
 
 You shall hear from me still : the time shall not 
 Out-go my thinking on you. 
 
 Ant. Come, sir, come; 
 
 I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love: 
 Look, here I have you ; thus I let ycu go, 
 And give you to the gods. 
 
 Cxs. Adieu ; be happy ! 
 
 Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light 
 To thy fair way ! 
 
 Cses. Farewell, farewell ! [/iTmes Octavia. 
 
 Ant. Farewell ! 
 
 [Trumpets sound. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, CaAKMiAN,lRAs, and Alexas. 
 
 Cleo. Where is the fellow? 
 
 Alex. Half afeard to come. 
 
 Cleo. Go to, go to : — Come hither, sir. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Alex. Good majesty, 
 
 Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you. 
 But when you are well pleas'd. 
 
 Cleo. That Herod's head 
 
 I'll have: But how ? when Antony is gone. 
 Through whom I might command it. — Come thou 
 near. 
 
 Mess. Most gracious majesty, — 
 
 Cleo. Didst thou behold 
 
 Octavia ? 
 
 Mess. Ay, dread queen. 
 
 Cleo. Vv^here ? 
 
 Mess. Madam, in Roma 
 
 I look'd her in the face, and saw her led 
 Between her brother and Mark Antony. 
 
 Cleo. Is she as tall as me ? 
 
 Mess. She is not, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Didst hear her speak? is she shrill-tongued, 
 or low ? 
 
 Mess. Madam, I heard her speak ; she is low- 
 voiced. 
 
 Cleo. That's not so good : — He cannot like her 
 long. 
 
 Char. Like her! O Isis! 'tis impossible. 
 
 Cleo. I think so, Charmian: Dull of tongue, and 
 dwarfish ! — • 
 What majesty is in her gait? Remember, 
 If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 
 
 Mess. She creeps; 
 
 Her motion and her station' are as one : 
 She shows a body rather than a life; 
 A statue, than a breather. 
 
 Cleo. Is this certain ? 
 
 Mess. Or I have no observance. 
 
 Char. Three in Egypl 
 
 Cannot make better note. 
 
 Cleo. He's very knowing, 
 
 I do perceive't : — There's nothing in her yet: — 
 The fellow has good judgment. 
 
 Char. Excellent. 
 
 Cleo. Guess at her year?, I pr'ythee. 
 s Destroy. » Standing stili 
 
Scene VL 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 toS 
 
 Mess. Madam, 
 
 She was a widow. 
 
 Cleo. Widow? — Charmian, hark. 
 
 Mess, And I do think, she's thirty. 
 
 Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind 1 is it long, 
 or round] 
 
 Mess. Round even to faultiness. 
 
 Cleo. For the most part too, 
 
 They are foolish that are so. — Her hair, what color ? 
 
 Mess. Brown, madam: And her forehead is as low 
 As she would wish it. 
 
 Cleo. There is gold for thee. 
 
 Thou must not take my former sharpness ill : 
 I will employ thee back again; I find thee 
 Most fit for business: Go, make thee ready; 
 Our letters are prepared. [_Exit Messenger. 
 
 Char. A proper man. 
 
 Cleo. Indeed he is so : I repent me much, 
 That sol harry'd'him. Why, methinks, by him, 
 This creature's no such thirig. 
 
 Char. O, nothing, madam. 
 
 Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and 
 should know. 
 
 Char. Hath he seen majesty ? Isis else defend. 
 And serving you so long! 
 
 Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, 
 good Charmian : 
 But 'tis no matter: thou shalt bring him to me 
 Where I will write: All may be well enough. 
 
 Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Athens. A Room in Antony's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Antony and Octavia. 
 
 Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — 
 That were excusable, that, and thousands more 
 Of semblable import, — but he hath waged 
 New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it 
 To public ear : 
 
 Spoke scantly of roe: when perforce he could not 
 But pay me terms of honor, cold and sickly 
 He vented them ; most narrow measure lent me : 
 When the best hint was given him, he not took't, 
 Or did it from his teeth.^ 
 
 Octa. O my good lord, 
 
 Believe not all ; or, if you must believe. 
 Stomach' not all. A more unhappy lady, 
 If this division chance, ne'er stood between, 
 Praying for both parts: 
 /.nd the good gods will mock me presently, 
 When I shall pray, 0, bless my lord and husband! 
 Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
 0, bless my brother! Husband win, win brother, 
 Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway 
 'Twixt these extremes at all. 
 
 Atit. Gentle Octavia, 
 
 Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks 
 Best to preserve it : If I lose mine honor, 
 I lose myself: better I were not yours. 
 Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested. 
 Yourself shall go between us : The mean time, lady, 
 I'll raise the preparation of a war 
 Shallstain'your brother; Make your soonest haste: 
 Bo your desires are yours. 
 
 Octa. Thanks to my lord. 
 
 The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak, 
 Vour reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be 
 
 • Pulled, lugged. 
 
 ♦ Uesunt. 
 
 ' Indistinct, through his toeth. 
 » Disj^racc. 
 
 As if the world should cleave, and that elam luen 
 Should solder up the rift. 
 
 Ant. When it appears to you where this begins, 
 Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults 
 Can never be so equal, that your love 
 Can equally move with them. Provide your going; 
 Choose your own company, and command what cost 
 Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Enobaiibus and Eros, ineetin<r. 
 
 Eno. How now, friend Eros 1 
 
 Eros. There's strange news come, sir. 
 
 Eno. What, manl 
 
 Eros, Csesar and Lepidus have madewa's uprn 
 Pompey. 
 
 Eno. This is old; What is the success"!* 
 
 Eros. Cffisar, having made use of him^ m the 
 wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied hmi riva- 
 lity ;* would not let him partake in the glory of the 
 action : and not resting here, accuses him of let 
 ters he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his 
 own appeal,' seizes him : So the poor third is up. 
 till death enlarge his confine. 
 
 Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no 
 more; 
 And throw between them all the food thou hast, 
 They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony"? 
 
 Eros. He's walking in the garden — thus; and 
 spurns 
 The rush that lies before him ; cries Fool, Lepidus! 
 And threats the throat of that his officer, 
 That murder'd Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Our g^eat navy's rigged. 
 
 Eros. For Italy, and Cfesar. More, Domitius* 
 My lord desires you presently : my news 
 I might have told hereafter. 
 
 Eno. 'Twill be naught 
 
 But let it be. — Bring me to Antony. 
 
 Eros. Come, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Rome. A Room in Cxsax^s House, 
 Enter C^sah, Aguippa, and Mecjenas. 
 
 Cses. Contemning Rome, he has done all thi» 
 And more ; 
 In Alexandria, — here's the manner of it, — 
 I'the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
 Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
 Were publicly enthron'd; at the feet, sat 
 Caesarion, whom they call my father's son ; 
 And all the unlawful issue, that their lust 
 Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
 He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt; made her 
 Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, 
 Absolute queen. 
 
 Mec. This in the public eye? 
 
 Caes. V the common show-place, where they ex 
 ercise. 
 His sons he there proclaim'd. The kings of kings. 
 Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 
 He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy, he assigned 
 Syria, Silicia, and Phoenicia: She 
 In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
 That day appcar'd ; and oft before gave audience, 
 As 'tis reported, so. 
 
 Mec. Let Rome be thus 
 
 Inform'd. 
 
 6 What follows? 
 ■£qual rank. 
 
 ' t. e. Lepidus. 
 sTlccusatiov 
 
^34 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act hi 
 
 Agr. Who, queasy' with his insolence 
 
 Already, will their good thoughts call from him. 
 
 Cxa. The people know it;andhavenowreceiv'd 
 'lis accusations. 
 
 Agr, Whom does he accuse 1 
 
 Cxs. CsEsar: and that, having in Sicily 
 Sextus Pompeios spoil'd, we have not rated" him 
 Jlis part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent me 
 Some shipping unrestor'd : lastly, he frets, 
 That Lepidus of the triumvirate 
 Should be depos'd; and, beuig, that we detain 
 All his revenue. 
 
 Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd. 
 
 Caes, 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone. 
 I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel ; 
 That he his high authority abus'd. 
 And did deserve his change ; for what I have con- 
 
 quer'd, 
 I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, 
 And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I 
 Demand the hke. 
 
 Mec. He'll never yield to that. 
 
 Cass. Nor must not then be yielded to in this. 
 
 Enter Octatia. 
 
 Oda, Hail, Cajsar, and my lord ! hail most dear 
 
 Cffisar ! 
 Cses. That ever I should call thee, cast-away ! 
 Oda. You have not call'd me so, nor have you 
 
 cause. 
 Cebs, Why have you stol'n upon us thusl You 
 come not 
 Like Caesar's sister : The wife of Antony 
 Should have an army for an usher, and 
 The neighs of horse to tell of her approach, 
 Long ere she did appear; the trees by the way 
 Should have borne men; and expectation fainted, 
 Longing for what it had not: nay, the dust 
 Should have ascended to the. roof of heaven, 
 Rais'd by your populous troops: But you are 
 
 come 
 A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented 
 The ostent' of our love, which, left unshown, 
 Is often left unlov'd : we should have met you 
 By sea, and land; supplying every stage 
 With an augmented greeting. 
 
 Oda. Good my lord, 
 
 To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it 
 On my free-wiU. My lord, Mark Antony, 
 Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted 
 My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd 
 His pardon for return. 
 
 Cxs. Which soon he granted. 
 
 Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. 
 Oda. Do not say so, my lord. 
 Ci£s. I have eyes upon him, 
 
 And his affairs come to me on the wind, 
 AV'here is he now] 
 
 Oda. My lord, in Athens. 
 
 Cxs. No, my most wronged sister ; Cleopatra 
 Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire 
 To a whore ; who now are levying 
 The kings o' the earth for war: He hath assembled 
 Bocchus, the king of Lybia; Archelaus, 
 Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king 
 Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas : 
 King Malchus of Arabia; king of Pont; 
 Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king 
 Of Comagene; Polemon and Amintas, 
 < Sick, disgusted. » Assigned. » Show, token. 
 
 The kings of Mede, and Lycaonia, with a 
 More larger list of sceptres. 
 
 Oda. Ah me. most wretched, 
 
 That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, 
 That do afflict each other ! 
 
 Cass. Welcome hither ; 
 
 Your letters did withhold our breaking forth; 
 Till we perceiv'd both how you were wrong led. 
 And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart' 
 Be you not troubled with the time, which diives 
 O'er your content these strong necessities ; 
 But let determin'd things to destiny 
 Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome : 
 Nothing more dear to me. You are abused 
 Beyond the mark of thought : and the high gods, 
 To do you justice, make them ministers 
 Of us, and those that love you. Best of comfort; 
 And ever welcome to us. 
 
 Agr. Welcome, lady 
 
 Mec. Welcome, degr madam. 
 Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: 
 Only the adulterous Antony, most large 
 In his abominations, turns you off; 
 And gives his potent regiment' to a trull, 
 That noises it against us. 
 
 Oda. Is it so, sir 1 
 
 Caes. Most certain. Sister, welcome : Pray you,, 
 Be ever known to patience: My dearest sister ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. — Antony's Camp near the Fromon' 
 tory of Actium. 
 
 Enter Cleopatha and Estobakbus. 
 
 Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 
 
 Eno. But why, why, why 1 
 
 Cleo. Tiiou hast forspoke' my being in these wars; 
 And say'st, it is not fit. 
 
 Eno. Well, is if? is if? 
 
 Cleo. Is't not ] Denounce against us, why should 
 Be there in person 1 [not we 
 
 Eno. [Aside.'] Well, I could reply : — 
 If we should serve with horse and mares together, 
 The horse were merely' lost ; the mares would bear 
 A soldier, and his horse. 
 
 Cleo. What is't you say 7 
 
 Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony; 
 Take from his heart,take from his brain, from his time 
 What should not then be spared. He is already 
 Traduced for levity ; and 'tis said in Rome, 
 That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids. 
 Manage this war. 
 
 Cleo. Sink Rome ; and their tongues rot, 
 
 That speak against us ! A charge we bear i'the war, 
 And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
 Appear there for a man. Speak not against it : 
 I will not stay behind. 
 
 Eno. Nay, I have done ; 
 
 Here comes the emperor. 
 
 Enter Antony and Canidics. 
 
 Ant. Is't not strange, Canidiu.'^, 
 
 That from Tarentum, and Brundusium, 
 He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea, [sweet 1 
 And take in'' Toryne? — You have heard on'l, 
 
 Cleo. Celerity is never more admired. 
 Than by the nugligent. 
 
 Ant. A good rebuke. 
 
 Which might have well become the best of men, 
 
 •« GoTernmeut. "Forbid. 'Absolutely. ' Talie, subdue 
 
Scene VIII. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 73!^ 
 
 To taunt at slackness. — Canidius, we 
 Will fight with him by sea. 
 
 Cleo. By sea ! What else 1 
 
 Can, Why will i-^y lord do so] 
 
 Ant. For' he dares us to't. 
 
 Eno. So hath my lord dared him to single fight. 
 
 Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, 
 Where Ca;sar fought with Pompey: But these ofiers, 
 Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off; 
 And so should you. 
 
 Flno. Your ships are not well mann'd : 
 
 Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people 
 Ingross'd by swift impress f in Cmsar's fleet 
 Are those, that often have 'gainst Pompey fought: 
 Their ships are yare;' yours, heavy. No disgrace 
 Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, 
 Being prcpar'd for land. 
 
 Ant. By sea, by sea. 
 
 Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away 
 The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
 Distract your army, which doth most consist 
 Ofwar-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted 
 Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
 The way which promises assurance: and 
 Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, 
 From firm security. 
 
 Ajit. I'll fight at sea. 
 
 Cleo. I have sixty sails," Cfesar none better. 
 
 Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn; 
 And, with the rest full-rnann'd from the head of 
 
 Actium 
 Beat the approaching Caesar. But if we fail, 
 
 Entei' a Messenger. 
 
 We then can do't at land. — Thy business'? 
 
 Mess. The news is true, my lord ; he is descried ; 
 Csesar has taken Toryne. 
 
 Ant. Can he be there in person 1 'tis impossible ; 
 Strange, that his power should be. — Canidius, 
 Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
 And our twelve thousand horse: — We'll to our 
 ship ; 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 Away, my Thetis !' — How now, worthy soldier ? 
 
 Sold. noble emperor, do not fight by sea; 
 Trust not to rotten planks: Do you misdoubt 
 This sword, and these my wounds ? Let the 
 
 Egyptians, 
 And the Phoenicians, go a ducking; we 
 Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, 
 Ai.d fighting foot to foot. 
 
 Afit. Well, well, away. 
 
 [Exeunt Astoxy, Cleopatra, g/icJEno- 
 HAunrs. 
 
 Sold. By Hercules, I think, I am i' (he right. 
 
 Can. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action grows 
 Not in the power on't: So our leader's led. 
 And we are vt-omen's men. 
 
 Sold. You keep by land 
 
 The legions and the horse whole, do you not? 
 
 Can. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, 
 PubHcola, and Cffilius, are for sea: 
 But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's 
 Carries' beyond belief. 
 
 Sold. While he was yet in Rome, 
 
 His power went out in such distractions, as 
 Bcguil'd all spies. 
 
 ' Bi'cause. 
 « Ships. 
 
 • Pressed In basto. 
 5 Cleopatra. 
 
 Ready. 
 » Goes. 
 
 Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear youl 
 
 Sold. They say, one Taurus. 
 
 Can. Well I know the man. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. The emperor calls for Canidius. 
 Can. With news the time's with labor ; and throe* 
 forth,' 
 Each minute, some. [E.tcunf 
 
 SCENE Vnr.— ^ Plain near Actium. 
 
 Enter C.^sak, Tauiius, Officers, and ethers, 
 
 Ctes. Taurus, — 
 
 Tuiir. My lord. 
 
 Cces. Strike not by land ; keep whole ; 
 
 Provoke not battle, till we have done at sea. 
 Do not exceed the prescript of this scroll : 
 Our fortune lies upon this jump.' [Exeunt 
 
 Enter Axtony and Enobahbus. 
 
 Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon' side o' the hill, 
 In eye of Caesar's battle ; from which place 
 We may the number of the ships behold. 
 And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt 
 
 Enter Casidivs, marchinir zuith his Land Army 
 one way over the Stage,- «/?f/ Taurus, flie Lieu- 
 tenant of Giesx-r, the other iray. After their 
 going in, is heard the noise of a Sea-Fight. 
 
 Alarum. Re-enter Enobaubus. 
 
 Eno. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behoIJ 
 no longer: 
 The Antoniad,* the Egyptian admiral. 
 With all their -sixty, fly, and turn the rudder 
 To see't, mine eyes are blasted. 
 
 Enter Scauus. 
 
 Scar. Gods, and goddesses, 
 
 All the whole synod of them ! 
 
 Eno. What's thy passion 1 
 
 Scar. The greater cantle' of the world is lost 
 With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away 
 Kingdoms and provinces. 
 
 Eno. How appears the fight? 
 
 Scar. On our side like the tokcn'd' pestilence. 
 Where death is sure. Yon' ribald-rid nag of Egypt, 
 Whom leprosy o'ertake ! i' Ihe midst o' the fight,— 
 When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd. 
 Both as the same, or rather ours the elder,- 
 The brize' upon her, like a cow in June, 
 Hoists sails, and flies. 
 
 Enn. That I beheld: mine eyea 
 
 Did sicken at the sight on't, and could not 
 Endure a further view. 
 
 •Scar. She once being locf 'd,' 
 
 The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, 
 Claps on his sea-^ving, and like a doting mallard, 
 Leaving the fight in height, flies after her; 
 I never saw an action of such shame ; 
 Experience, manhood, honor, ne'er before 
 Did violate so itself. 
 
 Eno. Alack, alack! 
 
 Enter Caniuics- 
 
 Can. Our fortune on the sea is out ot bitath, 
 And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
 
 « I?rin'.?.s forth. ' Hazard. • Name of Cleopatra's shipi 
 ' Corner. ' Spotte'i. «The gad-fly tbat stings e»ttl« 
 ' Brought close to the wind. 
 
786 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, 
 
 Act III 
 
 Been what he knew himself, it had gone wnll : 
 0, he has given example for our flight, 
 Most grossly, by his own. 
 
 Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts? Why then, good 
 night 
 Indeed. [^Aside. 
 
 Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. 
 
 Scar. 'Tis easy to't ; and there I will attend 
 What further comes. 
 
 Can. To Caesar will I render 
 
 My legions and my horse; six kings already 
 Show me the way of yielding. 
 
 E)io. I'll yet follow 
 
 The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason 
 Sits in the wind against me. [^Exeunt, 
 
 SC^NE IX.— Alexandria A Room in the 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Antont and Attendants. 
 
 Ant. Hark, the land bids me tread no more 
 upon't, 
 It is asham'd to bear me ! Friends, come hither, 
 I am so lated" in the world, that I 
 Have lost my way for ever : — I have a ship 
 Laded with gold ; take that, divide it : fly. 
 And make your peace with Csesar. 
 
 Aft. Fly ! not we. 
 
 A7it. I have fled myself; and have instructed 
 cowards 
 To run, and show their shoulders. — Friends, be 
 
 gone; 
 I have myself rcsolv'd upon a course, 
 Which has no need of you ; be gone : 
 My treasure's in the harbor, take it. — 0, 
 I follow'd that I blush to look upon: 
 My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white 
 Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
 For fear and doting. — Friends, be gone ; you shall 
 Have letters from me to some friends, that will 
 Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, 
 Nor make replies of loathness : take the hint 
 Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left 
 Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway : 
 I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
 Leave me, I pray, a little ; 'pray you now : — 
 Nay, do so ; for, indeed, I have lost command. 
 Therefore I pray you: — I'll see you by and by. 
 
 [^Sitsdoivn. 
 
 Enter Enos, atjd Cleopatra, led hij Chabmian 
 and Iras. 
 
 Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him : — Comfort 
 him. 
 
 Iras. Do, most dear queen. 
 
 Char. Do! Why, what else? 
 
 Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno ! 
 
 Ant. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Eros. See you here, sir 1 
 
 Ant. fyc, fye, fye. 
 
 Char. Madam, — 
 
 7^05. Madam ; O good empress ! — 
 
 Eros. Sir, sir, — 
 
 Ant. Yes, my lord, yes ; — He,* at Philippi, kept 
 His sword even like a dancer ; while I struck 
 The lean and wrinkled Cassius : and 'twas I, 
 That the mad Brutus ended: he alone 
 Dealt on lieutenantry,' and no practice had 
 In the brave squares of war: Yet now — No matter. 
 
 ' Belated, benighted. * Caesar. 
 
 » Fought by his offliers. 
 
 Cleo. Ah, stand by. 
 
 Eros. The queen, my lord, tiic queen. 
 
 Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him: 
 He is uiiqualiticd" with very shame. 
 
 Cleo. Well then. — Sustain mc: — O! 
 
 Eros. Most noble sir, arise; the queen ap 
 preaches ; 
 Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her; bu^ 
 Your comfort makes the rescue. 
 
 Ant. I have offended reputation; 
 A most unnoble swerving. 
 
 Eros. Sir, the queen. 
 
 Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See^ 
 How I convey my shame out of thine e3'es 
 By looking back on what I have left behind 
 'Stroy'd in dishonor. 
 
 Cleo, my lord, my lord ! 
 
 Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought, 
 You would have followed. 
 
 Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too weh 
 
 My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, 
 And thou shouklst tow me after : O'er my spirit 
 Thy full supremacy thou knew'st; and that 
 Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 
 Command me. 
 
 Cleo. 0, my pardon. 
 
 Ant. Now I must 
 
 To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
 And palter in the shifts of lowness; who 
 With half the bulk o' the world play'd as Ipleas'd, 
 Making and marring fortunes. You did know 
 How much you were my conqueror ; and that 
 My sword, made weak by my affection, would 
 Obey it on all cause. 
 
 Cleo. O pardon, pardon. 
 
 Ant. Fall not a tear, I say: one of them rates' 
 All that is won and lost : Give me a kiss ; 
 Even this repays me. — We sent our schoolmaster, 
 Is he come back? — Love, I am full of lead: — 
 Some wine, within there, and our viands: — For- 
 tune knows. 
 We scorn her most, when most she ofiers blows. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X. — Caesar's Camjj in Egypt. 
 
 Enter C^sar, Dola bulla, Thireus, and others. 
 
 Cass. Let him appear that's come from Antony. — 
 Know you him ? 
 
 Dot. CiEsar, 'tis his schoolmaster;' 
 
 An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither 
 He sends so poor a pinion of his wing. 
 Which had superfluous kings for messengers, 
 Not many moons gone by. 
 
 Enter Euphronius. 
 
 Cass. Approach, and speak. 
 
 Enp. Such as I am, I come from Antony: 
 I was of late as petty to his ends, 
 As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf 
 To his grand sea. 
 
 Cass. Be it so; Declare thine oflSce. 
 
 Eup. Lord of his fortunes, he salutes thee, and 
 
 Requires to live in Egypt : which not granted, 
 
 He lessens his requests: and to thee sues. 
 
 To let him breathe between the heavens and earthf 
 
 A private man in Athens : This for him. 
 
 Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness; 
 
 6 Divested of his faculties. ' Unless. • Equals in value 
 ' Euphronius, schoolmaster to Antony's cbildrea 
 
J5oENE XI. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 73? 
 
 Submits her to th\ might; and of thee craves 
 The ch-cle'cf the Ptolemies for her heirs, 
 Nov hazarded to thy grace. 
 
 Cscs. For Antony, 
 
 I have no ears to his request. The queen 
 Of audience, nor desire, shall fail; so she 
 From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend. 
 Or take his life there: This if she perform, 
 She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 
 
 Eiip. Fortune pursue thee ! 
 
 Cics. Bring him through the bands. 
 
 [^Exit EUPHHONIUS. 
 
 To try thy eloquence, now^ 'tis time: Despatch; 
 From Antony win Cleopatra: proro-se, 
 
 [To Thyreus. 
 And in our name, wliat she requires; add more, 
 From thine invention, offers : women are not, 
 In their best fortunes, strong; but want will perjure 
 The ne'er touch'd vestal: Try thy cunning, Thyreus; 
 iVlake thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
 Will answer as a law. 
 
 Thyr. Cffisar, I go. 
 
 Cxs. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw;'' 
 And what thou think'st his very action speaks 
 In every power that moves. 
 
 Thyr. Caesar, I shall. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XI. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Cleopatka, Enobarbcs, Cuarmian, and 
 InAs. 
 
 Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus 1 
 Eno. Think, and die. 
 
 Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this] 
 Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
 Lord of his reason. What although you fled 
 From that great face of war, whose several ranges 
 Frighted each other ] why should he follow 1 
 The itch of his affection should not then 
 Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point, 
 When half to half the world oppos'd, he being 
 The mered question;^ 'Twas a shame no less 
 Than was his loss, to course your flying flags. 
 And leave his navy gazing. 
 
 Cleo. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Enter Antont, with Euphhonius. 
 
 Ant. Is this his answer? 
 
 Eup, Ay, my lord. 
 
 AnL The queen 
 
 'Shall then have courtesy, so she will yield 
 Us up. 
 
 Eup. He says so. 
 
 Ant. Let her know it. — 
 
 To the boy C;esar send this grizzled head. 
 And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
 With principalities. 
 
 Cleo. That head, my lord ? 
 
 Ant. To him again ; tell him he wears the rose 
 Of youth upon him; from which the world should 
 
 note 
 Something particular : his coin, ships, legions, 
 May be a coward's; v/hosc ministers would prevail 
 Under the service of a child, as soon 
 As i'the command of Cresar: I dare him therefore 
 To lay his gay caparisons ' apart, 
 
 « Diattpm, the crown. 
 
 " Coufonns himself to this breach of his fortune. 
 
 » The only cause of dispute. 
 
 * Circumstances of splendor 
 
 And answer me declined, ' sword against sword, 
 Ourselves alone: I'll write it; follow me. 
 
 [^Exrunt Antony and EupiinoNius 
 Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Ctesar will 
 Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the show. 
 Against a sworder. — I sec, men's judgments ara 
 A parcel^ of their fortunes: and things outward 
 Do draw the inward quality after them. 
 To suffer all alike. That he should dream. 
 Knowing all measures, the full Csesar wil 
 Answer his emptiness; — Caesar, thou hast subdu'd 
 His judgment too. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Att. A mes.senger from CjEsar. 
 
 Cleo. What, no more ceremony ? — See, xnj 
 women ! — 
 Against the blown rose may they stop their nose, 
 That kneel'd unto the buds. — Admit him, sir. 
 
 Eno. Mine honesty, and I, begin to square.' 
 
 [^Asidt 
 The loyalty, well held to fools, does make 
 Our faith mere folly : — Yet, he that can endure 
 To follow with allegiance a fallen lord, 
 Does conquer him that did his master conquer. 
 And earns a place i' the story. 
 
 Enter Ththeus. 
 
 Cleo. Cffisar's will 7 
 
 Thyr. Hear it apart. 
 
 Cleo. None but fiiends; say boldly 
 
 Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 
 
 Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has ; 
 Or needs not us. If Cajsar please, our master 
 M-^ill leap to be his friend : For us, you know. 
 Whose he is, we arc; and that's Caesar's. 
 
 Thyr. So.- 
 
 Thus then, thou most renown'd ; Caesar entreats, 
 Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, 
 Further than he is Ca;sar. 
 
 Cleo. Go on : Right royal. 
 
 Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony 
 As you did love, but as you fear'd him. 
 
 Cleo. ! 
 
 Thyr. The scars upon your honor, therefore, he 
 Does pity, as constrained blemishes. 
 Not as deserv'd. 
 
 Cleo. He is a god, and knows 
 
 What is most right : Mine honor was not yielded, 
 But conquer'd merely. 
 
 Eno. To be sure of that, \^Aside, 
 
 I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky. 
 That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
 Thy dearest quit thee. [^Exit Enobarbus. 
 
 Thyr. Shall I say to Ca;sar 
 
 What you require of him ? for he partly begs 
 To De desired to give. It much would please hira, 
 That of his fortunes you should make a stall 
 To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits, 
 To hear from me you had left Antony, 
 And put yourself under his shrewd, 
 The universal landlord. 
 
 Cleo. What's your name ■* 
 
 Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 
 
 Cleo. Most Rind messenget, 
 
 Say to great Ca-sar this, In disputation' 
 I kiss his conquering hand: tell him I am prompf 
 To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel : 
 
 6 In a<;e and power. cAreof apiece with them, i Quarrel 
 » Supposed to be an error for deputation, i. e. by pi pxy 
 
738 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Tell Lim, from his all-obeying' breath I hear 
 The doom of Egypt. 
 
 Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course. 
 
 Wisdom and fortune combating together, 
 [f that the former dare but what it can, 
 No chance may shake it. Give me grace ' to lay 
 My duty on your hand. 
 
 Cleo. Your Csesar's father 
 
 Oft, when he hath mused of taking kingdoms in,^ 
 Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, 
 As it rain'd kisses. 
 
 Re-enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
 
 Ant. Favors, by Jove that thunders ! — 
 
 What art thou, fellow 1 
 
 Thyr. One, that but performs 
 
 The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
 To have command obey'd. 
 
 Eno You will be whipp'd. 
 
 Ant. Approach, there: — Ay, you kite! — Now 
 gods and devils ! 
 Authority melts from me : Of late, when I cried, Hof 
 Like boys unto a muss,^ kings would start forth. 
 And cry. Your will? Have you no ears'? I am 
 
 Enter Attendants. 
 
 Antony yet. Take hence this Jack. * and whip him. 
 
 Eno. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp. 
 Than with an old one dying. 
 
 A7it. Moon and stars ! 
 
 Whip him : — Were't twenty of the greatest tribu- 
 taries 
 That do acknowledge Cfesar, should I find them 
 So saucv with the hand of she here,( What's her name 
 Since she was Cleopatra?) — Whip him, fellows. 
 Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face, 
 And whine aloud for mercy : Take him hence. 
 
 Thi/r. Mark Antony, — 
 
 Ant. 'I'ug him away : being whipp'd, 
 
 Bring him again : — This Jack of Csesar's shall 
 Bear us an errand to him. — 
 
 \^Exeunt Attend, ivith Ththeus. 
 You were half blasted ere I knew you : — Ha ! 
 Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, 
 Forborne the getting of a lawful race. 
 And by a gem of women, to be abused 
 By one that looks on feeders 1 ' 
 
 Cleo. Good my lord, — 
 
 Ant. You have been a boggier ever : — 
 But when we in our viciousness grow hard, 
 (0 misery on't!) the wise gods seel^ our eyes; 
 In our ^wn filth drop our clear judgments ; make us 
 Adore our errors : laugh at us, while we strut 
 To our confusion. 
 
 Cko. O, is it come to this1 
 
 Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon 
 Dead Caesar's trencher : nay, you were a fragment 
 Of Cneius Pompey's ; besides what hotter hours, 
 Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have 
 Luxuriously pick'd out: — For, I am sure, 
 Though you can guess what temperance should be. 
 You know not what it is. 
 
 Cleo. Wherefore is this ] 
 
 Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards. 
 And say, God quit you.' be familiar with 
 My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal, 
 \nd plighter of high hearts ! — 'O, that I were 
 
 » Obeyed « Grant me the favor. » Conquering. 
 » Scramble. ' A term of contempt. 
 
 Seriants. « Close up. 
 
 Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar 
 The horned herd ! for I have savage cause ; 
 And to proclaim it civilly, were like 
 A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank 
 For being yare' about him. — Is he whipp'd 1! 
 Re-enter Attendants, with Thyreus. 
 
 1 Ait. Soundly, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Cry'd he ! and begg'd he pardon 1 
 
 1 Att. He did ask favor. 
 Ant. If that thy fother live, let him repent 
 Thou wast not made his daughter ; and be thou sony 
 To follow CjEsar in his triumph, since 
 Thou hast been whipp'd for following him : hence- 
 forth. 
 The white hand of a lady fever thee. 
 Shake thou to look on't. — Get thee back to Ca;sar 
 Tell him thy entertainment: Look, thou say, 
 He makes me angry with him : for he seems 
 Proud and disdainful ; harping on what I am ; 
 Not what he knew I was : he makes me angry ; 
 And at this time most easy '*is to do't ; 
 When my good stars, that were my former guides 
 Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires 
 Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike 
 My speech, and what is done ; tell him, he has 
 Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom 
 He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture. 
 As he shall like, to quit' me : Urge it thou: 
 Hence, with thy stripes, begone. \Exit Thtreus. 
 
 Cleo. Have you done yet ] 
 
 Ant. Alack, our terrene ° moon 
 
 Is now eclips'd ; and it portends alone 
 The fall of Antony ! 
 
 Cko. I must stay his time. 
 
 Ant. To flatter Cffisar, would you mingle eyes 
 With one that ties his points ] 
 
 Cleo. Not know me yet 1 
 
 Ant. Cold-hearted toward me ] 
 
 Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so, 
 
 From my cold heart let heaven engender hail. 
 And poison it in the source ; and the first stone 
 Drop in my neck: as it determines,' so 
 Dissolve my life ! The next,C.'Psarion'' smite ' 
 Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb. 
 Together with my brave Egyptians all. 
 By the discandying' of this pelleted storm. 
 Lie graveless ; till the flies and gnats of Nile 
 Have buried them for prey ! 
 
 Ant. I ani satisfied 
 
 Caesar sits down in Alexandria : where 
 I will oppose his fate. Our force by land 
 Hath nobly held ; our sever'd navy too 
 Have knit again, and fleet ' threatening most sea- 
 like. 
 Where hast thou been, my heart 1 — Dost thou heat; 
 
 ladyl 
 If from the field I shall return once more 
 To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood ; 
 I and my sword will earn our chronicle ; 
 There is hope in it yet. 
 
 Cleo. That's my brave lord ! 
 
 Ant. I will be treble-sifiew'd, hearted, breath'di 
 And fight maliciously : for when mine hours 
 Were nice ' and lucky, men did ransom lives 
 Of me for jests ; but now, I'll set my teeth. 
 And send to darkness all that stop me. — Come, 
 Let's have one other gaudy night : call to me 
 
 I Ready, handy. » Requite. ' Earthlv 
 
 ' Dissolves. » Her son by Julius Csesar 
 
 3 Melting. ■« Float » Trifling 
 
\cT IV. Scene 1. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 733 
 
 All my sad captains, fill our bowls; once more 
 I/Ct's mock the midnight bell. 
 
 C/co. It is my birth-day : 
 
 I h;i(l thought to have held it poor; but, since my lord 
 Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. 
 
 Ant. We'll yet do well. 
 
 Cko. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 
 
 Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them ; and to-night 
 I'll force 
 The wine peep through their scars. — Come on, 
 
 my queen; 
 There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight, 
 
 I'll make death love me; for I will contend 
 Even with his pestilent scythe. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony, Cleopatka, and 
 Attendants. 
 Eno. Now he'll out-stare the lightning. Tob4 
 furious 
 Is, to be frighted out of fear; and in that mood, 
 The dove will peck the estridge;' and I see still, 
 A diminution in our captain's brain 
 Restores his heart: When valor preys on reason, 
 It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 
 Some way to leave him. 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I. — Cffisar's Camp at Alexandria. 
 
 E7iter Cmsxh, reading a Letter.- Agrippa, Me- 
 c^NAS, and others. 
 
 CiES. He calls me, boy; and chides, as he had 
 power 
 To beat me out of Egypt : my messenger 
 He hath whipp'd with rods ; dares me to personal 
 
 combat, 
 Caesar to Antony: Let the old ruffian know, 
 I have many other ways to die ; mean time. 
 Laugh at his challenge. 
 
 il/ec. Ca?sar must think, 
 
 When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted 
 Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
 Make boot* of his distraction: Never anger 
 Made good guard for itself. 
 
 Cirs. Let our best heads 
 
 Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
 We mean to fight : — Within our files there are. 
 Of those that scrv'd Mark Antony but late, 
 Enough to fetch him in. See it be done; 
 And least the army: we have store to do't, 
 And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony ! 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 -Alexandria. 
 Palace. 
 
 A Room in the 
 
 Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Chah- 
 MiAN, Iras, Alexas, and others. 
 
 Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. 
 
 Eno. No. 
 
 Ant. Why should he not? 
 
 Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better 
 fortune. 
 He is twenty men to one. 
 
 An: To-morrow, soldier, 
 
 Dy sei and land I'll fight: or I will live, 
 Or bar.,e my dying honor in the blood 
 Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well? 
 
 Eno. I'll strike ; and cry, Tuhe ail. 
 
 Ant. Well said ; come on. — 
 
 Call forth my household servants; let's to-night 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Be bounteous at our meal. — Give mc thy hand, 
 riiou hast been rightly honest; so hast thou; — 
 And thou, — and thou, — and thou; — you have 
 
 serv'd me well, 
 Ind kings have been your fellows. 
 • Take advantage. 
 
 Cko. What means this^ 
 
 Eno. 'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow 
 shoots [_Aside. 
 
 Out of the mind. 
 
 Ant. And thou art honest too. 
 
 I wish I could be made so many men; 
 And all of you clapp'd up together in 
 An Antony ; that I might do you service. 
 So good as you have done. 
 
 Serv. The gods forbid ! 
 
 Arit, Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: 
 Scant not my cups; and make as much of me. 
 As when my empire was your follow too, 
 And sulfer'd my command. 
 
 Cleo. Wliat does he mean 1 
 
 Eno. To make his followers weep. 
 
 Ant. Tend me to-night; 
 
 May be, it is the period of your duty : 
 Haply, you .sliall not see me more ; or if, 
 A mangled shadow : perchance to-morrow 
 You'll serve another master. I look on you. 
 As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
 I turn you not away ; but, like a master 
 Married to your good service, stay till death : 
 Tend me to-night tvfo hours, I ask no more. 
 And the gods yield' you for't! 
 
 Eno. What mean you, sir. 
 
 To give them this discomfoi-t1 Look, they weep; 
 And I, an ass, am onion-eyed ; for shame, 
 Transform us not to women. 
 
 Ant. Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus ! 
 Grace grow where those drops fall ! My hearty 
 
 friends. 
 You take me in too dolorous a sense ; 
 I spake to you for your comfort; did desire you 
 To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearty 
 I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you. 
 Where rather I'll expect victorious life. 
 Than death and honor. Let's to supper; come. 
 And drown consideration. \_Exeunf 
 
 SCENE 111.— Before the Palace. 
 Enter two Soldiers to their Guards. 
 
 1 Sold. Brother, good night: to-morrow is the day 
 
 2 Sold. It will determine one way: fare you well 
 Heard you of nothing strange about the streets'? 
 
 1 Sold. Nothing: What news 1 
 
 2 Sold. Belike, 'tis but a rumo' 
 Good night to you. 
 
 ] Sold. Well, sir, good night. 
 
 ' Oitrich. • Rewarrt 
 

 740 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Enter itao other Soldiers. 
 
 Soldiers, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 g Sold. 
 Have careful watch. 
 
 .3 Sold. And you : Good night, good night. 
 
 [I'he first two place themselves at 
 their Posts. 
 4 Sold. Here we: IThet/ lake their Posts."] and 
 if to-morrow 
 Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope 
 Our landmen will stand up. 
 
 3 Sold. 'Tis a brave army, 
 
 And full of purpose. 
 
 [Music of Hautboys under the Stage. 
 4: Sold. Peace, what noise? 
 
 1 Sold. List, list! 
 
 3 Sold. Hark! 
 
 1 Sold. Music i' the air. 
 
 3 Sold. Under the earth. 
 
 4 Sold. It signs' well, 
 Does't not] 
 
 3 Sold. No. 
 
 ' Sold. Peace, I say. What should this mean 1 
 
 2 Sold. 'Tis the god Hcrcules,whom Antony lov'd, 
 Now leaves him. 
 
 1 Sold. Walk ; let's see if other watchmen 
 Do hear what we do. [ They advance to another Post. 
 
 2 Sold. How now, masters] 
 
 Sold. How now ? 
 
 How now? do you hear this] 
 
 '^Several speaking together, 
 1 Sold. Ay ; Is't not strange ] 
 
 3 Sold. Do you hear, masters] do you hear] 
 
 1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter. 
 Let's see how 't will give off. 
 
 Sold. [Several speaking.] Content: 'Tis strange. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Antony, and Cleopatra; Charmian, a7id 
 others, attending. 
 
 Ant. Eros ! mine armor, Eros ! 
 Cleo. Sleep a little. 
 
 Ant. No, my chuck. — Eros, come ; mine armor, 
 Eros! 
 
 Enter Enos, with Armor. 
 
 Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on : — 
 If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
 Because we brave her. — Come. 
 
 Cleo. Nay, I'll help too. 
 
 What's this for ? 
 
 Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art 
 
 The armorer of my heart : — False, false ; this, this. 
 
 Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help: Thus it must be. 
 
 Ant. Well, well; 
 
 We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow] 
 Cfo, put on thy defences. 
 
 Eros. Briefly, sir. 
 
 Cleo. Is not this buckled well ] 
 
 Ant. Rarely; rarely: 
 
 He that unbuckles this, till we do please 
 To doff't' for our repose, shall hear a storm. — 
 Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire 
 More tight' at this than thou : Despatch. — love. 
 That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st 
 The royal occupation ! thou shouklst see 
 
 9 Bodes. » Tut it off. » Handy 
 
 Enter an Officer, armed. 
 
 Good morrow to thee; we' 
 
 A workman in't.- 
 
 come ; 
 Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge ■ 
 To business that we love, we rise betime, 
 And go to it with delight. 
 
 1 Off. A thousand, sir, 
 Early though it be, have on their riveted trim, 
 And at the port expect you. 
 
 [Shout. Trumpets. Flourish 
 
 Enter other Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 2 Off. The morn is fair. — Good aorrovv, general. 
 All. Good morrow, general. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis well blown, lads, 
 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins betimes. — 
 So, so; come, give me that: this way, well said. 
 Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me: 
 This is a soldier's kiss: rebukabje [Kisses her. 
 And worthy shameful check it were, to stand 
 On more mechanic compliment ; I'll leave thee, 
 Now, like a man of steel. — You that will fight. 
 Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. — Adieu. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony, Eros, Officers, and 
 Soldiers. 
 Char. Please you, retire to your chamber ] 
 Cleo. Lead me: 
 
 He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might 
 Determine this great war in single fight! 
 Then, Antony, — But now, — Well, on. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Antony's Camp near Alexandria. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Antony ««</ Eros; a 
 Soldier meeting them. 
 
 Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony. 
 
 A7it. 'Would, thou and those thy scars had once 
 prevail'd 
 To make me fight at land ! 
 
 Sold. Hadst thou done so, 
 
 The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
 That has this morning left thee, would have still 
 Follow'd thy heels. 
 
 A7it. Who's gone this morning .' 
 
 Sold. Who ? 
 
 One ever near thee: Call for Enobarbus, 
 He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp 
 Say, / am none of thine. 
 
 Ant. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Sold. Sii, 
 
 He is with Ctesar. 
 
 Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 
 
 He has not with him. 
 
 Ant. Is he gone] 
 
 Sold. Most certain 
 
 Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it; 
 Detain no jot, I charge thee : write to him 
 (I will subscribe) gentle adieus and greetings: 
 Say, that I wish he never find more cause 
 To change a master. — my fortunes have 
 Corrupted honest men ; — Eros, despatch. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VI. — Caesar's Camp before Alexandria 
 
 Flourish. Eiiter C^jsar, ivith Agrippa, End* 
 BARBXJs, and others. 
 
 Cses. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: 
 Our will is, Antony be took alive; 
 Make it so known. 
 
Scene IX. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 
 
 741 
 
 Agr. Caesar, I shall. \^Exit Agrippa. 
 
 Cass. The time of universal peace is near : 
 Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world 
 Shall bear the olive freely. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Antony 
 
 Is come into the field. 
 
 CiBS. Go, charge Agrippa 
 
 Plant those that have revolted in the van, 
 That Antony may seem to spend his fury 
 Upon himself. [Exeunt C.tssaii and his Train. 
 
 Eno. Alexas did revolt ; and went to Jewry, 
 On affiiirs of Antony : there did persuade 
 Great Herod to incline himself to Cffisar, 
 And leave his master Antony : for this pains, 
 Cajsar hath hanged him. Canidius, and the rest 
 That fell away, have entertainment, but 
 No honorable trust. I have done ill; 
 Of which I do accuse myself so sorely. 
 That I will joy no more. 
 
 Enter a Soldier of CiESAii's, 
 
 Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 
 
 Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
 His bounty overplus: The messenger 
 Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now, 
 Unloading of his mules. 
 
 Eno. I give it you. 
 
 Sold. Mock me not, Enobarbus. 
 
 I tell you true : Best that you safed the bringer 
 Out of the host; I must attend mine office, 
 Or would have done't myself. Your emperor 
 Continues still a Jove. [Exit Soldier. 
 
 Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth. 
 And feel I am so most. Antony, 
 Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid 
 My better service, when my turpitude 
 Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows' my 
 
 heart : 
 If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
 Shall outstrike thought: but thought will do't, I feel. 
 I fight against thee ! — No : I will go seek 
 Some ditch, wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits 
 My latter part of life. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE Yll.—Fieldof Battle betweenthe Camps. 
 
 Alarums. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Aguivva, 
 and others. 
 
 Agr. Retire, we have engaged ourselves too far: 
 Cffisar himself has work, and our oppression 
 Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Antoxy and Scarus, wounded. 
 
 Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed ! 
 Had we done so at first, we had driven them home 
 With clouts about their heads. 
 
 Ant. Thou bleed'st apace. 
 
 Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, 
 But now 'tis made an H. 
 
 Ant. They do retire. 
 
 Scar. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes; I have yet 
 Room for six scotches' more. 
 
 Enter Eros. 
 
 Erus. They are beaten, sir; and our advantage 
 serves 
 For a fair victory. 
 
 Scar. Lot us score their backs. 
 
 And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, i)ohind; 
 "Tis sport to maul a runner. 
 
 'Swells •Cuts. 
 
 48 
 
 Ant. I will reward thee 
 
 Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold 
 For thy good valor. Come thee on. 
 
 Scar. I'll halt after. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE YllL— Under the Walls of Alexandria. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Antont, inarching; Scahds, and 
 Forces. 
 
 Ant. We have beat him to his camp ; Run ono 
 before. 
 And let the queen know of our guests. — To-morrow 
 Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood 
 That has to-day escaped. I thank you all ; 
 For doughty '-handed are you; and have fought 
 Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been 
 Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors. 
 Enter the city, clip" your wives, your friends. 
 Tell them your feats ; whilst they with joyful teara 
 Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss 
 The honor'd gashes whole. — Give me thy hand ; 
 
 [To Scarus. 
 
 Enter Ci.kgpatra, attended. 
 
 To this great fairy' I'll commend thy acts, 
 
 Make her thanks bless thee. — O thou day o' the 
 world. 
 
 Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all, 
 
 Through proof of harness' to my heart, and there 
 
 Ride on the pants triumphing. 
 
 Cleo. Lord of lords ! 
 
 infinite virtue ! com'st thou smiling from 
 
 The world's great snare uncaughtl 
 
 Ant. My nightingale, 
 
 We have beat them to their beds. What, girl 1 
 though grey 
 
 Do something mingle with our brown; yet have we 
 
 A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can 
 
 Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; 
 
 Commend unto his lips thy favoring hand ; 
 
 Kiss it, my warrior: — He hath fought to-day, 
 
 As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 
 
 Destroy'd in such a shape. 
 
 Cleo. I'll give thee, friend, 
 
 An armor all of gold ; it was a king's. 
 
 Ant. He has descrv'd it, were it carbuncled 
 
 Like holy Phoebus' car. — Give me thy hand; 
 
 Through Alexandria make a jolly march; 
 
 Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe' 
 them. 
 
 Had our great palace the capacity 
 
 To camp this host, we all would sup together; 
 
 And drink carouses to the next day's fate. 
 
 Which promises royal peril. — Trumpeters, 
 
 With brazen din blast you the city's ear ; 
 
 Make mingle with our rattling tambourines ; 
 
 That heaven and earth may strike their sounds to- 
 gether. 
 
 Applauding our approach. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX.— Cffisar's Camp. 
 Sentinels on their Post. Enter Enobarbus. 
 
 1 Sold. If wc be not reliev'd within this hour, 
 We must return to the court of guard : The night 
 Is shiny ; and, they say, we shall embattle 
 By the scronii hour i' the morn. 
 
 'BriiTc. "Embrace. 
 
 ' Beauty united witli pow(?r, was the popular character- 
 istic of fairies. • Armor of proof. s Own 
 
742 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 2 Sold. This last day was 
 A shrewd one to us. 
 
 Eno. O, bear me witness, night, — 
 
 3 Sold. What man is this 1 
 
 2 Sold. Stand close, and list to him. 
 Eno. Be witness to me, thou blessed moon, 
 
 When men rccilted shall upon record 
 Bear hateful memory, poorEnobarbus did 
 Before thy face repent! — 
 
 1 Sold. Enobarbus! 
 
 3 Sold. Peace; 
 Hark further. 
 
 Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy. 
 The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me; 
 That life, a very rebel to my will. 
 May hang no longer on me: Throw my heart 
 Against the flint and hardness of my fault; 
 Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, 
 And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
 Nobler than my revolt is infamous, 
 Forgive me in thine own particular; 
 But let the world rank me in register 
 A master-leaver, and a fugitive: 
 
 Antony! O Antony! [^Dies. 
 
 2 Sold. Let's speak 
 To him. 
 
 1 Sold. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks 
 May concern Ctesar. 
 
 3 Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps. 
 
 1 Sold. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his 
 Was never yet for sleeping. 
 
 2 Sold. Go we to him. 
 
 3 Sold. Awake, awake, sir; speak to us. 
 
 2 Sold. Hear you, sir 1 
 1 Sold. The hand of death hath raughf him. 
 
 Hark, the drums [Drums afar off. 
 
 Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 
 To the court of guard: he is of note: our hour 
 Is fully out. 
 
 3 Sold. Come on then; 
 
 He may recover yet. [Exeunt ivith the Body. 
 
 SCENE X. — Between the two Camps. 
 
 Enter Antony and Scativs, with Forces, march- 
 ing. 
 
 Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea ; 
 We please them not by land. 
 
 Scar. For both, my lord. 
 
 Ant. I would, they'd fight i' the fire, or in the air; 
 We'd fight there too. But this it is ; our foot 
 Upon the hills adjoining to the city. 
 Shall stay with us; order for sea is given; 
 They have put forth the haven, further on, 
 Where their appointment we may best discover, 
 And look on their endeavor. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Cjesah, and his Forces, marching. 
 
 Ca'.s, But' beingcharged,we will be still by land, 
 Which, as I take't, we shall ; for his best force 
 Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, 
 And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Antony and Scarus. 
 
 Ant. Yet they're not join'd : Where yonder pine 
 does stand, 
 
 1 shall discover all : I'll bring thee word 
 Straighi, how 'tis like tc go. [Exit. 
 
 Scar. ■ Swallows have built 
 
 [n Cleopatra's sails their nest: the augurers 
 3 Beached. « Without. 
 
 Say, they know not, — they cannot tell: — looV 
 
 grimly 
 And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
 Is valiant and dejected ; and, by starts. 
 His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear, 
 Of what he has, and has not. 
 
 Alarum afar off, as at a Sea Fight. 
 
 Re-enter Antony. 
 
 Ant. All is lost 
 
 This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me : 
 My fleet hath yielded to the foe : and yonder 
 They cast their caps up, and carouse together 
 Like friends long lost. — Triple-turn'd whore !' 'tij 
 
 thou 
 Hast sold me to this novice ; and my heart 
 Makes only wars on thee. — Bid them all fly; 
 For when I am revenged upon my charm, 
 I have done all: — Bid them all fly, begone. 
 
 [Exit ScARUS. 
 
 sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : 
 Fortune and Antony part here ; even here 
 Do we shake hands. — All come to this 1 — The heart! 
 That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave 
 Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
 On blossoming Cfesar ; and this pine is bark'd, 
 That over-topp'd them all. Betray'd I am: 
 this false soul of Egypt ! this grave charm. 
 Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them 
 
 home ; 
 Whose bosom was my crownet,' my chief end, 
 Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,' 
 Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. — 
 What, Eros, Eros! 
 
 Enter Cleopatra. 
 
 Ah! thou spell! A vaunt! 
 Cleo. Why is my lord enraged against his love 1 
 Ant. Vanish : or I shall give thee thy deserving, 
 And blemish Cssar's triumph. Let him take thee, 
 And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: 
 Follow his chariot like the greatest spot 
 Of all thy sex; most monster-like, shown 
 For poor'st diminutives,' to dolts; and let 
 Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
 With her prepared nails. [Exit Clf.o.] 'Tis well 
 
 thou'rt gone. 
 If it be well to live: But better 'twere 
 Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death 
 Might have prevented many. — Eros, ho ! — 
 The shirt of Nessus is upon me : Teach me, 
 Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage: 
 Let me lodge Lichas'' on the horns o' the mooi. 
 And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club, 
 Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die; 
 To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall 
 Under this plot: she dies for't. — Eros, ho! [Exit 
 
 SCENE XI. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace 
 
 Enter CLEOPArRA, Charmian, Iras, and Mar- 
 
 DIAN. 
 
 Cleo. Help me, my women ! 0, he is more mad 
 
 Than Telamon'' for his shield ; the boar of Thcssaly 
 
 Was never so emboss'd.^ 
 
 Cleopatra first belonged to Julius Caesar, then to An 
 tony, and now, as Antony supposes, to Augustus. 
 » Finish. 
 
 * A cheating game, at present named pricling at the belt 
 ' For the smallest piece of money. 
 
 * The boy that brought the poisoned shirt to Uorculet 
 ' Ajax Telamon for the shield of Achilles 
 
 s Foiiming at the mouth 
 
Scene XII. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 743 
 
 Char. To the monument; 
 
 There lock yourself, and send him word you are 
 
 dead. 
 The soul and body rive not more in parting, 
 Thar- greatness going off. 
 
 Clto. To the monument: — 
 
 Alardian, go tell him I have slain myself; 
 Say, that the last I spoke was, Antony, 
 And word it, pr'ythee, piteously : Hence, 
 Mardian ; and bring me how he takes my death. — 
 To the monument. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Xll.— Another Room. 
 
 Enter Antost and Enos. 
 
 Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? 
 
 Eros. Ay, noble lord. 
 
 Ant. Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish; 
 A vapor, sometime, like a bear, or lion, 
 A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, 
 A forked mountain, or blue promontory 
 With trees upon't, that nod unto the world. 
 And mock our eyes with air: Thou hast seen these 
 
 signs ; 
 They are black vesper's pageants. 
 
 Eros. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a 
 thought. 
 The rack' dislimns; and makes it indistinct. 
 As water is in water. 
 
 Eros. It does, my lord. 
 
 Ant. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is 
 Even such a body: here I am Antony; 
 Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
 I made these wars for Egypt; and the queen, — 
 Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine; 
 Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't 
 A million more, now lost, — she, Eros, has 
 Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false play'd my glory 
 Unto an enemy's triumph. — 
 Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us 
 Ourselves to end ourselves. — O, thy vile lady! 
 
 Enter Maiidiait. 
 
 She has robb'd me of my sword. 
 
 Mar. No, Antony: 
 
 My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled 
 With thine entirely. 
 
 Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ; 
 
 She hath bctray'd me, and shall die the death. 
 
 Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once; 
 And that she has discharg'd : What thou wouldst do. 
 Is done unto thy hand: the last she spake 
 Was, Antony! most noble Antony! 
 Tlicn in the midst a tearing groan did break 
 The name of Antony; it was divided 
 Between her heart and lips: she renJer'd life, 
 Thy name so buried in her. 
 
 Ant. Dead then? 
 
 Mar. Dead. 
 
 Ant. Eros, unarm •, the long day's task is done, 
 And we must sleep: — T.hat thou depart'st hence 
 
 safe. 
 Does pay thy labor richly ; Go. — Off, pluck off; — 
 
 \^Exit MAnuiAN. 
 The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
 I'he battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides ! 
 Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,' 
 Srack thy frail case! — Apace, Eros, apace. — 
 
 • The flficting clouds. 
 
 -ic. The thing that contains thee. 
 
 No more a soldier: — bruised pieces, go; 
 You have been nobly borne. — From me a while. 
 
 \_Exit Enos 
 I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
 Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
 All length is torture: — Since the torch is out, 
 Lie down, and stray no further: Now all labor 
 Mars what it does ; yea, very force entangles 
 Itself with strength : Seal then, and all is done.- 
 Eros! — I come, my queen: — Eros! Stay for me. 
 Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in 
 
 hand, 
 And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gazoj 
 Dido and her ^neas shall want troops. 
 And all the haunt be ours. — Come, Eros, Eros ! 
 
 Re-enter Eros. 
 
 Eros. What would my lord ? 
 -4"/. Since Cleopatra died 
 
 I have liv'd in such dishonor, that the gods 
 Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
 Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's bac.b 
 With ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack 
 The courage of a woman ; less noble mind 
 Than she, which, by her death, our Caesar tells, 
 I am conqueror of myself. Thou art sworn, Eros, 
 That, when the exigent should come, (which now 
 Is come, indeed,) when I should see behind me 
 The inevitable prosecution of 
 Disgrace and horror, that, on my command. 
 Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come; 
 Thou strik'st not mc, 'tis Cssar thou defeat'st. 
 Put color in thy cheek. 
 
 Eros. The gods withhold me ' 
 
 Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts. 
 Though enemy, lost aim, and could not? 
 
 _^nt. Eros, 
 
 Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome, and see 
 Thy master thus with pleach'd^arms, bending down 
 His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
 To penetrative shame; whilst the wheel'd seat 
 Of fortunate CiEsar, drawn before him, branded 
 His baseness that ensued ? 
 
 Eros. I would not see't. 
 
 Ant. Come then ; for with a wound I must be 
 cured. 
 Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn 
 Most useful for thy country. 
 
 Eros. 0, sir, pardon me. 
 
 Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou 
 not then 
 To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once; 
 Or thy precedent services are all 
 But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 
 
 Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance, 
 Wherein the worship' of the whole world lies. 
 
 Ant. Lo thee ! [Turning from him. 
 
 Eros. My sword is drawn. 
 
 Ant. Then let it do at once 
 
 The thing why thou hast drawn it. 
 
 Eros. My dear master 
 
 My captain, and my emperor ! let me say. 
 Before I strike this bloody stroke. Farewell. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis said, man ; — and farewell. 
 
 Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? 
 
 Ant. Now, Eros. 
 
 Eros. Why, there then: — [Falls on his sword.] 
 Thus do I escape the sorrow 
 Of Antony's death. 
 
 > Folded. • Digni^ 
 
744 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Ant Thrice nobler than myself! 
 
 Thou teachcst me, O valiant Eros, what 
 I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and 
 
 Eros 
 Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me 
 /V nobleness in record: But I will be 
 A bridegroom in my death, and run into't 
 As to a lover's bed. Come then; and, Eros, 
 Thy master dies thy scholar ; to do thus 
 
 \_Falling on Ids sword. 
 I learn'd of thee. How! not yet dead 1 not dead? — 
 The guard ! — ho ! — O, despatch me. 
 
 Enter DEncEXAS and Guard. 
 
 1 Guard. What's the noise ? 
 Ant. I have done my work ill, friends : O, make 
 
 an end 
 Of what I have begun. 
 
 2 Guard. The star is fallen. 
 1 Guard. And time is at his period. 
 
 All. Alas, and woe! 
 
 Ant. Let him that loves me strike me dead. 
 
 1 Guard. Not I. 
 
 2 Guard. Nor I. 
 
 3 Guard. Nor any one. [^Exeunt Guard. 
 Tier. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers 
 
 fly- 
 
 This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings. 
 Shall enter me with him. 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 
 Dio. Where's Antony 1 
 Ber. There, Diomed, there. 
 
 Dio. Lives he ? 
 
 Wilt thou not answer, man 1 [Exit Dercetas. 
 Ant. Art thou there, Diomed ? Draw thy sword, 
 and give me 
 Sufficient strokes for death. 
 
 Dio. Most absolute lord, 
 
 My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 
 Ant. When did she send thee? 
 Dio. Now, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Where is she? 
 
 Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a pro- 
 phesying fear 
 Of what hath come to pass : for when she saw 
 (Which never shall be found) you did suspect 
 She had dispos'd with Ca?sar, and that your rage 
 Would not be purged, she sent you word she was 
 
 dead; 
 But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
 Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come, 
 I dread, too late. 
 
 Ant. Too late, good Diomed: — Call my guard, 
 
 I pr'ythee. 
 Dia. What ho ! the emperor's guard ! The 
 guard, what, ho! 
 fTnme, your lord calls. 
 
 Enter some of the Guard. 
 Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra 
 bides: 
 'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 
 1 Guard. Woe are we, sir, you may not live to 
 wear 
 All your true followers out. 
 
 All. Most heavy day . 
 
 Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp 
 fate 
 To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome 
 Which comes to punish us, and we punish it, 
 
 Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up: 
 
 I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends, 
 
 And have my thanks for all. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing ANXoirf 
 
 SCENE XIII.— ^ Monument. 
 Enter above, Cleopatha, Charmias, and Iras 
 
 Cleo. O, Charmian, I will never go from hence^ 
 
 Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 
 
 Cleo. No, I will not 
 
 All strange and terrible events are welcome, 
 But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow, 
 Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 As that which makes it. — How now ? Is he dead? 
 
 Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead. 
 Look out o' the other side your monument. 
 His guard have brought him thither. 
 
 Enter Antony, borne by the Guard. 
 
 Cleo. O thou sun, 
 
 Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in ! — darkling 
 
 stand 
 The varying shore o' the world ! — Antony ! 
 Antony, Antony! — Charmian, help; help, Iras; 
 Help, friends below : Let's draw him hither. 
 
 Ant. Peac/'- 
 
 Not Csesar's valor liath o'erthrown Antony, 
 But Antony's hath triumphed on itself. 
 
 Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony 
 Should conquer Antony; but wo 'tis so! 
 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only 
 I here importune death awhile, until 
 Of many thousand kisses the poor last 
 I lay upon thy lips, — 
 
 Cleo. I dare not, deai, 
 
 (Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not. 
 Lest I be taken : not the imperious show 
 Of the full-fortuned Cssar ever shall 
 Be brooch'd* with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, ha\«j 
 Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe ; 
 Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes. 
 And still conclusion,' shall acquire no honor 
 Demuring upon me. — But come, come, Antony ,- 
 Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up; — 
 Assist, good friends. 
 
 Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. 
 
 Cleo. Here's sport indeed ! — How heavy weighs 
 my lord ! 
 Our strength is all gone into heaviness. 
 That makes the weight : Had I great Juno's power. 
 The strong winged Mercury should fetch thee up, 
 And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little, — 
 Wishers were ever fools; — 0, come, come, come; 
 [ Th ey dra w A x t o n t up. 
 And welcome, welcome ! die, where thou hast liv'd : 
 Quicken ° with kissing; had my lips that power. 
 Thus would I wear them out. 
 
 All. A heavy sight. 
 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying: 
 Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 
 
 Cleo. No, let me speak ; and let me rail so high, 
 That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, 
 Provoked by my offence. 
 
 Ayit. One word, sweet queen; 
 
 Of Caesar, seek your honor, with your safety. — O . 
 
 Cleo. They do not go together. 
 
 Ant. Gentle, hear mi 
 
 None about Csesar trust, but Proculeius. 
 * Ornamented. » Sedate determination. « Revive 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 749 
 
 Cleo. My resolution, and my hands, I'll trust; 
 None about Cassar. 
 
 Ant. The miserable change now at my end, 
 Lament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts, 
 In feeding them with those my former fortunes 
 Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o'lhe world, 
 The noblest: and do now not basely die. 
 Nor cowardly ; put off my helmet to 
 My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman 
 Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is going; 
 [ can no more. [_Dies. 
 
 Cleo. Noblest of men, woo't diel 
 
 Hast thou no care of me? Shall I abide 
 In tliis dull world, which in thy absence is 
 No better than a stye ? — O, see, my women. 
 The crown o' the earth doth melt : — My lord ! — 
 0, wither'd is the garland of the war, 
 The soldier's pole is fallen; young hoys, and girls, 
 \re level now with men; the odds is gone. 
 And there is nothing left remarkable 
 Beneath the visiting moon. [She faints. 
 
 Char. O quietness, lady ! 
 
 Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 
 
 Char. Lady, — 
 
 Iras. Madam, — 
 
 Char. O madam, madam, madam ! 
 
 Iras. Royal Egypt' 
 
 Empress! 
 
 Char. Peace, peace, Iras. 
 
 Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman; and conv 
 
 manded 
 By such poor passion as the maid that milks. 
 And does the meanest chares.'' — It were for me 
 To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods. 
 To tell them that this world did equal theirs, 
 Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but naughty 
 Patience is sottish; and impatience does 
 Become a dog that's mad: Then is it sin, 
 To rush into the secret house of death. 
 Ere death dare come to us 1 — How do you, women'' 
 What, what'? good cheer ! Why, how now, Char 
 
 mianl 
 My noble girls! — Ah, women, women, look! 
 Our lamp is spent, it's out: — Good sirs, taka 
 
 heart: — ■ [To the Guard below. 
 
 We'll bury him: and then what's brave.what's noble, 
 Let's do it aftei the high Roman fashion. 
 And make death proud to take us. Come away 
 This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 
 Ah, women, women ! come ; we have no friend 
 But resolution, and the briefest end. 
 \_Exeunt; ttwse above bearing off Aj^tohy's Bodj/ 
 
 AGTY. 
 
 SCENE I. — Cassar's Camp before Alexandria. 
 
 Enter C^sar, Aguippa, Do'-abella, MecjEnas, 
 Gallus, Proculeius, and others. 
 
 Cxs. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield ; 
 Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks us by 
 The pauses that he makes. 
 
 Dot. Ca:sar, I shall. f^Exit Dola«ella. 
 
 Enter Dercetas, ivith the Sword of Antoxt. 
 
 Cees. Wherefore is that ] and what art thou, 
 that dar'st 
 Appear thus to US'? 
 
 Der. I am call'd Dercetas ; 
 
 Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy. 
 Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up and spoke. 
 He was my master: and I wore my life, 
 To spend upon his haters : If thou please 
 To take me to thee, as I was to him 
 I'll be to Cffisar ; If thou pleasest not, 
 I yield thee up my life. 
 " Cws. What is't thou say'st 1 
 
 Dcr. I say, Caesar, Antony is dead. 
 
 Cses. The breaking of so great a thing should make 
 A greater crack: The round world should have shook 
 liions into civil streets. 
 
 And citizens to their dens. — The death of Antony 
 Is not a single doom ; in the name lay 
 A moiety of the world. 
 
 Der. He is dead, Csesar; 
 
 Not by a public minister of justice, 
 Nor by a hired knife ; but that self hand, 
 Which writ his honor in the acts it did. 
 Hath, with the courage which the heart dil lend it, 
 Splitted the heart. — This is his sword, 
 I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd 
 With his most noble blood. 
 
 Cxs. Look you sad, friends ? 
 
 The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings 
 To wash the eyes of kings. 
 
 ■Agr. And strange it is. 
 
 That nature must compel v to lament 
 Our most persisted deeds. 
 
 Mec. His taints and honors 
 
 Waged equal with him. 
 
 Agr. A rarer spirit never 
 
 Did steer humanity : but you gods will give us 
 Some faults to make us mend. Cajsar is touch'a, 
 
 Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set before hirn, 
 He needs must see himself. 
 
 Cass. O Antony ! 
 
 I have follow'd thee to this: — But we do lance 
 Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce 
 Have shown to thee such a declining day. 
 Or look on thine; we could not stall together 
 In the whole world : but yet let me lament. 
 With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts. 
 That thou, my brother, my competitor 
 In top of all design, my mate in empire. 
 Friend and companion in the front of war. 
 The arm of mine own body, and the heart 
 Where mine his" thoughts did kindle, — that oul 
 
 stars, 
 Unrcconciliable, should divide 
 Our equalncss to this — Hear me, good friends, — - 
 But I will tell you at some meeter season; 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 The business of this man looks out of him. 
 We'll hoar him what he says. — Whence are youl 
 Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queew mj 
 mistress, 
 Confin'd in all she has, her monument. 
 Of thy intents desires instruction; 
 
 » Taek-work. « Ita. 
 
746 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 That she j reparedly may frame herself 
 To the w ay she's forced to. 
 
 Cses. Bid her have good heart; 
 
 Bhe soon shall know of us, by some of ours, 
 How honorable and how kindly we 
 Determine for her: for Ca;sar cannot live 
 To be ungentle. 
 
 Mess. So the gods preserve thee ! [Exit. 
 
 Cses. Come hither, Proculeius; Go, and say. 
 We purpose her no shame ; give her what comforts 
 The quality of her passion shall require ; 
 Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
 She do defeat us : for her life in Rome 
 Would be eternal in our triumph : Go, 
 And, with your speediest, bring us what she says. 
 And how you find of her. 
 
 Pro. Cffisar, I shall. [Exit Puoculeits. 
 
 Cses. GalIus,goyou along.— Where's Dolabella, 
 To second Proculeius] [Exit Gali^vs. 
 
 Agr. Mec. Dolabella I 
 
 Cses. Let him alone, for I remember now 
 H^w he's employed ; he shall in time be ready. 
 Go with me to my tent ; where you shall see 
 How hardly I was drawn into this war ; 
 How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
 In all my writings : Go with me and see 
 What I can show in this. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Alexandria. A Room iji the 
 Monument. 
 
 Enter Cleopatua, Charmian, and Iras. 
 
 Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
 A better life: 'Tis paltry to be Ca;sar; 
 Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave,' 
 A minister of her will ; And it is great 
 To do that thing that ends all other deeds; 
 Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change ; 
 Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung, 
 The beggar's nurse and Cesar's. 
 
 Enter, to the Gates of the Monument, Procu- 
 leius, Gallus, and Soldiers. 
 
 Pro. Cajsar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt ; 
 And bids thre study on what fair demands 
 Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 
 
 Cleo. [ Within.'] What's thy name ? 
 
 Pro, My name is Proculeius. 
 
 Cleo. [Within.] Antony 
 
 Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but 
 I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd. 
 That have no use for trusting. If your master 
 Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him, 
 That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
 No less beg than a kingdom: if he please 
 To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son. 
 He gives me so much of mine own, as I 
 Will kneel to him with thanks. 
 
 Pro. Be of good cheer; 
 
 You are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing: 
 Make your full reference freely to my lord, 
 Who is so full of grace, that it flovs's over 
 On all that need: Let me report to him 
 Your sweet dependency: and you shall find 
 A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness. 
 Where he for grace is kneel'd to. 
 
 Cleo. [Within.] Pray you, tell him 
 
 t am his fortune's vassal, and I send him 
 Vhe greatness he has got. I hourly learn 
 » Servant. 
 
 A doctrine of obedience; and wou d gladly 
 Look him i' the face. 
 
 Pro. This I'll report, dear ladj 
 
 Have comfort; for I know, your plight is pitied 
 Of him that caus'd it. 
 
 Gal. You see how easily she may be surpris'd 
 [Here Proculeius, and two of the Guard^ 
 ascend the Monument by a Ladder placed 
 against a Window, and having descended, 
 come behind Cleopatra. Some of tht 
 Guard unbar and open the Gates. 
 Guard her till Ca;sar come. 
 
 [To Proculeius and the Guard. Exil 
 Gallus. 
 
 Iras. Royal queen! 
 
 Char. Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen! — 
 
 Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. 
 
 [Drawing a Dogger, 
 
 Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold: 
 
 [Seizes and disarms her 
 Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 
 Reliev'd, but not betray'd. 
 
 Cleo. What, of death to«» 
 
 That rids our dogs of languish 7 
 
 Pro. Cleopatra, 
 
 Do not abuse my master's bounty, by 
 The undoing of yourself: let the world see 
 His nobleness well acted, which your death 
 Will never let come forth. 
 
 ■ Cleo. Where art thou, death 
 
 Come hither, come ! come, come, and take a queen 
 Worth many babes and beggars ! 
 
 Pro. O temperance, lady ! 
 
 Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir , 
 If idle talk will once be necessary, 
 I'll not sleep neither: This mortal house I'll ruin, 
 Do Cffisar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
 Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court ; 
 Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye 
 Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up, 
 And show me to the shouting varletry ' 
 Of censoring Rome ? Rather a ditch in Egypt 
 Be gentle grave to me ! rather on Nilus' mud 
 Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies 
 Blow me into abhorring! rather make 
 My country's high pyramides my gibbet, 
 And hang me up in chains! 
 
 Pro. You do extend 
 
 These thoughts of horror further than you shall 
 Find cause in Casar. 
 
 Enter Dolabella. 
 
 Dol. Proculeius, 
 
 What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, 
 And he hath sent for thee : as for the queen, 
 I'll take her to my guard. 
 
 Pro. So, Dolabella, 
 
 It shall content me best: be gentle to her. — 
 To Csesar I will speak what you shall please, 
 
 [To Cleopatra. 
 If you'll employ me to him. 
 
 Cleo. Say, I would die. 
 
 [Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers 
 
 Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ' 
 
 Cleo. I cannot tell. 
 
 Dol. Assuredly, you know me 
 
 Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known 
 You laugh, when boys, or women, tell their Jreamg 
 Is't not your trick ] 
 
 > r.abble. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ■ 74^ 
 
 DoL I understand not, madam. 
 
 Cleo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony; — 
 0, such another sleep, that I might see 
 But such another man ! 
 
 Dol. If it might please you, — 
 
 Cleo. His face was as the heavens ; and therein 
 stuck 
 A sun, and moon; which kept their course, and 
 The little O, the earth. [lighted 
 
 Dol. Most sovereign creature, — 
 
 Clen. His legs bestrid tiie ocean : his rcar'd arm 
 (Jrested the world: his voice was propertied 
 As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; 
 But when he meant to quail^ and shake the orb, 
 He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, 
 7'here was no winter in't ; an autumn 'twas, 
 That grew the more by reaping: His delights 
 Were dolphin-like : they showed his back above 
 The element they liv'd in : In his livery 
 Walk'd crowns, and crownets ; realms and islands 
 As plates' dropp'd from his pocket. [were 
 
 Dol. Cleopatra, — 
 
 Cleo. Think you, there was, or might be, such 
 a man 
 \s this I dream'd of? 
 
 Dol. Gentle madam, no. 
 
 Cleo. You lie up to the hearing of the gods. 
 But, if there be, or ever were one such. 
 It's past the size of dreaming: Nature wants stuff 
 To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine 
 An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy 
 Condemning shadows quite. 
 
 Dol. Hear me, good madam : 
 
 Your loss is as yourself, great: and you bear it 
 As answering to the weight: Would I might never 
 O'ertake pursued success, but I do feel. 
 By the rebound of yours, a grief that shoots 
 My very heart at root. 
 
 Cleo. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Know you, what Csesar means to do with me ] 
 
 Dul. I am loath to tell you what I would you knew. 
 
 Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, — 
 
 Dol. Though he be honorable, — 
 
 Cleo. He'll lead me then in triumph 1 
 
 Dol Madam ; he will ; 
 
 I know it. 
 
 [ Within.^ Make way there, — Csesar. 
 
 Enter Cjjsar, Gallus, Proculeius, Mec^xas, 
 Seleucus, and Attendants. 
 
 Cais. 
 Of Egypt 1 
 Dol. 
 
 Which is the queen 
 
 'Tis the emperor, madam. 
 
 [Cleopatra kneels. 
 
 Cxs Arise, 
 
 You shall not kneel.— 
 I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt. 
 
 Cleo. Sir, the gods 
 
 Will have it thus; my master and my lord 
 I must obey. 
 
 Cxs. Take to you no hard thoughts: 
 
 Tlie record of what injuries you did us. 
 Though written in our flesh, we shall remember 
 As things but done by chance. 
 
 Cko. Sole sir o' the world, 
 
 I cannot project' mine own cause so well 
 To make it clear; hut do conJbss, I have 
 Been laden with like frailties, which before 
 tlave often shamed our sex. 
 
 • Crush. • Silver miney. * Shape or form. 
 
 Cass. Cleopatra know, 
 
 We will extenuate rather than enforce : 
 If you apply yourself to our intents, 
 (Which tovvardsyou are most gentle,) youshallfirid 
 A benefit in this change ; but if you seek 
 To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
 Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 
 Of my good purposes, and put your children 
 To that destruction which I'll guard them from, 
 If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave. 
 
 Cleo. And may, through all the world: 'tisycuiw 
 and we 
 Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest sbsll 
 Hang in what place you please. Here, my good 
 lord. 
 
 Cxs. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, 
 I am possess'd of; 'tis exactly valued : 
 No petty things admitted. — Where's SeleucusT 
 
 Sel. Here, madam. 
 
 Cleo. This is my treasurer; let him speak, my lordi 
 Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd 
 To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. 
 
 Sel. Madam, 
 I had rather seel' my lips, than, to my peril, 
 Speak that which is not. 
 
 Cko. What have I kept back 1 
 
 Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made 
 known. 
 
 Cass. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra ; I approve 
 Your wisdom in the deed. 
 
 Cleo. See, CfEsar! 0, behold, 
 
 How pomp is followed ! mine will now be yours; 
 And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine. 
 The ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
 Even make me wild ; — O slave, of no more trust 
 Than love that's hired! — What, goest thou backl 
 
 thou shalt 
 Go back, I warrant thee ; but I'll catch thine eyes, 
 Though they had wings : Slave, soulless villain, dog! 
 rarely base ! 
 
 Cses. Good queen, let us entreat you. 
 
 Cleo. O Cffisar, what a wounding shame is this; 
 That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me. 
 Doing the honor of thy lordliness 
 To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
 Parcel" the sum of my disgraces by 
 Addition of his envy ! Say, good Cssar, 
 That J some lady trifles have reserv'd, 
 Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
 As we greet modern'' friends withal : and say. 
 Some nobler token I have kept apart 
 For Livia,' and Octavia, to induce 
 Their mediation; must I be unfjlded 
 With one that I have bred ] The gods ! It smites me 
 Beneath the fall I have. Pr'ythee, go hence; 
 
 \_To Seleucus. 
 Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits 
 Through the ashes of my chance. — Wert thou a 
 
 man, 
 Thou wouldst have mercy on me. 
 
 Cass. Forbear, Seleucusi 
 
 [Exit Seleucus. 
 
 Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, an 
 misthought 
 For things that others do ; and, when wo fall, 
 We answer others' merits in our name, 
 Are therefore to be pitied. 
 
 » Sew up. 
 ' Common. 
 
 • Add to. 
 
 * Caesar's wif». 
 
'48 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act Y 
 
 Caes. Cleopatra, 
 
 Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowlcdg'd, 
 Put we i' the roll of conquest: still he it yours, 
 Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe, 
 Cffisar's no merchant, to make prize with you 
 Ofthings that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd ; 
 Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear 
 
 queen ; 
 For we intend so to dispose you, as 
 Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep: 
 Our care and pity is so much upon you, 
 That we remain your friend; And so, adieu. 
 
 Cleo. My master, and my lord ! 
 
 Cses. Not so : Adieu. 
 
 \_Exeu7it CiESAR and his Train. 
 
 Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I 
 should not 
 Be noble to myself; but hark thee, Charmian. 
 
 [Whispers CnAnMiAN. 
 
 Iras. Finish, good lady; the bright day is done. 
 And we are for the dark. 
 
 Cleo. Hie thee again: 
 
 I have spoke already, and it is provided ; 
 Go, put it to the haste. 
 
 Char. Madam, I will. 
 
 Re-enter Dolabella. 
 
 Dol. Where is the queen ? 
 
 Char. Behold sir. [Exit Charmian. 
 
 Cleo. Dolabella 1 
 
 Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command, 
 \Vhich my love makes religion to obey, 
 I tell you this: Caesar through Syria 
 Intends his journey; and, within three days, 
 You with your children will he send before : 
 Make your best use of this : I have perform'd 
 Vour pleasure and my promise. 
 
 Cleo. Dolabella, 
 
 I shall remain your debtor. 
 
 Bol. I your servant. 
 
 Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Ctesar. 
 
 Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dol.] Now, 
 Iras, what think'st thou] 
 Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shall be shown 
 In Rome, as well as I: mechanic slaves 
 With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
 Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths, 
 Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded. 
 And forced to drink their vapor. 
 
 Iras. The gods forbid ! 
 
 Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: Saucy lictors 
 Will catch at us, like strumpets: and scald rhymers 
 Ballad us out o' tune: the quick' comedians 
 Extemporally will stage us, and present 
 Our Alexandria revels ; Antony 
 Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
 Some squeaking Cleopatra boy' my greatness 
 '' the posture of a whore. 
 
 Iras. Q the good gods ! 
 
 Cleo. Nay, that is certain. 
 
 Iras. I'll never see it ; for, I am sure, my nails 
 \re stronger than mine eyes. 
 
 Cleo. Why that's the way 
 
 To fool thrir preparation, and to conquer 
 Their most absurd intents. — Now, Charmian ! — 
 
 Enter Charmian. 
 Bhow me, my women, like a queen. — Go fetch 
 My best attires; — I am again for Cydnus, 
 To meet Mark Antony ; — Sirrah, Iras, go. — 
 
 •Lively. 'Female characters were played by boy.<i 
 
 Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed : 
 And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee 
 
 leave 
 To play till doomsday. — Bring our crown and all. 
 Wherefore's this noise 1 [Exit Iras. -4 Noise within 
 Enter one of the Guard. 
 
 Guard. Here is a rural fellow 
 
 That will not tie denied your highness' presence ; 
 He brings you figs. 
 
 Cleo. Let him come in. How poor an instrument 
 
 [Exit Guard. 
 May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty 
 My resolution's placed, and I have nothing 
 Of woman in me : Now from head to foot 
 I am marble-constant: now the fleeting moon 
 No planet is of mine. 
 
 Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a Basket, 
 
 Guard, This is the man. 
 
 Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guard. 
 
 Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there, 
 That kills and pains not? 
 
 Clown. Truly I have him : but I would not he 
 the party that should desire you to touch him, for 
 his biting is immortal ; those, that do die of it, do 
 seldom or never recover. 
 
 Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died on't? 
 
 Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard 
 of one of them no longer than yesterday: a very 
 honest woman, but something given to lie ; as i 
 woman should not do, but in the way of honesty : 
 how she died of the biting of it, what pains she felt- 
 Truly, she makes a very good report o' the worm : 
 But he that will believe all that they say, shall never 
 be saved by half that they do : But this is most 
 fallible, the worm's an odd worm. 
 
 Cleo. Get thee hence ; farewell. 
 
 Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. 
 
 Cleo. Farewell. [Clown sets down the Basket, 
 
 Clown. You must think this, look you, that the 
 worm will do his kind.'' 
 
 Cleo. Ay, ay ; farewell. 
 
 Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted, 
 but in the keeping of wise people ; for, indeed, there 
 is no goodness in the worm. 
 
 Cleo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded. 
 
 Clown. Very good : give it nothing, I pray you 
 for it is not worth the feeding. 
 
 Cleo. Will it cat me 1 
 
 Clown. You must not think I am so simple, but 
 I know the devil himself will not eat a woman : I 
 know, that a woman is a dish for the gods, if tha 
 devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whore 
 son devils do the gods great harm in their women 
 for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five. 
 
 Cleo. Well, get thee gone ; farewell. 
 
 Clown. Yes, forsooth; I wish you joy of tha 
 worm. [Exit 
 
 Re-enter Iras, with a Robe, Crown, 4"C. 
 
 Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I hav< 
 Immortal longings in me: Now no more 
 The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: — 
 Yare, yarc,' good Iras; quick. — Mcthinks, I hear 
 Antony call; I see him rouse himself 
 To praise my noble act; I hear him mock 
 The luck of Cffisar, which the gods give men 
 To excuse their after wrath: Husband, I come 
 Now to that name my courage prove my title ! 
 3 Act according to his natui'e. ' Make haste 
 
iScFXE 11 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 74& 
 
 I am fare, and air ; my other elements 
 I give to baser life. — So, — have you tloiiel 
 Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
 Ferewell, kind Charmian; — Iras, long farewell. 
 
 [A'mc5 them. Iras falls and diei. 
 Have I the aspic in my lips 1 Dost lall 1 
 If th^u and nature can so gently part, 
 The st) oke of death is as a lover's pinch. 
 Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still 1 
 If thus thou vaRish^st, thou tell'st the world 
 It is not worth leave-taking. 
 
 Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I may 
 The gods themselves do weep ! L^ay> 
 
 Cleo. This proves me base : 
 
 If she first meet the curled Antony, 
 He'll make demand of her ; and spend that Idss, 
 Which is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch, 
 [To the Asp, which she applies to her Breast. 
 With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
 Of life at once untie : poor venomous fool, 
 Be angry and despatch. 0, couldst thou speak ! 
 That I might hear thee call great Cajsar, ass 
 Unpolicied !* 
 
 Char. eastern star ! 
 
 Cleo. Peace, peace ! 
 
 Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
 That sucks the nurse asleep 1 
 
 Char. 0, break! O, break! 
 
 Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle — 
 Antony I — Nay, I will take thee too : — 
 
 [^Applying another Asp to her arm. 
 What should I stay — [^Falls on a Bed, and dies. 
 
 Char. In this wild world 1 — So, fare thee well. — 
 Now boast tliee, death ! in thy possession lies 
 A lass unparailel'd. — Downy windows, close ; 
 And golden Phoebus never be beheld 
 Of eyes again so royal ! Your crown's awry ; 
 I'll mend it, and then play. 
 
 Enter the Guard, rushing in. 
 1 Guard. Where is the queen 1 
 Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 
 
 1 Guard. Ctesar hath sent — 
 Char. Too slow a messenger. [^Applies the Asp. 
 O, iomc; : apace, despatch : I partly feel thee. 
 1 Guard. Approach, ho ! All's not well : Caesar's 
 
 beguil'd. 
 S Guard. There's Dolabella sent fromCsesar; — 
 
 call him. 
 1 Guard. What work is here 1 — Charmian, is 
 
 this well done ! 
 Chctr. It is well done, and fitting for a princess 
 Descended of so many royal kings. 
 \\\, soldier! [^Dies. 
 
 *Unpolitic, to leave me to myself. 
 
 Enter Dolabella. 
 
 Dnl. How goes it here 1 
 
 2 Guard. All dead. 
 
 Dot. Caesar, thy thought! 
 
 Touch their effects in this: Thyself art coming 
 To see perforin'd the dreaded act, which tL3u 
 So sought'st to hinder. 
 
 [ Within.'] A way there, way for Csegai ! 
 
 Enter CiESAn, a7id Attendants. 
 
 Dol. 0, sir, you are too sure an augurcr; 
 That you did fear, is done. 
 
 Css. Bravest at the last* 
 
 She levell'd at our pui^poses, and, being royal. 
 Took her own way. — The manner of their deaths ? 
 I do not see them bleed. 
 
 Dol. Who was last with them 1 
 
 1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought 
 lier figs ; 
 This was his basket. 
 
 Cass. Poison'd then. 
 
 1 Guard. O Csesar 
 
 This Charmian liv'd but now; she stood, and ^^pake; 
 I found her trimming up the diadem 
 On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood, 
 And on the sudden dropp'd. 
 
 Cses. O noble weakness! 
 
 If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear 
 By external swelling: but she looks like sleep. 
 As she would catch another Antony 
 In her strong toil of grace.' 
 
 Dol. Here, on her breast, 
 
 There is a vent of blood, and something blown : 
 The like is on her arm. 
 
 1 Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and these fig- 
 leaves 
 Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leavea 
 Upon the caves of Nile. 
 
 Cies. Most probable, 
 
 That so she died ; for her physician tells mc. 
 She hath pursued conclusions infinite 
 Of easy ways to die. — Take up her bed; 
 And bear her women from the monument : — 
 She shall be buried by her Antony : 
 No grave upon the earth shall clip^ in it 
 A pair so famous. High events as these 
 Strike those that make them : and their story ia 
 No less in pity than his glory, which 
 Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall> 
 In solemn show, attend this funeral; 
 And then to Rome. — Come, Dolabella, see 
 High order in this great solemnity, \_Exeuni 
 
 • Graceful appearance. 
 
 • Enfold. 
 
 J 
 
CYMIMUJNK. 
 
 IM:KH0NS HHI'UK.SHN'J'KD. 
 
 IJiMiiKi.JNu, Kiii!^-iif Hriliiiii. 
 
 ('i.oTKN, Son tit tltc Qiiirii hi/ ii fur inn- IInsliiin<L 
 
 liKONAiMiH l*(>si'iniMiis,« (iralliiiKiii, lliishiindio 
 
 liiiDf^i'ri. 
 Uui.AiiiiiH, a linnls/ird Luril, disifulurd nniirr llic 
 iinnw iif' Moll" A N. 
 
 .Vi^z/.i/o (Jyinbolinp, ({isi^iii.wd iin- 
 OuiiiKiiiiiH, ) (lir tin: Niiines of I'oi.vinmu 
 A II VI MA (JUS, 1 II nd (*Aii\VAr,, .inpposrif. Suns to 
 llrl:iiiiiH. 
 
 V 
 
 I'liii.Aiiio, Frlnid lit I'lisllimims, > ,, ,. 
 Iaciiimo, V nvnil tit I Iiihirin, S 
 
 A I'ViMicli (tintlnniin, Fririid to I'liiliuio. 
 Caium liiic.iirH, dciu'riil <f t/tr I{i>iiimii l''ovris. 
 
 A Itoiaiiii Capttiin. 
 
 SCENil, soinclbncs in Dritaiii; sornctiinvs in I Inly 
 
 'I'nui llrilisli Ciiptitiiin. 
 I'lHANio, Sirruiit to I'osllminufl. 
 (!oiiNKi.aiH, a l'/ii/.iicitiii. 
 'I'loo dnif/iniiii. 
 Tico (I'liidrrs. 
 
 CiiiKi;N, U7/(' /(( ('yiiil)('liiu\ / 
 
 Imoijkn, Dait-r/ilir to ('yinboliiio hi/ a fui M» 
 iinnn. 
 
 IIkmcv, Woinun Id limif^t'ii. 
 
 I.onis, l.iid'irs, linniiiii Sriinlors, 'I'ri/niiim, AppU' 
 rifidim. It. SiHitlisiijpr, a. Diih'li (lintlcniun, a 
 S|iiuiiMli dnillciiiitii, Mnxiciiiiis, OJ/irern, Citp- 
 tiiins. Soldiers, JUcs.sni^rrn, anil olhcr Attend 
 lints. 
 
 ACT T. 
 
 BCKNK I.— Tliiluiu. Till' llardni hrlnnd Cym- 
 lifliiio'H I'liliicr. 
 
 {■'iilrr two (ioiUlfUifii. 
 
 I Oenl. Villi do liol, meet 11 111:111 hut IVowiih: 
 our lilooilrf' 
 No luoro oliny tho honvcMW, lliaii our courlicrs; 
 yiiU Hccrn, un (looH (lio kiiif?'H. 
 
 3 (>fnt. Hut wIuiI'm tl>o ninttpr] 
 
 1 (lint. IHh (liiUfvliltM-, iiiiil (liii lii'ir of Ii'im kiii)>- 
 
 lloill, AvIlOMI 
 
 lli< [iuiiiomM to \\v\ wIHi'm soil' HOii, (;i wiilow, 
 'J'luit luto lu' niiuriod,) Imlli rrl'ori'd licrHclt' 
 Unto 11 poor but worthy nciillciiiuii: SIio'h woddcd ; 
 lIiM' hurtliuiid Imiiisli'd; slio iiuprisou'd : idl 
 Is oiilwiird Horrow ; Iboui'h, 1 think, tlm kiiiu; 
 He toufh'd at viny hi'iirt. 
 
 2 iU-nt. None but till' kiu;' '. 
 
 I (/(•/(/. lit', thid hath lost licr, loo: so is the (|uci'm, 
 Tbiit most ilfsir'il tho luiiU-li : IJut not. u courtier, 
 Althounb lb(\v wear their liieeH to tlie heul 
 or the kinir's looks, hatli a heart that is not 
 (ilad at tiie tliiii!', they si'owl at. 
 
 'Z dent. And why ho ! 
 
 1 (lint, lie that hath minsM the jiriiieess, isa thiiitv 
 Too bad for bad report : and he that hath her, 
 (1 mean, that married iier, — alaek, good man ! — 
 And Iherelore bani.-.h'd,') is a creature such 
 48, to seek through the rt-gious of tlit' eaith 
 
 ' luflliiiitUm, iiiiduiil illMiMiMitiiin. 
 'iU) 
 
 l''or one bis like, liiere would be somethiu);' failing 
 In him that nIioiiKI compare. 1 do not think, 
 So fair an outward, and Hueli nIuU" within, 
 I'lndows a man but he. 
 
 'Z dint. Vou speak him tar." 
 
 I dent. 1 do extend biin, sir, within bimsell 
 (^'Ush him to;4clbi'r, rather than untold 
 Jlis measure duly.'' 
 
 !« dint. What's his name, and birlli? 
 
 1 dint. I eainiol ili'lve him to the roi>t: His fatlior 
 Was call'd Sicilius, who did join bis honor. 
 Against the liomans, with C'assibelan : 
 IJut bad bis titles iiy Teuantius,' whom 
 llo serv'd with glory and admir'd snecoss: 
 Ho gain'd the snr-addition, lieonatus: 
 .\iid had, besides this genllemini in (pieslion, 
 'I'wo other sons, who, in the wars o'liie lim(», 
 l>ied with their swonls in hand; for which thoii 
 
 falbcr 
 ('riicn old and fond of issue) look such SvIkow, 
 'That he cpiit being; and his gentle lady, 
 nig of this gentleman, o\n' theme, deceasM 
 As be was born. 'I'be kiim, he lakes the babe 
 To his protection, calls him I'oslhuinus; 
 IJrceds him, and makes him of bis bcil-cbandier: 
 i'uts him to all the learnings that his time 
 (%)uld make him the receiver of; which ho took, 
 .\s we do air, liist as'twaa niinister'd: and 
 
 ^ I <• YiMi priiiso liiia o\tousivolv. 
 
 » IMy priiiio, luiwi'vcr c-xloiislvo, la wltlilu his morit 
 
 « 'I'Iki 'W-luu' et' t'ymlK^iiio. 
 
[ iieatk.w& Iliil' 
 
 [][^(S)©[EM 
 
Scene II. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 751 
 
 In his spring lecamt? a harvest: Lived in court 
 (Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lov'd: 
 A sample to the youngest; to the more mature, 
 A glass that I'eated' them; and to the graver, 
 A child that guided dotards: to his mistress. 
 For whom he now is banished, — her own price 
 Proclaims how she esteem'd liim and his virtue; 
 By her election may be truly read. 
 What kind of man he is. 
 
 2 Gent. I honor him 
 
 Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me. 
 Is she sole child to the king] 
 
 1 Ge7it. His only child. 
 He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing, 
 Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old, 
 
 r the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery 
 Were stolen : and to this hour, no guess in knowledge 
 Which way they went. 
 
 2 Gent. How long is this ago ] 
 
 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 
 
 2 Geiit. That a king's children should be so con- 
 
 vey 'd! 
 So slackly guarded; And the search so slovi'. 
 That could not trace them ! 
 
 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange. 
 Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 
 Yet is it true, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 
 
 I Getit. We must forbear ; Here comes the gen- 
 tleman, 
 '•'he queen and princess. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.- The same. 
 Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and iMocEif. 
 
 Queen. No, be assured, you shall not find me, 
 daughter, 
 After the slander of most step-mothers. 
 Evil-eyed unto you: you are my prisoner, but 
 Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 
 That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, 
 So soon as I can win the offended king, 
 I will be known your advocate: marry, yet 
 The fire of rage is in him ; and 'twere good. 
 You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience 
 Your wisdom may inform you. 
 
 Post. Please your highness, 
 
 I will from hence to-day. 
 
 Queen. You know the peril : — 
 
 I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
 The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king 
 Hath charged you should not speak together. 
 
 [Exit QuEKx. 
 
 Imo. O 
 
 Dissoml)ling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
 Can tickle where she wounds! — My dearest hus- 
 band, 
 I sometliing fear my fiithcr's wrath ; but nothing, 
 (Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what 
 His rage can do on me: You must be gone; 
 And I shall here abide the hourly shot 
 Of angry eyes; not comforted to live. 
 But tliat there is this jewel in the wrrld, 
 1 hat I may sec again. 
 
 Post. My queen! my mistress! 
 
 0, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause 
 To be suspected of more tenderness 
 Than doth become a man ! I will remain 
 The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth. 
 • Formed th'-lr manners. 
 
 My residence in Rome at one Philario's; 
 Who to my father was a friend, to me 
 Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, 
 And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, 
 Though ink be made of gall. 
 
 Re-enter Queest. 
 
 Queen. Be brief, I pray you 
 
 If the king come I shall incur I know not 
 How much of his displeasure: Yet I'll move him 
 
 [Aside. 
 To walk this way : I never do him wrong. 
 But he docs buy my injuries, to be friends; 
 Pays dear for my olfcnces. [Exit 
 
 Post. Should we be taking leav« 
 
 As long a term as yet we have to live, 
 The loathncss to depart would grow: Adieu ! 
 
 Imo. Nay, stay a little: 
 Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 
 Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; 
 This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart; 
 But keep it till you woo another wife. 
 When Imogen is dead. 
 
 Post. How ! how ! another ?— 
 
 You gentle gods, give me but this I have. 
 And sear up'' my embraceincnts from a next 
 With bonds of death! — Remain thou here 
 
 [Puffing on the Ring. 
 While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest, 
 As I my poor self did exchange for you. 
 To your so infinite loss; so in our trifles 
 I still win of you: For my sake, wear this; 
 It is a manacle of love ; I'll place it 
 Upon this fairest prisoner. 
 
 [Putting a Bracelet on her Arm, 
 
 Imo. 0, the gods ' 
 
 When shall we see again 1 
 
 Enter Ctmbeline, and Lords. 
 
 Post. Alack, the king ! 
 
 Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from 
 my sight ! 
 If, after this command, thou fraught ■" the court 
 With thy un worthiness, thou diest: Away! 
 Thou art poison to my blood. 
 
 Post. The gods protect you ! 
 
 .\nd bless the good remainders of the court! 
 I am gone. [Exit. 
 
 Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 
 More sharp than this is. 
 
 Cy?n. O disloyal thing. 
 
 That shouldst repair my youth ; thou heapest 
 A year's age on me! 
 
 Imo. I beseech you, sir, 
 
 Hcvm not yourself with your vexation; I 
 Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare' 
 Subdues all pangs, all fears. 
 
 Cym. Past grace 1 obedience 1 
 
 Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past 
 grace. 
 
 Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of 
 my queen ! 
 
 Imo. O bless'd, that I might not! I chose an eaglc^ 
 And did avoid a puttock." 
 
 Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst havfi 
 made my throne 
 A seat for baseness. 
 
 Imo. No; I rather added 
 
 A lustre to it. 
 
 • Close up. 
 
 » A more exquisite feeling 
 
 'FlU. 
 
752 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Cym. O thou vile one ! 
 
 Imo. Sir, 
 
 [t is your fault that I have loved Posthumus : 
 You bred him as my playfellow ; and he is 
 A man, worth any woman ; overbuys me 
 Almost the sura he pays. 
 
 Gym. What !— art thou mad 1 
 
 hiLO. Almo-^t, sir ; Heaven restore me ! — 'Would I 
 A nea*-herd's" daughter ! and my Lconatus [were 
 Our ..eighbor shepherd's son ! 
 
 Re-enter Queen. 
 
 Cy m. Thou foolish thing ! — 
 
 They wer« again together : you have done 
 
 [To the Queen. 
 Not after our command. Away with her. 
 And pen her up. 
 
 Queen. 'Beseech your patience : — Peace, 
 
 Dear lady daughter, peace ; — Sweet sovereign, 
 Leave us to ourselves ; and make yourself some 
 Out of your best advice." [comfort 
 
 Cym. Nay, let her languish 
 
 A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged. 
 Die of this folly ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Queen. Fye ! — -you must give way ; 
 
 Here is your servant. — How now, sir 7 What news? 
 
 Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. 
 
 Queen. Ha ! 
 
 No harm, I trust, is done 1 
 
 Pis. There might have been, 
 
 But that my master rather play'd than fought. 
 And had no help of anger : they were parted 
 By gentlemen at hand. 
 
 Queen. I am very glad on't. [part. — 
 
 Imo. Your son's my father's friend ; he takes his 
 To draw upon an exile ! — O brave sir ! — 
 I would they were in Afric both together ; 
 Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
 The goer back. — Why came you from your master? 
 
 Pis. On his command : he would not suffer me 
 To bring him to the haven ; left these notes 
 Of what commands I should be subject to. 
 When it pleas'd you to employ me. 
 
 Queen. This hath been 
 
 Your faithful servant ; I dare lay mine honor, 
 He will remain so. 
 
 Pis. I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Queen. Pray, walk a while. 
 
 Imo. About some half hour hence, 
 
 I pray you speak with me : you shall, at least, 
 Go see my lord abroad : for this time, leave me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE HL— ^ PuhUc Place. 
 Enter Cloten, and two Lords. 
 
 1 Lard. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; 
 The violence of action hath made you reek as a 
 sacrifice : Where air comes out, air comes in : 
 there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. 
 
 Clo. If my sh'.rt were bloody, then to shift it — 
 Have I hurt him ! 
 
 2 Lord. No, faith ; not so much as his patience. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. Hurt him T his body's a passable car- 
 cass, if he be not hurt : it is a thoroughfare for steel 
 if it be not hurt. 
 
 2 Lord. His steel was in debt ; it went o' the 
 Kackside the town. [Aside. 
 
 Clo, I'he villain would not stand me. 
 'Cattle-keeper. » Consideration. 
 
 2 Lord, No ; but hr. fled foj-ward still, toward 
 your face. [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. Stand you! You have land enough of 
 your own : but he added to your having • gave yoi: 
 some ground. 
 
 2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans ■ 
 Puppies ! [Aside. 
 
 Clo. I would they had not come between us. 
 
 2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how 
 long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside 
 
 Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and 
 refuse me ! 
 
 2 Loj-d. If it be a sin to make a true election, 
 she is damned. [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty 
 and her brain go not together : She's a good sign 
 but I have seen small reflection of her wit.^ 
 
 2 Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the re- 
 flection should hurt her. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber: 'Would there 
 had been some hurt done ! 
 
 2 Lord. I wish not so ; unless it had been the 
 fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. You'll go with us ] 
 
 1 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 
 Clo. Nay, come, let's go together. 
 
 2 Lord. Well, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Room in Cymbcline's Palace. 
 Enter Imogen and Pisanio. 
 
 Lno. I would thou grcw'st unto the shores o' the 
 haven. 
 And question'dst every sail ; if he should write, 
 And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost 
 As ofTer'd mercy is. What was the last 
 That he spake to thee 1 
 
 Pis. 'Twas, His queen, his queen! 
 
 Lno. Then waved his handkerchief] 
 
 Pis. And kiss'd it, madam. 
 
 Imo. Senseless linen ! happier therein than I ! — 
 And that was all? 
 
 Pis. No, madam ; for so long 
 
 As he could make me with his eye or ear 
 Distinguish him from others, he did keep 
 The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief. 
 Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind 
 Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on. 
 How swift his ship. 
 
 Imo. Thou shouldst have made hid' 
 
 As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
 To after-eye him. 
 
 Pis. Madam, so I did. 
 
 Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings ; 
 crack'd them, but 
 To look upon him ; till the diminution 
 Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle: 
 Nay, follovv'd him, till he had melted from 
 The smallness of a gnat to air; and then [Pisanio, 
 Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. — But, good 
 When shall we hear from him ? 
 
 Pis. Be assured, madam, 
 
 With his next 'vantage.* 
 
 Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 
 Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him. 
 How I would think on him, at certain hours. 
 Such thoughts, and such ; or I could make him sweai 
 
 » To understand the force of this idea, it phould be ro 
 membered that anciently almost every sign bad a motta 
 or some attempt at a witticism underneath it. 
 
 « Opportunity, 
 
Scene y. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 758 
 
 The shc3 of Italy should not betray 
 Mine interest, and his honor; or have charged him, 
 At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
 To encounter me with orisons,' for then 
 I am in heaven for him : or ere I could 
 Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
 IJetwixt two charming words, comes in my father, 
 And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north, 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. The queen, madam, 
 
 Desires your highness' company. 
 
 Jnio. Those things I bid you do, get them de- 
 spatch'd. — 
 [ will attend the queen. 
 
 Pis. Madam, I shall. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — An Apartment in Philario's 
 House. 
 
 Enter PniLAnio, lACHiivro, a Frenchman, a Dutch- 
 man, and a Spaniard. 
 
 lach. Believe it, sir: I have seen him in Britain: 
 he was then of a crescent note,° expected to prove 
 Bo worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name 
 of: but I could then have looked on him without 
 the help of admiration ; though the catalogue of his 
 endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to 
 peruse him by items. 
 
 Phi. You speak of him when he was less fur- 
 nished than now he is, with that which makes him 
 both without and within. 
 
 French. I have seen him in France : we had very 
 many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes 
 as he. 
 
 lach. This matter of marrying his king's daugh- 
 ter (wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, 
 than his own) words him, I doubt not, a great deal 
 from the matter. 
 
 French. And then his banishment : 
 
 lach. Ay, and the approbation of those, that 
 weep this lamentable divorce, under her colors, are 
 wonderfully to extend'' him; be it but to fortify 
 her judgment, which else an easy battery might lay 
 flat, for taking a beggar without more quality. But 
 how comes it, he is to sojourn with you! How 
 creeps acquaintance 1 
 
 Phi. His father and I were soldiers together ; to 
 whom I have been often bound for no Itss than my 
 life :— 
 
 Enter Posthumus. 
 
 Htrc comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained 
 amongst you, as suits with gentlemen of your 
 knowing to a stranger of his quality. — I beseech 
 you all, be better known to this gentleman; whom 
 I commend to you, as a noble friend of mine: How 
 worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather 
 than story him in his own hearing. 
 
 French. Sir, we have known together in Orleans. 
 
 Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for 
 courtesies, whicli I will be ever tc ^ay, and yet pay 
 still. 
 
 French. Sir, you o'cr-rate my poor kindness; I 
 was glad I did atone' my countryman and you; it 
 had heen pity, you should have been put together 
 
 » :Mcot me with reciprocal prayer. « Increasing in fame. 
 < Fmuse lji"». > Reconcile. 
 
 with so mortal a purpose, as thf.n each bore, upon 
 importance' of so slight and trivial a nature. 
 
 Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young 
 traveller: rather shunn'd to go even with what 1 
 heard, than in my every action to be guided by 
 others' experiences: but, upon my mended judg- 
 ment, (if I offend not to say it is mended,) my 
 quarrel was not altogether slight. 
 
 French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement 
 of swords; and by such two, that would, by all 
 likelihood, have confounded' one the other, or have 
 fallen both. 
 
 Inch. Can we, with manners, ask what was the 
 difference] 
 
 French. Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in 
 public, which may, without contradiction, suffer 
 the report. It was much like an argumentthat fob 
 out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our 
 country mistresses: This gentleman at that time 
 vouching (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation) 
 his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, 
 qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest 
 of our ladies in France. 
 
 lach. That lady is not now living ; or this gentle- 
 man's opinion, by this, worn out. 
 
 Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. 
 lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours 
 of Italy. 
 
 Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, 
 I would abate her nothing; though I profess my 
 self her adorer, not her friend.'^ 
 
 lach. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-in- 
 hand comparison,) had been something too fair, and 
 too good, for any lady in Britany. If she went 
 before others I have seen, as that diamond of yourg 
 out-lustres many I have beheld, I could not but be- 
 lieve she excelled many : but I have not seen the 
 most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. 
 
 Post. I praised her, as I rated her: so do I my 
 stone. 
 
 lach. What do you esteem it at ? 
 Post. More than the world enjoys. 
 Jach. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, 
 or she's out-prized by a trifle. 
 
 Post. You are mistaken: the one may be sold, 
 or given : if there were wealth enough for the pur- 
 chase, or merit for the gift: the other is not a thing 
 for sale, and only the gift of the gods. 
 lach. Which the gods have given you? 
 Post. Which, by their grace, I will keep. 
 lach. You may wear her in title yours: but, you 
 know, strange fowl light upon neighboring ponds. 
 Your ring may be stolen too : so, of your brace of 
 unprizcable estimations, the one is but frail, and ths 
 other casual; a cunning thief, orathat-way accom- 
 plished courtier, would hazard the winning boVi of 
 first and last. 
 
 Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished 
 a courtier, to convince ' the honor of my mistress ; 
 if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. 
 I do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves ; not- 
 Vvfithstanding I fear not my ring. 
 Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 
 Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy sig- 
 nior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me; wa 
 are familiar at first. 
 
 lach. With five times so much conversation, I 
 should get ground of your fair mistress: make hei 
 
 • Instigation. 
 » Lover. 
 
 ' De.fltroyed. 
 •Overcome. 
 
754 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 go back, even to the yielding; had I admittanf.e, 
 and opportunity to friend. 
 
 Post. No, no. 
 
 lack. I dare, thereon, pawn the moiety of my 
 estate to your ring; which, in my opinion, o'er- 
 values it something: But I make my wager rather 
 against your confidence, than her reputation: and, 
 to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it 
 against any lady in the world. 
 
 Post. You are a great deal abujed in too bold a 
 persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're 
 worthy of, by your attempt. 
 
 lack. What's that? 
 
 Post. A repulse : Though your attempt, as you 
 call it, deserve more; a punishment too. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too 
 suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, 
 be better acquainted. 
 
 Ictch. 'Would I had put my estate, and my neigh- 
 bour's, on the approbation' of what I have spoke. 
 
 Post. What lady would you choose to assail ] 
 
 lach. Yours; whom in constancy, you think, 
 stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats to 
 your ring, that, commend me to the court where your 
 lady is.with no more advantage than the opportunity 
 of a second conference, and I will bring from thence 
 that honor of hers, which you imagine so reserved. 
 
 Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it : 
 my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis part of it. 
 
 lack. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. 
 If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you 
 cannot preserve it from tainting : But, I see, you 
 have some religion in you, that you fear. 
 
 Post. This is but a custom in your tongue : you 
 bear a graver purpose, I hope. 
 
 lach. I am the master of my speeches ; and would 
 undergo what's spoken, I swear. 
 
 Post. Will you? — I shall but lend my diamond 
 till your return : — Let there be covenants drawn 
 between us: My mistress exceeds in goodness the 
 hugeness of your unworthy thinking : I dare you 
 to this match : here's my ring. 
 
 Phi. I will have it no lay. 
 
 lach. By the gods it is one : — If I bring you no 
 sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dear- 
 est bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand 
 ducats are yours ; so is your diamond too. If I 
 come off, and leave her in such honor as you have 
 trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my 
 gold are yours : — provided, I have your commend- 
 ation,* for my more free entertainment. 
 
 Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have 
 articles betwixt us : — only, thus far you shall an- 
 swer. If you make your voyage upon her, and 
 give me directly to understand you have prevailed, 
 I am no further your enemy, she is not worth our 
 debate: if she remain unseduced, (you not making 
 it appear otherwise,) for your ill opinion, and the 
 assault you have made to her chastity, you shall 
 inswer me with your sword. 
 
 lach. Your hand; a covenant: We will have 
 these things set down by lawful counsel, and straight 
 away for Britain ; lest the bargain should catch cold, 
 and starve: I will fetch my gold, and have our two 
 Wagers recorded. 
 
 Post. Agreed. [^Exeunt PosTHUMrs and Iachimo. 
 
 French. Will this hold, think you ? 
 
 Phi. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray 
 et us follow 'em. [Exeunt. 
 
 * Proot i Recommendation. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Britain. A Room in Cm\heVi.m'i 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Queen, Ladies, and Coiixelius. 
 
 Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gathcj 
 those flowers; 
 Make haste: Who has the note of them? 
 
 1 Lady. I, madam 
 
 Queen. Despatch. [Exeunt Ladies; 
 
 Now master doctor; have you brought those drugs! 
 
 Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they are, 
 madam : [Presenting a small Box, 
 
 But I beseech your grace, (without offence; 
 My conscience bids me ask,) wherefore you have 
 Commanded of me these most poisonous com' 
 
 pounds. 
 Which are the movers of a languishing death ; 
 But, though slow, deadly? 
 
 Queen. I do wonder, doctor, 
 
 Thou ask'st mc such a question : Have I not been 
 Thy pupil long? Hast thou not Icarn'd me how 
 To make perfumes? distil? preserve ? yea, so, 
 That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
 For my confections ? Having thus far proceeded, 
 (Unless you think me devilish,) is't not meet 
 That I did amplify my judgment in 
 Other conclusions?'^ I will try the forces 
 Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
 We count not worth the hanging, (but none human,) 
 To try the vigor of them, and apply 
 Allayments to their act ; and by them gather 
 Their several virtues, and eflects. 
 
 Cor. Your highness 
 
 Shall from this practice but make hard your heart: 
 Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
 Both noisome and infectious. 
 
 Queen. 0, content thee. — 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him [Aside, 
 Will I first work: he's for his master. 
 And enemy to my son. — How now, Pisanio ? — 
 Doctor, your service for this time is ended; 
 Take your own way. 
 
 Cor. I do suspect you, madam; 
 
 But you shall do no harm. [Aside, 
 
 Queen. Hark thee, a word. — 
 
 [To PlSAJf 10. 
 
 Cor. [Aside.'] I do not like her. She doth think, 
 she has 
 Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit. 
 And will not trust one of her malice with 
 A drug of such a nature : Those she has, 
 Will stupify and dull the sense awhile : 
 Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and dogs; 
 Then afterward up higher; but there is 
 No danger in what show of death it makes, 
 More than the locking up the spirits a time. 
 To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
 With a most false effect; and I the truer, 
 So to be false with her. 
 
 Queen. No further service, doctoi, 
 
 Until I send tor thee. 
 
 Cor. I humbly take my leave. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou ? Dost thou 
 think, in time 
 She will not quench; and let instructions entei 
 Where folly now possesses? Do thou work; 
 When thou shalt bring me word, she loves my son 
 6 Experiments. 
 
Scene Vll. 
 
 CYM13ELLNB. 
 
 TVi 
 
 I'll toll lliec, on the instant, thou art then 
 As groat as is thy master: greater; for 
 His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name 
 Is at last gasp : Return he cannot, nor 
 (vontinue where he is: to shift his being,' 
 Is to exchange one misery with another; 
 And every day that comes, .omes to decay 
 A day's work in him : What shalt thou expect, 
 To be depender on a thing that leans 1 
 Who cannot be new built ; nor has no friends, 
 
 [77<e Queen d7-ops a Box: Pisanio takes it up. 
 So much as but to prop him ? — Thou tak'st up 
 Thou know'st not what ; but take it for thy labor : 
 It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
 Five times redeem'd from death : I do not know 
 What is more cordial: — Nay, I pr'ythee, take it; 
 It is an earnest of a further good 
 That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
 The case stands with her ; do't, as from thyself. 
 Think what a chance thou changest on ; but think 
 Thou hast thy mistress, still ; to boot, my son, 
 Wlio shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king 
 To any shape of thy preferment, such 
 As thou'lt desire: and then myself, I chiefly, 
 That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
 To load thy merit richly. Call my vv'omen : 
 Think on my words. [Exit Pisa.] — A sly and con- 
 stant knave ; 
 Not to be shaked : the agent for his master • 
 And the remembrancer of her, to hold 
 The hand fast to her lord. — I have given him that. 
 Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
 Of liegcrs for her sweet; and which she, after, 
 Except she bend her humor, shall be assured 
 Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies. 
 
 To taste of too. So, so ; — well done, well done ; 
 
 The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, 
 Bear to my closet ; — Fare thee well, Pisanio ; 
 Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 
 
 Pis. And shall do: 
 
 And when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
 I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 Imo. A father cruel and a step-dame false ; 
 A foolish suitor to a wedded lady, [band ! 
 
 That hath her husband banish'd ; — O, that hus- 
 My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated 
 V'cxations of it ! Had I been thief-stolen, 
 As my two brothers, happy ! but most miserable 
 [s the desire that's glorious: Blessed be those 
 Hjw mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, 
 vMiich seasons comfort. — Who may this be ? Fye ! 
 Enter Pisanio and Iaciiimo. 
 
 Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome ; 
 Comes from my lord with letters. 
 
 lach. Change 3'ou, madam] 
 
 The worthy Leonatus is in safety, 
 ,ind greets your highness dearly. [Presents a letter. 
 
 Into. Thanks, good sir: 
 
 V'ou are kindly welcome. 
 
 lach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 if she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, 
 She is alone the Arabian bird ; and I 
 Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend \ 
 \ni) me auda:ity, from head to feet! 
 1 To change his abode. 
 
 Or, like the Parthian, I shall flyinjj fight ; 
 Rather, directly fly. 
 
 Imo. [Reads] — He is one of the noblest note, tt 
 whose kindness I am most infinitely tied. Reflec.l 
 upon him accordingly, as you value your truest 
 
 Leonatus. 
 So far I read aloud : 
 But even the very middle of my heart 
 Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.— 
 You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 
 Have words to bid you ; and shall find it so, 
 In all that I can do. 
 
 lach. Thanks, fairest lady. — 
 
 What ! are men mad 1 Hath nature given them eyes 
 To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
 Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
 The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones 
 Upon the number'd beach 1 and can we not 
 Partition make with spectacles so precious 
 'Twixt fair and foul ] 
 
 Imo. What makes your admiration? 
 
 lach. It cannot be i' the eye ; for apes and mon 
 keys, 
 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and 
 Contemn with mows' the other: Nor i' the judg- 
 For idiots in this case of favor, would [ment. 
 
 Be wisely definite: Nor i' the appetite ; 
 Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppoe'd, 
 Should make desire vomit emptiness, 
 No — so ailur'd to feed. 
 
 Imo. What is the matter, trowl 
 
 Inch. The cloyed will 
 
 (That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, 
 That tub both fiU'd and running,) ravening first 
 The lamb, longs after for the garbage. 
 
 Imo. What, dear sir, 
 
 Thus raps you ] Are you well 1 
 
 lach. Thanks, madam; well: — 'Beseech you. 
 sir, desire [To Pisanio 
 
 My man's abode where I did leave him : he 
 Is strange and peevish.* 
 
 Pis. I was going, sir. 
 
 To give him welcome. [Exit PiSANie 
 
 Imo. Continues well my lord 1 His health, 'be- 
 
 lach. Well, madam. [seech you ^ 
 
 Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth 1 I hope he is. 
 
 lach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there 
 So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 
 The Briton reveller. 
 
 Imo When he was here, 
 
 He did incline to sadness ; and oft-times 
 Not knowing why. 
 
 lach. I never saw him sad. 
 
 There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
 An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much Iotcb 
 A Gallian girl at home : he furnaces 
 The thick sighs from him : whiles the jolly Briton 
 (Your lord, I mean) laughs, from's free lungs 
 
 cries / 
 Can my sides hold, to think, that man,-^who ktiov» 
 By history, report, or his own proof. 
 What woman is, yea, v hat she cannot choose 
 But must be, — ivill his free hours languish for 
 Assured bondage? 
 
 Imo. Will my lord say so ? [laughter. 
 
 lach. Ay, madam ; with his eyes in flood with 
 It is a recreation to be by, [know, 
 
 And hoar him mock the Frenchman : But, heaven* 
 Some mon are much to blame. 
 
 » Makins mouths. • Sliy and foolish. 
 
r56 
 
 CYxMBELTNE. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Imo. Not he, I hope. 
 
 Inch, Not he : But yet heaven's bounty towards 
 hun might 
 Be Uf ?d more tliankfully. In himse'f, 'tis much : 
 In you, — which I count his, beyond all talents, — 
 Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
 To pity too. 
 
 Imo, What do you pity, sir 1 
 
 lac.h. Two creatures, heartily. 
 
 Imo. Am I one, sir? 
 
 V'ou look on me : What wreck discern you in me. 
 Deserves your pity 1 
 
 lack. Lamentable ! What ! 
 
 To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace 
 I' the dungeon by a snuff? 
 
 Imo. I pray you, sir. 
 Deliver with more openness your answers 
 To my demands. Why do you pity me'' 
 
 lack. That others dc, 
 
 [ was about to say, enjoy your But 
 
 [t is an office of the gods to 'venge it, 
 Not mine to speak on't 
 
 Imo. You do seem to know 
 
 Something of me, or what concerns me : Pray you, 
 (Since doubting things go ill often hurts more 
 Than to be sure they do: For certainties 
 Either are past remedies ; or, timely knowing, 
 The remedy then born,) discover to me 
 What both you spur and stop.' 
 
 Inch. Had I this cheek 
 
 To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch. 
 Whose every touch would force the feeler's soul 
 To the oath of loyalty ; this object, which 
 Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, 
 Fixing it only here : should I (damn'd then) 
 Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
 That mount the CapUj' , join gripes with hands 
 Made hard with hourly talsehood; (falsehood as 
 With labor;) then lie peeping in an eye. 
 Base and unlustious as the smoky light 
 That's fed with stinking tallow ; it were fit 
 That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
 Encounter such revolt. 
 
 Imo. My lord, I fear. 
 
 Has forgot Britain. 
 
 lach. And himself. Not I, 
 
 Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce 
 The beggary of his change ; But 'tis your graces 
 That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue. 
 Charms this report out. 
 
 Imo. Let me hear no more. [heart 
 
 lach. O dearest soul ! your cause doth strike my 
 With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
 So fair, and fastened to an empery,' [ner'd 
 
 Would make the great'st king double ! to be part- 
 With tom-boys, hired with that self-exhibition* 
 Which your own coffers jield ! with diseas'd ven- 
 That play with all infirmities for gold, [turcs. 
 
 Which rottenness can lend nature ! such boil'd stuff, 
 As well might poison poison! Be rcveng'd; 
 "Jr she, that bore you, was no queen, and you 
 iriecoil from your great stock. 
 
 Imo. Reveng'd ! 
 
 How should I be rcveng'd ? If this be true, 
 (As I have such a heart, that both mine ears 
 Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true. 
 How should I be reveng'd ? 
 
 luck. Should he make me 
 
 •What you seem anxious to utter, and yet witliholcl. 
 ■"^Sovereign command. * Allowance, pension. 
 
 Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets ■ 
 Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps. 
 In your despite, upon your purse ? Revenge it. 
 I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure ; 
 More nobly than that runagate to your bed; 
 And will continue fast to your affection. 
 Still close, as sure. 
 
 Imo, What ho, Pisanio ! 
 
 lach. Let me my service tender on your lipa. 
 
 Imo. Away ! — I do condemn mine ears, that have 
 So long attended thee. — If thou wert honorable, 
 Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not 
 For such an end thou seek'st ; as base, as strange 
 Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 
 From thy report, as thou from honor ; and 
 Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains 
 Thee and the devil alike. — What ho, Pisanio ! 
 The king my father shall be made acquainted 
 Of thy assault : if hp shall think it fit, 
 A saucy stranger in his court, to mart 
 As in a Romish stew, and to expound 
 His beastly mind to us ; he hath a court 
 He little cares for, and a daughter whom 
 He not respects at all. — What ho, Pisanio ! — 
 
 lach. O happy Leonatus ! I may say ; 
 The credit that thy lady hath of thee. 
 Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect goodness 
 Her assured credit ! — Blessed live you long ( 
 A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever 
 Country called his ! and you, his mistress, only 
 For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardor.. 
 I have spoke this, to know if y-our affiance 
 Were deeply-rooted ; and shall make your lorf" 
 That which he is new o'er: And he is one 
 The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch. 
 That he enchants societies unto him : 
 Half all men's hearts are his. 
 
 Imo. You make amends. 
 
 lach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god: 
 He hath a kind of honor sets him off. 
 More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, 
 Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd 
 To try your taking of a false report ; which hath 
 Honor'd with confirmation your great judgment 
 In the election of a sir so rare. 
 Which you know, cannot err: The love I bear him 
 Made me to fan' you thus ; but the gods made you. 
 Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray you, pardon 
 
 Imo. All's well, sir: Take my power i' the court 
 for yours. 
 
 lach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
 To entreat your grace but in a small request, 
 And yet of moment too, for it concerns 
 Your lord ; myself, and other noble friends, 
 Are partners in the business. 
 
 Imo. Pray, what is't 1 
 
 lach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, 
 (The best feather of our wing,) have mingled sums 
 "To buy a present for the emperor ; 
 Which I, the factor for the rest, have done 
 In France: 'Tis plate of rare device; and jewi'ls, 
 Of rich and exquisite form; their values great; 
 And I am something curious, being strange, 
 To have them in safe stowage ; May it please you 
 To take them in protection ? 
 
 Imo. < Willingly; 
 
 And pawn mine hour r for their safety : since 
 My loiJ hath interest in there I will keep them 
 In my bed-chamber. 
 
 » To fan, is to winnow. 
 
i\CT II. SOENE I. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 757 
 
 lacli. They are in a trunk, 
 
 Attondcil by my men: I will make bold 
 To «cnd them to you only for this night: 
 ( must aboard to-morrow. 
 
 lino. 0, no, no. 
 
 lack. Yes, I beseech ; or I shall short 
 word. 
 By lengthening my return. From Gallia 
 I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise 
 To see vour gi'ace. 
 
 Imo. I thank you for your pains , 
 
 But not away to-morrow 1 
 
 lack. O, I must, madam: 
 
 Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please 
 To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night: 
 my I have outstood my time ; which is material 
 To the tender of our present. 
 
 Imo. I will write. 
 
 Send your trunk to luc ; it shall safe be kept, 
 And truly yielded you : You are very welcome. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Court before Cymbcline's Palace. 
 Enter Cloten, and two Lords. 
 Clo. Was there ever man had such luck? when 
 I kissed the jack upon an up-cast,' to be hit away ! 
 I had a hundred pound on't: And then a whore- 
 son jackanapes must take me up for swearing ; as 
 if I borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not 
 spend them at my pleasure. 
 
 1 Lord. What got he by that? You have broke 
 his pate with your bowl. 
 
 2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke 
 it, it would have ran all out. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is 
 not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths: Ha? 
 
 2 Lord. No, my lord ; nor \_Aside.'\ crop the ears 
 of them. 
 
 Clo. Whoreson dog ! — I give him satisfaction ? 
 'Would he had been one of my rank ! 
 
 2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. \_Aside. 
 
 Clo. I am not more vexed at any thing in the 
 earth : — A pox on't ! I had rather not be so noble 
 as I am: they dare not fight with me, because of 
 the queen my mother : every jack-slave hath his 
 belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down 
 like a cock that nobody can match. 
 
 2 Lord. You are a cock and capon too: and you 
 crow, cock, with your comb on. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Sayest thou ? 
 
 1 Lord. It is not fit your lordship should under- 
 take every companion that you give oflfcnce to. 
 
 Clo. No, I know that : but it is fit, I should 
 commit oflfence to my inferiors. 
 
 2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 
 Clo. Why, so I say. 
 
 1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that's come 
 to court to-night ? 
 
 Clo. A stranger ! and I know not on't ! 
 
 2 Lord. He's a strange fell""' himself, and knows 
 it not. [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. There's an Italian come , and, 'tis 
 thought, one of Leonatus' friends. 
 
 C/o. Leonatus! a banish'd rascal; and he's another, 
 whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger? 
 
 1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 
 
 Clo. Is it fit, I went to look upon him? Is there 
 no derogation in't? 
 
 1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 
 Clo. Not easily, I think. 
 
 2 Lord. You are a fool granted; therefore your 
 issues being foolish, do not derogate. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Come, I'll go sec this Italian : What I have 
 lost to-day at bowls, I'll win to-niglit of him. Come, 
 go. 
 
 2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 
 
 [Exeunt Cloten andjiral Lord. 
 
 Tie is describing his fato at bowls, tlie jack ia the small 
 bowl at which the others art' aimcj. 
 49 
 
 That such a crafty devil as is his mother 
 Should yield the world this ass ! a woman, tliat 
 Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son 
 Cannot take two from twenty for his heart, 
 And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess, 
 Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'sf. ! 
 Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern 'd; 
 A mother hourly coining plots ; a wooer 
 More hateful than the foul expulsion is 
 Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act 
 Of the divorce he'd make ! The heavens hold firn. 
 The walls of thy dear honor ; keep unshak'd 
 That temple, thy foir mind; that thou mayst stand, 
 To enjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Bed-chamber; in one Part of H 
 a Trunk. 
 
 Imogen reading in her Bed; a Lady attending. 
 
 Imo. Who's there? my woman Helen? 
 
 Lady. Please you, madan.. 
 
 Imo. What hour is it ? 
 
 Lady Almost midnight, madam 
 
 Imo. I have read three hours, then : mine evo" 
 are weak: — 
 Fold down the leaf where I have left: To bed 
 Take not away the taper, leave it burning; 
 And if thou canst awake by four o'the clock, 
 I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me whollj 
 
 [Exit Lady 
 To your protection I commend me, gods! 
 From fairies, and the tempters of the night. 
 Guard me, beseech ye ! 
 
 [Sleeps, \achimo from the Trunk 
 
 lack. The crickets sing, and man's u'er-labor'd 
 sense 
 Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus 
 Did softly press the rushes,' ere he waken'd 
 The chastity he wounded. — Cytherea, 
 How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! Fresh lily .' 
 And whiter than the sheets ! that I might touch! 
 But kiss; one kiss! — Rubies unparagon'd. 
 How dearly they do't ! — 'Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus : The flame o'the tapei 
 Bows toward her; and would under-pcep her lid*. 
 To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
 Under these windows: White and azure, laced 
 With blue of heaven's own tinct.' — But my design? 
 To note the chamber: — I will write all down: — 
 Such and such pictures: — There the window — 
 
 Such 
 The adornment of her bed ; — The arras, figures. 
 Why, such, and such : — And the contents o' the 
 story,— 
 
 ■■ It w>»3 anciently the custom to strew chambers witk 
 rushed. 
 8 t. e. The white skin laced with blue veins. 
 
758 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Ah, but some natural notes about her body. 
 Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
 Would testify, to enrich mine inventory : 
 sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her ! 
 And be her sense but as a monument, 
 Thus in a chapel lying! — Come off', come off; — 
 [Taldng off her Bracelet. 
 As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard ! 
 'Tis mine ; and this will witness outwardly. 
 As strongly as the conscience does within. 
 To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
 A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
 r the bottom of a cowslip : Here's a voucher. 
 Stronger than ever law could make: this secret 
 Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en 
 The treasure of her honor. No more. — To what 
 
 end? 
 Why should I write this down, that's riveted, 
 Screvv'd to my memory'? She hath been reading late 
 The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down. 
 Where Philomel gave up; — I have enough: 
 To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it 
 Swift, swift, you dragons of the night ! — that 
 
 dawning 
 May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear; 
 Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 
 
 \_Clock strikes. 
 One, two, three, — Time, time ! 
 
 [^Goes into the Trunk. The Scene closes. 
 
 SCENE III. — An Ante-chamber joining Imo- 
 gen's Apartment. 
 
 Enter Cloten and Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man 
 in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. 
 
 Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 
 
 1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the 
 noble temper of your lordship: You are most hot, 
 and furious, when you win. 
 
 Clo. Winning would put any man into courage : 
 If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have 
 gold enough: It's almost morning, is't notl 
 
 1 Lord. Day, my lord. 
 
 Clo. I would this music would come : I am ad- 
 vised to give her music o' the mornings ; they say, 
 it will penetrate. 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 
 Come on; tune: If you can penetrate her with 
 your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if 
 none will do, let her remain; but I'll never give 
 o'ei. First, a very excellent good conceited thing: 
 ifter a wonderful swtet air, with admirable rich 
 ^0 '« Id it, — and then let her consider. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Hark: hark! the lark at heavens gate sings, 
 
 And Phoebus 'gins arise. 
 His steeds to toater at those springs 
 
 On clialiced' Jlowers that lies: 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes; 
 With every thing that pretty bin: 
 
 My lady sweet, arise,- 
 Arise, arise. 
 
 Bo, get you gone : If this penetrate, I will consider 
 
 your music the better:' if it do not, it is a vice in 
 
 s Cupped. » Will pay you more for it. 
 
 her ears, which horse-hairs, and cat-guts, nor the 
 voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend. 
 
 [^Exeunt Musicians. 
 Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 
 
 2 Lord. Here comes the king. 
 
 Clo. I am glad, I was up so late ; for that's the. 
 reason I was up so early : He cannot choose but 
 take this sendee I have done, fatherly. — Good 
 morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother. 
 
 Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern 
 Will she not forth? ["daughter? 
 
 Clo. I have assailed her with music, but bhe 
 vouchsafes no notice. 
 
 Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ; 
 She hath not yet forgot him : some more lime 
 Must wear the print of his remembrance out. 
 And then she's yours. 
 
 Queen, You are most bound to the king; 
 
 Who lets go by no 'vantages, that may 
 Prefer, you to his daughter: Frame yourself 
 To orderly solicits; and be friended 
 With aptness of the season : make denials 
 Increase your services: so seem, as if 
 You were inspired to do those duties which 
 You tender to her: that you in all obey her. 
 Save when command to your dismission tends. 
 And therein you are senseless. 
 
 Clo. Senseless 1 not so. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; 
 The one is Caius Lucius. 
 
 Cym. A w^orthy fellow, 
 
 Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; 
 But that's no fault of his: We must receive him 
 According to the honor of his sender; 
 And towards himself his goodness forespenton us 
 We must extend our notice. — Our dear son, 
 When you have given good morning to your mis- 
 tress, 
 Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need 
 To employ you towards this Roman. — Come, our 
 queen. 
 [Exeunt Crjr., Queen, Lords, and Mess. 
 
 Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her ; if not, 
 Let her lie still, and dream. — By your leave, ho ! — 
 
 [^Kiiocks. 
 I know her women are about her: What 
 If I do line one of their hands] 'Tis gold 
 Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes 
 Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
 Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold 
 Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief; 
 Nay, sometime, hangs both thiefand true man: What 
 Can it not do, and undo? I will make 
 One of her women lawyer to me; for 
 I yet not understand the case myself. 
 By your leave. T Knocks. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. Who's there, that knocks ? 
 
 Clo. A gentleman. 
 
 Lady. No more? 
 
 Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 
 
 Lady. That's mor* 
 
 Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, 
 Can justly boast of; What's your lordship's plea- 
 sure? 
 
 Clo. Your lady's person; is she ready ? 
 
 Lady. Ay 
 
 To keep her chamber. 
 
DCENE 
 
 IV. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 759 
 
 Ch. There's gold for you; sell me your good 
 
 report. 
 Lady. How! my good name"! or to report of you 
 What I shall think is good ? — The princess 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 Clo. Good-morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet 
 hand. 
 
 lino. Good morrow, sir; You lay out too much 
 pains 
 For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give, 
 Is telling you that I am poor of thanks. 
 And scarce can spare Ihcm. 
 
 Clo, Still, I swear I love you. 
 
 Im3. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with rae: 
 If you swear still, your recompence is still 
 That I regard it not. 
 
 Clo. This is no answer. 
 
 Inio. But that you shall not say I yield, being 
 silent, 
 I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: i' faith, 
 I shall unfold equal discourtesy 
 To your best kindness; one of your great knowing 
 Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 
 
 Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: 
 I will not. 
 
 7/710. Fools are not mad folks. 
 
 Clo. Do you call me fool 1 
 
 lino. As I ani mad, I do; 
 If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; 
 That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, 
 You put me to forget a lady's manners, 
 By being so verbal:* and learn now, for all. 
 That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, 
 By the very truth of it, I care not for you; 
 And am so near the lack of charity, 
 (To accuse myself,) I hate you: which I had rather 
 You felt, than make't my boast. 
 
 Clo. You sin against 
 
 Obedience, which you owe your father. For 
 The contract you pretend with that base wretch, 
 (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes. 
 With scraps o' the court,) it is no contract, none: 
 And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, 
 (Yet who, than he, more mean!) to knit their souls 
 (On whom there is no more dependency 
 IBut brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot:' 
 Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by 
 The consequence o' the crown ; and must not soil 
 The precious note of it with a base slave, 
 A hilding* for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
 A pantler, not so eminent. 
 
 I/no. Profane fellow ! 
 
 Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more, 
 But what thou art, besides, thou wert loo base 
 To be his groom: Thou wert dignified enough. 
 Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made 
 Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd 
 The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated 
 For being preferr'd so well. 
 
 Clo. The south-fog rot him ! 
 
 Inio. He never can meet more mischance, than 
 come 
 To be but named of thee. His meanest garment. 
 That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer, 
 In my respect, than all the hairs above thee. 
 Were they all made such men. — How now, Pisanio 1 
 
 'So verbose, so full of talk. » Knots of their own tying. 
 A low fellDW,only fit to wear a livery. 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 Clo. His garment? Now, the devil — 
 Into. To Dorothy my woman hie thee present- 
 
 ly:- 
 
 Clo. His garment? 
 
 Imo. I am sprighted' with a fool, 
 
 Frighted and anger'd worse : — Go, bid my woman 
 Search for a jewel, that too casually 
 Hath left mine arm ; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, 
 If I would lose it for a revenue 
 Of any king's in Europe. I do think, 
 I saw't this morning: confident I am 
 Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it : 
 I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord 
 That I kiss aught but he. 
 
 Pis. 'Twill not be lost. 
 
 Imo. I hope so; go, and search. [^Exit Pis, 
 
 Clo. You have abused me : — 
 
 His meanest garment? 
 
 Imo. Ay ; I said so, sir. 
 
 If you will make't an action, call witness to't. 
 
 Clo. I will inform your father. 
 
 Imo. Your mother too: 
 
 She's my good lady ; and will conceive, I hope. 
 But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir. 
 To the worst of discontent. [Exit 
 
 Clo. I'll be revenged: — 
 
 His meanest garment? — Well. [Exit 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rome. An Apartment in Phila- 
 rio's House. 
 
 Enter Posthumus and Philario. 
 
 Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure 
 To win the king, as I am bold, her honor 
 Will remain hers. 
 
 Phi. What means do you make to him'! 
 
 Post. Not any; but abide the change of time 
 Quake in the present winter's state, and wish 
 That warmer days would come: In these fear'u 
 
 hopes, 
 I barely gratify your love ; they failing, 
 I must die much your debtor. 
 
 Phi. Your very goodness, and your company 
 O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 
 Hath heard of great Augustus : Caius Lucius 
 Will do his commission thoroughly : And, I think, 
 He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages. 
 Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
 Is yet fresh in their grief. 
 
 Post. I do believe, 
 
 (Statist^ though I am none, nor like to be,) 
 That this will prove a war; and you shall hear 
 The legions now in Gallia, sooner landed 
 In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings 
 Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen 
 Are men more order'd, than when Julius Caesar 
 Smiled at their lack of skill, but found their courage 
 Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline 
 (Now mingled with their courages) will make 
 
 known 
 To their approvers,' they are people, such 
 That mend upon the world. 
 
 Enter Iachimo. 
 
 Phi. See ! Iachimo 1 
 
 Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land 
 
 And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, 
 
 To make your vessel nimble. 
 
 Phi. Welcome, sir. 
 
 » Haunted. • Statesman. ^ To those who try tbea 
 
760 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Post. I hope, thf briofness c f your answer made 
 The specdiiicss of your return. 
 
 lack. Your lady 
 
 [s one of the fliirest that I have looked upon. 
 
 Post. And therewithal, the best; or let her beauty 
 Look through a casement to allure false hearts, 
 \nd be false with them. 
 
 lack. Here are letters for you. 
 
 Poi^t. Their tenor good, I trust. 
 
 Jack. 'Tis very like. 
 
 Phi. Was Gains Lucius in the Britain court, 
 When you were there 1 
 
 lack. He was expected then, 
 
 But not approach'd. 
 
 Post. All is well yet. — 
 
 Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not 
 Too dull for your good wearing 1 
 
 lack. If I had lost it, 
 
 I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
 I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
 A second night of such sweet shortness, which 
 Was mine in Britain ; for the ring is won. 
 
 Post. The stone's too hard to come by. 
 
 lack. Not a whit. 
 
 Your lady being so easy. 
 
 Post. Make not, sir. 
 
 Your loss your sport ; I hope, you know that we 
 Must not continue friends. 
 
 lack. Good sir, we must. 
 
 If you keep covenant : Had I not brought 
 The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant 
 We were to question further: but I now 
 Profess myself the winner of her honor. 
 Together with your ring ; and not the wronger 
 Of her, or you, having pi'oceedcd but 
 By both your wills. 
 
 Post. If you can mak't apparent. 
 
 That you have tasted her in bed, my hand, 
 And ring is yours: If not, the foul opinion 
 You had of her pure honor, gains, or loses, 
 Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both 
 To who shall find them. 
 
 lack. Sir, my circumstances, 
 
 Being so near the truth, as I will make them. 
 Must first induce you to believe: whose strength 
 I will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not. 
 You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
 You need it not. 
 
 Post. Proceed. 
 
 lack. First, her bed-chamber; 
 
 (Where, I confess, I slept not ; but, profess. 
 Had that was well worth watching.) it was hang'd 
 With tapestry of silk and silver: the story, 
 Pro^, id Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 
 A Oi Cy Jiius swell'd above the banks, or for 
 The press of boats, or pride : A piece of work 
 So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
 III workmanship and value; which, I wonder'd 
 (Jould be so rarely and exactly wrought. 
 Since the true life on't was — 
 
 Post. This is true ; 
 
 And this you might have heard of here, by me. 
 Or by some other. 
 
 lack. More particulars 
 
 Must justify my knowledge. 
 
 Post. So they must, 
 
 Or do your honor injury. 
 
 lack. The chimney 
 
 Is south the chamber: and the chimney-piece. 
 Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures 
 
 So likely to report themselves : the cutler 
 Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent her, 
 Motion and breath left out. 
 
 Post. This is a thing. 
 
 Which you might from relation likewise reap; 
 Being, as it is, much spoke of. 
 
 lack. The roof o' the chambei 
 
 With golden cherubins is fretted : Her andirons' 
 (I had forgot them) were two winking cupids 
 Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 
 Depending on their brands. 
 
 Post. This is her honor ! — 
 
 Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise 
 Be given to your remembrance,) the description 
 Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves 
 The wager you have laid. 
 
 lack. Then if you can, [Pulling out the Bracelet 
 Be pale ; I beg but leave to air this jewel : See ! — 
 And now 'tis up again: It must be married 
 To that your diamond; I'll keep them. 
 
 Post. Jove ! — 
 
 Once' more let me behold it; Is it that 
 Which I left with her? 
 
 lach. Sir, (I thank her,) that : 
 
 She stripp'd it from her arm ; I see her yet ; 
 Her pretty action did outsell her gift. 
 And yet enrich'd it too: She gave it me, and sail, 
 She priz'd it once. 
 
 Post. May be, she pluck'd it ofT, 
 
 To send it me. 
 
 lack. She writes so to you T doth she ? 
 
 Post. O, no, no, no ; 'tis true. Here, take this 
 too ; [Gives the ring. 
 
 It is a basilisk unto mine eye. 
 Kills me to look on't : — Let there be no honor, 
 Where there is beauty: truth,where semblance; love, 
 Where there's another man : The vows of women 
 Of no more bondage be, to where they are made. 
 Than they are to their virtues ; which is nothing r — 
 O, above measure, false ! 
 
 Pki. Have patience, sir, 
 
 And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won: 
 It may be probable she lost it; or, 
 Who knows, if one of her women, being con'Upted, 
 Hatli stolen it from her ? 
 
 Post. Very true ; 
 
 And so, I hope, he came by't: — Back my ring: — 
 Render to me some corporal sign about her, 
 More evident than this : for this was stolen. 
 
 lack. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 
 
 Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he swears. 
 'Tis true ; — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true : I am sure, 
 She would not lose it: her attendants are [it! 
 All sworn and honorable: — They induced to steal 
 And by a stranger? — No, he hath enjoy'd her. 
 The cognizance^ of her incontinency [dearly. — 
 Is this, — she hath bought the name of whore thus 
 There, take thy hire: and all the fiends of hell 
 Divide themselves between you ! 
 
 Phi. Sir, be patient- 
 
 This is not strong enough to be believ'd 
 Of one persuaded well of 
 
 Post. Never talk on't , 
 
 She hath been colted by him. 
 
 lack. If you seek 
 
 For further satisfying, under her breast 
 (Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud 
 Of that most delicate lodging: by my life, 
 
 « Oruamented Iron bars which support wood burnt u 
 cbimneys. » The badge ; the token. 
 
A.CT III. Scene I. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 761 
 
 I kiss'll it; and it gave me present hunger 
 
 To feed again, thougli full. You do renicmbei 
 
 This stain upon her 1 
 
 Pust. Ay, and it doth confirm 
 
 Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 
 Were there no more but it. 
 
 lack. Will you hear more ? 
 
 Post. Spare your arithmetic: never count the 
 Once, a million ! {turns; 
 
 lach. I'll be sworn, 
 
 Post. No swearing. 
 
 If you will swear you have not done't, you lie ; 
 And 1 will kill thee, if thou dost deny 
 Thou hast made me cuckold. 
 
 lack. I will deny nothing. 
 
 Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal ! 
 I will go there, and do't ; i' the court ; before 
 Her father: — I'll do something [^Ex'd. 
 
 Phi. Quite beside 
 
 The government of patience ! — You have won : 
 Let's follow him, and pervert tlie present wrath 
 He hath against himself. 
 
 Jack. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 
 
 rSCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Posthumus. 
 
 Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women 
 Must be half-workers 1 We are bastards all ; 
 And that most venerable man, which I 
 Did call my father, was I know not wliere 
 
 When I was stamp'd ; Some comer w ith nis took 
 
 Made me a counterfeit. Yet my mother seem'd 
 
 The Dian of that time : So doth my wife 
 
 The nonpareil of this. — O vengeance, vengeance , 
 
 Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd, 
 
 And pray'd me, oft, forbearance : did it with 
 
 A pudency' so rosy, the sweet view on't [he. 
 
 Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought 
 
 As chaste as unsunn'dsnow: — O, all the devils! — 
 
 This yellow lachimo, in an hour, — was't not ? — ■ 
 
 Or less, — at first: Perchance he spoke not; 1 ut 
 
 Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one, 
 
 Cry'd oh.' and mounted: found no opposition 
 
 But what he looked for should oppose, and she 
 
 Should from encounter guard. Could I find out 
 
 The woman's part in me! For there's no motion 
 
 That tends to vice in man, but I affirm 
 
 It is the woman's part : Be it lying, note it. 
 
 The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers: 
 
 Ambitious, covetings, change of prides, disdain, 
 
 Nice longing, slanders, mutability. 
 
 All faults that may be named, nay that hell knows, 
 
 Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all: 
 
 For even to vice 
 
 They are not constant, but are changing still 
 
 One vice, but of a minute old, for one 
 
 Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, 
 
 Detest them, curse them: — Yet 'tis greater skill 
 
 In a true hate, to pray they have their will : 
 
 The very devils cannot plague them better. [^Exit, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 8CENE I.- 
 
 -Britain. A Room of State in Cym- 
 beline's Palace. 
 
 &ifcrCYiiBELiNE, Queen, Cloten, n»<? Lords, atone 
 Door; and at another, Caius Lucius, and Attend- 
 ants. 
 
 Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Csesar 
 with us ? [yet 
 
 Luc. When Julius Ctesar (whose remembrance 
 Lives in men's eyes ; and will to cars, and tongues, 
 Be theme, and hearing ever) was in this Britain, 
 And conquered it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, 
 (Famous in Cocsar's praises, no whit less 
 Than in his feats deserving it,) for him, 
 And his succession, granted Rome a tribute. 
 Yearly three thousand pounds : which by thee lately 
 Is left untender'd. 
 
 Queen. And, to kill the marvel, 
 
 Shall be ever so. 
 
 Clo. There be many Ca;sars, 
 
 Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
 A world by itself; and we wiJl nothing pay, 
 For wearing our own noses. 
 
 Queen. That opportunity, 
 
 Which then they had to take from us, to resume 
 We have again. — Remember, sir, my liege, 
 The kings your ancestors ; together with 
 The natural bravery of your isle; which stands 
 As Neptune's park, rilibcd and paled in 
 With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters ; 
 With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats. 
 But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con- 
 CsEsar made here; butmadc not here his brag [quest 
 Df came, and saw, and urercaine: with shame, 
 (The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried 
 From oflfour coast, twice beaten : and his shipping 
 (Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, 
 Likfi egg-shells moved upon tlxeir surges, crack'd 
 
 As easily 'gainst our rocks ; for joy whereof, 
 The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point 
 (0, giglot fortune !) to master Ca?sar's sword. 
 Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright. 
 And Britons strut with courage. 
 
 Clo. Com.e, there's no more tribute to be paid; 
 Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; 
 and, as I said, there is no more such Cjpsars : other 
 of them may have crooked noses; but to owe' such 
 straight arms, none. 
 
 C'ym. Son, let your mother end. 
 Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as 
 hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one; but I have 
 ahand.— Why tribute 1 why should we pay tribute! 
 If Cesarean hide the sun from us with a blanket, or 
 put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute 
 for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now 
 
 Cyin. You must know. 
 Till the injurious Romans did extort 
 This tribute from us,we were free : CiEsar's ambition, 
 (Which swcll'd so much that it did almost stretch 
 The sides o' the world,) against all color, here 
 Did put the yoke upon us ; v.'hich to shake ofT, 
 Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
 Ourselves to be. We do say then to Caisar, 
 Our ancestor was that Malinutius, which 
 Ordain'd our laws ; (whose use the sword of Cffisai 
 Hath too much mangled; wliose repair, and fran 
 Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, [chisf 
 Though Rome be therefore angry;) Mahnutius 
 Who was the first of Britain, which did ])ut 
 His brows within a golden brown, and cali'd 
 Himself a king. 
 
 Luc. I am sorry, Cymbcline, 
 
 That I am to pronounce Augustus Cisar, 
 (Cffisar, that hath more kings his servants, than 
 
 « MoJestv. s Ow n 
 
r62 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 
 Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy: 
 Receive it from nie then: — War, and confusion. 
 In CsBsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look 
 For fury not to lie resisted: — Thus defied, 
 I thank thee for myself. 
 
 Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 
 
 Thy Cajsar knighted me ; my youth I spent 
 JVTuch under him ; of him I gather'd honor ; 
 Which he, to seek of me again, perforce. 
 Behoves me keep at utterance ;° I am perfect,' 
 That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for 
 Their liberties, are now in arms : a precedent 
 Which, not to read, would show the Britons cold : 
 So Cffisar shall not find them. 
 
 hue. Let proof speak. 
 
 Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pas- 
 time with us a day, or two, longer: If you seek us 
 afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our 
 salt-water girdle : if you beat us out of it, it is yours ; 
 if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the 
 better for you ; and there's an end. 
 
 hue. So, sir. 
 
 Cyin. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: 
 All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Pi's. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not 
 What monster's her accuser? — Leonatus ! 
 O, master ! what a strange infection 
 Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian 
 (As poisonous tongued, as handed) hath prevail'd 
 On thy too ready hearing ? — Disloyal ? No : 
 She's punish'd for her truth ; and undergoes, 
 More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults 
 As would take in' sonre virtue. — O, my master ! 
 Thy mind to her is now as low, as v/ere 
 Thy fortunes. — How! that I should murder her? 
 Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I 
 Have made to thy command ? — I, her ? — her blood ? 
 If it be so to do good service, never 
 Let me be counted sei'\'iceable. How look I 
 That I should seem to lack humanity 
 So much as this fact comes to ? DoH : The letter 
 
 [Reading. 
 That I have sent her, by her own command, 
 Shall give thee opportunity : — vile paper ! 
 Black as the ink that's on thee ! Senseless bauble, 
 Art thou a feodary' for this act, and look'st 
 So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 I am ignorant in what I am commanded. 
 
 Imo, How now, Pisanio ? 
 
 Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 
 
 /mo. Who? thy lord? thatismy lord, Leonatus? 
 C, learn'd indeed were that astronomer. 
 That knew the stars, as I his characters; 
 He'd lay the future open. — You good gods, 
 Let what is here contain'd rehsh of love, 
 Of my lord's health, of his content, — ^yet not, 
 That we twc are asunder, let that grieve him, — 
 (Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that is one of them, 
 For it doth physic love ; — of his content. 
 All but in that ! — Good wax, thy leave : — Bless'dbe, 
 You bees, that make these locks of counsel ! Lovers, 
 And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike ; 
 Though forfeitures you cast in prison, yet 
 
 « At tlie extremity of defiance. ' Well-informed, 
 
 a To take in a town, is to conquer it. 'Confederate. 
 
 You clasp young Cupid's tables: — Good news, 
 gods ! [Reads. 
 
 Justice, and your father's ivrath, should he take mt 
 in his dominion, could not be so cruelto me, as you, 
 O the dearest of creatures, ivouldiioi eve?! renew me 
 witii your eyes. Take notice that lam in Cambria, 
 at Mi/ford- Haven. V/hatyour own love witl,oitt of 
 this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all hap- 
 piness, thai remains loyal to his voiv, and your, in- 
 creasing iii love, Leonatus Posthumus 
 
 O, for a horse with wings ! — Hear'st thou, PisanioT 
 He is at Milford-Haven : Read, and tell me 
 How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs 
 May plod it in a week, why may not I 
 Glide thither in a day? — Then, true Pisanio, 
 (Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who 
 
 long'st, — 
 O, let me 'bate, — but not like me : — yet long'st, — 
 But in a fainter kind ; — O, not like me; 
 For mine's beyond beyond.) say, and speak thick,' 
 (Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing, 
 To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is 
 To this same blessed Milford : And by the way 
 Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as 
 To inherit such a haven : But, first of all. 
 How we may steal from hence ; and, for the gap 
 That we shall make in time, from our hence going, 
 And our return, to excuse: — but first, how get 
 
 hence : 
 Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? 
 We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak. 
 How many score of miles may we well ride 
 'Twixt hour and hour? 
 
 Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and sun, 
 
 Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too. 
 
 Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, 
 Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding 
 
 wagers. 
 Where liorses have been nimbler than the sands 
 That run i' the clock's behalf: — But this is foolery: 
 Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say 
 She'll home to her father: and provide me, pre- 
 sently, 
 A riding suit; no costlier than would fit 
 A franklin's' housewife. 
 
 Pis. Madam, you're best consider. 
 
 Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here, 
 Nor what ensues ; but have a fog in them, 
 That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee ; 
 Do as I bid thee : There's no more to say ; 
 Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Wales. A Mountainous Country, 
 with a Cave. 
 
 Enter Belahius, Guidehius, and Aktiragus. 
 
 Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 
 Whose roofs as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This gate 
 Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows 
 
 you 
 To morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs 
 Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet^ through, 
 And keep their impious turbans on, without 
 Good morrow to the sun. — Hail, thou fair heaven! 
 We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
 As prouder livers do. 
 
 Gui. Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Arv. Hail, heaven 
 
 * Crowd one word on another, as fast as possible. 
 5 A freeholder. o Strut, walk proudly. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 76S 
 
 Beu Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon hill, 
 your legs are j'oung ; I'll tread these flats. Con- 
 sider, 
 When you above perceive me like a crow, 
 ■"hat it is i)lace which lessens, and sets ofT, 
 And you may then revolve what tales I have told 
 
 you. 
 Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war: 
 This service is not service, so being done, 
 But being so allowed : To appreliend thus. 
 Draws us a profit from all things we see: 
 And cfteii, to our comfort, shall we find 
 The riiarded'' beetle in a safer hold 
 Than is the full-wing'd eagle. 0, this life 
 Is nobler, than attending for a check; 
 Richer, than doing nothing for a babe; 
 Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk : 
 Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine, 
 Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.' 
 Gtii. Out of your proof you speak : we, poor un- 
 fledg'd. 
 Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor know 
 
 not 
 What air's from home. Haply, this life is best, 
 If quiet life be best; sweeter to you, 
 That have a sharper known ; well corresponding 
 With your stiff age ; but, unto us, it is 
 A cell of ignorance ; travelling a-bed ; 
 A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
 To stride a limit.' 
 
 Arv. What should we speak of. 
 
 When we are old as you? when we shall hear 
 The rain and wind beat dark December, how 
 In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
 The freezing hours away 1 We have seen nothing: 
 We are beastly ; subtle as the fox, for prey ; 
 Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat: 
 Our valor is, to chase what flics ; our cage 
 We make a quire, as doth the prison bird, 
 And sing our bondage freely. 
 
 Bel. How you speak ! 
 
 Did you but know the city's usuries, 
 And felt them knowingly: the art o' the court. 
 As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb 
 Is certain falling, or so slippery, that 
 The fear's as bad as falling ; the toil of the war, 
 A pain that only seems to seek out danger 
 I' the name of fame and honor; which dies i' the 
 
 search ; 
 And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph, 
 As record of fair act; nay, many times. 
 Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse, 
 Must court'sy at the censure : — 0, boys, this story 
 The world may read in me: My body's mark'd 
 With Roman swords: and my report was once 
 First with tlie best of note : Cymbcline lov'd me ; 
 And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
 Was not far off: Then was I as a tree, 
 Whose boughs did bend with fruit : but in one night, 
 A storm, or robbery, call it what you will. 
 Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, 
 And left me bare to weather. 
 
 Gui. Uncertain favor ! 
 
 Bel. My fault being nothing, (as I have told you 
 oft,) 
 But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd 
 Before my perfect honor, swore to Cymbcline, 
 [ was confederate with the Romans : so 
 
 ' ScaJy-winged. • i. c. Compared with ours. 
 
 • To overpass his bound. 
 
 Follow'd my banishment ; and, this twenty years, 
 This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world , 
 Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid 
 More pious debts to heaven, than in all 
 The fore-end of my time. — But, up to the moun- 
 tains; 
 This is not hunters' language : — He t?iat strikes 
 The venison first, shall be the lord o' the fea«t; 
 To him the other two shall minister; 
 And we will fear no poison, which attends 
 In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the val- 
 leys. [^Exeunt Gui. and Any. 
 How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
 These boys know little, they are sons to the king, 
 Nor Cymbcline dreams that they are alive. 
 They think, thpy are mine: and, though train'd up 
 
 thiiB .neanly 
 r the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
 The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them. 
 In simple and low things to prince it, much 
 Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, — 
 The heir of Cymbcline and Britain, whom 
 The king his flither call'd Guiderius, — Jove! 
 When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
 The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
 Into my story: say, — Thus mine enemy fell,- 
 And thus I set my foot on his neck,- even then 
 The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats. 
 Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture 
 That acts my vs'ords. The younger brother, Cadwal, 
 (Once, Arviragus,) in as like a figure. 
 Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more 
 His own conceiving. Hark ! the game is rous'd ! — 
 Cymbcline ! heaven, and my conscience, knows. 
 Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon. 
 At three, and two years old, I stole these babes 
 Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
 Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
 Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for theii 
 
 mother. 
 And every day do honor to her grave : 
 Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, 
 They take for natural father. The game is up. 
 
 [Extt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— iVear Milford-Haven. 
 
 Enter Pisanio and Imogen. 
 
 Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, 
 
 the place 
 Was near at hand : — Ne'er long'd my mother so 
 To see mc first, as I have now : — Pisanio ! Man ! 
 Where is Posthumus 1 What is in thy mind. 
 That makes thee stare thus ] Wherefore breaks that 
 
 sigh 
 From the inward of thee ] One, but painted thus, 
 Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
 Beyond self-explication : Put thyself 
 Into a havior' of less fear, ere wildness 
 Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter! 
 Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 
 A look untcnder? If it be summer news. 
 Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st 
 But keep that countenance still. — My husband's 
 
 hand! 
 That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him. 
 And he's at some hard point. — Speak, man ; thy 
 
 tongue 
 May take ofl'somc extremity, which to read 
 Would be even mortal to mc. 
 » For behavior. 
 
764 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 T'i3. Please you, read ; 
 
 And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
 The mcst disdain'd of fortune. 
 
 Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress,Visa,mo, hath phn/d 
 thesh-iimpetin. my bed: the testimonies whereof lie 
 bleeding in me, Ispeak not out of weak swmises, 
 but from proof as stro7ig as my grief and as certain 
 as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, 
 mustactfurme,ifthyfaithhe not tainted with the 
 breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her 
 life. 1 shall give thee opportunities at Milford- 
 Haven : slie hath my letter for the purpose: Where, 
 if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is 
 done, thou art the pandar to her dishonor, and 
 tqually to me disloyal. 
 
 Pis. What, shall I need to draw my sword 1 the 
 paper 
 Hath cut her throat already. — No, 'tis slander ; 
 Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue 
 Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath 
 Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
 All corners of the world ; kings, queens, and states, 
 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
 This viperous slander enters. — What cheer, ma- 
 dam 1 
 Imo. False to his bed ! What is it to be false ] 
 To lie in watch there, and to think on him ? 
 To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep charge 
 
 nature, 
 To break it with a fearful dream of him. 
 And cry myself awake? That's false to his bed"! 
 Isitl 
 
 Pis. Alas, good lady ! 
 
 Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness: — lachimo. 
 Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ; 
 Thou then look'dst like a villain ; now, methinks. 
 Thy favor's good enough. — Some jay of Italy, 
 Whose motherwasherpainting,'hath betrayed him: 
 Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; 
 And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
 I must be ripp'd: — To pieces with me! — 0, 
 Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, 
 By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
 Put on for villany ; not born, where't grows; 
 But worn, a bait for ladies. 
 
 Pis. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Imo. True honest men being heard, like false 
 ^neas. 
 Were, in his time, thought false : and Sinon's weep- 
 ing 
 Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity 
 From most true wretchedness : So, thou. Post- 
 humus, 
 VVilt lay the leaven on all proper men ; 
 Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd 
 From thy great fail. — Come, fellow, be thou honest: 
 Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him, 
 A little witness my obedience ; Look ! 
 I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit 
 7'he innocent mansion of my love, my heai-t: 
 Fear not ; 'tis empty of all things, but grief: 
 Thy master is not there; who was, indeed, 
 The riches of it: Do his bidding; strike. 
 Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause; 
 But now thou scem'st a coward. 
 
 Pis. Hence, vile instrument! 
 
 Thou shalt not damn my hand. 
 
 Imn Why, I must die; 
 
 And ii I do not ^y thy hand, thou art 
 > Likeness. 
 
 No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughtei 
 
 There is a prohibition so divine. 
 
 That cravens^ my weak hand. Come, here's my 
 
 heart ; 
 Something's afore't: — Soft ; soft ; we'll no defence; 
 Oliedient as the scabbard. — What is here? 
 The scriptures' of the loyal Lconatus, 
 All turn'd to heresy'' Away, away. 
 Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more 
 Be stomachers to my heart ! Thus may poor fooU 
 Believe false teachers : Though those that are be 
 
 tray'd 
 Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
 Stands in worse case of woe. 
 And thou, Posthumus, thou that di-dst set up 
 My disobedience 'gainst the king my father, 
 And make me put into contempt the suits 
 Of princely fellows, shalt thereafter find 
 It is no act of common passage, but 
 A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself, 
 To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
 That now thou tir'st' on, how thy memory 
 Will then be pang'd by me. — Pr'ythee, despatch: 
 The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knifel 
 Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
 When I desire it too. 
 
 Pis. O gracioufi lady. 
 
 Since I receiv'd command to do this business, 
 I have not slept one wink. 
 
 Imo. Do't, and to bed then 
 
 Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. 
 
 Imo. Wherefore then 
 
 Did'st undertake it? Why hast thou abused 
 So many miles with a pretence? this place? 
 Mine action, and thine own'l our horses' labor? 
 The time inviting thee ? the pcrturb'd court. 
 For my being absent: whereunto I never 
 Purpose return ? Why hast thou gone so far. 
 To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand, 
 The elected deer bejbre thee ? 
 
 Pis. But to win time 
 
 To lose so bad employment : in the which 
 I have considered of a course ; Good lady. 
 Hear me with patience. 
 
 Imo. Talk thy tongue weary; speak: 
 
 I have heard, I sm a strumpet; and mine ear, 
 Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, 
 Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 
 
 Pis. Then, madam, 
 
 I thought you would net back again. 
 
 Imo. Most like; 
 
 Bringing me here to kilJ nie. 
 
 Pis. Not so, neither : 
 
 But if I were as wise as honest, then 
 My purpose would prove xvell. It cannot be. 
 But that my master is abused : 
 Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, 
 Hath done you both this cursed injury. 
 
 Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 
 
 Pis. No, on my lift 
 
 I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him 
 Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded 
 I should do so : You shall be miss'd at court, 
 And that will well confirm it. 
 
 Imo. Why, good fellow 
 
 What shall I do the while ? Where bide? How live* 
 Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
 Dead to my husband ? 
 
 Pis. If you'll back to ihc court,— 
 
 » Cowards. * The writings. • Feedeft or prcyest <sj 
 
 
Scene V. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 765 
 
 Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado 
 With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing: 
 That Cloten, whose lovc-suit hath been to me 
 As fearful as a siege. 
 
 Pis. If not at court, 
 
 Then not in Britain must you bide. 
 
 hno. Where, theni 
 
 ffath Britain all the sun that shines 1 Day, night, 
 ^rc they not but in Britain] F the world's volume 
 Dur Britain seems as of it, but not in it; 
 jti a great pool, a swan's nest ; Pr'ythee, think 
 There's livers out of Britain. 
 
 Pis. I am most glad 
 
 Ton think of other place. The ambassador, 
 liUcius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven 
 To-morrow: Now, if you could wear a mind 
 Dark as yojr fortune is; and but disguise 
 That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be, 
 But by self-danger; you should tread a course 
 Pretty, and full of view : yea, haply, near 
 The residence of Posthumus : so nigh, at least. 
 That though his actions were not visible, yet 
 Report should render him hourly to your car. 
 As truly as he moves. 
 
 Imo. O, for such means ! 
 
 Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, 
 I would adventure. 
 
 Pis. Well then, here's the point : 
 
 You must forget to he a v/oman ; change 
 Command into obedience ; fear, and niceness, 
 (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly. 
 Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage ; 
 Ready in gibes, quick-answered, saucy, and 
 As quarrelous as the weasel : nay, you must 
 Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, 
 Exposing it (but, 0, the harder heart ! 
 Alack, no remedy!) to the gieedy touch 
 Of common-kissing Titan f and forget 
 Your laborsome and dainty trims, wherein 
 You make great Juno angry. 
 
 Imo. Nay, be brief: 
 
 I see into thy end, and am almost 
 A man already. 
 
 Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 
 
 Fore-thinking this, i have already fit, 
 ('Tis in my cloak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all 
 That answer to them: Would you, in their serving, 
 And with what imitation you can borrow 
 From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius 
 Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 
 Wherein you are happy, (which you'll make him 
 
 know. 
 If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless, 
 With joy he will embrace you; for he's honorable. 
 And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad 
 You have me,' rich; and I will never fail 
 Beginning, nor supplyment. 
 
 Imo. Thou art all the comfort 
 
 The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away: 
 There's more to be considered ; but we'll even 
 All that good time will give us: This attempt 
 I'm soldier to, and will abide it with 
 A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell: 
 Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
 Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, 
 Here is a box ; I had it from the queen ; 
 What's in't is precious ; if you are sick at sea, 
 
 • The s m. 
 
 ' As for your subsistence abroad, you may rely on me. 
 
 Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
 Will drive away distemper. — To some shade, 
 And fit you to your manhood : — May the gods 
 Direct you to the best ! 
 
 Imo. Amen : I thank thee. 
 
 [^Exeunt 
 
 SCENE v.— /I Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 
 £ra/erCrMBELiN£, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, anfl 
 Lords. 
 
 Cym. Thus far; and so farewell. 
 
 Luc. Thanks, royal sir 
 
 My emperor hath wrote ; I must from hence ; 
 And am right sorry that I must report ye 
 My master's enemy. 
 
 Cym. Our subjects, sir, 
 
 Will not endure his yoke ; and for oursclf 
 To shew less sovereignty than they, must needs 
 Appear unkingly. 
 
 Luc. So, sir, I desire of you 
 
 A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven. — 
 Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you ! 
 
 Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office: 
 The due of honor in no point omit; — 
 So, farewell, noble Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Your hand, my lord. 
 
 Clo. Receive it friendly : but from this time forth 
 I wear it as your enemy. 
 
 Luc. Sir, the event 
 
 Is yet to name the winner ; Fare you well. 
 
 Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my 
 lords. 
 Till he have cross'd the Severn. — Happiness ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucius and Lords. 
 
 Queen. He goes hence frowning : but it honors 
 us. 
 That we have given him cause. 
 
 CIg. 'Tis ail the better; 
 
 Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 
 
 Cym, Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
 How it goes here. It fits us, therefore, ripel_y. 
 Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness: 
 The powers that he already hath in Gallia 
 Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves 
 His war for Britain. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business; 
 
 But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. 
 
 Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus, 
 Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, 
 Where is our daughter] She hath not appear'(J 
 Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd 
 The duty of the day : She looks us like 
 A thing more made of malice, than of duty: 
 We have noted it. — Call her before us; for 
 We have been too slight in sufferance. 
 
 [Exit an Attendint. 
 
 Queeti. Royal sir, 
 
 Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd 
 Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord, 
 'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty. 
 Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady 
 So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes. 
 And strokes death to her. 
 
 Re-enter an Attendant. 
 
 Cym. Where is she, sir'' How 
 
 Can her contempt be answcr'd! 
 
 Alteti. Please you, sir, 
 
 Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answei 
 That will be given to the loud'st of noise we mak« 
 
m 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, 
 She pray'tl me to excuse her keeping close ; 
 Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity, 
 She should that duty leave unpaid to you, 
 Which daily she was bound to profier : this 
 She wish'd me to make known; but our great court 
 Made me to blame in memory. 
 
 Ct/m. Her doors lock'd 1 
 
 Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear, 
 Prove false ! [Exit. 
 
 Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. 
 
 Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
 I have not seen these two days. 
 
 Queen. Go, look after. — 
 
 [Exit Cloten. 
 Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus ! — 
 He hath a drug of mine: I pray, his absence 
 Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes 
 It is a thing most precious. But for her. 
 Where is she gone1 Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; 
 Or, winged with fervor of her love, she's flown 
 To her desir'd Posthumus : Gone she is 
 To death, or to dishonor; and my end 
 Can make good use of either: She being down, 
 I have the placing of the British crown. 
 Re-enter Ci^gtek:. 
 
 How now, my son 1 
 
 Clo. 'Tis certain she is fled : 
 
 Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none 
 Dare come about him. 
 
 Queen. All the better: May 
 
 This night forestall him of the coming day ! 
 
 [Exit QuF.EX. 
 Clo. I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal; 
 And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite 
 Than lady, ladies, woman;' from every one 
 The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, 
 Outsells them all : I love her therefore ; But, 
 Disdaining me, and throwing favors on 
 The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment. 
 That what's else rare, is choked ; and, in that point, 
 I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, 
 To be revenged upon her. For, when fools 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 Shall— Who is here? What! are you packing, 
 
 sirrah 1 
 Come hither : Ah, you precious pandar ! Villain, 
 Where is thy lady ! In a word ; or else 
 Thou art straightway v/ith the fiends. 
 
 Pis. O, good my lord! 
 
 Clo. Where is thy lady 1 or, by Jupiter 
 I will not ask again. Close villain, 
 I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
 Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? 
 From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
 A dram of worth be drawn. 
 
 Pis. Alas, my lord. 
 
 How can she be with him? When was she missed ? 
 He is in Rome. 
 
 Clo. Where is she, sir ? Come nearer ; 
 
 No further halting : satisfy me home, 
 What is become of her? 
 Pis. O, my all-worthy lord ! 
 Clo. All-worthy villain ! 
 
 Discover where thy mistress is, at once. 
 At the next word, — No more of worthy lord, — 
 Speak, or thy sile ^ :e on the instant is 
 Thy condemnation and thy death. 
 • Than any lady, than all ladies, than all womankind. 
 
 Pis. Then, sir, 
 
 This paper is the history of my knowledge 
 Touching her flight. [Presenting a Letter 
 
 Clo. Let's see't : — I will pursue hci 
 
 Even to Augustus' throne. 
 
 Pis. Or this, or perish. ^ 
 
 She's far enough; andvi'hat he learnsby this, > Aside. 
 May prove his travel, not her danger. ) 
 
 Clo. Humph ! 
 
 Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, 
 Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again ! [Aside 
 
 Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true ? 
 
 Pis. Sir, as I th' k. 
 
 C/o. It is Posthumus' hand; Iknow't. — Si- ji,if 
 thouwouldst not be a villain, but do metrur- -tervice; 
 undergo these employments, wherein I should have 
 cause to use thee, with a serious industry, — that is, 
 what villany soe'cr I bid thee do, to perform it, 
 directly and truly, — I would think thee an honest 
 man: thou shouldst neither want my means for 
 thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. 
 
 Pis. Well, my good lord. 
 
 Clo. Wilt thou serve me ? For since patiently 
 and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune 
 of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the 
 course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of 
 mine. Wilt thou serve me ? 
 
 Pis. Sir, I will. 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast 
 any of thy late master's garments in thy possession ? 
 
 Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodgings, the same suit 
 he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. 
 
 Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that 
 suit hither : let it be thy first sei-vice : go. 
 
 Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven : — I forgot to 
 ask him one thing: I'll remember't anon: — Even 
 there, thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee. — I 
 would these garments were come. She said upon a 
 time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) 
 that she held the very garment of Posthumus in 
 more respect than my noble and natural person, to- 
 gether with theadornmcnt of my qualities. With 
 that suit upon my back will I ravish her.- First kill 
 him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valor, 
 which will then be a torment to her contempt. He 
 on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on 
 his dead body, — and when my lust hath dined 
 (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the 
 clothes that she so praised,) to the court I'll knock 
 her back, foot her home again. — She h ith despised 
 me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge. 
 
 Re-enter Pisanio, with the Clothes. 
 Be those the garments ? 
 Pis. Ay, my noble lord. 
 
 Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford- 
 Haven ? 
 
 Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 
 Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the 
 second thing that I have commanded thee : the third 
 is, that thou shalt be a voluntary mute to my design. 
 Be butduteous,and truepreferment shall tenderitself 
 to thee. — My revenge is now at Milford ; 'Would I 
 had wings to follow it ! — Come, and be true, [Exit. 
 Pis. Thou bid'st me to my loss : for true to thee, 
 Were to prove false, which I will never be. 
 To him that is most true. — To Milford go. 
 And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow. 
 You heavenly blessings, on her ! This fool's speed 
 Be cross'd with slowness ; labor be his meed I [Exii 
 
 •1. 
 
^CENE VII. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 76^ 
 
 SrE:NE Vl.— Before the Cave of Belarius. 
 
 Enter Imogen, in Boy's Clothes. 
 
 Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one : 
 I have tired myself; and for two nights together 
 Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, 
 But that my resolution helps mc. — Milford, 
 When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, 
 Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think, 
 Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean, 
 Where they should be rcliev'd. Two beggars told me, 
 I could not miss my way : Will poor folks lie. 
 That have afflictions on them ; knowing 'tis 
 A punishment, or trial ! Yes ; no wonder. 
 When rich ones scarce tell true : To lapse in fulness 
 Is sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood 
 fs worse in kings than beggars. — My dear lord ! 
 Thou art one o'the false ones: No\r \ think m thee. 
 My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was. 
 At point to sink for food. — But what is thid? 
 Here is a path to it : 'Tis some savage hold: 
 I were best not call : I dare not call : yet famine, 
 Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. 
 Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever 
 Of hardiness is mother. — Ho ! who's here ] 
 If any thing that's civil, speak ; if savage, 
 Take, or lend. — Ho ! — No answer? then I'll enter. 
 Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy 
 But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't. 
 Such a foe, good heavens ! [^She goes into the Cave. 
 
 Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Ahviragus. 
 
 Bel. You, Polydore,have prov'd best woodman,'' 
 and 
 \re master of the feast: Cadwal, and I, 
 Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:' 
 The sweat of industry would dry, and die. 
 But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs 
 Will make what's homely, savory : Weariness 
 Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth 
 Finds the down pillow hard. — Now, peace be here, 
 Poor house, that keep'st thyself! 
 
 Gui. I am thoroughly weary. 
 
 Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. 
 
 Gui. There's cold meat i'thecave; we'll browze 
 on that. 
 Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. 
 
 Bel. Stay ; come not in : 
 
 [Looking in. 
 But that it eats our victuals, I should think 
 Here were a fairy. 
 
 Gui. What's the matter, sir? 
 
 Bel. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not. 
 An earthly paragon! — Behold divineness 
 i\'o elder than a boy ! 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 Lno Good masters, harm me not: 
 Bcfor*" I onter'd here, I call'd ; and thought 
 To have bcgg'd, or bought, what I have took: Good 
 troth, 
 have stolen nought ; nor would not, though I had 
 found 
 Gold strew'd o'the floor. Here's money for my meat: 
 [ would have left it on the board, so soon 
 As I had made my meal; and parted 
 With prayers for the provider. 
 
 Gui. Money, youth 1 
 
 Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt ! 
 • Beat hunter « Agrccmcut. 
 
 As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those 
 Who worsliip dirty gods. 
 
 Imo. I see you are angry: 
 
 Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
 Have died, had I not made it. 
 
 Bel. Whither bound] 
 
 Into. To Milford-Haven, sir. 
 
 Bel. \Yhat is your name^. 
 
 Imo. Fidele, sir : I have i kinsman, wtio 
 Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at Milford : 
 To whom being going, almost spent with hunger 
 I am fallen in^ this offence. 
 
 Bel. Pr'ythce, fair youfli 
 
 Think us no churls; nor measure cnr good minds 
 By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd! 
 'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer 
 Ere you depart: and thanks, to stay and eat it,— 
 Boys, bid him welcome. 
 
 Gui. Were you a woman, youth 
 
 ) I should woo hard, but be your groom.. — In honesty 
 I bid for you, a^ I'd buy. 
 
 A}-v. I'll make't my comfort, 
 
 He is a man; I'll love him as my brother: — 
 And such a welcome as I'd give to him. 
 After long absence, such is yours : — Most welcoroo ' 
 Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 
 
 Lno. 'Mongst friends ' 
 
 If brothers ? — Would it had been so, that 
 
 they 
 Had been my father's sons! then had my ^ Aside 
 
 prize 
 Been less; and so more equal ballasting 
 To thee, Posthumus. 
 
 Bel. He wrings at some distress, 
 
 Gui. Would I could frce't ! 
 
 Arv. Or I ; whate'er it b«, 
 
 What pain it cost, what danger! Gods! 
 
 Bel. Hark, boys, 
 
 [ Vi'liisperinf. 
 
 Imo. Great men. 
 That had a court no bigger than this cave. 
 That did attend themselves, that had the virtue 
 W^hich their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by 
 That nothing gift of differing multitudes,) 
 Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! 
 I'd change my sex to be companion with them, 
 Since Leonatus' false. 
 
 Bel. It shall be so : 
 
 Boys, we'll go dress ourhunt.— Fair youth, come in: 
 Discourse is heavy, fasting ; when we have supp'd. 
 We'll maimerly demand thee of thy story. 
 So far as thou wilt speak it. 
 
 Gui. Pray, draw near. 
 
 Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark, 
 less welcome. 
 
 Imo. Thanks, sir, 
 
 Arv. I pray, draw near. [Ei'euHl, 
 
 SCENE VII.— Rome. 
 
 Enter two Senators and Tribunes. 
 
 1 Sen. This is the tenor of the emperor's writ i 
 That since the common men are now in action 
 'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians : 
 And that the legions now in Gallia are 
 Full weak to undertake our wars against 
 The fallen-olf Britons ; that we do incite 
 The gentry to this business : He creates 
 Lucius pro-consul : and to you the tribunes. 
 = In. for into 
 
i68 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 For tliis inmejiiate levy, he commands 
 
 His absoli.te commission. Long live Ccesar ! 
 
 7W. Is Lucius general of the forces 1 
 
 2 Sen. Ay. 
 
 Tri. Remaining now in Gallia 1 
 
 1 Sen. With those legions 
 
 Which I have spoke of, whereunti. your levy 
 Must be supplyant: The words of your commission 
 Will tie you to the numbers, and the time 
 Of their despatch. 
 
 Tri. We will discharge our duty. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 BCENE L— Wales. The Forest, near the Cave. 
 Enter Cloten. 
 Clo. lam near to the place where they should meet, 
 il Piaanio have mapped it truly. How fit his gar- 
 ments serve me ! Why should his mistress, who was 
 made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too ? the 
 rather (sa\'ing reverence of the word) for 'tis said, a 
 woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play 
 the workman. I dare speak it to myself, (for it is not 
 vain-glory, for a man and his glass to confer, — in 
 his own chamber, I mean,) the lines of my body are 
 as well drawn as his ; no less young, more strong, not 
 beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advan- 
 tage of the time, above him in birth, alike conver- 
 sant in general services, and more remarkable in 
 single oppositions:* yet this imperseverant thing 
 loves him in my despite. What mortality is ! Pos- 
 thumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy 
 shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy mis- 
 tress enforced ; thy garments cut to pieces before thy 
 face : and all this done, spurn her home to her fa- 
 ther: who may, haply, be a little angry for my so 
 rough usage ; but my mother, having power of his 
 testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. 
 My horse is tied up safe : Out sword, and to a sore 
 purpose ! Fortune ! put them into my hand ! This 
 is the very description of their meeting-place ; and 
 the fellow dares not deceive me. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Before the Cave. 
 
 Enter, from the Cave, Belarics, Guiderius, Ar- 
 
 viRAGUs, and Lmogen. 
 
 Bel. You are not well: [To Imogen.] remain 
 here in the cave ; 
 We'll come to you after hunting. 
 
 Art;, Brother, stay here: '[lb Imogen. 
 
 Air we not brothers 1 
 
 Imo. So man and man should be ; 
 
 But clay and clay differs in dignity, 
 Whose dust is both alike. — I am very sick. 
 
 Gui. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him. 
 
 Imo. So sick I am not, yet I am not well : 
 But not so citizen a wanton, as 
 To seem to die, ere sick : So please you leave me ; 
 Stick to your journal * course: the breach of custom 
 Is breach of all. I am ill ; but your being by me 
 Cannot amend me: Society is no comfort 
 To one not sociable : I'm not very sick, 
 Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here : 
 I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, 
 Stealing so poorly. 
 
 Gui. I love thee; I have spoke it: 
 
 How much the quantity, the weight as much, 
 \s I do love my father. 
 
 Bel. What 1 how ] how '! 
 
 Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
 
 • In single combai. • Keep your daily w^rw 
 
 In my good brother's fault : I know not why 
 I love this youth ; and I have heard you say, 
 Love's reason's without reason; the bier at door 
 And a demand, who is't shall die, I'd say, 
 My father, nut this youth. 
 
 Be'. O noble strain ! [Aside 
 
 w rthiness of nature! breed of greatness! 
 Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base 
 Nature hath meal, and bran ; contempt, and grace 
 
 1 anj not their father; yet who this should be, 
 Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. — 
 
 'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn. 
 
 Arv. Brother, farewell. 
 
 Imo. I wish ye sport. 
 
 Arv. You health. — So please you, sir 
 
 Imo. [Aside.'] These are kind creatures. Gods, 
 what lies I have heard ! 
 Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court: 
 Experience, 0, thou disprov'st report ! 
 The imperious'' seas breed monsters; for the dish, 
 Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. 
 I am sick still; heart-sick: — Pisanio, 
 I'll now taste of thy drug. 
 
 Gtii. I could not stir him: 
 
 He said, he was gentle,* but unfortunate; 
 Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 
 
 Arv. Thus did he answer me: yet said, hcreafler 
 I might know more. 
 
 Bel. To the field, to the field:— 
 
 We'll leave you for this time : go in, and rest. 
 
 Arv. We'll not be long away. 
 
 Bel. Pray, be not sick. 
 
 For you must be our housewife. 
 
 Imo. Well, or ill, 
 
 I am bound to you. 
 
 Bel. And so shalt be ever. 
 
 [Exit J;10GEIf. 
 
 This youth, howe'erdistress'd, apptars, he nathhad 
 Good ancestors. 
 
 Arv. How angel-like he singj ! 
 
 Gui. But his neat cookery! he cut oui roots is 
 characters ; 
 And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick, 
 And he her dieter. 
 
 Arv. Nobly he yokes 
 
 A smiling with a sigh : as if the sigh 
 Was that it was, for not being such a smile ; 
 The smile mocking the sigh, that it would flv 
 From so divine a temple, to commix 
 With winds that sailors rail at. 
 
 Gui. I do nott, 
 
 That grief and patience, rooted in him both. 
 Mingle their spurs' together. 
 
 Arv. Grow, patience! 
 
 And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
 His perishing root, with the increasing vine ! 
 
 ' Imperial. » Well-born. 
 
 » Spurs are the roots of trees. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 CYMBELINE 
 
 7G9 
 
 Bel. It is great morning. Come away — Who's 
 there ' 
 
 Enter Cloten. 
 
 Clo. I cannot find those runagates; that villain 
 Hath mock'd me : — I am faint. 
 
 Bel. Tiiosc runagates ! 
 
 Means he :\\ii usi I partly know him; 'tis 
 Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush. 
 I saw him not these many years, and yet 
 I know 'tis he: — We are held as outlaws : — Hence. 
 
 Gui. He is but one : you and my brother, search 
 What companies are near: pray you, away; 
 Let me alone with him. 
 
 \_ExeHnt Belahius and Ahyiragus. 
 
 Clo. .Soft ! What are you 
 
 That fly me thus"! some villain mountaineers'? 
 I have heard of such. — What slave art thou ] 
 
 Gui. A thing 
 
 More slavish did I ne'er, than answering 
 A slave, without a knock. 
 
 Clo. Thou art a robber, 
 
 A law-breaker, a villain: Yield thee, thief. 
 
 Gill. To who? to thee? Wh;tt art thou? Have 
 not I 
 An arm as liig as thine? a heart as bigl 
 Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not 
 My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art; 
 Why I should yield to thee 1 
 
 Clo. Thou villain base, 
 
 Know'st me not by my clothes? 
 
 Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal, 
 
 V\'ho is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, 
 Which, as it seems, make thee. 
 
 Clo. Thou precious varlet, 
 
 My tailor made them not. 
 
 Gui. Hence then, and thank 
 
 The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool ; 
 I am loath to beat thee. 
 
 Clo. Thou injurious thief, 
 
 Hear but my name, and tremble. 
 
 Gui. What's thy name? 
 
 Clo. Cloten, thou villain. 
 
 Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, 
 I cannot tremble at it; were't toad, or adder, spider, 
 'Twould move me sooner. 
 
 Clo. To thy further fear, 
 
 Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 
 I'm son to the queen. 
 
 Gui. I'm sorry for't; not seeming 
 
 So worthy as thy birth. 
 
 Clo. Art not afeard ? 
 
 Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear; the wise: 
 At fools I laugh, not fear them. 
 
 Clo. Die the death : 
 
 When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
 ni follow those that even now fled hence. 
 And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads : 
 Yielti, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt, Jighting. 
 
 Enter Belatiius and Artiragus. 
 
 Bel. No company's abroad. 
 
 Arv. None in the world : You did mistake him, 
 
 sure. 
 Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him, 
 But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favor' 
 Which then he wore ; tlie snatches in his voice, 
 And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute, 
 Twas very Cloten, 
 
 > CouDtenuuy> 
 
 Arv. fn this place we left them; 
 
 I wish my brother made good time with him. 
 You say he is so fell. 
 
 Bel. Being scarce made up, 
 
 I mean, to man, he had not apprehension 
 Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment 
 Is oft the cause of fear: But see, thy brother. 
 
 Re-enter Guiderius with Clotex's Head, 
 
 Gui. This Cloten was a fool ; an empty purge, 
 There was no money in't: not Hercules 
 Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had nor.e 
 Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne 
 My head, as I do his. 
 
 Bel. What hast thou done? 
 
 Gui. I am perfect, what : cut ofToneCloten's head 
 Son to the queen, after his own rcpiort; 
 Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer; and swore, 
 With his own single hand he'd take us in,^ 
 Displace our heads, where (thank the gods !) thej 
 
 grow. 
 And set them on Lud's town. 
 
 Bel. We are all undone. 
 
 Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, 
 But, that he swore to take, our lives ? The law 
 Protects not us: Then why should we be tender. 
 To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us; 
 Play judge, and executioner, all himself; 
 For we do fear the law ? What company 
 Discover you abroad ? 
 
 Bel. No single soul 
 
 Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason, 
 He must have some attendants. Though his humoi 
 Was nothing but mutation ; ay, and that 
 From one bad thing to worse ; not frenzy, not 
 Absolute madness could so far have raved. 
 To bring him here alone: Although, perhaps, 
 It may be heard at court, that such as we 
 Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time 
 May make some stronger head: the which he hearing 
 (As it is like him,) might break out and swear 
 He'd fetch us in ; yet is't not probable 
 To come alone, either he so undertaking. 
 Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, 
 If we do fear this body hath a tail 
 More perilous than the head. 
 
 Arv. Let ordinance 
 
 Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er. 
 My brother hath done well. 
 
 Bel. I had no mind 
 
 To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness 
 Did make my way long forth. 
 
 Gui. With his own sword, 
 
 Which he did wave against my throat, I have taVn 
 His head from him : I'll throw't into the creek 
 Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea. 
 And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, C.l>ten: 
 That's all I reck.' [Exti. 
 
 Bel. I fear 'twill be revenged : 
 
 'Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though 
 
 valor 
 Becomes thee well enough. 
 
 Arv. 'Would I had done't. 
 
 So the revenge alone pursued ine! — Polydore, 
 I love thee brotherly; but envy much. 
 Thou hast robb'd me of this deed : I would, revenges. 
 That possible strenffth might meet, would seek us 
 
 through, 
 And put us to our answer. 
 
 » Conquer, subdut;. • Ci«»> 
 
no 
 
 CYMBELINE 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Bfu. Well, 'tis done : — 
 
 We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
 Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock ; 
 You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay 
 Till hasty Poly-dorc return, and bring him 
 To dinner presently. 
 
 Arv. Poor sick Fidele ! 
 
 I'll willingly to him : To gain his color 
 I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood, 
 And praise myself for charily. \^Exit. 
 
 Bel. P thou goddess, 
 
 Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
 In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
 As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, 
 Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough. 
 Their royal blood enchafcd, as the rua'st wind, 
 That by the top doth take the mountain pine. 
 And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful. 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 To royalty unlearned ; honor untaught ; 
 Civility not seen from other; valor. 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
 As if it had been sow'd ! Yet still it's strange 
 What Cloten's being here to us portends; 
 Or what his death will bring us. 
 
 Re-enter Guiderius. 
 
 Gui. Where's my brother ? 
 
 I have sent Cloten's clot-poll down the stream, 
 In embassy to his mother ; his body's hostage 
 For his return. {^Solemn music. 
 
 Bel. My ingenious instrument! 
 
 Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion 
 Hath Cadwal now to give it motion 1 Hark! 
 Gui. Is he at home 1 
 
 Bel. He went hence even now. 
 
 Gui. What does he meani since death of my 
 dear'st mother 
 It did not speak before. All solemn things 
 Should answer solemn accidents. The matter 1 
 Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,* 
 Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys. 
 Is Cadwal mad 1 
 
 Re-enter Arviragus, bearing Imogen, as dead, in 
 his arms. 
 Bel. Look, here he comes, 
 
 A nd brings the dire occasion in his arms, 
 Of what we blame him for ! 
 
 jirv. The bird is dead, 
 
 That we have made so much on. I had rather 
 Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age, to sixty. 
 To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch, 
 ITian have seen this. 
 
 Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily ; 
 
 My brother wears not thee one-half so well, 
 As when thou grew'st thyself. 
 
 Bel. 0, melancholy ! 
 
 Who ever yet could sound thy bottom 1 find 
 The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare ' 
 Might easiliest harbor in'' — Thou blessed thing! 
 Jove knows what man thou mightst have made ; 
 
 but I, 
 Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy ! — 
 How found you him? 
 
 Arv. 8tark,^ as you see : 
 
 Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber. 
 Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at : his right cheek 
 Reposing on a cushion. 
 • Trifles. » A. slow-sailing, unwieldlj' vessel. « Stiff. 
 
 Gui. Where * 
 
 Arv. O'the floor; 
 
 His arms thc's leagu'd : I thought, he slept; and put 
 My clouted brogues " from off my fest, whose rude- 
 ness 
 Answer'd my steps too loud. 
 
 Gui. Why, he but sleeps. 
 
 If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; 
 With female fairies will his tomb be haunted. 
 And worms will not come to thee. 
 
 Arv. With fairest flowers, 
 
 Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack 
 The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nol 
 The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
 The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
 Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the rudduck' wouli!, 
 With charitable bill, (O bill, sore-shaming 
 Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie 
 Without a monument!) bring thee all this; 
 Yea, and furr'd moss besides, w hen flowers are non?, 
 To winter-ground " thy corse. 
 
 Gui. Pr'ythee, have done, 
 
 And do not play in wench-like '.vords, with that 
 Which is so serious. Let us bury him, 
 And not protract with admiration what 
 Is now due debt. — To the grave. 
 
 Arv. Say, where shall's lay himl 
 
 Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 
 Arv. Be'tso: 
 
 And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 
 Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, 
 As once our mother; use like note, and words, 
 Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 
 
 Gui. Cadwal, 
 I cannot sing : I'll weep, and word it with thee : 
 For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse 
 Than priests and fanes that lie. 
 
 Ai-v, We'll speak it ther. 
 
 Bel. Great grieft, I see, medicine the less : for Clo 
 Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys : [ter. 
 And, though he came our enemy, remember, 
 He was paid for that : Though mean and mighty, 
 Together, have one dust; yet reverence [rotting 
 (That angel of the world) doth make distinction 
 Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely 
 And though you took his life, as being our foe, 
 Yet bury him as a prince. 
 
 Gui. 'Pray you, fetch him hither 
 
 Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, 
 When neither are alive. 
 
 Arv. If you'll go fetch him, 
 
 We'll say our song the whilst. — Brother, begin. 
 
 \^Exit Belaiiius, 
 Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to thfi 
 cast ; 
 My father hath a reason for't. 
 
 Arv. 'Tis true. 
 
 Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 
 Arv. So, — begin 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun. 
 Nor the furious winter s rages; 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done. 
 
 Home art gone, and tden thy wages. 
 Golden lads and girls all must. 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 I Shoes plated with iron. « The red-hreast. 
 
 9 Pmbibly acorrupt reading for wither round thy com 
 
Scene II. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 771 
 
 Arv. Fearno more the frown o' the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant's slrokt; 
 Care no more to clothe, and eat; 
 To thee the reed is as the oak: 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the lightning flash, 
 Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone,- 
 Gui. Fear not slander, censure' rash,- 
 Arv. Thou hast finished joy and moan: 
 Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consisn^ to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui No exorciser harm thee! 
 Arv. Nor no ivilchcrafl charm thee! 
 Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
 Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! 
 Both. Quiet consummation have,- 
 And renowned be thy grave! 
 
 Re-enter Belarius, luith the Body o/'Cloten. 
 
 Gui. We have done our obsequies : Come, lay 
 
 him down. 
 Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight, 
 more : 
 The herbs, that have on them cold dew o' the night, 
 Are strewings fitt'st for graves. — Upon their 
 
 faces : — 
 You were as flowers, now wither'd : even so 
 These lierb'lets shall, which we upon you strow. — 
 Come on, away: apart, upon our knees. 
 The ground, that gave them first, has them again; 
 Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 
 
 \_Exeunt Belahius, GtiiuEnius, anc? 
 
 AUVIHARUS. 
 
 Into. '\[Awaking.'\ Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; 
 which is the way 1 — 
 I thank you. — By yon bush? — Pray, how far 
 
 thither 1 
 Ods pittikins !^ — can it be six miles yet 1 
 I have gone all night: — 'Faith,ril lie down and sleep. 
 But, soft, no bedfellow: — O, gods and goddesses! 
 
 \_Seeing the Body. 
 These flowers are like the pleasures of the world ; 
 This bloody man, the care on't. — I hope, I dream; 
 For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper, 
 And cook to honest-creatures; But 'tis not so: 
 'Twas but a bolt* of nothing, shot at nothing. 
 Which the brain makes of fumes: Our veiy eyes 
 Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good 
 
 faith, 
 I tremble still with fear : But if there be 
 Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
 As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! 
 The dream's here still : even when I wake, it is 
 W'ithout me, as within me : not imagin'd, felt. 
 A headless man ! — The garments of Poslhfimus! 
 I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand; 
 His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh: 
 The brawns of Hercules: but his .loviaP face — 
 Murder in heaven ] — How 1- — 'Tis gone. — Pisanio, 
 All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
 And mine to boot, be darted on theo! Thou, 
 Conspired with that irregulous' devil, Cloten, 
 Hast here cut olT my lord. — To write, and read. 
 Be henceforth treacherous. Damned Pisanio, 
 Uath with his forged letters, — danin'd Pisanio — 
 
 • .ruciirmont. ' Seal the same eontrnct. 
 
 » This diminutive adj iration Is Uerived from GwVs my 
 viiy. « An arrow. 
 
 • V face lilie Jovo's. • Lawless, licentious. 
 
 From this most bravest vessel of the world 
 Struck the main-top ! — 0, Posthumus ! alas. 
 Where is thy head 1 where's thatl Ah me ! where'.! 
 
 that ■? 
 Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, 
 And left this head on. — How should this be 1 Pi- 
 sanio 1 
 'Tis he, and Cloten : malice and lucre in thern 
 Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis jiregnant, pieg 
 
 nant! ' 
 The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious 
 And cordial to me, have I not found it 
 Murd'rous to the senses'! That confirms it homo 
 This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O! — 
 Give color to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
 That we the horrider may seem to those 
 Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord! 
 
 Enter Lucius, a >Japtain, and other Officers, ani 
 a Soothsayer. 
 
 Cap. To them the legions garrisonM in Gallia, 
 After your will, have cross'd the sea: attending 
 You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships : 
 They are here in readiness. 
 
 Luc. But what from Rome 
 
 Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners, 
 And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits 
 That promise noble service: and they come 
 Under the conduct of bold lachimo, 
 Sienna's brother. 
 
 Luc. When expect you them 1 
 
 Cap. With the next benefit o' th(! wind. 
 
 Luc. This forwardness 
 
 Makes our hopes fair. Conunand, our presen 
 
 numbers 
 Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to't. — Now, sir. 
 What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur- 
 pose? 
 
 Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision 
 (I fast, and pray'd, tor their intelligence:) Thus: — 
 I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 
 From the spongy south to this part of the west, 
 There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends 
 (Unless my sins abus^my divination) 
 Success to the Roman host. 
 
 Luc. Dream often so, 
 
 And never false. — Soft, ho ! what trunk is here, 
 Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometinn 
 It was a worthy building. — How ! a page ! — 
 Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather: 
 For nature doth abhor to make his bed 
 With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. — 
 Let's see the boy's face. 
 
 Cap. He is alive, my loixl. 
 
 Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body.-< 
 Young one. 
 Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems, 
 They crave to be demanded : Who is this. 
 Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow ? Or who was he^ 
 That, otherwise than noble nature did. 
 Hath alter'd thai good picture? What's thy intereH 
 In this sad wreck? Hov/ came it? Who is it? 
 What art thou ? 
 
 Jmo. I am nothing: or, if not, 
 
 Nothing to be were better. This was my masts 
 A very valiant Briton, and a good, 
 'That here by mountaineers lies slain: — Alas! 
 There are no more such masters: I may wandei 
 From east to Occident, cry out for service, 
 1 1. e. 'Tig a ready, apposite conclusion 
 
772 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 ActI'V 
 
 Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
 Find another such a master. 
 
 Luc. 'Lack, good youth ! 
 
 Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than 
 Thy master in bleeding : Sdy his name, good friend. 
 
 Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do 
 No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope [^Aside. 
 They'll pardon it. — Say you, sir? 
 
 Luc. Thy name 1 
 
 Imo. Fidele. 
 
 Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same : 
 Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name. 
 Wilt take thy chance with me 1 I will not say. 
 Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure, 
 No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters. 
 Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner 
 Than thine own worth, prefer thee : Go with me. 
 
 /»zo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods, 
 I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep 
 As these poor pickaxes'" can dig: and when 
 With wild wood leaves and weeds I have strew'd his 
 And on it said a century of prayers, [grave, 
 
 Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh ; 
 And, leaving so his service, follow you, 
 So please you entertain me. 
 
 Luc. Ay, good youth ; 
 
 And rather father thee, than master thee. — 
 My friends. 
 
 The boy hath taught us manly duties ; Let us 
 Find out the prettiest daisied spot we can. 
 And make him with our pikes and partizans 
 A grave: Come, arm him. — Boy, he is preferr'd 
 By thee to us ; and he shall be interr'd. 
 As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe thine eyes : 
 Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio. 
 
 Cym. Again ; and bring me word how 'tis with her. 
 A fever with the absence of her son ; 
 A madness, of which her life's in danger: — Heavens, 
 How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen, 
 The great part of my comfort, gone: my queen 
 Upon a desperate bed ; and in a time 
 When fearful wars point at me ; her son gone. 
 So needful for this present: It strikes me, past 
 The hope of comfort. — But for thee, fellow, 
 Who needs must know of her departure, and 
 Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee 
 By a sharp torture. 
 
 Pis. Sir, my life is yours: 
 
 I humbly set it at your will: But, for my mistress, 
 I nothing know where she remains, why gone. 
 Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your 
 
 highness. 
 Hold me your loyal servant. 
 
 1 Lord Good my liege. 
 
 The day that she was missing, he was here : 
 I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform 
 All parts of his subjection loyally. 
 For Cloten, — 
 
 There wants no diligence in seeking him. 
 And will, no doubt, be found. 
 
 Cym. The time's troublesome : 
 
 We'll slip you for a season : but our jealousy 
 
 [To Pisanio. 
 Does yet depend. 
 
 1 Lovd. So please your majesty, 
 
 ' Her fingers. 
 
 The Roman legions, a /I from Gallia drawn, 
 Are landed on your coast ; with a supply 
 Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 
 
 Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and qucen!- 
 I am amaz'd with matter." 
 
 1 Lord. Good my liege. 
 
 Your preparation can affront' no less 
 Than what you hear of: come more, for more 
 
 you're ready: 
 The want is, but to put those powers in motion. 
 That long to move. 
 
 Cym. I thank you : Let's withdraw 
 
 And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not 
 What can from Italy annoy us ; but 
 We grieve at chances here. — Away. [Exeunt 
 
 Pis. I heard no lettei from my master, since 
 I wrote him, Imogen was slain : 'Tis strange: 
 Nor hear I fi-om my mistress, who did promise 
 To yield me often tidings ; Neither know I 
 What is betid to Cloten ; but remain 
 Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work: 
 Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true 
 These present wars shall find I love my country, 
 Even to the note' o' the king, or I'll fall in them. 
 All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd : 
 Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 SCENE lY.— Before the Cave. 
 Enter Belarius, Guidehius, and Arvhiagits. 
 
 Gui. The noise is round about us. 
 
 Bel. Let us from it 
 
 Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it 
 From action and adventure? 
 
 Gui. Nay, what hope 
 
 Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans 
 Must or for Britons slay us; or receive us 
 For barbarous and unnatural revolts' 
 During their use, and slay us after. 
 
 Bel. Sons, 
 
 M'e'll higher to the mountains; there secure us 
 To the king's party there's no going: newness 
 Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd 
 Among the bands) may drive us to a render' 
 Where we have liv'd; and so extort from us 
 That which we've done, whose answer would be 
 
 death 
 Drawn on with torture. 
 
 Gui. This is, sir, a doubt, 
 
 In such a time, nothing becoming you. 
 Nor satisfying us. 
 
 Arv. It is not likel)^ 
 
 That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, 
 Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes 
 And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, 
 That they will waste their time upon our note,* 
 To know from whence we are. 
 
 Bel. 0, I am known 
 
 Of many in the army: many years. 
 Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore 
 
 him 
 From my remembrance. And, besides, the kinjr 
 Hath not dcserv'd my service, nor your loves; 
 Who find in my exile the want of breeding. 
 The certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless 
 To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, 
 But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and 
 The shrinking slaves of winter. 
 
 • Confounded by a variety of business. » Encounter. 
 
 • Notice. 9 Keyolters. ' An account. * Noticing vt 
 
Act V. KciiNE I. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 773 
 
 Gut. Than be so, 
 
 Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army : 
 I and my brother are not known; yourself, 
 So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown. 
 Cannot be question'd. 
 
 Arv. By this sun that shines, 
 
 I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never 
 Did see man die? scarce ever look'd on blood, 
 But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison? 
 Never bestrid a horse, save one, that had 
 A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
 Nor iron on his heel ? I am ashamed 
 To look upon the holy sun, to have 
 The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining 
 So lon{? a poor unknovsrn. 
 
 Gui. By heavens, I'll go' 
 
 If you will bless mc, sir, and give me leave, 
 I'll take the better care ; but if you will not, 
 The hazard therefore due fall on me, by 
 The hands of Romans! 
 
 Arv. So say I; Amen. 
 
 Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set 
 So slight a valuation, should reserve 
 My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boya* 
 If in your country wars you chance to die. 
 That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie : 
 Lead, lead. — The time seems long; their blood 
 thinks scorn, [Asidt, 
 
 Till it fly out, and show them princes Lorn. 
 
 \Exeut-d 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCEINE I.— ^ Field between the British and Ro- 
 man Camps. 
 
 Enter Posthumus, with a bloody Handkerchief. 
 
 Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I 
 
 wish'd 
 Thou shouldst be color'd thus. You married ones, 
 If each of you would take this course, how many 
 Must murder wives much better than themselves, 
 For wrying' but a little — 0, Pisanio! 
 Every good servant does not all commands: 
 No bond, but to do just ones. — Gods! if you 
 Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never 
 Had liv'd to put on^ this: so had you saved 
 The noble Imogen to repent; and struck 
 Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, 
 
 alack. 
 You snatch some hence for little faults ; that's love, 
 To have them fall no more : you some permit 
 To second ills with ills, each elder worse; 
 And make them dread it to the doer's thrift. 
 But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills. 
 And make me bless'd to obey! — I am brought 
 
 hither 
 Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
 Against my lady's kingdom : 'Tis enough 
 That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! 
 I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens. 
 Hear patiently my purpose : I'll disrobe me 
 Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself 
 As docs a Briton peasant: so I'll fight 
 Against the part I come with; so I'll die 
 For thee, Imogen, even for v»'hom my life 
 Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown. 
 Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
 My«elf I'll dedicate. Let me make men know 
 More valor in me, than my habits show. 
 Gods put the strength o' the Leonati in me ! 
 To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin 
 Thefashion, less without, and more within! \^Exit. 
 
 SCENE \l.—The same. 
 
 Enter, at one side, Lucius, Iachimo, and the Ro- 
 man Army; at the other side, the linthh Army,- 
 Lkoxatus FosTiivMvs fo/loLving it, like a poor 
 Soldier. They march over, and f;;o out. Alarums. 
 Then enter again in skirmi.';h, Iaciiiimo and 
 
 'Deviating from the ri^ht wii.y. 
 > Incite, iastigate. 
 
 PosTHUMUs; he vanquisheth and disarmeth 
 Iachimo, and then leaves him. 
 
 lack. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom 
 Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady, 
 The princess of this country, and the air on't 
 Revengingly enfeebles me ; Or could this carl,' 
 A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me. 
 In my profession ? Knighthoods and honors, borne 
 As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
 If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
 This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
 Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gorlj. [^Exi!. 
 
 The Battle contitiues, the Bntons Jly,- Ctmbelisf 
 is taken: then enter to his rescue, Belap.i*,;*, 
 GuiDEHius, a7id Artiragus. 
 
 Bel. Stand, stand ! We have the advantagi; of 
 the ground; 
 The lane is guarded : nothing routs us, but 
 The villany of our fears. 
 
 Gui. Arv. Stand, stanJ, and fight! 
 
 Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons. They 
 rescue Ctmbeline, and exeunt. Then, eniir 
 Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen. 
 
 Lzic. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy* 
 self: 
 For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such 
 As war were hood-wink'd. 
 
 lach. 'Tis their firesh supplies. 
 
 Liic. It is a day turn'd strangely : or betimes 
 Let's reinforce, or fly. \_Exennt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Enter Posthumus and a British Lord. 
 
 Lord. Cam'st thou from where they madj (fce 
 stand ? 
 
 Post. I did : 
 
 Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. . 
 
 Lord. I did. 
 
 Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost. 
 But that the heavens fought: The kir.g himself 
 Of his wings dostituto, the army broken, 
 And hut the backs of Britons seen, :ill flyii g 
 Through a strait lane; the enemy fi'll-hearted, 
 Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, havi.ig work 
 More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down 
 Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
 'Clown 
 
774 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Merely through fear, that the strait path was 
 
 damni'd' 
 With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living 
 To die with lengthen'd shame. 
 
 Lord. Where was this lane 1 
 
 Pout. Close by the battle, ditch'd and wall'd 
 with turf; 
 Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, — 
 An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd 
 So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, 
 In doing this for his country; — athwart the lane, 
 He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run 
 The country base,' than to commit such slaughter ; 
 With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer 
 Than those for preservation cased, or shame,) 
 Made good the passage ; cry'd to those that fled. 
 Our Britain's ha7-fs diejlying, not our men: 
 To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards/ Stand,- 
 Or we are Romans, and will give you that 
 Like beasts, which you shun beastly,- and niaysut^e, 
 But to look back in frown.- stand, stand. — These 
 
 three. 
 Three thousand confident, in act as many, 
 (For three performers are the file, when all 
 The rest do nothing,) with this word, Stand, stand. 
 Accommodated by the place, more charming, 
 With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd 
 A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks. 
 Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd ; that some, turn'd 
 
 coward 
 But by example, ((), a sin in war, 
 Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look 
 The way that they did, and to grin like lions 
 Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 
 A stop i' the chaser, a retire ; anon, 
 A rout, confusion thick : Forthwith they fly 
 Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves. 
 The strides they victors made: and now our cowards 
 (Like fragments in hard voyages) became 
 The life o' the need; having found the back-door open 
 Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! 
 Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends 
 O'erborne i' the former wave : ten, chased by one, 
 Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty : 
 Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown 
 The mortal bugs ' o' the field. 
 
 Lord. This was strange chance: 
 
 A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys! 
 
 Post. Nay, do not wonder at it : You are made 
 Rather to wonder at the things you hear. 
 Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, 
 Vnd vent it for a mockery'? Here is one: 
 Pwo boys, a/2 old man twice a boy, a lane, 
 Preserved the Britons, was the Romans^ bane. 
 
 Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 
 
 Post. 'Lack, to what end ? 
 
 Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend: 
 For if he'll do, as he is made to do, 
 I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. 
 You have put me into rhyme. 
 
 Lord. Farewell, you are angry. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Post. Still going? — This is a lord ! noble mi- 
 sery ! 
 To be i' the field, and ask, what news of me ! 
 To-day, how many would have given their honors 
 To have sav'd theii carcasses? took heel to do't, 
 
 'Block'd up. 
 
 •A country game caWed pnson-hars, vulgarly prison-hase. 
 
 •Bug-bears, terrors 
 
 And yet died too? I. in mine own woe charm'd, 
 Could not find death, where I did hear him groan; 
 Nor feel him where he struck: Being an ugly 
 
 monster, 
 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
 Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we 
 That draw his knives i' the war. — Well, I will find 
 
 him ; 
 For being now a favorer to the Roman, 
 No more a Briton, I have resumed again. 
 The part I came in: Fight I will no more. 
 But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall 
 Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter ia 
 Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be 
 Britons must take; For me, my ransom's death) 
 On either side I come to spend my breath; 
 Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again, 
 But end it by some means for Imogen. 
 
 Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers. 
 
 1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd ! Lucius is taken: 
 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. 
 
 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, 
 That gave the affront' with them. 
 
 1 Cap. So 'tis reported : 
 But none of them can be found. — Stand! who is 
 
 there ? 
 Post. A Roman ; 
 Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds 
 Had answered him. 
 
 2 Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog! 
 A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 
 
 What crows have peck'd them here: He brags his 
 
 service 
 As if he were of note ; bring him to the king. 
 
 Enter Ctmbkline, a//enc?erf,- BELAiiitrs, Guide- 
 Rius, AiivinAGus, PisANio, and Roman Cap- 
 tives. The Captkiins present Posthumus to 
 Ctjibelii«^k, who delivers him over to a Gaoler' 
 after which, all go out. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Prison. 
 Enter Posthumus, a7id two Gaolers. 
 
 1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have 
 
 locks upon you ; 
 So, graze, as you find pasture. , 
 
 2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. 
 
 [Exeunt Gaolers. 
 Post. Most welcome bondage! for thou art a way, 
 I think, to liberty : Yet I am better 
 Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rathei 
 Groan so in perpetuity, than be cured 
 By the sure physician, death; who is the key 
 To unbar these locks. My conscience ! thou ar) 
 
 fetter'd 
 More than my shanks, and wrists : You good gods 
 
 give me 
 The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt. 
 Then free for ever ! Is't enough, I am sorry ? 
 So children temporal fathers do appease; 
 Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent? 
 I cannot do it better than ih gyves,^ 
 Desir'd, more than constrain'd : to satisfy, 
 If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 
 No stricter render of me t'nan my all. 
 I know, you are more clement than vile men, 
 Who of their broken debtors take a third, 
 A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again 
 On their abatement; that's n it my desire 
 " Encounter. » Fett^jra 
 
bCEiVE I\ 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 775 
 
 For Iniogen's dear life, take mine; and though 
 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a Hfe ; you coin'd it : 
 'Tween man and man, they weigh not every stamp; 
 Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake: 
 You rather mine, being yours: And so, great powers, 
 If you will take this audit, take this life, 
 And cancel these cold bonds. Imogen ! 
 I'll speak to thee in silence. \_He sleeps. 
 
 Solemn Music. Enter, as an Apparition, Sici- 
 Lius Leoxatus, Father to Postuumus, a?i old 
 Man, attired like a Warrior,- leading in his 
 Hand an ancient Matron, his Wife, and Mother 
 to PosTiiuJtus, ivith Music before them. Then, 
 after other Music, follow the two young Leonati, 
 Brothers to Posthumus, with wounds, as they 
 died m the Wars. They circle Posthumus 
 round, as he lies sleeping. 
 
 Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show, 
 
 Thy spite on mortal flies: 
 With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, 
 
 That thy adulteries 
 
 Rates and revenges. 
 Hath my poor boy done aught but well. 
 
 Whose face I never saw1 
 I died whilst in the womb he stay'd, 
 
 Attending Nature's law. 
 Whose father then (as men report. 
 
 Thou orphans' father art) 
 Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him 
 
 From this earth-vexing smart. 
 Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid. 
 
 But took me in my throes: 
 That from me was Posthumus ript, 
 
 Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
 A thing of pity ! 
 Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, 
 
 Moulded the stuff so fair. 
 That he deserv'd the praise o' the world. 
 
 As great Sicilius' heir. 
 
 1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, 
 
 In Britain where was he 
 That could stand up his parallel ; 
 
 Or fruitful object be 
 In eye of Imogen, that best 
 
 Could deem his dignity 1 
 Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd. 
 
 To be exiled and thrown 
 From Leonati' seat, and cast 
 
 From her his dearest one, 
 Sweet Imogen 1 
 Sici. Why did you suffer lachimo. 
 
 Slight thing of Italy, 
 To taint his nobler heart and brain, 
 
 With needless jealousy ; 
 And to become the geek' and scorn 
 
 O' the other's villany 1 
 
 2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came. 
 
 Our parents, and us twain. 
 That, striking in our country's cause, 
 
 Fell bravely, and were slain ; 
 Our fealty, and Tenantius' right. 
 
 With honor to maintain. 
 I Bro. Like hardiment, Posthumus hath 
 
 To Cymbeline perform'd : 
 Then Jupiter, thou king of gods. 
 
 Why hast thou thus adjourn'd 
 The graces for his merits due ; 
 
 Being all to dolors turn'd 1 
 ♦ The fool. 
 
 Sici. Thy crystal window ope- look out; 
 
 No longer exercise 
 Upon a valiant race, thy harsli 
 
 And potent injuries. 
 Moth. Since, Jujjiter, our son is good. 
 
 Take off his miseries. 
 Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion ; help t 
 
 Or we poor ghosts will cry 
 To the shining synod of the rest, 
 
 Against thy deity. 
 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal. 
 
 And from thy justice fly. 
 
 Jupiter descends in Thunder arid Lightning, 
 sitting upon an Eagle ; he throws a Thunder- 
 bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. 
 
 Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low. 
 
 Offend our hearing: hush! — Kow dare you, 
 ghosts. 
 Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know, 
 
 Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts: 
 Poor shadows of Elysium, hence; and rest 
 
 Upon your never-withering banks of flowers 
 Be not with mortal accidents opprest ; 
 
 No care of yours it is, you know 'tis ours. 
 Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift, 
 
 The more delayed, delighted. Be content 
 Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift: 
 
 His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent 
 Our jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 
 
 Our temple was he married. — Rise, and fade!- - 
 He shall be lord of lady Imogen, 
 
 And happier much by his afHiction made. 
 This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein 
 
 Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; 
 And so, away : no further with your din 
 
 Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. — 
 
 Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends 
 
 Sici. He came in thunder : his celestial breath 
 Was sulphurous to smell : the holy eagle 
 Stoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is 
 More sweet than our bicss'd fields : his royal bird 
 Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak. 
 As when his god is pleas'd. 
 
 All. Thanks, Jupiter! 
 
 Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter J 
 His radiant roof: — Away ! and to be blest, 
 Let us with care perform his great behest. 
 
 [^Ghosts vanish. 
 
 Post. [^Waking.'] Sleep, thou hast been a grand 
 sire, and begot 
 A father to me : and thou hast created 
 A mother and two brothers: But (0 scorn!) 
 Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were born. 
 And so I am awake. — Poor wretches that depend 
 On greatness' favor, dream, as I have done ; 
 Wake, and find nothing. — But. alas, I swerve: 
 Many dream not to find, neither deserve. 
 And yet are steep'd in favors; so am I, 
 That have this golden chance, and know nov why . - 
 What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, rare 
 
 one! 
 Be not, as in our fangled world, a garment 
 Nobler than that it covers : let thy effect? 
 So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers. 
 As good as promise. 
 
 [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself 
 unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced 
 by a piece of tender air,- and when from a staielt/ 
 
776 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Acr V 
 
 cedar shall he Inpped branches, which, being 
 dead rnnniy years, shall after revive, he jointed 
 to the old stock, and freshly grow,- then shall 
 Postliumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, 
 and flourish in peace and plenty. 
 
 'Tis still a dream; or else such stuffas madmen 
 Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing; 
 Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such 
 As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, 
 The action of my life is like it, which 
 I'll keep, if but for sympathy. 
 
 Re-enter Gaolers, 
 
 Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death ? 
 
 Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. 
 
 Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir ; if you be ready 
 for that, you are well cooked. 
 
 Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spec- 
 tators, the dish pays the sliot. 
 
 Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir: But the 
 comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, 
 fear no more tavern bills; which are often the sad- 
 ness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you 
 come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with 
 too much drink ; sorry that you have paid too much, 
 and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and 
 brain both empty: the brain the heavier for being 
 too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heavi- 
 ness: 01 of this contradiction you shall now be 
 quit. — the charity of a penny coid! it sums up 
 thousands in a trice ; you have no true debitor and 
 creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the 
 discharge : — Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and coun- 
 ters, so the acquittance follows. 
 
 Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to Hve. 
 
 Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the 
 tooth-ache. But a man that were to sleep your 
 sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think, 
 he would change places with his officer: for, look 
 you, sir, you know not which way you shall go. 
 
 Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow. 
 
 Gaol. Your death has eyes in 's head then ; I 
 have not seen him so pictured: you must either be 
 directed by some that take upon them to know; or 
 take upon yourself that which I am sure you do 
 not know; or jump' the after-inquiry on your own 
 peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's 
 end, I think you'll never return to tell one. 
 
 Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want 
 eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such 
 as wink, and will not use them. 
 
 Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man 
 should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of 
 I'fcliX'ss I I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Miss. Knock off his manacles; bring your pri- 
 loner to the king. 
 
 Post. Thou bringest good news ; — I am called 
 to be made free. 
 
 Gaol. I'll be hanged then. 
 
 Post. Thou shall be then freer than a gaoler ; no 
 bolts for the dead. 
 
 [Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. 
 
 Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and 
 beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. ^ 
 Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves de- 
 sire to live, for all he be a Roman : and there be 
 <■ Haiiard. • Forward. 
 
 some of them too, tha. die against theii wills • m 
 should I, if I were one. I would we were all of 
 one mind, and one mind good ; O, there were do< 
 solation of gaolers, and gallowses ! I speak against 
 my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment 
 in't. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Cymbeline's Tent. 
 
 £?2/er Ctmbeiink, Belarius, GuiDERius, Arti 
 RAGUS, PisANio, Lords, Officers, anc? Attendants. 
 
 Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods 
 have made 
 Preservers of my throiie. Woe is my heart, 
 That the poor soldier, that so richly fought, 
 Whose rags shamed gilded arms,whose naked breast 
 Stepp'd before targe' of proof, cannot be found: 
 He shall be happy that can find him, if 
 Our grace can make him so. 
 
 Bel. I never saw 
 
 Such noble fury in so poor a thing ; 
 Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought 
 But beggary and poor looks. 
 
 Cym. No tidings of him 1 
 
 Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and 
 living. 
 But no trace of him. 
 
 Cym. To my grief I am 
 
 The heir of his reward ; which I will add 
 To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, 
 
 [To Belarius, Guiderius, a7id Arviragus 
 By whom, I grant, she lives ; 'Tis now the time 
 To ask of whence you are; — report it. 
 
 Bel. Sir, 
 
 In Cambria are we boi'n, and gentlemen: 
 Further to boast, were neither true nor modest, 
 Unless I add, we are honest. 
 
 Cym. Bow your knees; 
 
 Arise, my knights o' the battle: I create you 
 Companions to our person, and will fit you 
 With dignities becoming your estates. 
 
 Enter Cornelius and Ladies. 
 
 There's business in these faces. — Why so sadly 
 Greet you our victory? You look like Romans, 
 And not o' the court of Britain. 
 
 Cor. Hail, great king t 
 
 To sour your happiness, I must report 
 The queen is dead. 
 
 Cym. Whom worse than a physician 
 
 Would this report become] But I consider. 
 By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 
 Will seize the doctor, too. — How ended she ? 
 
 Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life; 
 Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
 Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd, 
 I will rej)ort, so pleas* you : 1'hcse her women 
 Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks, 
 Were present when she finish'd. 
 
 Cym. Pr'ythec, aay. 
 
 Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you: only 
 Affected greatness got by you, not you : 
 Married your royalty, was wife to jour place; 
 Abhorr'd your person. 
 
 Cym. She alone knew this. 
 
 And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 
 Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 
 
 Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand t* 
 love 
 With such integrity, she did confess 
 '' Target, eiueld. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 777 
 
 Was as a scorpion to her sight ; whose life, 
 But that her fliglit prevented it, she had 
 Ta'en off by poison. 
 
 C^m, mostdehcate fiend! 
 
 Who is't can read a woman 1 — Is there more 1 
 
 Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she 
 had 
 For you a mortal mineral; which, being took, 
 Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring, 
 By inches waste you : In which time she purpos'd. 
 By watching, weeping, 'tendance, kissing, to 
 O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time, 
 (When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work 
 Her son into the adoption of the crown. 
 But failing of her end by his strange absence, 
 Grew shameless desperate ; open'd, in despite 
 Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented 
 The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, 
 Despairing, died. 
 
 Cym. Heard you all this, h.er women 1 
 
 Lady. We did so, please your highness. 
 
 Cym. Mine eyes 
 
 Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; 
 Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart, 
 That thought her like her seeming; it had been 
 
 vicious, 
 To have mistrusted her: yet, my daughter! 
 That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, 
 And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! 
 
 Enter Lucius, Iaciiimo, the Soothsayer, and other 
 Roman FnsoiieTS,guarded; Posthvmvs, behind, 
 and Imogen. 
 
 Thou coni'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that 
 The Britons have razed out, though with the loss 
 Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made suit 
 That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter 
 Of you their captives, which ourself have granted ; 
 So, think of your estate. 
 
 Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war : the day 
 Was yours by accident ; had it gone with us. 
 We should not, when the blood was cool, have 
 
 threaten'd 
 Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods 
 Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
 May be call'd ransom, let it come : sufliceth, 
 A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer: 
 Augustus lives to think on't: And so much 
 For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
 I will entreat; My boy, a Briton born. 
 Let him be ransom'd : never master had 
 A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 
 So tender over his occasions, true. 
 So feat," so nurse-like: let his virtue join 
 With my request, which, I'll make bold, your high- 
 ness 
 Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm. 
 Though he have serv'd a Roman : save him, sir. 
 And spare no blood beside. 
 
 Cym. I have surely seen him : 
 
 His favor' is familiar to me. — 
 Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace. 
 And art mine own. — I know not why, nor where- 
 fore, 
 To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master: live: 
 And ask of Cymbclinc what boon thou wilt. 
 Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it 
 yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, 
 The noblest ta'en. 
 
 * Ueady, dextcf '>U8. > Countenance. 
 
 Imo. I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; 
 And yet, I know, thou wilt. 
 
 Imo. No, no- alack, 
 
 There's other work in hand ; I see a thing 
 Bitter to me as death : your life, good master, 
 Must shuffle for itself. 
 
 Luc. The boy disdains me. 
 
 He leaves me, scorns me: Brieiy die their joys, 
 That place them on the truth of girls and boy?. — 
 Why stands he so perplex'd 1 
 
 Cym. What wouldst thou, boy 1 
 
 I love thee more and more ; think more and mor« 
 What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look's! on 1 
 
 speak. 
 Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin' thy friend' 
 
 Lno. He is a Roman; no more kin to me, 
 Than I to your highness; who being born your 
 
 vassal. 
 Am something nearer. 
 
 Cym. Wherefore cy'st him e<. 1 
 
 Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, ¥ you please 
 To give me hearing. 
 
 Cym. Ay, with all my heart, 
 
 And lend my best attention. What's thy name. 
 
 Imo. Fidele, sir. 
 
 Cym. Thou art, my good youth, my page ; 
 
 ril be thy master : Walk with me ; speak freely. 
 [CrniBELiNE a«c? Imojen converse apart. 
 
 Bel. Is not this boy revived from death ? 
 
 Arv. One sand anothei 
 
 Not more resembles : That sweet rosy lad. 
 Who died, and was Fidele : — What think you ' 
 
 Gui. The same dead thing alive. 
 
 Bel. Peace, peace! see further, he eyes us not; 
 forbear : 
 Creatures may be alike : were't he, I am sure 
 He would have spoke to us. 
 
 Gui. But we saw him dead. 
 
 Bel. Be silent; lefs see further. 
 
 Pis. It is my mistress , 
 
 \^Aside 
 Since she is living, let the time run on. 
 To good, or bad. 
 
 [Cymbeline and Imoren come forward. 
 
 Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ; 
 
 Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, [To Iacu.] step you 
 
 forth ; 
 Give answer to this boy, and do it freely 
 Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it, 
 Which is our honor, bitter torture shall 
 Winnow the truth from falsehood. — On, speak to 
 him. 
 
 Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render 
 Of whom he had this ring. 
 
 Post. What's that to him ? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say. 
 How came it yours? 
 
 lach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that 
 Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 
 
 Cym. How ! me ! 
 
 Inch. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which 
 Torments me to conceal. By villany 
 I got this ring ; 'twas Lconatus' jewel: 
 Whom thou did'st banish ; and (which more may 
 
 grieve thee. 
 As it doth me) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd [lord ! 
 
 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, ni» 
 
 Cym. All that belonjis to thiu. 
 
778 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 lach I'liat paragon, thy daughter, — 
 
 Forwhom my heart drops blood, and myfalse spirits 
 Quail' to remember, — Give me leave, I faint. 
 
 Cym. My daughter ! what of her 1 Kcnev/ thy 
 strength : 
 I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will, 
 Than die ere I hear more : strive man, and speak. 
 
 lack. Upon a time, (unhappy wa.s the clock 
 That struck the hour !) it was in Rome, (accurs'd 
 The mansion where !) 'twas at a feast, (O, would 
 Our viands had been poisoned ! or, at least, 
 Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthumus, 
 (What should I say ] he was too good, to be 
 Where ill men were ; and was the best of all 
 Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly, 
 Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 
 For beauty that made barren the swcll'd boast 
 Of him that best could speak : for feature, laming 
 The shrine of Venus, or straight-jjight Minei-va ; 
 Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, 
 A shop of all the qualities that man 
 Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving. 
 Fairness which strikes the eye : 
 
 Cym. I stand on fire : 
 
 Come to the matter. 
 
 lach. All too soon I shall. 
 
 Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. — This Posthii- 
 (Most like a noble lord in love, and one [mus 
 That had a royal lover) took his hint : 
 And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein 
 He was as calm as virtue,) he began 
 His mistress' picture ; whicfi by his tongue being 
 And then a mind put in't, either our brags [made, 
 Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 
 Prov'd us unspcaking sots. 
 
 Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 
 
 lach. Your daughter's chastity — there it begins. 
 He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams. 
 As she alone were cold : Whereat, I, wretch 1 
 Made scruple of his praise ; and wager'd with him 
 Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore 
 Upon his honor'd finger, to attain 
 In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring 
 By her's and mine adultery : he, true knight. 
 No lesser of her honor confident 
 Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ; 
 And would so, had it been a carbuncle 
 Of Phoebus' wheel ; and might so safely, had it 
 Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain 
 Post I in this design : Well may you, sir. 
 Remember mc at court, where I was taught 
 Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 
 'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd 
 Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
 'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
 Most vilely ; for my vantage, excellent ; 
 And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd, 
 That I return'd with similar proof enough 
 To make the noble Leonatus mad. 
 By wounding his belief in her renown 
 With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes 
 Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, 
 (O, cunning, how I got it !) nay, some marks 
 Of secret on her person, that he could not 
 But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 
 I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, — 
 Methinks I see him now, 
 
 Post. Ay, so thou dost, [^Coming farvjard. 
 
 Italian fiend ! — Ah me, most credulous fool, 
 « Sink into dejection. 
 
 Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 
 That's due to all the villains past, in being, 
 To come ! — O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, 
 Some upright justicer ! Thou, king, send out 
 For torturers ingenious : It is I 
 That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend, 
 By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
 1 hat kill'd thy daughter : — villain-like, I lie ; 
 That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
 A sacrilegious thief, to do't : — the temple 
 Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself 
 Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
 The dogs o' the street to bay me : every villain 
 Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus; and 
 Be villany less than 'twas ! — O Imogen! 
 My queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen, 
 Imogen, Imogen! 
 
 lino. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear — 
 
 Post. Shall's have a play of this 1 Thou scornful 
 page, 
 There lies thy part. \^Striking her : she falls. 
 
 Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help 
 
 Mine and your mistress : — O, my lord Posthumus! 
 You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now : — Help, help ! — 
 Mine honor'd lady ! 
 
 Cym. Does the world go round ? 
 
 Post. How come these staggers on me ? 
 
 Pis. Wake, my mistress ! 
 
 Cym. If this be so, the gocJs do mean to strike me 
 To death with mortal joy. 
 
 Pis. How fares my mistress ? 
 
 Imo. O, get thee from my sight ; 
 Thou gav'st me poison : dangerous fellow, hence! 
 Breathe not where princes are. 
 
 Cym. The tune of Imogen! 
 
 Pis. Lady, 
 The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 
 That box I gave you was not thought by me 
 A precious thing ; I had it from the queen. 
 
 Cym. New matter still ? 
 
 Imo. It poison'd me. 
 
 Cor. O gods ! — 
 
 I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, 
 Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio 
 Have, said she, given his mistress that confection 
 Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd 
 As I would serve a rat. 
 
 Cyin. What's this, Cornelius 1 
 
 Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me 
 To temper ' poisons for her ; still pretending 
 The satisfaction of her knowledge only 
 In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs 
 Of no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose 
 Was of more danger, did compound for her 
 A certain stuff, which being ta'en, would cease 
 The present power of life ; but, in short time. 
 All offices of nature should again 
 Do their due functions. — Have you ta'en of it' 
 
 Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. 
 
 Bel. My boys, 
 
 There was our error. 
 
 Gui. This is sure, Fidele. 
 
 Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from 
 youl 
 Think, that you are upon a rock ; and now 
 Throw me again. [^Embracing htm. 
 
 Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul 
 
 Till the tree die ! 
 
 s Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue hersell 
 » Mix, compound. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Cym. How now, my flesh, my child ? 
 
 What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this actl 
 "Wilt thou not speak to me? 
 
 Tmo. Your blessing, sir. [Kneeling. 
 
 Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame 
 you not; 
 You had a motive for't. 
 
 [To GuinETiius and Ahvikagus. 
 Cym. My tears tliat fall, 
 
 Prove holy-water on thee ! Imogen, 
 Thy mother's dead. 
 
 Imo. I am sorry for't, my lord. 
 
 Cym. O, she was naught; and 'long of her it was. 
 That we meet here so strangely: But her son 
 Is gone, we know not how nor where. 
 
 Pis. My lord. 
 
 Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, 
 Upon my lady's missing, came to me 
 With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and 
 
 swore. 
 If I discover'd not which way she was gone, 
 It was my instant death : By accident, 
 I had a feigned letter of my master's 
 Then in my pocket; which directed him 
 To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ; 
 Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments. 
 Which he enforced from mc, away he posts 
 With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate 
 My lady's honor : what became of him, 
 I further know not. 
 
 Qui. Let me end the story : 
 
 I slew him there. 
 
 Cym. Marry, the gods forefcnd !* 
 
 I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
 Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth, 
 Deny't again. 
 
 Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it. 
 
 Cym. He was a prince. 
 
 Gui. A most uncivil one : The wrongs he did me 
 Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me 
 With language that would make me spurn the sea, 
 If it could so roar to me : I cut off's head; 
 And am right glad, he is not standing here 
 To tell this tale of mine. 
 
 Cym. I am sorry for thee : 
 
 By tiiine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must 
 Endure our law: Thou art dead. 
 
 Imo. That headless man 
 
 I thought had been ray lord. 
 
 Cym. Bind the offender. 
 
 And take him from our presence. 
 
 Bel. Stay, sir king: 
 
 This man is better than the man he slew. 
 As well descended as thyself; and hath 
 More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens 
 Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone; 
 
 [To the Guard. 
 They were not born for bondage. 
 
 Cym. Why, old soldier. 
 
 Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for. 
 By tasting of our wrath 1 How of descent 
 As good as wc 1 
 
 Arv. In that he spake too far. 
 
 Cym. And thou shalt die for't. 
 Bel. We will die all three: 
 
 But I will prove, that two of us areas good 
 As I have given out him. — My sons, I must, 
 For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech. 
 Though, haply, well for you. 
 * Forbid. 
 
 779 
 
 Your dangei is 
 
 Arv. 
 Ours. 
 
 Gui. And our good his. 
 
 Bel. Have at it, then. — 
 
 By leave ; — Thou hadst, great king, a subject, whc 
 Was call'd Belarius. 
 
 Cym. What of him 1 he is 
 
 A banish'd traitor. 
 
 Bel. He it is that hath 
 
 Assumed this age: indeed, a banish'd man , 
 I know not how, a traitor. 
 
 Cym. Take him hence, 
 
 The whole world shall not save him. 
 
 Bel. Not too hot 
 
 First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; 
 And let it be confiscate all, so soon 
 As I have receiv'd it. 
 
 Cym. Nutsing of my sonsi 
 
 Bel. I am too blunt and saucy : Here's my knee 
 Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons ; 
 Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir. 
 These two young gentlemen, that call me father. 
 And think they are my sons, are none of mine; 
 They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 
 And blood of your begetting. 
 
 Cym. How! my issue 1 
 
 5e/. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, 
 Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd: 
 Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishmeni 
 Itself, and all my treason : that I suffer'd. 
 Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes 
 (For such, and so they are) these twenty year«- 
 Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I 
 Could put into them ; my breeding was, sir, as 
 Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, 
 Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 
 Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't: 
 Having receiv'd the punishment before. 
 For that which I did then : Beaten for loyalty 
 Excited me to treason; Their dear loss. 
 The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped 
 Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir 
 Here are your sons again; and I must lose 
 Two of the sweet'st companions ia the world ■ — 
 The benediction of these covering heavens 
 Fall on their heads like dew ! for they are worthv 
 To inlay heaven with stars. 
 
 Cym. Thou weep'st,and speak'st 
 
 The service, that you three have done, is more 
 Unlike than this thou tell'st: I lost my children; 
 If these be they, I know not how to wish 
 A pair of worthier sons. 
 
 Bel. Be pleas'd a while.— 
 
 This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
 Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius; 
 This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 
 Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was lapp'd 
 In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand 
 Of his queen-mother, which for more probation, 
 I can with case produce. 
 
 Cym. Guiderius had 
 
 Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; 
 It was a mark of wonder. 
 
 Bel. This is he; 
 
 Who hath upon him still that natural stamp; 
 It was wise nature's end in the donation, 
 To be his evidence now. 
 
 Cym. O, what am I 
 
 A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother 
 Rejoiced deliverance more : — Bless'd may you Imv 
 
780 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 That, after this strange starting from your orbs, 
 You may reign in them now ! — O Imogen, 
 Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 
 
 Imo. No, my lord ; 
 
 I have got two worlds by't. — my gentle brother. 
 Have we thus met? never say hereafter, 
 But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother, 
 When I was but your sister; I you brothers, 
 When you were so indeed. 
 
 Cym. Did you e'er meet 1 
 
 Arv. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Gut. And at first meeting lov'd; 
 
 Continued so, until we thought he died. 
 
 Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 
 
 Cym. O rare instinct! 
 
 When shall I hear all through 1 This fierce abridge- 
 ment 
 Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 
 Distinction should be rich in.' — Where 1 how liv'd 
 
 you? 
 Aid '. when came you to serve our Romar. captive ? 
 How parted with your brothers? how first met them? 
 Why fled you from the court? and whither? These, 
 And your three motives to the battle, with 
 I know not how much more, should be demanded ; 
 And all the other by-dependencies. 
 From chance to chance ; but nor the time, nor place. 
 Will serve long interrogatories. See, 
 Posthiimus anchors upon Imogen ; 
 And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 
 On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting 
 Each object with joy ; the counterchange 
 Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground. 
 And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. — 
 Thou art my brother ; So we'll hold thee ever. 
 
 [To Belahius. 
 
 Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me. 
 To see this gracious season. 
 
 Cym. All o'erjoy'd. 
 
 Save these in bonds : let them be joyful too, 
 For they shall taste our comfort. 
 
 Imo. My good master, 
 
 I will yet do you service. 
 
 Luc. Happy be you ! 
 
 Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought. 
 He would have well becom'd this place, and graced 
 The thankings of a king. 
 
 Post. I am, sir. 
 
 The soldier that did company these three 
 In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for 
 The purpose I tiien follow'd; — That I was he. 
 Speak, lachimo ; I had you down, and might 
 Have made you finish. 
 
 lack. I am down again: 
 
 \_Kneeling. 
 But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, 
 iVs then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you. 
 Which I so often owe: but, your ring first; 
 And here the bracelet of the truest princess, 
 That ever swore her faith. 
 
 Post. Kneel not to me ; 
 
 The power that I have on you, is to spare you ; 
 The malice towards you, to forgive you : Live, 
 And deal with olliers better. 
 
 Cym. Nobly doom'd: 
 
 We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law ; 
 Pardon 's the word to all. 
 
 Arv. You holp us, sir, 
 
 • i. t,. Which ought to be rendered distinct by an ample 
 aarmtiye. 
 
 As you did mean indeed to be our bi other; 
 Joy'd are we, that you are. 
 
 Post. Your servant, princes. — Good my lord of 
 Rome, 
 Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, mctltonght, 
 Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, 
 Appear'd to me, with other sprightly shows' 
 Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found 
 This label on my bosom ; whose containing 
 Is so from sense and hardness, that I can 
 Make no collection of it ; let him show 
 His skill in the construction. 
 
 Luc. Philarmonus, 
 
 Sooth. Here, my good lord. 
 
 Luc. Read, and declare the meaning 
 
 Sooth. [Reads.] WJien as a Holt's ivlielp shall, 
 to himself unknoimi, without seeking find, and 
 be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when 
 from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, 
 being deadmany yeajs, shall after revive, be joint 
 ed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall 
 Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, 
 and flourish in peace and plenty. 
 
 Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; 
 The fit and apt construction of thy name. 
 Being Leo-natus, doth import so much : 
 The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughtei, 
 
 [To CrittBEi.ixi 
 Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer 
 We term it mulicr: which mulier I divine, 
 Is this most constant wife, who, even now, 
 Answering the letter of the oracle. 
 Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd ' about 
 With this most tender air. 
 
 Cym. This hath some seeming 
 
 Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal (Jymbeline, 
 Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point 
 Thy two sons forth : who, by Bclarius stolen, 
 For many years thought dead, arc now reviv'd. 
 To the majestic cedar join'd ; whose issue 
 Promises Britain peace and plenty. 
 
 Cym. Well, 
 
 My peace we will begin : — And, Caius Lucius, 
 Although the victor, we submit to Cajsar, 
 And to the Roman empire ; promising 
 To pay our wonted tribute, from the which 
 We were dissuaded by our wicked queen ; 
 Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her and hers,) 
 Have laid most heavy hand. 
 
 Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tunc 
 The harmony of this peace. The vision 
 Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke 
 Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant. 
 Is full accomplish'd : For the Roman eagle, 
 From south to west on wing soaring aloft, 
 Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun 
 So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle. 
 The imperial Ca;sar, should again unite 
 His favor with the radiant Cymbeline, 
 Which shines here in the west. 
 
 Cym. Laud we the gods, 
 
 And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 
 From our bless'd altars! Publish we this peace 
 To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let 
 A Roman and a British ensign wave 
 Friendly together: so through Lud's town march: 
 And in the temple of great Jupiter 
 Our peace we'll ratify; seal it v^ith feasts. — 
 « Ghostly appearances. ' Embraced 
 
Scene V 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 7§1 
 
 Set on there : — Never was a war did cease, 
 Ere bloody hands were wash'd with such a peace. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 A SONG, 
 
 JUNO BT GtJIUEllIUS AND ARVIBAGUS OVER FIDE- 
 IE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. 
 
 BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS 
 
 To fair Fidele's grassy tomb, 
 
 Soft maids and village hinds shall bring, 
 Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, 
 
 And rifle all the breathing spring. 
 
 No wailing ghost shoJl dare appear 
 To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; 
 
 But shepherd lads assemble here, 
 4nd meting virgins own their love- 
 
 No wither'd witch shall here be seen. 
 No goblins lead their nightly crew: 
 
 The female fays shall haunt the green, 
 And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 
 
 The red-breast oft at evening /lours 
 Shall kindly tend his little aid, 
 
 With hoary moss, and gathered flowers. 
 To deck the ground where thou art laid. 
 
 When howling winds, and beating rain. 
 In tempests shake the sylvan cell; 
 
 Or midst the chase on every plain. 
 
 The tender thought on thee shall dwelL 
 
 Each lonely scetie shall thee restore,- 
 For thee the tear be duly shed. 
 
 Beloved, till life could charm no more; 
 And mourned, till pitif's self be deatL 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Saturninus, Soti to the late Emperor of Rome, 
 
 and afterwards declared Emperor hhnself. 
 Bassianus, Brother to Saturninus; in luve with 
 
 Lavinia. 
 Titus ANHROTficus, a noble Roman, General 
 
 against the Goths. 
 Marcus Andronicus, Tribune of the People; 
 
 and Brother to Titus 
 Lucius, "^ 
 
 QuiNTus, I ^^^^ ^^ rpjjyg Andronicus. 
 Martius, I 
 
 MUTIUS, J 
 
 Young Lucius, a Boy, Son to Lucius. 
 PuBLius, Son to Marcus the Tribune. 
 
 SCENE, Rome; and 
 
 ^MiLius, a noble Roman. 
 
 Alarbus, ^ . 
 
 Chiron, > Sons to Tamora. 
 
 Demetrius, ) 
 
 Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. 
 
 A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; R<»« 
 
 mans. 
 Goths, and Romans. 
 
 Tamora, Queen of the Goths. 
 Lavinia, Daughter to Titus Andronicus. 
 A Nurse, and a black Child. 
 Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 the Country near it. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L— Rome. Before the Capitol. 
 
 The Tomb of the Andronici appearing: the Tri- 
 bunes and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. — 
 Enter, below, Saturninus and his Followers, 
 on one Side; and Bassianus and his Follow- 
 ers, on the other; ivith Drum and Colors. 
 
 Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
 Defend the justice of my cause with arms; 
 And, countrymen, my loving followers, 
 Plead my successive title ' with your swords ; 
 I am his first-born son, that was the last 
 That ware the imperial diadem of Rome; 
 Then let my father's honors live in me, 
 Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. 
 
 Bas. Romans, — friends, followers, favorers of 
 my right, — 
 If ever Bassianus, Cesar's son. 
 Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 
 Keep then this passage to the Capitol ; 
 And suffer not dishonor to approach 
 The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, 
 To justice, continence, and nobility : 
 But let desert in pure election shine; 
 And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. 
 
 Enter Marcus Andronicus aloft, luith the Crown. 
 
 Marc. Princes that strive by factions, and by 
 friends, 
 
 *i.e. My title to the succession. 
 782 
 
 Ambitiously for rule and empery, — 
 Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand 
 A special party, have by their common voice. 
 In election for the Roman empery. 
 Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, 
 For many good and great deserts to Rome ; 
 A nobler man, a braver warrior. 
 Lives not this day within the city walls : 
 He by the senate is accited' home, 
 From weary wars against the barbarous Goths 
 That, with his sons, a terror to our foes. 
 Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. 
 Ten years are spent, since first he undertook 
 This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms 
 Our enemies' pride: Five times he hath return'd 
 Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
 In coffins from the field; 
 And now at last, laden with honor's spoils. 
 Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 
 Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. 
 Let us entreat, — By honor of his name. 
 Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed. 
 And in the Capitol and senate's right. 
 Whom you pretend to honor and adore, — 
 That you withdraw you, and abate your strength 
 Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should. 
 Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 
 Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm mj 
 thoughts ! 
 
 3 Summoned. 
 
Scene II 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 7S3 
 
 Bos. MarcTjs Andronicus, so do I aflly 
 In thy uprightness and integrity, 
 And so I love and honor thee and thine, 
 Thy nobler brother Titus and his sons, 
 And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all, 
 Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament. 
 That I will here dismiss my loving friends ; 
 And to my fortunes, and the people's favor. 
 Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. 
 
 \^Exeiint the Followers o/'Bassianus. 
 Sat. Friends, that have been thus ibrward in my 
 right, 
 I thank you all, and here dismiss you all ; 
 And to the love and favor of my country 
 Commit myself, my person, and the cause. 
 
 \_Exeiint the Followers o/Saturxincs. 
 Rome, be as just and gracious unto me, 
 As I am confident and kind to thee. — 
 Open the gates, and let me in. 
 
 Bos. Tribunes ! and me, a poor competitor. 
 
 [Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol, and 
 exeunt with Senators, Marcus, S(C. 
 
 SCENE \\.— The same. 
 
 Enter a Captain, and others. 
 
 Cap. Romans, make way; the good Andronicus, 
 Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion. 
 Successful in the battles that he fights. 
 With honor and with fortune is return'd, 
 From where he circumscribed with his sword. 
 And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 
 
 Flourish of Trumpets, S(C. Enter Mctius and 
 Martius: after them, two Men bearing a CoJJin 
 covered luilh black; then Qcintcs and Lucius. 
 After them, Titus An droxicus ; and then Ta- 
 mora, with Alarbus, Cuirox, Demetrius, 
 Aaron, and other Goths, prisoners,- Soldiers 
 and People, following. The Bearers set down 
 the Coffin, and Titus speaks. 
 
 Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning 
 weeds ! 
 IjO, as the bark that hath discharged her fraught. 
 Returns with precious lading to the bay. 
 From whence at first she v^'cigh'd her anchorage, 
 Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, 
 To re-salute his country with his tears; 
 Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. — 
 Thou great defender of this Capitol, 
 Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! 
 Roman*, of five and twenty valiant sons. 
 Half of the number that king Priam had, 
 Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead ! 
 These, that survive, let Rom.e reward with love; 
 These, that I bring unto their latest home, 
 With burial amongst their ancestors : 
 Here lioths have given me leave to sheath my sword. 
 Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, 
 Why sulfer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 
 To hover on the dreadful shore of Sfyx? — 
 Make way to lay them by their brethren. 
 
 [The Tomb is opened. 
 There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, 
 And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars ! 
 sacred receptacle of my joys, 
 Sweet cell of virtue and nol)ilit3', 
 How many sons of mine hast thou in store, 
 That thou wilt never render to me more ! 
 
 Luc. Give us the ])roudest prisoner of the Goths, 
 That wc may hew his limbs, and, on a pile. 
 
 Ad manes fratriim sacrifice his flesn. 
 Before this earthly prison of their bones ; 
 That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, 
 Noi we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.' 
 
 Tit. I give him you ; the noblest that survives, 
 The eldest son of this distressed queen. 
 
 Tam. Stay, Roman brethren ; — Gracious con 
 queror, 
 Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
 A mother's tears in passion* for her son : 
 And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
 O, think my son to be as dear to me. 
 Sufiiceth not, that we are brought to Rome, 
 To beautify thy triumphs, and return. 
 Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke ; 
 But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets. 
 For valiant doings in their country's cause ] 
 O ! if to fight for king and common-weal 
 Were piety in thine, it is in these. 
 Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood. 
 Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? 
 Draw near them then in being merciful: 
 Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge ; 
 Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 
 
 Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. 
 These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld 
 Alive, and dead; and for their brethren slain, 
 Religiously they ask a sacrifice: 
 To this your son is mark'd ; and die he must. 
 To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. 
 
 Luc. Away with him .' and make a fire straight; 
 And with our swords, \i\ on a pile of wood. 
 Let's hew his limbs, till t ley be clean consum'd. 
 [Exeunt Lucii's, Quintus, Martius. 
 and MuTius, with Alarbus 
 
 Tam. cruel, irreligio is piety ! 
 
 Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous] 
 
 Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome 
 Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive 
 To tremble under Titus' threatening look. 
 Then, madam, stand resolv'd; but hope withal. 
 The self-same gods, that arm'd the queen of Troy 
 With opportunity of sharp revenge 
 Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent. 
 May favor Tamora, the queen of Goths, 
 (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,) 
 To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 
 Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mv- 
 Tius, with their Swords bloody. 
 
 Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd 
 Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, 
 And entrails feed the sacrificing fire. 
 Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the Eky. 
 Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, 
 And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 
 
 Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus 
 Make this his latest farewell to their souls. 
 
 [Trumpets sounded, and the CoJJlns 
 laid in the Tomb. 
 In peace and honor rest you here, my sons; 
 Rome's readiest chamijions, repose you here, 
 Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
 Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells. 
 Here grow no damned grudges ; here arc no storms. 
 No noise, but silence and eternal sleep : 
 
 Enter Latixia. 
 In peace and honor rest you here, my sons ! 
 
 " It was supposed that the ghosts of unburied people xf 
 peared to solicit the rites of funeral. * Suffering. 
 
F84 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 \CT 1. 
 
 I-ti.v. In peace and honor live lord Titus long ; 
 My noble lord and father, live in fame ! 
 Lo ! at this tomb my tributary tears 
 I lender, for my brethren's obsequies; 
 And at thy feet I kneel with tears of joy 
 iShcd on the earth, for thy return to Rome: 
 O, bless me here with thy victorious hand. 
 Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud. 
 
 Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd 
 The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! — 
 Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, 
 And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! 
 
 Enter Marcus Andronicus, SATunifiirus, 
 Bassianus, and others. 
 
 Marc. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother, 
 Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome ! 
 
 Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother 
 Marcus. 
 
 Marc. And welcome, nephews, from successful 
 wars. 
 You that survive, and you that sleep in fame. 
 Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all. 
 That in your country's service drew your swords: 
 But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, 
 That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness,^ 
 And triumphs over chance, in honor's bed. — 
 Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
 Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, 
 Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust, 
 This palliament'' of white and spotless hue ; 
 And name thee in election for the empire. 
 With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: 
 Be candidaius then, and put it on. 
 And help to set a head on headless Rome. 
 
 Tit. A better head her glorious body fits, 
 Than his that shakes for age and feebleness : 
 What! should I don" this robe, and trouble youl 
 Be chosen with proclamations to-day: 
 To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, 
 And set abroad new business for you all T 
 Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years. 
 And led my country's strength successfully, 
 And buried one-and-twenty valiant sons. 
 Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms. 
 In right and service of their noble country : 
 Give me a staff of honor for mine age, 
 But not a sceptre to control the world : 
 Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 
 
 Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. 
 
 Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou 
 
 tein— 
 
 nt. Patience, prince Saturnine. 
 
 Sat. Romans, do me right; — 
 
 P tricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not 
 Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor: — 
 Andronicus, 'would thou wert shipp'd to hell. 
 Rather than rob me of the people's hearts. 
 
 Lite, Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
 That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 
 
 Tit. Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee 
 The people's hearts, anil wean them from themselves. 
 
 Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee. 
 But honor thee, and will do till I die ; 
 My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 
 I will most thankful be : and thanks, to men 
 Of noble minds, is honorable meed. 
 
 * The maxim alluded to is, that no man can be pro- 
 aounced happy before his death. 
 ' A robe. • i. «. Do on, put it on. 
 
 Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, 
 I ask your voices, and your suffrages; 
 Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus! 
 
 Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus, 
 And gratulate his safe return to Rome, 
 The people will accept whom he admits. 
 
 Tit. Tribunes, I thank you : and this suit I make, 
 That you create your emperor's eldest son, 
 Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope. 
 Reflect on Rome, as Titan's' rays on earth, 
 And ripen justice in this common-weal: 
 Then if you will elect by my advice. 
 Crown him and say, — Long lire our emperor.' 
 
 Marc. With voices and applause of every sort, 
 Patricians, and plebeians, we create 
 Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor ; 
 And say, — Long live our emperor Saturnine! 
 
 \^A long Floiirisii 
 
 Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done 
 To us in our election this day, 
 I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts. 
 And will with deeds requite thy gentleness • 
 And, for an onset, Titus, to advance 
 Thy name, and honorable family, 
 Lavinia will I make my emperess, 
 Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, 
 And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse : 
 Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please 
 thee! 
 
 Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and, in this match 
 I hold me highly honor'd of your grace: 
 And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, — 
 King and commander of our common-weal. 
 The wide world's emperor, — do I consecrate 
 My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners ; 
 Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: 
 Receive them then, the tribute that I owe. 
 Mine honor's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 
 
 Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! 
 How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, 
 Rome shall record ; and, when I do forget 
 The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
 Romans, forget your fealty to me. 
 
 Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an em- 
 peror; [To Tamora 
 To him, that for your honor and your state, 
 Will use you nobly, and your followers. 
 
 Sat. A goodly lady, trust me ; of the hue 
 That I would choose, wore I to choose anew. — 
 Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance ; 
 Though chance of war hath wrought this change 
 
 of cheer, 
 Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome: 
 Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
 Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
 Daunt all your hopes; Madam, he comforts you. 
 Can make you greater than the queen of Goths.— 
 Lavinia, you are not displeas'd wiih this ? 
 
 Lav. Not I, my lord : sith' true nobility 
 Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 
 
 Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Romans, let us go: 
 Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: 
 Proclaim our honors, lords, with trump and drum. 
 
 Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. 
 
 [Seizing Lavinia > 
 
 Tit. How, sir? Areyouinearnest then, my lord! 
 
 Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal, 
 To do myself this reason and this right. 
 
 [The Emperor courts Tamoka in dumb shots 
 » The sua. « Sinco 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 r85 
 
 Marc. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: 
 This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 
 
 Luc And tliiit lie will, and sliall, if Lucius live. 
 
 Tit. Traitors, a vaunt! Where is the emperor's 
 guard'' 
 IVcason, my lord; Lavinia is surprized. 
 
 Sat. Surprized ! by whom 1 
 
 Bns. By him that justly may 
 
 Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. 
 
 {Ex. Mahcds and Bassiaxus, w«7A Latixia. 
 
 Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, 
 And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. 
 
 {Exeunt Lucius, Quintds, and Martius. 
 
 Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. 
 
 Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 
 
 Tit. What, villain boy ! 
 
 Barr'st me my way in Rome? [Titus Jcills Mutius. 
 
 Mut. Help, Lucius, help. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than so. 
 In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 
 
 Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine : 
 My sons would never so dishonor me: 
 Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 
 
 Luc. Dead, if you will: but not to be his wife, 
 That is another's lawful promis'd love. {Exit. 
 
 Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not. 
 Not her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: 
 I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once ; 
 Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons. 
 Confederates all thus to dishonor me. 
 Was there none else in Rome to make a stale ^ of. 
 But Saturnine] Full well, Andronicus, 
 Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, 
 That said'st, I bcgg'd the empire at thy hands. 
 
 Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words are 
 these 1 
 
 Sat. But, go thy ways; go, give that changing piece 
 To him that flourish'd for her with his sword: 
 A valiant son-in law thou shalt enjoy ; 
 One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons. 
 To ruffle' in the commonwealth of Rome. 
 
 Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. 
 
 Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of 
 Goths, — 
 That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs. 
 Dost ovcrshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, — 
 If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice. 
 Behold I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride. 
 And will create thee cmperess of Rome. 
 Speak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my 
 
 choice ? 
 And here I swear by all the Roman gods, — 
 Sith priest and holy water are so near. 
 And tapers burn so bright, and every thing 
 In readiness for Hymcncus stand, — 
 I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
 Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
 I lead espous'd niy bride along with me. 
 
 '/'am. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I 
 swear. 
 If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, 
 She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
 A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 
 
 Sat. Ascend, fair queen. Pantheon : — Lords, ac- 
 company 
 ifour noble emperor, and his lovely bride, 
 bent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, 
 
 •A stalking horse. ' A ruffler was a bully. 
 
 Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered 
 There shall we consummate our spousal rites. 
 
 {Exeunt Satuhninus, and his Followers ; Ta 
 mora, and tier Sons ; Aaron, and Goths, 
 
 Tit. I am not bid' to wait upon this bride; — 
 Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
 Dishonor'd thus, and challenged of wrongs'? 
 
 Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and 
 Martius. 
 
 Ma}-c. O, Titus, see, 0, see, what thou hast dond 
 In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 
 
 Tit. No, foolish tribune, no: no son of mine,— 
 Nor thou, nor these confederates in the deed 
 That hath dishonor'd all our family; 
 Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons ! 
 
 Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes 
 Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 
 
 Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb 
 This monument five hundred years hath stood, 
 Which I have sumptuously re-edified: 
 Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors, 
 Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: — 
 Bury him where you can, he comes not here. 
 
 Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you : 
 My nephew Mutius ' deeds do plead for him , 
 He must be buried with his brethren. 
 
 Quin. Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany. 
 
 Tit. And shall 1 What villain was it spoke that 
 word 1 
 
 Qui?!. He that would vouch't in any place but here. 
 
 Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite'? 
 
 Marc. No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee 
 To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. 
 
 7'it. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, 
 And, with these boys, mine honor thou hast 
 
 wounded : 
 My foes I do repute you every one ; 
 So trouble me no more, but get you gone. 
 
 Marc. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. 
 
 Qui?!. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. 
 
 [Marcus and the Sons ofTiTvs k?!eel. 
 
 Ma?-c. Brother, for in that name doth nature 
 plead. 
 
 Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature 
 speak. 
 
 Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. 
 
 Marc. Renowned Titus, more than half my 
 soul, — 
 
 Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all,- 
 
 Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 
 His noble nephew here in virtue's nest. 
 That died in honor and Lavinia's cause. 
 Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous. 
 The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax 
 That slew him»elf ; and wise Laertes' son 
 Did graciously plead for his funerals. 
 Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joj. 
 Be barr'd his entrance here. 
 
 Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise . — 
 
 The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw, 
 To be dishonor'd by my sons in Rome ! — 
 Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 
 
 [Mutius is put into the Tomb 
 
 Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thj 
 friends. 
 Till we with trojihies do adorn thy tomb ! 
 
 Alt. No man shed tears for noble Mutiua: 
 He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. 
 < Invited. 
 
78G 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Marc. My lo/d, — to step cut of these dreary 
 dumps, — 
 How comes it, that the subtle queen of Goths 
 Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? 
 
 Tit. I know not, Marcus; but, I know, it is; 
 Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell : 
 Is she not then beholden to the man 
 That brought her for this high good turn so farl 
 V es, and will nobly him remunerate. 
 
 Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, Saturxinus, 
 
 attended; Takoka, Cmnox, Demethius, and 
 
 Aarox: at the other, Bassianus, Lavinia, 
 
 and others. 
 
 Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize; 
 God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride. 
 
 Bas. And you of yours, my lord: I say no more, 
 Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave. 
 
 Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, 
 Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 
 
 Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own. 
 My true-betrothed love, and now my wife 1 
 But let the laws of Rome determine all ; 
 Mean while I am possess'd of that is mine. 
 
 <SV/^ 'Tis good, sir : You are very short with us ; 
 But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. 
 
 Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, 
 Answer I must, and shall do with my life. 
 Only thus much I give your grace to know, 
 By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
 This noble gentleman, lord Titus here, 
 Is in opinion, and in honor, wrong'd ; 
 That, in the rescue of Lavinia, 
 With his own hand did slay his youngest son. 
 In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath 
 To be controll'd in that he frankly gave : 
 Receive him then to favor. Saturnine; 
 That hath exprcss'd himself, in all his deeds, 
 A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome. 
 
 Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds; 
 'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonor 'd me : 
 Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, 
 How I have lov'd and honor'd Saturnine ! 
 
 Turn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora 
 Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, 
 Then hear me speak indifferently for all ; 
 And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. 
 
 Sat. What ! madam ! be dishonor'd openly, 
 And basely put it up without revenge ] 
 
 Tarn. Not so, my lord : The gods of Rome fore- 
 fend,' 
 I should be author to dishonor you ! 
 But, on mine honor, dare I undertake 
 For good lord Titus' innocence in all, 
 Whose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs: 
 Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; 
 Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, 
 Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. — 
 
 My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last, 
 
 Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : 
 
 You are but newly planted in your throne ; 
 
 Ijcst then the people and patricians too, 
 
 Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, 
 
 And so supplant us for ingratitude, 
 
 (Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,) 
 
 Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: ^ Aside 
 
 I'll find a day to massacre them all. 
 
 And raze their faction, and their family, 
 
 The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, 
 
 To whom I sued for my dear son's life; 
 
 And make them know, what 'tis to let a 
 
 queen 
 Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in 
 
 vain. — 
 
 Come, come, sweet emperor, — come, Andronicua 
 Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart 
 That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 
 
 Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath prevail'd 
 
 Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: 
 These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. 
 
 Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
 A Roman now adopted happily. 
 And must advise the emperor for his good. 
 This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; — 
 And let it be mine honor, good my lord. 
 That I have reconciled your friends and you. — 
 For you, prince Bassianus, I have pass'd 
 My word and promise to the emperor, 
 That you will be more mild and tractable. — 
 And fear not, lords, — and you, Lavinia; — 
 By my advice, all humbled on your knees. 
 You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 
 
 Luc. We do, and vow to heaven and to his high 
 ness, 
 That, what we did, was mildly, as we might, 
 Tend'ring our sister's honor, and our own. 
 
 Marc. That on mine honor here I do protest. 
 
 Sai. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. — 
 
 Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be 
 friends : 
 The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; 
 I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. 
 
 Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here^ 
 And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
 I do remit these young men's heinous faults. 
 Stand up. 
 
 Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, 
 I found a friend; and sure as death I swore, 
 I would not part a bachelor from the priest. 
 Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, 
 You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends ; 
 This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 
 
 Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty, 
 To hunt the panther and the hart with me, 
 Willi horn and hound, we'll give your grace bonjour. 
 
 Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. \Exeunl 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter AAnox. 
 
 Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, 
 Safe out of fortune's shot: and sits aloft. 
 Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning's flash; 
 Advanced above pale envy's threat'ning reach. 
 » Foibid. 
 
 As when the golden sun salutes the morn, 
 And, having gilt the ocean with his beams. 
 Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach. 
 And overlooks the highest-peering hills; 
 
 So Tamora. 
 
 Upon her wit doth earthly honor wait, 
 
 And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
 
 Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thought* 
 
tiCENE II. 
 
 TITUS ANDKONICUS. 
 
 787 
 
 To moun. aloft ^itli thy imperial mistress, 
 And mount her pitch ; whom thou in triumph long 
 Il!!st prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chain, 
 And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes. 
 Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
 Away with slavish weeds, and idle thoughts 1 
 I will bo bright, and shine in pearl and gold. 
 To wait upon this new-made cmperess. 
 To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, 
 This goddess, this Semiramis ; — this queen. 
 This syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, 
 And see his shipwreck, and his common-weal's. 
 Holla ! what storm is this ? 
 
 Enter CillRO'S and Demetrids, hraviny. 
 
 Bern. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants 
 And manners, to intrude whore I am graced ; [edge. 
 And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. 
 
 (Jlii. Demetrius, thou dost overween in all; 
 And so in this to bear me down with braves. 
 'Tis not the difference of a year, or two, 
 Makes me less gracious, theo more fortunate : 
 I am as able, and as fit as thou, 
 To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace ; 
 And that my sword upon thee shall approve. 
 And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. [peace. 
 
 Aav. Clubs ! clubs !" these lovers will not keep the 
 
 Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd. 
 Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side. 
 Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends ? 
 Go to ; have your lath glued within your sheath, 
 Till you know better how to handle it. 
 
 Chi. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have. 
 Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. 
 
 Dem. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave ? [They draw. 
 
 Aar. Why, how now, lords ? 
 
 So near the emperor's palace dare you draw. 
 And maintain such a quarrel openly ? 
 Full well I wof the ground of all this grudge; 
 I would not for a million of gold. 
 The ease were known to them it most concerns : 
 Nor would your noble mother, for much more. 
 Be so dishonor'din the court of Rome. 
 For shame, put up. 
 
 Beni. Not I; till I have sheath'd 
 
 My rapier in his bosom, and withal. 
 Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat. 
 That he hath breathed in my dishonor here. 
 
 Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd. — 
 Foul-spoken coward that thunder'st with thy tongue, 
 And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. 
 
 Aar. Away, I say. — 
 Now by the gods, that warlike Goths adore. 
 This petty brabble will undo us all. — 
 Why, lords, — And think you not how dangerous 
 It is to jut upon a prince's right? 
 What, is Lavinia then become so loose. 
 Or Bassianus so degenerate, 
 
 riiat for her love such quarrels may be broach'd. 
 Without controlment, justice, or revenge? 
 Young lords, beware ! — an should the empress know 
 This discord's ground, the music would not please. 
 
 Clii. I care not, I, knew she and all the world; 
 I love Lavinia more than all the world. 
 
 Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner 
 Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. [choice : 
 
 Aar. Wh}', are ye mad ? or know ye not, in Rome 
 How furious and impatient they be. 
 And cannot brook competitors in love? 
 I tell you, lords, you do but i)lot your deaths 
 By this device. 
 
 Clii. Aaron, a thousand deaths 
 
 Would I propose, to achieve her whom I love. 
 
 J'tr. To achieve her ! — llow ? 
 
 Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange ? 
 
 She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; 
 
 '• 'I'hia was; the usual outcry for assistance, when any riot 
 31 the if reet happen jd ' Know. 
 
 She is a woman, therefore may be won ; 
 She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. 
 What, man ! more water glideth by the mill 
 Than wots the miller of; and easy it is 
 Of a cut loaf to steal a shive,' we know : 
 Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, 
 Better than he have yet worn Vulcan's badge. 
 
 Aar. Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. [Aside. 
 
 Dem. Then why should he despair, that knows to 
 With words, fair looks, and liberality ? [court it 
 What, hast thou not full often struck a doe. 
 And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? 
 
 Aar. Why then, it seems, some certain snatch oi so 
 Would serve your turns. 
 
 Chi. Ay, so the turn were serv'd. 
 
 Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 
 
 Ac 
 
 'Would you had hit it too. 
 
 Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. 
 AVhy, hark ye, hark ye, — And are you such fools, 
 To square' for this ? Would it offend you then 
 That both should speed ? 
 
 Chi. I'faith, not me. 
 
 Dem. Nor me, 
 
 So I were one. 
 
 Aar. For shame, be friends ; and join for that yon 
 'Tis policy and stratagem must do [i^^' 
 
 That you affect; and so must you resolve ; 
 That what you cannot, as you would, achieve, 
 You must perforce accomplish as you may. 
 Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chasto 
 Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. 
 A speedier course than lingering languishment 
 Must we pursue, and I have found the path. 
 My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; 
 There will the lovely Roman ladies troop ; 
 The forest walks are wide and spacious; 
 And many unfrequented plots there are, 
 Fitted by kind' for rape and villany : 
 Single you thither then this dainty doe. 
 And strike her home by force, if not by words i 
 This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. 
 Come, come, our empress, with her sacreda wit. 
 To villany and vengeance consecrate, 
 Will we acquaint with all that we intend ; 
 And she shall file our engines with advice. 
 That will not suffer you to square yourselves. 
 But to your wishes' height advance you both. 
 The emperor's court is like the house of fame< 
 The palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears : 
 The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull ; 
 There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take youi 
 
 turns : 
 There serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's eye. 
 And revel in Lavinia's treasury. 
 
 Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. 
 
 Dem. Sit fas ant nefas, till I find the stream 
 To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, 
 Per Sty(ja, per manes vehor. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IL — A Forest near Rome. A Lodge seen ai 
 
 a distance. Horns, and Cry of Hounds heard. 
 Enter TiTUS Andronicus, with Hunters, &c. Mar- 
 cus, LucHJS, QuiNTUS, and Martius. 
 Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, 
 The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green : 
 Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, 
 And wake the emperor and his lovely bride, 
 And rouse the prince; and ring a hunter's peal 
 That all the court may echo with the noise 
 Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours. 
 To tend the emperor's person carefully : 
 I have been troubled in my sleep this night. 
 But dawning day now comfort hath inspir'd. 
 Hornx wink a Peal. Enter S.vti'rmxts, Tamor.i, Bassi* 
 Nus, Lavinia, Ckiron, Dicmf.trius, and Attemlants. 
 
 8 Slice. » Quarrel. > By nature 
 
 a Sacrid here signifies accursed ; a Latinism 
 
788 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Tit. Many good-morrows to your majesty ; — 
 Madam, to you as many and hs good !- — 
 I promised to your grace a hunter's peal. 
 
 Sat. And you have rung it kistily, my lords, 
 pDmewhat too early for new-married ladies. 
 
 Bas. Lavinia, how say you ? 
 
 Lav. I say, no ; 
 
 I have been broad awake two hours and more. 
 
 Sat. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have, 
 And to our sport: — Madam, now shall ye see 
 Our Roman hunting. [To Tamora. 
 
 Marc. I have dogs, my lord, 
 
 Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase. 
 And climb the highest promontory top. 
 
 Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game 
 Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 
 
 Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse, nor 
 hound, 
 But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ desert Part of the Forest. 
 Enter Aaron, with a Bag of Gold. 
 
 Aar. He that had wit, would think that I had none. 
 To bury so much gold under a tree. 
 And never after to inherit^ it. 
 Let him that thinks of me so abjectly, 
 Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem ; 
 Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
 A very excellent piece of villany ; 
 And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest,' 
 
 [Hides the Gold. 
 That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 
 Enter Tajiora. 
 
 Tarn. My lovely Aaron,whcrefore look'st thou sad, 
 When every thing doth make a gleeful boast ? 
 The birds chaunt melody on every bush ; 
 The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; 
 The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind. 
 And make a chcquer'd shadow on the ground : 
 Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit. 
 And — whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds. 
 Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, — 
 As if a double hunt were heard at once, — 
 Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise : 
 And — after conflict, such as was suppos'd 
 The wandering prince of Dido once enjoy'd. 
 When with a happy storm they were surpris'd. 
 And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, — 
 We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, 
 Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; 
 Whiles hounds and horns, and sweet melodious 
 Be unto us, as is a nurse's song [birds. 
 
 Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep. 
 
 Aar, Madam, though Venus govern your desires, 
 Saturn is dominator over mine ; 
 What signifies my deadly-standing eye. 
 My silence, and my cloudy melancholy ? 
 My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls, 
 Even as an adder, when she doth unroll 
 To do some fatal execution 1 
 No, madam, these are no venereal signs ; 
 Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. 
 Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 
 Hark, Tamora, — the empress of my soul. 
 Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee. 
 This is the day of doom for Bassianus ; 
 His Philomel* must lose her tongue to-day : 
 I'hy sons make pillage of her chastity, 
 
 » Possess. 3 Disquiet • 
 
 * See OTid's Metamorphoses, book vi. 
 
 And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. 
 Seest thou this letter 1 take it up, I pray thee. 
 And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll : — 
 Now question me no more, we are espied ; 
 Here comes a parcel' of our hopeful booty. 
 Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 
 
 Tarn. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life. 
 
 Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes 
 Be cross with him : and I'll go fetch thy sons 
 To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit 
 Enter Bassianus and Lavinia. 
 
 Bas. Who have we here ? Rome's royal empresa 
 Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop] 
 Or is it Dian, habited like her; 
 Who hath abandoned her holy groves. 
 To see the general hunting in this forest ? 
 
 Tarn. Saucy controller of our private steps ! 
 Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had, 
 Thy temples should be planted presently 
 With horns, as was Actseon's ; and the hounds 
 Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs. 
 Unmannerly intruder as thou art ! 
 
 Lav. Under your patience, gentle empress, 
 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning ; 
 And to be doubted, that your Moor and you 
 Are singled forth to try experiments: 
 Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day t 
 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. 
 
 Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmeriai; 
 Doth make your honor of his body's hue. 
 Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
 Why are you sequester'd from all your train 1 
 Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, 
 And wandcr'd hither to an obscure plot. 
 Accompanied with a barbarous Moor, 
 If foul desire had not conducted you ? 
 
 Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport. 
 Great reason that my noble lord be rated 
 For sauciness. — I pray you let us hence. 
 And let her 'joy her raven-colored love ; 
 This valley fits the purpose passing well. 
 
 Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note of this. 
 
 Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: 
 Good king ! to be so mightily abused ! 
 
 Tarn. Why have I patience to endure all this? 
 Enter Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gra- 
 cious mother. 
 Why doth your highness look so pale and wan ? 
 
 Tarn. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale' 
 These two have 'ticed me hither to this place, 
 A barren detested vale, you see, it is : 
 The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
 O'ercome with moss, and banefid mistletoe. 
 Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds, 
 Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. 
 And when they show'd me this abhorred pit. 
 They told me here, at dead time of the night, 
 A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, 
 Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins/ 
 Would make such fearful and confused cries. 
 As any mortal body, hearing it. 
 Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. 
 No sooner had they told this hellish tale. 
 But straight they told me they would bind me hera 
 Unto the body of a dismal yew ; 
 And leave me to this miserable death. 
 And then they call'd me fo'il adulteress. 
 
 • Part. 
 
 > IleJge-hogs. 
 
iCENE IV. 
 
 riTUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 7SU 
 
 LascivioUiJ GoVh, and all the bitterest terms 
 That ever ear did hear to such effect. 
 And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, 
 This vengeance on mc had been executed : 
 Revenge it, as you love your mother's life. 
 Or be ye not henceforth call'd rny children. 
 
 Dcm. This is a witness that I am thy son. 
 
 [Stabs Bassiancb. 
 
 Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my 
 strength. [Slabbing him likewise. 
 
 Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, — nay, barbarous 
 Tamora ! 
 For no name fits thy nature but thy own ! [boys. 
 
 Tarn. Give me thy poniard ; you shall know, my 
 Vour mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. 
 
 Dem. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her; 
 First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: 
 This minion stood upon her chastity, 
 Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty. 
 And with that painted hope braves your mightiness. 
 And shall she carrry this unto her grave 1 
 
 Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 
 Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, 
 And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 
 
 Tarn. But when you have the honey you desire 
 Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. 
 
 Chi. I warrant you, madam ; we will make that 
 Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy [sure. — 
 That nice-preserved honesty of yours. 
 
 Lav. O Tamora ! Thou bear'st a woman's fice, — 
 
 Tam. I will not hear her speak ; away witli her. 
 
 Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a vord. 
 
 Dem. Listen, fair madam : Let it be your :lory 
 To see her tears : but be your heart to ^.hem, 
 As unrelenting Hint to drops of rain. [dam? 
 
 Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the 
 O, do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee : 
 The milk thou suck'dst from her, did turn to marble ; 
 Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. — 
 Yet every mother breeds not sons alike ; 
 Do thou entreat her shew a woman pity. [To Chiron. 
 
 Chi. What ! wouldst thou have me prove myself 
 a bastard ] 
 
 Lav. 'Tis true ; the raven doth not hatch a lark ; 
 Yet I have heard, (0 could I find it now !) 
 The lion mov'd with pity, did endure 
 To have his princely paws pared all away. 
 Some say, that ravens foster forlorn children, 
 The whilst their own birds famish in their nests : 
 O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no. 
 Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! 
 
 Tam. I know not what it means ; away with 
 her. 
 
 Lav. O, let me teach thee : for my father's sake, 
 That gave thee life, when well he might have slain 
 
 thee, 
 Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. 
 
 Turn. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me. 
 Even for his sake am I pitiless: — 
 Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, 
 J'o save your brother from the sacrifice; 
 But fierce Andronicus would not relent. 
 Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will ; 
 The worse to her, the better lov'd of mc. 
 
 Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, 
 And with thine own hands kill me in this place; 
 For 'tis not life, that I have iiegg'd so long; 
 Poor I was slain, vs-hen Uassiauus died. 
 
 Tam. What begg'sl thou then? fond woman, let 
 
 me go. 
 
 51 
 
 Lav. 'Tis present (i 3ath Ib(>g: ami one thing more. 
 That womanhood denies my tongue to tell : 
 O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
 And tumble me into soine loathsome pit; 
 Where never man's eye may behold my body : 
 Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 
 
 Tam. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: 
 No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. 
 
 Dem. Away, for thou hast staid us here too long. 
 
 Lav. No grace 1 No womanhood 1 Ah, beastly 
 creature ! 
 The blot and enemy to our general name ! 
 Confusion fall 
 
 Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth : — Bring 
 thou her husband ; [Dragging off La vinia. 
 This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Tam. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her 
 Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, [sure: 
 Till all the Andronici be made away. — 
 Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 
 And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE lY.— The same. 
 Enter Aaron with Quintus and Mautius. 
 
 Aar. Come on, my lords ; the better foot before 
 Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit, 
 Where I espy'd the panther fast asleep. 
 
 Quill. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. 
 
 Mart, And mine, I promise you: were't not for 
 shame, 
 Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. 
 
 [M.\TiTivs falls into the Pit. 
 
 Quin. What, art thou fallet? ! What subtle hole 
 is this, 
 Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briars , 
 Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood, 
 As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers 1 
 A very fatal place it seems to me: — 
 Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall ? 
 
 Mart. 0, brother, with the dismallest object 
 That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament. 
 
 Aar. [Aside.l Now will I fetch the king to find 
 them here; 
 That he thereby may give a likely guess. 
 How these were they that made eway his brother. 
 
 [Exit Aabow. 
 
 Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me ont 
 From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole ? 
 
 Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear : 
 A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints; 
 My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. 
 
 Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart 
 Aaron and thou look down into this den. 
 And see a fearful sight of blood and death. 
 
 Quin. Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart 
 Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
 The thing whereat it trembles by surmise : 
 0, tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now 
 Was I a child, to fear I know not what. 
 
 Mart. Lord Bassianus lies ombrued here. 
 All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, 
 In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 
 
 Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he ' 
 
 Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
 A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, 
 Which, like a taper in some monument, 
 Doth shine upon tlie dead man's earthy cheeks 
 And shows the ragged entrails of this pit: 
 So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, 
 
"90 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Wheij Le by night lay bathed in maiden blood. 
 
 brother, help me with thy fainting hand, — 
 If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, — 
 Out of this fell devouring receptacle. 
 
 As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 
 
 Qiiin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee 
 out; 
 Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 
 
 1 may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb 
 Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 
 
 I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 
 
 Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. 
 
 Qiiin. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, 
 Till thou art here aloft, or I below; 
 Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. 
 
 \_Fal/s in. 
 
 Enter Satuiininus and Aahon. 
 
 Sat. Along with me : — I'll see what hole is here; 
 And what he is, that now is leap'd into it. 
 Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend 
 Into this gaping hollow of the earth] 
 
 Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus ; 
 Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, 
 To find thy brother Bassianus dead. 
 
 Sat. My brother dead ? I know thou dost but jest; 
 He and his lady both are at the lodge, 
 Upon the north side of this pleasant chase : 
 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. 
 
 Mart. We know not where you left him all alive, 
 But, out alas! here have we found him dead. 
 Enter TAMonA, icit/t Attendants; Titus ANnno- 
 Nicus, arid Lucius. 
 
 Tarn. Where is my lord the king? 
 
 Sat. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing 
 
 grief. 
 Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus? 
 Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my 
 wound; 
 Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 
 
 Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, 
 
 [^Giving a Letter. 
 The complot of this timeless'' tragedy; 
 And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold 
 In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. 
 Sat. [Reads.] An if we miss to meet him hand- 
 somely, — 
 Sweet huntsman, Bassianus Uis, we mean, — 
 Do thou so much as dig the grave for him; 
 Thou know^st our meaning: Look for thy reward 
 Among the nettles at the elder tree, 
 Which overshades the mouth of that same pit. 
 Where we decreed to hury Bassianus. 
 ■Do this, and purchase us thy lusting friends. 
 O, Tamora ! was ever heard the like ? 
 This is the pit, and this the elder tree : 
 'liook, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out, 
 1 hat should have murdcr'd Bassianus here. 
 Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. 
 
 [Showing it. 
 Sat. Two of thy whelps, [To Tit.] fell curs of 
 bloody kind. 
 Have here bereft my brother of his life: — 
 Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison; 
 There let them bide, until we have devis'd 
 Borne never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 
 Tarn. What, are they in this pit? wondrous 
 thing ! 
 How easily murder is discovered! 
 1 Uatimeljr. 
 
 Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee 
 I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, 
 That this fell fault of my accursed sons, 
 Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them,- 
 
 Sat. If it be prov'd! you see it is apparent,— 
 Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? 
 
 Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up. 
 
 Tit. I did, my lord : yet let me be their bail : 
 For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow. 
 They shall be ready at your highness' will. 
 To answer their suspicion with their lives. 
 
 Sat. Thou shall not bail them : see, thou follow 
 me. 
 Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers 
 Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain : 
 For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, 
 That end upon them should be executed. 
 
 Tam. Andronicus, I will entreat the king; 
 Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough. 
 
 Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with 
 tliem. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE Y.— The same. 
 
 Enter Dr-METnius, and Cmnox, ivith Lavinia 
 her Hands cut off, arid her Tongue cut out. 
 
 Dem. So now, go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, 
 Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. 
 
 Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy mean- 
 ing so ; 
 And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. 
 
 Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she caii 
 scowl. 
 
 Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash .hy 
 hands. 
 
 Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to 
 wash ; 
 And so let's leave her to her silent walks. 
 
 Chi. An 'twere my case, Isliouldgohang myself. 
 
 Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the 
 cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Cuiiiox. 
 
 Enter Mahcus. 
 
 Marc. Who's this, — my niece, that flies away so 
 
 fiist? 
 Cousin, a word ; Where is your husband ? — 
 If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would Vvfake me ! 
 If I do wake, some planet strike me down, 
 That I may slumber in eternal sleep! — 
 Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands 
 Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare 
 Of her two branches ? those sweet ornaments, 
 Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep 
 
 in; 
 And might not gain so great a happiness. 
 As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me? — 
 Alas, a crimson river of warm blood. 
 Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind. 
 Doth rise and fell between thy rosed lips, 
 Coming and going with thy honey breath. 
 But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee ; 
 And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue 
 Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! 
 And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, — 
 As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, — 
 Yet do thy checks look red as Titan's face. 
 Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. 
 Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 'tis so? 
 O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, 
 That I might rail at him to ease my mind! 
 
A.CT III. Sci:ne I. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 791 
 
 Sorrow concealed, like aB oven stopp'd, 
 
 Doth burn the heart to chiders where it is. 
 
 Fair Philomela, she hut lost her tongue. 
 
 And in a tedious sampler sevv'd her mind : 
 
 But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; 
 
 A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal. 
 
 And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, 
 
 That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
 
 O, had the monster seen those lily hands 
 
 Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute. 
 
 And make the silken strings delight to kiss them ; 
 
 He would not then have touch'd them for his life 
 Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony, 
 Which that sweet tongue hath made. 
 He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep. 
 As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's' feet. 
 Come, let us go, and make thy father blind: 
 For such a sight will blind a father's eye: 
 One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads ; 
 What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes 1 
 Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee ; 
 O, could our mourning ease thy misery ! [Exenni 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
 
 Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, 
 with Maiitius and Quintus, bound, passing on 
 to the Place of Execution : Titus going before, 
 pleading. 
 
 Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble tribunes, stay ! 
 For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
 In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; 
 For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed ; 
 For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ; 
 And for these bitter tears, v\'hich now you see 
 Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; 
 Be pitilul to my condemned sons, 
 Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought! 
 For two and twenty sons I never wept, 
 Because they died in honor's lofty bed. 
 For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write 
 
 [Throwing himself on the Ground. 
 My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. 
 Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ; 
 My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. 
 [Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, 4"C. luith 
 the Prisoners. 
 O eaith, I will befriend thee more with rain, 
 That shall distil from these two ancient urns. 
 Than youthful April shall with all his showers: 
 In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; 
 In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow, 
 And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, 
 So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. 
 
 Enter liucius, with his Sword drawn. 
 O, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men ! 
 Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; 
 And let me say, that never wept before, 
 My tears are now prevailing orators. 
 
 Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain ; 
 The tribunes hear you not, no man is by, 
 And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 
 
 Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead: 
 Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. 
 
 Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you 
 speak. 
 
 Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did hear, 
 riioy would not mark me; or, if they did mark, 
 Ml l)ootless to them, they'd not pity me. 
 Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ; 
 Who, though they cannot answer my distress, 
 Vet in some sort they're bettirr than the tribunes, 
 For that they will not intercept my tale: 
 When I do weep, they humbly at my feet 
 Kcceive my tears, and seem to weep with me ; 
 
 And, were they but attired in grave weeds, 
 Rome could afford no tribune like to these. 
 A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than 
 
 stones : 
 A stone is silent, and offendeth not ; 
 And tribunes with their tongues doom meri to death. 
 But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawul 
 
 Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death; 
 For which attempt, the judges have pronounced 
 My everlasting doom of banishment. 
 
 Tit. O happy man ! they have befriended thee 
 Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive. 
 That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? 
 Tigers must prey ; and Rome affords no prey, 
 But me and mine: How happy art thou then, 
 From these devourers to be banished ! 
 But who comes with our brother Marcus herd 
 
 Enter Mauccs and Latinia. 
 
 Marc. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep; 
 Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break ; 
 I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 
 
 Tit. Will it consume me "^ let me see it then. 
 
 Ma)-c. This was thy daughter. 
 
 Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. 
 
 Luc. Ah me ! this object kills me ! 
 
 Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look up n 
 her : — 
 Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand 
 Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight! 
 What fool hath added water to the sea? 
 Or brought a fagspt to bright-burning Troy 1 
 My grief was at tlie height before thou cam'st, 
 And now, like Nilus,' it disdaineth bounds. — 
 Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too ; 
 For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain , 
 And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life; 
 In bootless prayer have they been held up, 
 And they have serv'd me to effectless use : 
 Now, all the service I require of them 
 Is, that the one will help to cut the othcr.- 
 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; 
 For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 
 
 Luc. Sj)eak, gentle sister, who hath marty r'd thee 
 
 Marc. O, that delightful engine other thoughts 
 That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence^ 
 Is torn fiom forth that pretty hollow cage: 
 Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
 Sweet varied notes, enchanting every car! 
 
 Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done thin 
 'deed? 
 
 Marc. O, thus I fornd her, straying in the park, 
 » Orpheus. » The riyer Nile. 
 
792 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer, 
 That hath rcceiv'd some unrecuring wound. 
 
 Tit. It was my deer, and he that wounded her. 
 Hath hurt me more, than had he killed me dead: 
 For now I stand as one upon a rock 
 Environ 'd with a wilderness of sea; 
 Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave. 
 Expecting ever when some envious surge 
 Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
 This way to death my wretched sons are gone ; 
 Here stands my other son, a banish'd man ; 
 And here my brother, weeping at my woes ; 
 But that, which gives my soul the grtatest spurn. 
 Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. — 
 Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, 
 It would have madded me ; What shall I do 
 Now I behold thy lovely body so 1 
 Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears; 
 Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee : 
 Thy husband he is dead; and, for his death, 
 Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this: — 
 Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! 
 When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
 Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey dew 
 Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 
 
 Marc. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd 
 her husband : 
 Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 
 
 Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful. 
 Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. — 
 No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; 
 Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. — 
 Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips; 
 Or make some nign how I may do thee ease: 
 Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
 And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain ; 
 Looking ail downwards, to behold our cheeks 
 How they are stain'd? like meadows, yet not dry 
 With miry slime left on them by a flood? 
 And in the fountain shall we gaze so long. 
 Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness. 
 And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? 
 Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine ? 
 Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 
 Pass the remainder of our hateful days? 
 VVhat shall we do? let us that have our tongues. 
 Plot some device of further misery, 
 To make us wonder'd at in time to come. 
 
 Lxic. Sweet father, cease your«tears; for at your 
 grief, 
 See how my wretched sister sobs and v/eeps. 
 
 Mai'C. Patience, dear niece: — good Titus, dry 
 thine eyes. 
 
 Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot,' 
 Tli}" napkin^ cannot drink a tear of mine, 
 Foi thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. 
 
 I.uc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. 
 
 Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark ! I understand her signs: 
 Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say 
 That to her brother which I said to thee ; 
 His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, 
 Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks: 
 0, what a sympathy of woe is this ? 
 \s far from help as limbo is from bliss ! 
 
 Enter Aamon. 
 
 Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor 
 Sends thee this word, — That, if thou love thy sons. 
 Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
 'Know. ^Handkerchief. 
 
 Or any one of you, chop off your hana, 
 And send it to the king: he for the same, 
 Will send thee hither both thy sons alive ; 
 And that .shall be the ransom for their fault. 
 
 Tit. 0, gracious emperor! O, gentle Aaun! 
 Did ever raven sing so like a lark, 
 That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ? 
 With all my heart, I'll send the emperor 
 My hand: 
 Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? 
 
 Luc. Stay, father ; for that noble hand of thine 
 That hath thrown down so many enemies, 
 Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: 
 My youth can better spare my blood than you ; 
 And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 
 
 Marc. Which of your hands hath not defended 
 Rome, 
 And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, 
 Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? 
 O, none of both but are of high desert ; 
 My hand hath been but idle; let it serve 
 To ransom my two nephews from their death; 
 Then have I kept it to a worthy end. 
 
 Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along, 
 For fear they die before their pardon come. 
 
 Marc. My hand shall go. 
 
 Luc. By heaven, it shall not go. 
 
 Tit. Sirs, strive no more ; such wither'd herbs asi 
 these 
 Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. 
 
 Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, 
 Let me redeem my brothers both from death. 
 
 Marc. And, for our father's sake, and mother's 
 care, 
 Now let me show a brother's love to thee. 
 
 Tit. Agree between you; I will spare my hand. 
 
 Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe. 
 
 Marc, But I will use the axe. 
 
 \Exeu7it Lucius and Marcus. 
 
 Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I'll deceive them both ; 
 Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 
 
 Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest. 
 And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: — - 
 But I'll deceive you in another sort. 
 And that you'll say, ere half an hour can pass. \_Aside. 
 [He cuts q^ Titus's Hand. 
 Enter Lucius and Marcus. 
 
 Tit. Now, stay your strife ; what shall be, is des- 
 Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: [patch'd.— 
 Tell him, it was a hand that warded him 
 From thousand dangers: bid him bury it; 
 More hath it merited, that let it have. 
 As for my sons, say, I account of them 
 As jewels purchas'd at an easy price. 
 And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. 
 
 Aar. I go, Andronicus : and for thy hand. 
 Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : — 
 Their heads, I mean. — O, how this villany [Aside 
 Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it ! 
 Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
 Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit, 
 
 Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, 
 And bow this feeble ruin to the earth : 
 If any power pities wretched tears. 
 To that I call ; — What, wilt thou kneel with me 1 
 
 [To Lavini.v 
 Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear ouj 
 
 prayers ; 
 Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin* dim, 
 » The sky. 
 
ftCENE II. 
 
 riTUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 79a 
 
 And stain the sun witli fog, as sometime cloutls, 
 When thry do hug them in tlicir melting bosoms. 
 
 Marc. ! brotlicr, speak with possibilities, 
 And do not break into these deep extremes. 
 
 Tit. Is not my son-ow deep, liuving no bottom 1 
 Then be my passions* bottomless with them. 
 
 Marc, But yet let reason govern thy lament. 
 
 Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, 
 Then into limits could I bind my woes : 
 W hen heaven doth wcep,doth not the earth o'crflow ! 
 If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
 Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swol'n face ? 
 And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ?' 
 I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow ! 
 She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : 
 Then must my sea be moved with her sighs ; 
 Then must my earth with her continual tears 
 Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd ; 
 For why 1 my bowels cannot hide her woes. 
 But, like a drunkard, must I vomit them. 
 Then give me leave ; for losers will have leave 
 To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, with two Heads and a Hand. 
 
 Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
 For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. 
 Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
 And here's thy hand in scorn to thee sent back ; 
 Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd: 
 That woe is me to think upon thy woes. 
 More than remembrance of my father's death. {^SiriY. 
 
 Marc. Now let hot ^tna co<il in Sicily, 
 And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
 These miseries are more than may be borne ! 
 To weep with them that weep, doth ease some deal, 
 But sorrow flouted at is doulile death. 
 
 Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a 
 wound. 
 And yet detested life not shrink thereat ! 
 That ever death should let life bear his name, 
 Whe.'-e life hath no raoi-e interest but to breathe ! 
 
 [Lavinia kisses him. 
 
 Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless. 
 As frozen water to a starved snake. 
 
 Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end 1 
 
 Marc. Now, farewell, flattery : Die, Andronicus: 
 Thou dost not slumber: sec, th\' two sons' heads; 
 Thy warlike hand ; thy mangled daughter here ; 
 Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight 
 Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, 
 Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
 Ah ! now no more will I control thy griefs; 
 Rend oifthy silver hair, thy other hand 
 Gnawing with thy teeth; and lie this dismal sight 
 The closing up of our ino.st wretched eyes! 
 Now is a time to storm; why art thou still ] 
 
 Tit. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Itlurc. Why dost thou laugh ! it fits not with this 
 
 hour. 
 Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : 
 Besides this sorrow is an enemy, 
 And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes. 
 And make them blind with tributary tears; 
 Then which way shall I lind revenge's cavcl 
 For these two heads do seem to speak to me ; 
 .And threat me,' I shall never come to bliss, 
 Till all these mischiefs be return'd again. 
 Even in their throats that have coininitted them. 
 Com? let me see what task I have to do. — 
 
 « Sufferinjss ' Sti>-. bustle. 
 
 You heavy people, circle me about ; 
 That I may turn me to each one of you. 
 And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
 The vow is made. — Come, brother, take a head; 
 And in this hand the other will I bear : 
 Lavinia, thou shalt l)e employed in these things ; 
 Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teethi 
 As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight : 
 Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : 
 Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there : 
 And, if you love me, as I think you do, 
 Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. 
 
 [^Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Latin 14 
 Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father; 
 The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome ! 
 Farewell, proud Rome ! till Lucius come again. 
 He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. 
 Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; 
 O, 'would thou wcrt as thou 'tofore hast been ! 
 But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives, 
 But in oblivion, and hateful griefs. 
 If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ; 
 And make ])roud Saturninus and his empress 
 Beg at tlie gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 
 Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 
 To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Titus's House. 
 A Banquet set out. 
 
 Enter Titus, Mahcus, Lavinia, and youn^ 
 Lucius, a Boy. 
 
 Tit. So, so ; now sit : and look you eat no more 
 Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
 As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
 Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot; 
 Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands 
 And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
 With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine 
 Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; 
 And vvlicn my heart, all mad with misery. 
 Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 
 Then thus I thump it down. — 
 Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs ! 
 
 [To Lavinia. 
 When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, 
 Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
 Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans ; 
 Or get some little knife between thy teeth. 
 And just against thy heart make thou a hole 
 That all the tears that thy poor ey.es let fall, 
 May run into that sink, and soaking in. 
 Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 
 
 Marc. Fye, brother, fye! teach her not thus to laj 
 Such violent hands upon her tender life. 
 
 Tii. How now ! has sorrow made thee dot< 
 already 1 
 Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
 What violent hands can she lay on her life ? 
 Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;- 
 To bid yEncas tell the tale twice o'er. 
 How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable 1 
 O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands ; 
 Lest we remember still, that we have none.- - 
 Fye, fye, how franticly I scjuare my talk ! 
 As if we should forget we had no hands. 
 If Marcus did not name the word of hands ! 
 Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, cat this :— 
 Here is no drink ! Hark, .Marcus, what she says ; 
 I can interpret all her niartyr'u signs — 
 
'91 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 4.CTIV 
 
 She says, she drinks no other drink Imt tears, 
 
 Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon lier cheeks:^ 
 
 Speechless complaincr, I will learn thy thought; 
 
 In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, 
 
 As begging hermits in their holy jjrayers : 
 
 Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, 
 
 Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, 
 
 But I, of tliese, will wrest an alphabet, 
 
 And, by still' practice, learn to know thy meaning. 
 
 Boy. Good grandsire, leave tliese bitter deep 
 laments : 
 Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 
 
 Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in pussion mov'd, 
 Doth weep to see his grandsire 's heaviness. 
 
 Tit. Peace, tender sapling ; thou art made of tears. 
 And tears will quickly melt thy life away. — 
 
 [Marcus strikes the Dish with a Knife. 
 What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knile ] 
 
 Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; a fly. 
 
 Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart; 
 Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: 
 A deed of death, done on the innocent, 
 Becomes not Titus' brother : Get thee gone ; 
 I see thou art not for my company. 
 
 Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 
 
 Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother] 
 How woyld he hang his slender gilded wings, 
 
 And buz lamenting doings in the air ' 
 Poor harmless fly ! 
 
 That with his pretty buzzing melody, 
 Came here to make us merry ; and thou hast killM 
 him. 
 
 Marc. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favor 'd fly 
 Like to the empress' Moor ; therefore I kill'd him. 
 
 Tit. O, O, 0, 
 Then pardon me for reprehending thee, 
 For thou hast done a charitable deed. 
 Give me thy knife, I will insult on him ; 
 Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, 
 Come hither purposely to poison me. — 
 There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. — 
 Ah, sirrah !' — 
 
 Yet I do think we are not brought so low, 
 But that, between us, we can kill a fly. 
 That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 
 
 Marc. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrought on 
 him, 
 He takes false shadows for true substances. 
 
 Tit. Come, take away. — Jjavinia, go with me 
 I'll to thy closet ; and go read with thee 
 Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. — 
 Come, boy, and go with me, thy sight is young. 
 And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 I 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Titus's House. 
 
 Enter Titus and Mahcus. Then enter young 
 Lucius, Lavinia rmuiing after him. 
 
 Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia 
 Follows me every where, I know not why : — 
 Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! 
 Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 
 
 Marc. Stand by me, Lucius ; do not fear thine 
 aunt. 
 
 Tit. Slie loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. 
 
 Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. 
 
 Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by these 
 signs ] 
 
 Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : — Somewhat doth she 
 mean : 
 See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee: 
 Somewhitlier would she have thee go with her. 
 Ay, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
 Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee. 
 Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.' 
 (yanst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? 
 
 Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, 
 Jnless some fit or frenzy do possess her : 
 For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, 
 Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
 And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 
 Ran mad through sorrow: That made me to fear: 
 Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt 
 Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did. 
 And would not, but in fury, fright my youth: 
 Which made me down to throw my books, and fly; 
 Causeless, perhaps ; But pardon me, sweet au:^t: 
 And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
 I 'vill most willingly attend your ladyship. 
 
 » An si hision to brewing. ■> Constant or continual practice. 
 • Tuilj 's 'J'reatise on Eloq^uence, entitled Orator. 
 
 Marc. Lucius, I will. 
 
 [Lavinia turns over the Books which 
 Lucius has let fall. 
 
 Tit. How now, Lavinia ? — Marcus, what mean* 
 this ] 
 Some book there is that she desires to see : — 
 Which is it, girl, of these? — Open them, boy. — 
 But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd • 
 Come, and take choice of all my library. 
 And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
 Reveal the vile conti-iver of this deed. — 
 Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ? 
 
 Marc. I think, she means, that there was more 
 than one 
 Confederate in the fact : — Ay, more there was : — 
 Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 
 
 Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosscth so ? 
 
 Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses ; 
 My mother gave't me. 
 
 3Iarc. For love of her that's gone, 
 
 Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 
 
 Tit. Soft ! see, how busily she turns the leavesl 
 Help her: — 
 
 What would she find; — Lavinia, shall I read ? 
 This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
 And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape ; 
 And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. 
 
 Marc. See, brother, see; note, how hue quotes 
 the leaves. 
 
 Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl 
 Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was. 
 Forced in the ruthless,^ vast, and gloomy woods?— 
 
 See, see ! 
 
 Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt, 
 (O, had we never, never, hunted there !) 
 
 s This was formerly not a disrespectful expressio'R 
 » Observes. a Pitiless 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TITUS ANDllONICUS. 
 
 T'Ja 
 
 Patti»rn'(] by thut the poet here describes, 
 By nature made for murders, and for rapes. 
 
 Marc. O why should nature build so foul a den, 
 Unless the gods delight in tragedies ! [friends, — 
 
 Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, — for here are none but 
 What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : 
 Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
 That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed 1 
 
 Marc, Sit down, sweet niece; — brother, sit down 
 Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, [by me. — 
 
 Inspire me, tliat I may this treason find ! — 
 My lord, look here ; — Look here, Lavinia : 
 This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst, 
 This after me, when I have writ my name 
 Without the help of any hand at all. 
 
 [i/e writes his Name with his Staff, and 
 guides it with his Fed and Mouth. 
 Curs'd be that heart, that forced us to this shift! — 
 Write thou, good niece ; and here display, at last, 
 What God will have discover'd for revenge : 
 Heaven guide thy pen to print Uiy sorrows plain. 
 That we may know the traitors, and the truth ! 
 [She takes the Staff in her Mouth, and guides 
 if with her Stumps, and writes. 
 
 Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ"? 
 Sfuprum — Chiron — Demetrius. 
 
 Marc. What, what ! — the lustful sons of Tamora 
 Performei-s of this heinous, bloody deed 1 
 
 Tit. Magne Doniinator poli, 
 Tarn lentus audis scelera? tarn lentus vides? 
 
 Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I 
 There is enough written upon this earth, [know, 
 To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, 
 And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
 My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; 
 And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope; 
 And swear with me, — as with the woeful feere,' 
 And fother, of that chaste dishonor'd dame, 
 Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, — 
 That we will prosecute, by good advice, 
 Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
 And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 
 
 Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how, 
 Bu-t if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware: 
 The dam will wake ; and, if she wind you once. 
 She's with the lion deeply still in league, 
 And lulls him while she playeth on her back, 
 And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list. 
 You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone ; 
 And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass. 
 And with a gad* of steel will write these words, 
 And lay it by : the angry northern wind 
 Will blow these sands, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad. 
 And where's your lesson theri? — Boy, what say you? 
 
 Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man. 
 Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe 
 For these bad bondmen to the 3'oke of Rome. 
 
 Marc. Ay, that's my boy ! thy father hath full oft 
 For this ungrateful country done the like. 
 
 Boy. And, uncle, so will \, an if I live. 
 Tit. Come, go with me into mine armory ; 
 Lucius, ril fit thee; and withal, my boy 
 Shall carry from me to the empress' sons 
 Presents, that I intend to send them both : 
 Come, come ; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not 1 
 
 Bay. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grand- 
 sire. 
 
 Tit. No, boy, not so; Fl teach thee another course. 
 Lavinia, come : — Marcus, look to my house ; 
 » iru.'iliand. « The point of a spear. 
 
 liUcius and FU go bravi; it at the court; 
 Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on, 
 [Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy 
 Marc. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan, 
 And not relent, or not compassion him 1 
 Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy; 
 That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart. 
 Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd shield: 
 But yet so just, that he will not revenge: 
 Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus ! [ Exit, 
 
 SCENE n. — A Room in the Talace. 
 
 Enter Aarox, Ciiiuon, and Demetrius, at one 
 Door ; at another door, young Lucius, and an 
 Attendant, with a bundle of Weapons, and 
 Verses writ upon them. 
 
 Chi. Demetrius, here's tlie son of Lucius ; 
 He hath some message to deliver us. [father. 
 
 Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand- 
 
 Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, 
 I greet your honors from Andronicus ; — 
 A nd pray theRoman gods confound you hoih.[Aside- 
 
 Z'ew.Gramercy,Movely Lucius: What's the news'* 
 
 2)'o?/.Thatyou are both deciphcr'd,that's the news, 
 For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside.^ May it please 
 M}' grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me [you, 
 The goodliest weapons of his armory. 
 To gratify your honorable youth. 
 The hope of Rome : for so he bade me say ; 
 And so I do, and with his gifts present 
 Your lordships, that whenever you have need, 
 You may be armed and appointed well : 
 And so I leave you both, [Aside.^ like bloody vil- 
 lains. [Exeu7it Boy and Attendant. 
 
 Dem. What's here 1 A scroll ; and written round 
 Let's see. [about ' 
 
 Integer viiae, scelerisque puriis, 
 No?i eget Mauri jaculis, ncc arcu. 
 
 Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well: 
 I read it in the grammar long ago. [liave it. 
 
 Aar. Ay, just ! — a verse in Horace : — right, you 
 Now, wliat a thing it is to be an ass ! 
 Here's no sound jest ! the old man hath 
 
 found their guilt ; 
 And sends the weaj)ons wrapp'd about 
 
 with lines, [quick, y Aside 
 
 That wound, beyond their feeling, to the 
 But were our witty empress well a-foot. 
 She would ajiplaud Andronicus' conceit. 
 But let her rest in her unrest awhile. — 
 And now, young lords, was't not a happy star 
 Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, 
 Captives, to be advanced to this height ! 
 It did me good, before the palace gate. 
 To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 
 
 Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lora 
 Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. 
 
 Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius 1 
 Did you not use his daughter very friendly? 
 
 Dem. I would we had a thousand Roman damea 
 At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 
 
 CIti. A charitable wish, and full of love. 
 
 Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. 
 
 C/i/.And that would slic fortwenty thousand more. 
 
 Dem. Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods 
 For our beloved mother in her ])ains. 
 
 Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given ua 
 o'er. [Aside. I'laurisn 
 
 i>e;H. Whydo the emperor's trumpets llourish thus' 
 • i. e. Grand merci; great tlauls. 
 
f96 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act TV 
 
 Chi. Belike lor joy the emperor hath a son. 
 
 Dem. Soft ; who comes hero 1 
 Enter a Nurse, with a Black-a-moor Child in her 
 Arms, 
 
 Nur. Good-morrow, lords ; 
 
 0, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor 1 
 
 Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all, 
 Here Aaron is : and what with Aaron now ? 
 
 Nur. O, gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! 
 Now help, or woe betide thee evermore ! 
 
 Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep ? 
 What dost thou wrap and t'lnnble in thine arms'? 
 
 Nur.O, that which I would hidefrom heaven'seye, 
 Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace ; 
 She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd. 
 
 Aar. To whom 1 
 
 Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed. 
 
 Aar. Well, God 
 
 Give her good rest ! What hath he sent her 1 
 
 Nur. A devil. 
 
 ^crr. Why then she's the devil's dam; ajoyful issue. 
 
 Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue : 
 Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
 Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. 
 The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, 
 And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 
 
 Aar. Out, out, you whore! is black so base a hue? 
 Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. 
 
 Dem. Villain, what hast thou done 1 
 
 Aar. Done ! that which thou 
 
 Canst not undo. 
 
 Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 
 
 Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. 
 
 Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone. 
 Woe to her chance, and danin'd her loathed choice ! 
 Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend ! 
 
 Chi. It shall not live. 
 
 Aar. It shall not die. 
 
 Nur. Aaron, it must : the mother wills it so. 
 
 Aar. What, must it, nurse? then let no man but I, 
 Do execution on my flesh and blood. 
 
 Dem. I'll broach"" the tadpole on my rapier's point ; 
 N^urse, give it me ; my sword shall soon despatch it. 
 
 Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. 
 [Ta/ces the Child from the Nurse, and draws. 
 Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your brother? 
 Now, by the burning tapers of the sky. 
 That shone so brightly when this boy was got. 
 He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point. 
 That touches this my first-born son and heir! 
 I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, 
 With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, 
 Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war. 
 Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 
 What, what; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! 
 Ye white-limed walls! ye ale-house painted signs! 
 Ct'al black is better than another hue. 
 In that it scorns to bear another hue : 
 I''or all the water in the ocean 
 (Jan never turn a swan's black legs to white, 
 Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 
 Tel! the empress from me, I am of age 
 To keep mine own ; excuse it how she can. 
 
 Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? 
 
 Aar. My mistress is my mistress; this, myself; 
 The vigor and the picture of my youth: 
 This, before all the world, do I prefer; 
 This, maugre' all the world, will I keep safe 
 Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 
 
 'Spit 
 
 ' In spite of. 
 
 Dem. By this our mother is for ever shamed. 
 Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul Cocapt 
 Nur. The emperor.in his rage,will doom her death 
 Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy.' 
 Aar.Why, there's the privilege your beauty hears ■ 
 Fyc, treacherous hue ! that will betray with blushing 
 The close enacts and counsels of the heart : 
 Here's a young lad framed of another leer :' 
 Look how the black slave smiles upon the father ; 
 As who should say. Old lad, I am thine own. 
 He is your brother, lords ; sensibly fed 
 Of that self-blood that first gave life to you ; 
 And, from that womb, where you imprison'd werrt, 
 He is enfranchised and come to light : 
 Nay, he's your brother by the surer side, 
 Although my seal be stamped in his face. 
 
 Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empressi 
 Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done. 
 And we will all subscribe to thy advice ; 
 Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 
 
 Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. 
 My son and I will have the v/ind of you : 
 Keep there ; Now talk at pleasure of your safety. 
 [They sit on the Ground, 
 Dem. How many women saw this child of his ? 
 Aar. Why, so, brave lords ! when we all join in 
 I am a lamb: but if you brave the Moor, [league, 
 The chafed boar, the mountain lioness. 
 The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. — 
 But, say again, how many saw the child ? 
 Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself: 
 And no one else but the deliver'd empress. 
 
 Aar. The empress, the midwife, and yourself: 
 Two may keep counsel when the third's away : 
 Go to the empress ; tell her, this I said :— 
 
 [Stabbing her 
 
 Weke, wekc ! — so cries a pig prepared to the spit 
 
 Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron ! Whercfora 
 
 didst thou this? 
 Aar. O, lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy: 
 Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours ! 
 A long-tongued babbling gossip ? no, lords, no. 
 And now be it known to you my full intent. 
 Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman; 
 His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ; 
 His child is like to her, fair as you are : 
 Go pack' with him, and give the mother gold. 
 And tell them both the circumstance of all ; 
 And how by this their child shall be advanced 
 And be received for the emperor's heir. 
 And substituted in the place of mine. 
 To calm this tempest whirling in the court ; 
 And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
 Hark ye, lords ; ye see, that I have given her phy. 
 sic, [Pointing to the Nursa 
 
 And you must needs bestow her funeral ; 
 The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms : 
 This done, see that you take no longer days. 
 But send the midwife presently to mo. 
 The midwife, and the nurse well made away, 
 Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 
 
 Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air 
 With secrets. 
 
 Dem. For this Ca/e of Tamora, 
 
 Herself, and hers, are highly bound to tliee. 
 
 [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron bearing 
 off the Nurse. 
 Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies; 
 There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, 
 < Ignominy. » Complexion. » Contrive, bargain with. 
 
;5cENE Hi. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONIGUS. 
 
 797 
 
 And secretly to greet the empress' friends. — 
 
 Come on , you thick-lipped slave, I'll licar 3^011 hence ; 
 
 For L* V3 you that puts us to our shifts : 
 
 ['11 make you feed on berries, and on roots, 
 
 And feed on curds and whey, and suck tlic goat, 
 
 And cabin in a cave ; and bring you up 
 
 To be a vvamor, and command a camp. l_Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— A public riace. 
 
 Enter Titus, hearing Arrows, luith Letters at the 
 Ends of them ; ivith him Marcus, young Lu- 
 ciira, ayid other Gentlemen, ivith Bows. 
 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, come; — Kinsman, this is the 
 Sir boy, now let me see your archer}' ; [way : — 
 Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight : 
 Terras Astrxa reliquit : 
 
 Be you remembered, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled. 
 Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall 
 Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets ; 
 Happily you may find her in the sea ; 
 Yet there's as little justice as at land : — 
 No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it ; 
 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade. 
 And pierce the inmost centre of the earth : 
 Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
 I pray you, deliver him this petition : 
 Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid : 
 And that it comes from old Andronicus, 
 Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. — 
 Ah, Rome ! — Well, well ; I made thee miserable. 
 What time I threw the people's suffrages 
 On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. — 
 Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all. 
 And leave you not a man of war unscarch'd ; 
 riiis wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence. 
 And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 
 
 Marc. O, Publius, is this not a heavy case. 
 To see thy noble uncle thus distract 1 
 
 Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns. 
 By day and night to attend him carefully ; 
 And feed his humor kindly as we may, 
 Till time beget some careful remedy. 
 
 Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
 Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war 
 Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude. 
 And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 
 
 Tit. Publius, how now 1 how now, my masters 1 
 What, 
 Have you met with her ? 
 
 Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends you 
 word, 
 [f you will have Revenge from hell, yon shall : 
 Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, 
 He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, 
 80 that perforce you must needs stay a time. 
 
 Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays. 
 . :1 dive into the burning lake below. 
 And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. — 
 Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we ; 
 No big-bon'd men, framed of the Cyclops' size: 
 But, metal, Marcus, steel to the very back; [bear: 
 Yet wrung' with wrongs, more than our backs can 
 And sith' there is no justice in earth nor hell, 
 Wc will solicit heaven; and move the gods. 
 To siMid down justice for to wreak* our wrongs: 
 {^")me, to this gear. You are a good ai'cher, Marcus, 
 [//e gives them the Arrows. 
 J (I Jnvcm, that's for you : — Here, ad ApulUncm ,- — 
 Irf Martem, that's for myself: — 
 
 "•'^tnilnod. 'Since. 'Revenue. 
 
 Here, boy, to Pallas : — Here, to Mercury : 
 
 To Saturn, Cains, not to Saturnine, — 
 
 You were as good to shoot against the wind. — 
 
 To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid : 
 
 0' my word I have written to effect ; 
 
 There's not a god left unsolicited. [court; 
 
 Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into tho 
 We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 
 
 Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.'] 0, well 
 said, Lucius ! 
 Good boy, in Virgo's lap ; give it Pallas. 
 
 Marc. My lord, I am a mile be3"ond the moon ; 
 Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 
 
 Tit. Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou dor el 
 See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 
 
 Marc. This was the sport, my lord : ^vhcn Pub- 
 lius shot, 
 The bull being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock 
 That down fell both the ram's horns in the court • 
 And who should find them but the empress' villain'! 
 She laugh'd and told the Moor, he should not choose 
 But give them to his master for a present. 
 
 Ti7.Why,thereitgocs: God give your lordship joy. 
 
 Enter a Clown, ivith a Basket and two Pigeons. 
 
 News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is come 
 Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters ] 
 Shall I have justice 1 what says Jupiter 1 
 
 Clo. Ho ! the gibbet-maker 1 he says, that he 
 hath taken them down again, for the man must not 
 be hanged till the next week. 
 
 Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ? 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jujiiter, I never 
 drank with him in all my life. 
 
 Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier ? 
 
 Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else. 
 
 Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven T 
 
 Clo. From heaven! alas, sir, I never came there; 
 God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven in 
 my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons 
 to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl 
 betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's men. 
 
 Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve 
 for your oration ; and let him deliver the pigeons 
 to the emperor from you. 
 
 Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the 
 emperor with a grace 1 
 
 Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in 
 all my life. 
 
 Tit. SiiTah, come hither, make no more ado. 
 But give your pigeons to the emperor: 
 By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
 Hold, hold ; — mean while, here's money for thy 
 Give me a pen and ink. — ■ [charges 
 
 Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplicationi 
 
 Clo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And 
 when you come to him, at the first approach, you 
 must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your 
 pigeons ; and then look for your reward. Fll be at 
 hand, sir: see you do it bravely. 
 
 Clo. I warrant you, sir ; let me alone. 
 
 Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife 1 Come, let mt- 
 Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; [see it 
 
 For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant. 
 And when thou hast given it to the emperor. 
 Knock at my door, and tell me what he says 
 
 Clo. God be with you, sir; I will. 
 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go :- -Publi-is, follow 
 mo. [Exeunt 
 
J9S 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 A.CT IV. 
 
 SCENE lY.— Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter SATunNiifus, Tamora, Chiron, Dejie- 
 TRius, Lords, and others ,• Satuuninus tuiih 
 tlie Arrows in his Hand, that Titus shot. 
 
 Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these ? Was 
 ever seen 
 An emperor of Rome thus overborne. 
 Troubled, confronted thus : and, for the extent 
 Of egaP justice, used in such contempt ? 
 My lords, you know, as do the niightful gods, 
 However these disturbers of our peace 
 Buz in the people's ears, there nought hathpass'd, 
 But even with law, against the wilful sons 
 Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
 His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, 
 Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, 
 His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness 1 
 And now he writes to heaven for his redress : 
 See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury ; 
 This to Apollo; this to the god of war: 
 Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome ! 
 What's this, but libelling against the senate, 
 And blazoning our injustice every where 1 
 A goodly humor, is it not, my lords? 
 As v\ho would say, in Rome no justice were. 
 But, if I live, his feigned ecstacies 
 Shall be no shelter to these outrages : 
 But he and his shall know, that justice lives 
 In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep, 
 He'll so awake, as she in fury shall 
 Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. 
 
 Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
 Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, 
 Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, 
 The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons. 
 Whose loss hath pierced him deep, and scarr'd his 
 
 heart ; 
 And rather comfort his distressed plight, 
 Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, 
 For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become 
 High-witted Tamora to gloze'' with all; [^Aside. 
 But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, 
 Thy life-blood out: If Aaron now be wise. 
 Then all is safe, the anchor's in the port. — 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 How now, good fellow] would'st thou speak with usl 
 
 Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial. 
 
 T«/«. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis he. God, and Saint Stephen, give 
 you good den : — I have brought you a letter, and 
 a couple of pigeons here. 
 
 [Saturninus reads the Letter. 
 
 Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. 
 
 Clo, How much money must I have 1 
 
 Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. 
 
 Clo. Hang'd ! By'r lady, then I have brought 
 dp a neck to a fair end. \^Exit, guarded. 
 
 Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 
 Shall I endure this monstrous villany 1 
 I know from whence this same device proceeds • 
 May this be borne 1 — as if his traitorous sons. 
 That died by law for murder of our brother. 
 Have by my means been butchered wrongfully. — 
 Go drag the villain hither by the hair ; 
 » E<iual. 8 Flatter. 
 
 Nor age, nor honor, shall shape privilege: — 
 For this proud mock, I'll be thy slaughter-man, 
 Sly, frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, 
 In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 
 
 Enter ^milics. 
 
 What news with thee, iEmiliusI 
 
 jEmil. Arm, arm, my lords; Rome never had 
 more cause ! 
 The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a pow^er 
 Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil. 
 They hither march amain, under conduct 
 Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus; 
 Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
 As much as ever Coriolanus did. 
 
 Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths 1 
 These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head 
 As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms, 
 Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : 
 'Tis he the common people love so much ; 
 Myself hath often over-heard them say, 
 (When I have walked like a private mnn,) 
 That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully. 
 And they have wish'd that Lucius were their em- 
 peror. 
 
 Tani. Why should you fearl is not your city 
 strong] 
 
 Sat. Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius; 
 And will revolt fiom me, to succor him. 
 
 Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious' like thy 
 name. 
 Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it? 
 The eagle suffers little birds to sing. 
 And is not careful what they mean thereby; 
 Knowing that with the shadow of his wings. 
 He can at pleasure stint" their melody: 
 Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome. 
 Then cheer thy spirit : fcr know, thou emperor, 
 I will enchant the old Andronicus, 
 With words more sweet, and yet more dangeroUk 
 Than baits to fish, or honey stalks to sheep; 
 When as the one is wounded with the bait. 
 The other rotted with delicious feed. 
 
 Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. 
 
 Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will: 
 For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear 
 With golden promises ; that were his heart 
 Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, 
 Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.— 
 Go thou before, be our ambassador. [7b JSmilius 
 Say, that the emperor requests a parley 
 Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting. 
 Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 
 
 Sat. iEmilius, do this message honorably: 
 And if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
 Bid him demand what pledge will please him best 
 ^mil. Your bidding shall I do elfectually. 
 
 [Exit ^MiiiuSi 
 
 Tani. Now will I to that old Andronicus; 
 And temper him with all the art I have. 
 To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
 And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again 
 And bury all thy fear in my devices. 
 
 Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him. 
 
 [^Exeuni 
 « Imperial. s stop. 
 
A.CT V. Scene I. 
 
 TITUS ANDPtOXICUS. 
 
 799 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Plains near Rome. 
 
 Enter Lucius, and Goths, ivith Drum and Colors. 
 Luc. Approved warriors, and my fuithful friends, 
 [ have received letters from great Rome, 
 Which signify what hate they bear their emperor. 
 And how desirous of our sight they are. 
 Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness. 
 Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs ; 
 And, wherein Rome hath done you any scath,' 
 I et him make treble satisfaction. 
 
 1 Got/i. Brave slip, sprung from the great An- 
 
 dronicus. 
 Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort; 
 Whose high exploits, and honorable deeds, 
 Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt. 
 Be bold in us : we'll follow where thou lead'st, — 
 Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day. 
 Led by their master to the flower'd fields, — 
 And be avenged on cursed Tamora. 
 
 Goths. And, as he saith, so say we all with him. 
 
 Luc. I humbly thank b.im, and I thank you all. 
 But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth 1 
 Enter a Goth, leading Aaron, ivith his Child in 
 his Arms. 
 
 2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I 
 
 stray'd. 
 To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ; 
 And as I earnestly did fix mine eye 
 Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
 I heard a child cry underneath a wall: 
 I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard 
 The crying babe controll'd with this discom-se: 
 Peace, tawny slave,- half me, and half thy dam.' 
 Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou, art, 
 Had nature lent thee but thy mother s look. 
 Villain, thou might st hare been an emperor : 
 Bat where the bull and cow are both milk-white, 
 They never do beget a coal-black calf. 
 Peace, villain, peace! — even thus he rates the 
 Eor I must bear thee to a trusty Goth; [l)abe, — 
 nV/o, rchen he knows thou art the empress' babe, 
 Will hold thee dearly for thy nujlher''s sake. 
 With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, 
 Surpris'd him suddenly ; and brought him hither. 
 To use as you think needful of the man. 
 
 Luc. O worthy Goth ! this is the incarnate devil 
 That robb'd Andronicus of his good liand : 
 This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye;' 
 \i».^ here's the base fruit of his burning lust. — 
 S'.iy wall-cy'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey 
 Tl.f ■ growing image of thy fiend-like face ] 
 Why dost notspeaki What! deaf? No; notaword] 
 A halter, soldiers; hang him on this tree. 
 And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 
 
 Aur. Touch n<^t the boy, he is of royal blood. 
 
 Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. — 
 I'nst, hang the child, that he may see it sprawl ; 
 A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
 Get me a ladder. 
 
 [^ Ladder brought, which Aaron is 
 obliged to ascend. 
 
 Aar. Lucius, save the cliild ; 
 
 And bear it from me to the emperess. 
 
 »ITrirm. 
 
 ' Alluding to the proverb. " A black man is a pearl in a 
 5air woman's evo " 
 
 If tliou do this, I'll show thee wond'rous things, 
 That highly may advantage thee to hear: 
 If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
 I'll speak no more ; But vengeance rot you all ! 
 
 Luc. Say on; raid, if it please me which thoa 
 spcak'st, 
 Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. 
 
 Aar. An if it please thee? why, assure theo, 
 Lucius, 
 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall sp^ak; 
 For I must talk of murders, rapes, and masoacnRc 
 Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
 Complots of mischief, treason ; villanies 
 Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd : 
 And this shall all be buried by my death. 
 Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live. 
 
 Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say, thy child shall livei 
 
 Aar. Swear, that he shall, and then I will begin. 
 
 Luc. Who should I swear by ] thou bcliev'st no 
 god; 
 That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 
 
 Aar. What if I do not ? as, indeed, I do not : 
 Yet, — for I know thou art religious. 
 And hast a thing within thee, called conscience: 
 With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies, 
 Which I have seen thee careful to observe,— 
 Therefore I urge thy oath ; — For that, I know 
 An idiot holds his bauble for a god. 
 And keeps the oath, which by that god he swears, 
 To that I'll urge him : — Therefore, thou shalt vow 
 By that same god, what god so'er it be. 
 That thou ador'st and hast in reverence, — 
 To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up ; 
 Or else I will discover nought to thee. 
 
 Luc. Even by my god, I swear to thee, I will 
 
 Aar. First, know thou, I begot him on the cm- 
 press. 
 
 Luc. most insatiate, luxurious woman ! 
 
 Aar. Tut, Lucius ! this was but a deed of charity, 
 To that which thou shalt hear of me anon ; 
 'Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus : 
 They cut th}' sister's tongue, and ravish'd her. 
 And cut her hands ; and trimm'd her as thou saw'st, 
 
 Liic. 0, detestable villain ! call'st thou that trim« 
 ming? 
 
 Aar. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd; 
 and twas 
 Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 
 
 Luc. O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thj'Self ! 
 
 Aur. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them" 
 That codding spirit had they from their mother, 
 As sure a card as ever won the set : 
 That bloody mind, I think, they learn 'd of me, 
 As true a dog as ever fought at head. — 
 Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. 
 I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole, 
 Where the dead corpse of Bassianus laj' : 
 I wrote the letter that thy father found. 
 And hid the gold within the letlcr mention'd, 
 Confederate with the queen, and her two sons: 
 And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue. 
 Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? 
 I play'd the cheater for thy fatb.er's hand ; 
 And when I had it, drew myself apart. 
 And almost broke my heart with extreme laughtei 
 I ])ry'd me through the crevice of a wall, 
 \Vhen. for his hand, he had his two sors' head? 
 
800 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, 
 That ooth mine eyes were rainy like to his; 
 And when I told the empress of this sport, 
 Bhe swounded almost at my pleasing tale, 
 And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses. 
 
 Goth. What ! canst thou say all this and never 
 Mush? 
 
 Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 
 
 Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds 1 
 
 Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. 
 Even now I curse the day, (and yet, I think, 
 Few come within the compass of my curse,) 
 Wherein I did not some notorious ill: 
 As kill a man, or else devise his death ; 
 Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it ; 
 Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself: 
 Set deadly enmity between two friends ; 
 Make poor men's cattle break their necks ; 
 Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night. 
 And bid the owners quench them with their tears. 
 Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves. 
 And set them upright at their dear friends' doors, 
 Even when their sorrows almost were forgot ; 
 And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, 
 Have with my knife carved in Roman letters. 
 Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead. 
 Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things. 
 As willingly as one would kill a fly : 
 And nothing grieves me heartily indeed. 
 But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 
 
 Luc. Bring down the devil ; for he must not die 
 So sweet a death, as hanging presently. 
 
 Aar. If there be devils, 'would I v/ere a devil. 
 To live and burn in everlasting fire ; 
 So I might have your company in hell. 
 But to torment you with my bitter tongue ! 
 
 Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no 
 more. 
 
 Enter a Goth. 
 
 Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome, 
 Desires to be admitted to your presence. 
 
 Luc. Let him come near. — 
 Enter ^milius. 
 Welcome, iEmilius, what's the news from Romel 
 
 JSmil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths, 
 The Roman emperor greets you all by me : 
 And, for he understands you are in arms. 
 He craves a parley at your father's house, 
 Willing you to demand your hostages. 
 And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 
 
 1 Goth. What says our general 1 
 
 Luc. j^^milius, let the emperor give his pledges 
 Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, 
 And we will come. — March away. J^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IL— Rome. Before Titus's House. 
 
 Enter Tamoha, Ciiiuox, and Dkmi;trius, 
 dhgtiised. 
 
 Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, 
 I will encounter with Andronicus ; 
 And say, I am Revenge, sent from below. 
 To join with him, and right his heinous wrongs. 
 Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps. 
 To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; 
 Tell him. Revenge is come to join with him, 
 And work confusion on his enemies. [They knoch. 
 
 Enter Titus, above. 
 
 XJ'liLf XIALa, ItL/t/C'L. 
 
 Tit. "Who doth molest my contemplation 1 
 [s it your trick, to make me ope the door; 
 
 That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
 And all my study be to no effect'.' 
 You are deceiv'd ; for what I mean to do. 
 Sec here, in bloody lines I have set down ; 
 And what is written shall be executed. 
 
 7'a/ft. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. 
 
 Tit. No ; not a word : How can I grace my talk, 
 Wanting a hand to give it action 1 
 Thou hast the odds of me, therefore no more. 
 
 Tani. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk 
 with me. 
 
 Tit. I am not mad; I know thee well enough: 
 Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines; 
 Witnes^ these trenches, made by grief and care; 
 Witness the tiring day, and heavy night; 
 Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
 For our proud empress, mighty Tamora: 
 Is not thy coming for my other hand? 
 
 Tarn. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora; 
 She is thy enemy, and I thy friend: 
 I am Revenge; sent from the infernal kingdom, 
 To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind. 
 By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. 
 Come down, and welcome me to this world's light; 
 Confer with me of murder and of death : 
 There's not a hollow cave, or lurking-place, 
 No vast obscurity, or misty vale, 
 Where bloody murder, or detested rape. 
 Can couch for fear, but I will find them out; 
 And in their ears tell them my dreadful name, 
 Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. 
 
 Tit. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me. 
 To be a torment to mine enemies? 
 
 Ta7n. I am ; therefore come down, and weicoma 
 me. 
 
 Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee. 
 Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stand; 
 Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge, 
 Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels ; 
 And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner. 
 And whirl along with thee about the globes. 
 Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet. 
 To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 
 And find out murderers in their guilty caves: 
 And, when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
 I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel 
 Trot, like a servile footman all day long; 
 Even from Hyperion's rising in the east, 
 Until his very downfall in the sea. 
 And day by day I'll do this heavy task. 
 So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 
 
 Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. 
 
 Tit. Are they thy ministers ? what are they call'd? 
 
 Tam. Rapine, and Murder; therefore called fo 
 'Cause they take vengeance on such kind of men. 
 
 Tit. Good lord, how like the empress' sons 
 they are ! 
 And you, the empress! But we worldly men 
 Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 
 
 sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee: 
 
 And, if one arm's embracement will content the(\ 
 
 1 will embrace thee in it by and by. 
 
 [Exit TirvUffroin above 
 Tam. This closing with him fits his lunacy: 
 Whate'er I forge, to feed his brain-sick fits. 
 Do you uphold and mi'iintain in your speeches, 
 For now he firmly takes me for Revenge; 
 And, being credulous in this mad thought, 
 I'll make him send for Lucius, his son; 
 And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 SOI 
 
 I'll find some cunning practice out of hand, 
 To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
 Or at the least, maiic them his enemies. 
 Sec, here he comcf, and I must ply my theme. 
 
 Enter Titus. 
 
 Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee: 
 Welcome, dread fury, to my woeful house; — 
 Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too: 
 How like the empress and her sons you are! 
 Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor; — 
 Could not all hell afford you such a devil ] — 
 For, well I wot, the empress never wags, 
 Cut in her company there is a Moor; 
 And would you represent our queen aright, 
 It were convenient you had such a devil: — 
 But welcome, as you are. What shall we do 1 
 
 Tain. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus? 
 
 Dem. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. 
 
 Chi. Show me a villain, that hath done a rape, 
 And I am sent to lie revenged on him. 
 
 Tarn. Show me a thousand, that have done thee 
 wrong. 
 And I will be revenged on them all. 
 
 Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of 
 Rome ; 
 .^nd when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, 
 Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. — 
 Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap. 
 To find another that if? like to thee. 
 Good Rapine, stab him ; he's a ravisher. — 
 Go tliou with them ; and in the emperor's court 
 There is a queen, attended by a Moor; 
 Well mayst thou know her by thy own proportion. 
 For up and down she doth resemble thee; 
 I pray thee, do on them some violent death, 
 They have been violent to me and mine. 
 
 7a/?j. Well hast thou lesson'dus; this shall we do. 
 Cut would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
 To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son. 
 Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, 
 And hid him come and banquet at thy house: 
 When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, 
 I will bring in the empress and her sons. 
 The emperor himself, and all thy foes; 
 And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel. 
 And on them shalt thou case thy angry heart. 
 \\ liat says Andronicus to this device ? 
 
 Tit. Marcus, my brother! — 'tis sad Titus calls. 
 
 Enter Marcus. 
 
 Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; 
 Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths: 
 Cid him repair to me, and bring with him 
 Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths; 
 Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are : 
 Tell him, the emperor and the empress too 
 Feast at my house: and he shall feast with them. 
 'I'his do thou for my love; and so let him. 
 As he regards his aged father's life. 
 
 Marc, 'i'his will I do, and soon return again. [Exit. 
 
 Tarn. Now will I hence about thy business, 
 l^nd take my ministers along with me. 
 
 Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with 
 me; 
 Or else I'll call my brother back again, 
 And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 
 
 Tarn. [To tier Sons.] Whatsay you, boys? will 
 you abide with him, 
 While* I |;o «*'ll my lord the emperor, 
 
 How I have govern'd our determin'd jest ? 
 
 Yield to his humor, smooth and speak him fair, 
 
 And tarry with him, till I come again. 
 
 Tit. I know them all, though they suppose ine 
 mad; 
 
 And will o'er-reach them in their own devices. 
 
 A pairof cursed heli-hounds,and their dam. [Asit^c. 
 Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure, leave us here, 
 Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now goea 
 
 To lay a complot to betray thy foes. 
 
 [Exit Tamora. 
 Tit. I know, thou dost; and, sweet Reveng*. 
 
 farewell. 
 Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'^ 
 Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do • 
 
 Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine I 
 
 Enter Puhlius, and otherfi 
 Pub. What's your wiin 
 Tit. Know you these two ? 
 
 Pub. Th' empress' sons, 
 
 I take them, Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 Tit. Fye, Publius, fye! thou art too much d«^ 
 ceiv'd ; 
 The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name 
 And therefore bind them, gentle Publius; 
 Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them : 
 Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour. 
 And now I find it ; therefore bind them sure ; 
 And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry. 
 
 [Exit TiTUS. — Publius, t\c. lay hold on 
 CmitoN and Dkmetuius. 
 Chi. Villains, forbear: we are the empress' sons. 
 Pub. And therefore do we what we are com- 
 manded. — 
 Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word • 
 Is he sure bound? locjk, that you bind them fast. 
 
 Re-enter TvTV^ Anduonicus, ivitli Lavinia; sh/ 
 bearing a Bason, and he a Knife. 
 Tit. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are 
 
 bound ; — 
 Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to m^ 
 But let thcni hear what fearful words I utter. — 
 O villains, Chiron and Demetrius! 
 Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd witf) 
 
 mud; 
 This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. 
 You kill'd her husband; and, for that vile fault. 
 Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death : 
 My hand cut off^ and made a merry jest: 
 Both her sv/eet hands, her tongue, and that, mor« 
 
 dear 
 Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity. 
 Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forced. 
 What would you say, if I should let you speak ? 
 Villains, for .shame you could not beg for grace. 
 Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. 
 This one hand yet is left to cut your throats; 
 Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold 
 The bason, that receives your guilty blood. 
 You know, your mother means to feast with me, 
 And calls herself, Revenge, and thinks me mad,— 
 Hark, villains ; I will grind your bones to dust, 
 And witli your blood and it, I'll make a paste : 
 And of the paste a coffin^ I will rear, 
 And make two pasties of your Hhamcful heads; 
 And bid that strumpet, your uidiallow'd dam. 
 
 * Crust of a raised pie 
 
B02 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Like lo the oaith, swallow hrr own increase. 
 This is the feast that I have bid her to, 
 And this the lianijuet she shall surfeit on; 
 For worse than Philomel you used my daughter. 
 And worse than Progne I will be revenged : 
 And now prepare your throats, — Lavinia, come, 
 
 [He cufs their Throats. 
 Receive the blood : and, when that they are dead, 
 Let me go grind their bones to powder small, 
 And with this hateful liquor temper it; 
 And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. 
 Come, come, be every one officious 
 To make this banquet ; vs'hich I wish may prove 
 More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
 So, now bring them in, for I will play the cook. 
 And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 
 [Exeunt, bearing the dead Bodies. 
 
 SCENE IIL— ^ Pavilion, with Tables, S(C. 
 
 Enter Lucius, Mahcus, and Goths, with Aahon, 
 Prisoner. 
 
 Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind, 
 That I repair to Rome, I am content. 
 
 1 Goth. And ours, with thine, befall what fortune 
 will. 
 
 hue. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous 
 Moor, 
 This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
 Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, 
 Till he be brought unto the empress' face, 
 For testimony of her foul proceedings: 
 And see the ambush of our friends be strong : 
 [ fear, the emperor means no good to us. 
 
 Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear, 
 And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth 
 The venomous malice of my swelling heart! 
 
 Luc. Away, inhuman dog, unhallow'd slave! — 
 Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. — 
 
 [Exeunt Goths with Aaron. Flourish. 
 The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. 
 
 Enter Saturninus and Tamora, with Tribunes, 
 Senators, and others. 
 
 Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than 
 
 one ] 
 Luc. What boots it' thee, to call thyself a suni 
 Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the 
 parle ; 
 These quarrels must be quietly debated. 
 The feast is ready which the careful Titus, 
 Hath ordain'd to an honorable end, 
 For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome : 
 Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your 
 places. 
 Sat. Marcus, we will. 
 
 [Hautboys sound. Tlie Company sit down 
 at Table. 
 
 Enter Titus dressed like a Cooh, Lavinia, veiled. 
 Young Lucius, and others. Titus places the 
 Dishes on the Table. 
 
 Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord : welcome, dread 
 queen ; 
 
 Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; 
 
 And welcome all : although the cheer be poor, 
 
 'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. 
 Sat. Why art thou thus attired, Andronicusl 
 Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well, 
 
 To entertain your highness, and your empress. 
 » Of wliat advantage is it 1 
 
 Tarn. We are beholden to you, good Androniciir. 
 Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you 
 were. 
 My lord the emperor, resolve me this; 
 Was it well done of rash Virginius, 
 To slay his daughter with his own right hand, 
 Because she was enforced, stain'd, and deflour'dl 
 Sat. It was, Andronicus. 
 Tit. Your reason, mighty lord 1 
 Sat. Because the girl should not survive hel 
 shame. 
 And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 
 
 Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; 
 A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, 
 For me, most wretched, to perform the like : — 
 Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ; 
 
 [He hills Lavinia. 
 And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die ! 
 Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural, and unkind? 
 Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made 
 me blind. 
 I am as woeful as Virginius was: 
 And have a thousand times more cause than he 
 To do this outrage;— and it is now done. 
 
 Sat. What, was she ravish'd 1 tell, who did the 
 
 deed. 
 Tit. Will't please you eatl will't please youi 
 
 highness feed 1 
 Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter 
 
 thus? 
 Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius : 
 They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue, 
 And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. 
 Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. 
 Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pie ; 
 Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, 
 Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred: 
 'Tis true, 'tis true : witness my knife's sharp point 
 
 [Killing Tamora 
 <S'a^. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed 
 
 [Killing Titus 
 Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed 1 
 There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. 
 [Kills SxTvnsiyvs. A great Tumult. Tht 
 People in confusion disperse. Marcus, 
 Lucius, and their Partisans, ascend tht 
 Steps before Titus's House. 
 Marc. You sad-faced men, people and sons of 
 Rome, 
 By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl 
 Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
 0, let me teach you how to knit again 
 This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf. 
 These broken limbs again into one body. 
 
 Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself; 
 And she, whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to. 
 Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away, 
 Do shameful execution on herself. 
 But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, 
 Grave witnesses of true experience, 
 Cannot induce you to attend my words, — 
 Speak, Rome's dear friend; [To Lucius.] as ersi 
 
 our ancestor. 
 When with his solemn tongue he did discourse. 
 To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear. 
 The story of that baleful burning night, 
 When subtle Greeks surpris'd king Priam's Troy 
 Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our cars, 
 Or who hath brought the fatal engine in. 
 That gt ves our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound 
 
CEN'K 111. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 80c 
 
 Nfy heart is not compact of flint, nor steel ; 
 Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, 
 But floods of tears will drown my oratory, 
 And break my very utterance; even i' the time 
 When it should move you to attend me most. 
 Lending- your kind commiseration : 
 Here is a captain, let him tell the tale ; 
 Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. 
 Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you. 
 That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
 Were they that murdered our emperor's brother; 
 And they it were that ravished our sister: 
 For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ; 
 Our father's tears despised ; and basely cozen'd 
 Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out. 
 And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
 Lastly, myself unkindly banished, 
 The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
 To beg relief among Rome's enemies ; 
 Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, 
 A nd op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend ; 
 And I am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you. 
 That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood; 
 And from her bosom took the enemy's point. 
 Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. 
 Alas ! you know, I am no vaunter, I ; 
 My scars can witness, dumb although they are, 
 That my report is just, and full of truth. 
 But, soft ; methinks, I do digress too much. 
 Citing my worthless praise : O, pardon me ; 
 For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. 
 M'trc. Now is my turn to speak ; behold this child. 
 
 [Poiii/ing to the Child in the arms of an Attendant. 
 Of this was Tamora delivered; 
 Tlie issue of an irreligious Moor, 
 Chief architect and plotter of these woes: 
 'J'he villain is alive in Titus' house, 
 Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. 
 Now judge, what cause had Titus to revenge 
 These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience, 
 Or more than any living man could bear. 
 Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Ro- 
 mans ? 
 Have we done aught amiss? Show us wherein. 
 And, from the place where you behold us now. 
 The poor remainder of Andronici 
 Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down. 
 And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains. 
 And make a mutual closure of our house. 
 Speak, Romms, speak; and, if you say, we shall, 
 Lo, hand ir hand, Lucius and [ will fall. 
 
 JEmt't. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, 
 And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
 Lucius our emperor ; for well I know. 
 
 The common voice do cry, it shall be so. 
 
 Him. \_Several speak.1 Lucius, all hail ; Rome's 
 royal emperor ! 
 
 Lucres, dfc. descend. 
 
 Marc. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house ; 
 
 [?'« an Atteridant. 
 And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
 To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, 
 (Vs punishineut for his most wicked life. 
 H( >)t. [Several speak.] Lucius, all hail; Rome's 
 gracious governor ' 
 
 Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans, may I govern so\ 
 To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe' 
 But, gentle people, giye me aim awhile, — 
 For nature puts me to a heavy task; — 
 Stand all aloof: — but, uncle, draw you near, 
 To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk: 
 take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 
 
 [Kisses TiTcs, 
 These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd fac«x 
 The last true duties of thy noble son ! 
 
 Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for idss, 
 Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips : 
 0, were the sum of these that I should pay 
 Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them. 
 
 Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and leara 
 of us 
 To melt in showers : Thy grandsire lov'd thee well 
 Many a time he danced thee on his knee. 
 Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; 
 Many a matter hath he told to thee. 
 Meet, and agreeing with thine infancy ; 
 In that respect then, like a loving child. 
 Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring. 
 Because kind nature doth require it so: 
 Friends should associate friends in grief and woe : 
 Bid him farewell ; commit him to the grave ; 
 Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 
 
 Boi/. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with all my 
 heart 
 Would I were dead so you did live again ! — 
 
 lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping ; 
 My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. 
 
 Enter Attendants, with Aahon. 
 
 1 Rom. You sad Andronici, have done with woes , 
 Give sentence on this execrable wretch. 
 That hath been breeder of these dire events. 
 
 Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish 
 him. 
 There let him stand, and rave and cry for food ; 
 If any one relieves or pities him. 
 For the offence he dies. This is our doom : 
 Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth. 
 
 Aar. 0, why should wrath be mute, and fury 
 dumb '.' 
 
 1 am no baby, I, that, with base prayers, 
 I .should repent the evils I have done ; 
 Ten thousand, worse than ever yet I did. 
 Would I perform, if I might have my will; 
 If one good deed in all my life I did, 
 
 I do repent it from my very soul. 
 
 Liic. Some loving friends convej^ the empcroi 
 hence. 
 And give him burial in his father's grave : 
 My father, and Lavinia, shall forthwith 
 Be closed in our household's monument. 
 As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
 No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, 
 No mournful bell shall ring her burial ; 
 But throw her forth to beasts, and birds of prey 
 Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity ; 
 And, being so, shall have like want of pity. 
 See justice done to Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 
 By whom our heavy haps had their beginning: 
 Then, afterwards, to order well the state ; 
 That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Er<'nnl 
 
PERICLES, 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ANTiocHua, A7/?^ o/Antioch. 
 Pericles, Prince offyYc. 
 
 HeLICANUS, } rr T .1 ern 
 
 EscANES, '\'rr^o Lords ofTyx^. 
 SiMONiDES, King 0/ Pentapolis. 
 Cleon, Governor q/"Tharsus. 
 Lysimachus, Governor o/Mitylene. 
 Ceiumon, a Lord of Ephesus. 
 Thaliard, a Lord of Antiocli. 
 Philemon, Servant to Cerimon. 
 Leonine, Servant to Dionyza. 
 Marshal. 
 
 A Pander, and his Wife. 
 BouLT, their Servant. 
 Gower, as Chorus. 
 
 The Daughter q/" Antiochus. 
 
 Dionyza, Wife to Cleon. 
 
 Thaisa, Daughter to Simonides. 
 
 Marina, Daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. 
 
 Lychorida, Nurse to Marina. 
 
 Diana. 
 
 Lords. Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pi 
 rates. Fishermen, and Messengers, S(C. 
 
 SCENE, dispersedly in various countries. 
 
 That the reader may know through how many regions the scene of this drama is dispersed, it ii 
 necessary to observe, that Antioch was the metropolis of Syria ; Tyre a city of Plio:'nicia, in Asia 
 Tharsus, the metropolis of Cilicia, a country of Asia Minor ; Mitylene, the capital of Lesbos, an island 
 in the ^gean sea ; and Ephesus, the capital of Ionia, a country of the Lesser Asia. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Enter Gower.' Before the Palace 0/ Antioch. 
 
 To sing a song of okP was sung. 
 
 From ashes ancient Gower is come ; 
 
 Assuming man's infirmities. 
 
 To glad your ear, and please your eyes. 
 
 It hath been sung at festivals, 
 
 On ember-eyes, and holy ales ;" 
 
 And lords and ladies of their lives 
 
 Have read it for restoratives : 
 
 'Purpose to make men glorious ; 
 
 Et quo antiyuius, eo melius. 
 
 If you, born in these latter times. 
 
 When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes ; 
 
 And that to hear an old man sing, 
 
 May to your wishes pleasure bring, 
 
 I life would wish, and that I might 
 
 Waste it for you, like taper-light. — 
 
 This city then, Antioch the great 
 
 Built up for his chiefest seat; 
 
 The fairest in all Syria ; 
 
 (I tell you what mine authors say :) 
 
 This king unto him took a pheere,* 
 
 Who died and left a female heir, 
 
 So buxom, blithe, and full of face, 
 
 As heaven had lent her all his grace ; 
 
 With whom the father liking took, 
 
 And her to incest did provoke : 
 
 ' Chorus, in the character of Gower, an ancient English 
 poet, who has related the story of this play in his Con/essio 
 Amanlis. 
 
 »i'. e. That of old. 
 
 » "Whitsun-ales, &c. 
 
 ' Wife the word signifies a mate or cempanion. 
 804 
 
 Bad father ! to entice his own 
 To evil, should be done by none. 
 By custom, what they did begin. 
 War, with long use, account' no sin. 
 The beauty of this sinful dame 
 Made many princes thither frame. 
 To seek her as a bed-fellow. 
 In marriage-pleasures play-fellow ; 
 Which to prevent, he made a law, 
 (To keep her still, and men in awe,) 
 That whoso ask'd her for hig wife, 
 His riddle told not, lost his life : 
 So for her many a wight did die. 
 As yon grim looks do testify.' 
 What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye 
 I give, my cause who best can justify. \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. — Antioch. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants. 
 
 Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large 
 The danger of the task you undertake, [recciv'd 
 
 Per. I have, Antiochus, and with a soul 
 Embolden'd with the glory of her praise. 
 Think death no hazard, in this enterprise. \^Music 
 
 Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, 
 For the embracements even of Jove himself; 
 At whose conception, (till Lucina reign'd,) 
 Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, 
 The senate-house of planets all did sit, 
 To knit in her their best perfections. 
 
 » Accounted. 
 
 « Pointing to the scene of the palace Rate at Antioch, on 
 ■srbich the heads of those unfortunate wights were fixed. 
 
"JCENE I. 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 805 
 
 Enter the Daughter o/*Antiochus. 
 
 Per. See, where she comes, apparell'd like the 
 spring, 
 Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
 Of every virtue gives renown to men ! 
 Her face, the book of praises, where is read 
 Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
 Sorrow were ever ras'd, and testy wrath 
 Could never be her mild companion. 
 Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love, 
 That have inflam'd desire in my breast, 
 To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, 
 Or die in the adventure, be my helps, 
 As I am son and servant to your will. 
 To comyass such a boundless happiness ! 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles, — 
 
 Per. That would be sou to great Antiochus. 
 
 Ant. Before thee stands this fliir Hesperides, 
 \Vith golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd ; 
 For death-like dragons here affright thee hard : 
 Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view 
 A countless glory, which desert must gain : 
 And which, without desert, because thine eye 
 Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. 
 Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself, 
 Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire, [pale. 
 Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance 
 That, without covering, save yon field of stars, 
 They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars ; 
 And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist, 
 For going on death's net, whom none resist. 
 
 Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught 
 My frail mortality to know itself. 
 And by those fearful objects to prepare 
 This body, like to them, to what I must: 
 For death remember'd, should be like a mirror. 
 Who tells us, life's but breath ; to trust it, en-or. 
 ril make my will then ; and as sick men do. 
 Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling wo, 
 Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did ; 
 So I bequeath a happy peace to you. 
 And all good men, as every prince should do ; 
 ATy riches to the earth, from whence they came ; 
 But niy unspotted fire of love to you. 
 
 [To the Daughter q/" Antiochus. 
 Thus ready for the way of life or death, 
 r wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus, 
 Scorning advice. 
 
 Ant. Read the conclusion then ; 
 
 Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed. 
 As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed. 
 
 Daugh. In all, save that, may'st thou prove pros- 
 Fn all, save that, I wish thee happiness ! [perous ! 
 
 Per. Like a hold champion, I assume the lists, 
 IVor ask advice of any other thought 
 But faithfulness, and courage. 
 
 [Ho reads the Riddle.} 
 I am no viper, yet I feed 
 On mothei-'s Jlesh, which did me breed: 
 I sought a hushcind, in ivhich tabor, 
 T found that hindncss in a fattier. 
 J {e\'i father, stm, and husband mild, 
 I mother, wife, and yet liis child. 
 How they may be, and yet in two. 
 As you will live, resolve it you. 
 Bharp physic is the last: but O you powers! 
 That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts, 
 Why cloud they not their sights perpetually. 
 If this be true, which makes me pale to read it ? 
 52 
 
 Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still, 
 
 [^Takes hold (f the Hand of the Prince\i. 
 Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill : 
 But I must tell you, — now, my thoughts revolt; 
 For he's no man on whom perfections wait. 
 That knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
 You're a fair viol, and your sense the .strings: 
 Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music. 
 Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to 
 
 hearken ; 
 But, being play'd upon before your time. 
 Hell only danceth at so harsh a chimo : 
 Good sooth, I care not for you. 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life 
 For that's an article within our law. 
 As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expir'd : 
 Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 
 
 Per. Great king. 
 Few love to hear the sins they love to act; 
 'Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it. 
 Who has a book of all that monarchs do. 
 He's more secure to keep it shut, than shown ; 
 For vice repeated, is like the wand'ring wind, 
 Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself ; 
 And yet the end of all is bought thus dear. 
 The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear : 
 To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mol* 
 
 casts 
 Cop'd' hills towards heaven, to tell, the earth is 
 wrong'd [for't 
 
 By man's oppression ; and the poor worm doth die 
 Kings are earth's gods : in vice their law's their will; 
 And if Jove stray, who dares say, Jove doth ill ? 
 It is enough you know ; and it is fit. 
 What being more known grows worse, to smother i' 
 All love the womb that their first beings bred. 
 Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. 
 
 Ant. Heaven, that I had thy head ! he has found 
 the meaning ; — 
 Bui I will glozc' with him. \^Aside.^ Young prince o' 
 Though by the tenor of our strict edict, f'^yre 
 Your exposition misinterpreting. 
 We might proceed to cancel of your days ;' 
 Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
 As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise : 
 Forty days longer do we respite you ; 
 If by which time our secret be undone. 
 This mercy shows, we'll joy in such a sin . 
 And until then, your entertain shall be. 
 As doth befit our honor, and your worth. 
 
 \Exeicnt Antiochus, his Daughter, and. 
 Attendants. 
 
 Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin ! 
 When what is done is like a hypocrite. 
 The which is good in nothing b at in sight. 
 If it be true that I interpret false. 
 Then were it certain, you were not so bad, 
 As with foul incest to abuse j^our soul ; 
 Where' now you're both a father and a son, 
 By your untimely claspings with your child ; 
 (Which pleasure fits a husband, not a father;) 
 And she an eater of her mother's flesh. 
 By the defiling of her parent's bed ; 
 And both like serpents are, who though they teed 
 On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
 Antioch, farewell ! for wisdom sees, those men 
 Blush not in actions blacker than the night. 
 Will shun no course to keep them from the light 
 
 1 Ri.-ins to a top or head. 
 
 • To the Jcstruction of your life. 
 
 • Flatter, iu.siinja*« 
 ' Wlicreas 
 
80o 
 
 PEHICLES, 
 
 Act 1 
 
 One sin, I know, another tloth pruvoke ; 
 Murder's as near to lust, as flame to smoke. 
 Poison and treason are the liands of sin, 
 Ay, and the targets, to put oft" the shame: 
 Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear, 
 By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Antiochus. 
 
 Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the which 
 I'o have his head. [we mean 
 
 He must not live to trumpet forth m; infamy. 
 Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin 
 In such a loathed manner : 
 And therefore instantly this prince must die ; 
 Far by his fall my honor must keep high. 
 Who alteiids on us there ? 
 
 Eiiter Thaliard. 
 
 TTial. Doth your highness call ? 
 
 Ant. Thaliard, you're of our chamber, and our 
 mind 
 Partakes her private actions to your secresy ; 
 And for your faithfulness wc will advance you. 
 Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold ; 
 We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him; 
 It fits thee not to ask the reason why, 
 Because we bid it. Say, is it done 1 
 
 TItuI. My lord, 
 
 'Tis done. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Ant. Enough ; 
 Ticst your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. 
 
 Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. As thou 
 
 Wilt live, fly after : and, as an arrow, shot 
 From a well-experienced archer, hits the mark 
 His eye doth level at, so ne'er return, 
 Luless thou say, prince Pericles is dead. 
 
 Thai. My lord, if I 
 Can get him once within my pistol's length, 
 '^'11 make him sure : so farewell to your highness. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Thaliard, adieu ! till Pericles he dead. 
 My heart can lend no succor to my head. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Tyre, A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Pericles, Helicancs, and other Lords. 
 
 Per, Let none disturb us : Why this change of 
 
 thoughts 1 
 The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy, 
 By me so used a guest is, not an hour. 
 In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night 
 (The tomb where grief should sleep,) can breed me 
 
 quiet ! 
 [lere pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes 
 
 shun them, 
 .And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch, 
 Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here : 
 Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits. 
 Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. 
 Then it is thus : the passions of the mind. 
 That have their first conception by mis-dread. 
 Have after-nourishment and life by care; 
 And what was first but fear what might be done. 
 Grows elder now, and cares it be not done, 
 .-^nd so with me ; — the great Antiochus 
 ( (Jaiiist whom I am too little to contend, 
 Si.icc he's so great, can make his will his act) 
 Will think nic sjieaking, though I swear to silence; 
 N(ir boots it me o say, I honor him, 
 
 If he suspect I may dishonor him : 
 And what may make him blush in being known, 
 He'll stop the course by which it might be known 
 With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land. 
 And with the ostent of war will look so huge. 
 Amazement shall drive courage from the state : 
 Our men be vanquish'd, ere they do resist, 
 And subjects punish'd, that ne'er thought oflence 
 Which care of them, not pity of myself, 
 (Who am no more but as the tops of trees, [them, 3 
 Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend 
 Makes both my body pine, and soul to languisii. 
 And punish that before, that he would punish. 
 
 1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast ! 
 
 2 Lord. And keep your mind, till you return io us, 
 Peaceful and comfortable ! • 
 
 Hel. Peace, peace, my lords, and give experience 
 They do abuse the king that flatter him : [tongue. 
 For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; 
 The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark. 
 To which that breath gives heat and stronger glow- 
 Whereas reproof, obedient, and in order, [ing ■, 
 Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. 
 When signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace, 
 He flatters you, makes war upon your life : 
 Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please ; 
 I cannot be much lower than my knees. 
 
 Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares o'erlook 
 What shipping, and what lading's in our haven, 
 And then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Hclicanus. 
 
 thou 
 Hast moved us : what see'st thou in our looks 1 
 
 Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. 
 
 Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns, 
 How durst thy tongue move anger to our fiice ] 
 
 Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven from 
 They have their nourishment? [whence 
 
 Per. Thou know'st I have power 
 
 To take thy life. 
 
 Hel. [Kneeling.^ I have ground the axe mysell; 
 Do you but strike the blow. 
 
 Per. Rise, pr'ythee, rise , 
 
 Sit down, sit down ; thou art no flatterer: 
 I thank thee for it ; and high heaven forliid, 
 That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid! 
 Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince. 
 Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy sei-vant, 
 What wouldsl thou have me do ] 
 
 Hel. With patience bear 
 
 Such griefs as you do lay upon yourself. 
 
 Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Hclicanus; 
 Who minister'st a potion unto me, 
 That thou would'st tremble to receive thyself 
 Attend me then : I went to Antioch, 
 Where, as thou know'st, against the face of J^ath 
 I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, 
 From whence an issue I might propagate. 
 Bring arms to princes, and to subjects joys. 
 Her lace was to mine eye beyond all wonder , 
 The rest, (hark in thine ear,) as black as incest . 
 Which by my knowledge found, the sinful fathci 
 Scem'd not to strike, but smooth : but thoij 
 
 know'st this, 
 'Tis time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss. 
 Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled ; 
 Under the covering of a careful night. 
 Who seem'd my good protector; and being heic, 
 Bethought me what was past, what might succeed 
 I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrant's fears 
 Decrease not, but grow faster than their years: 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 80-3 
 
 And should he nouht it, (as no doubt he doth,) 
 That I should open to the listening air, 
 How many worthy princes' blood were shed, 
 To keep his bed of darkness unlaid ope, — 
 To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms, 
 And make pretence of wrong that I have done him, 
 When all, for mine, if I may call't oirence, 
 Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence : 
 Which love to all (of which thyself art one, 
 Who now reprov'st me for it) 
 
 Hel. Alas, sir! 
 
 Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from 
 my cheeks. 
 Musings into my mind, a thousand doubts 
 How I might stop this tempest, ere it came ; 
 And finding little comfort to relieve them, 
 I thought it princely charity to grieve them. 
 
 Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me leave 
 Freely I'll speak. Antiochus you fear, [to speak, 
 And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, 
 Who either by public war, or private treason. 
 Will take away your life. 
 Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, 
 Till that his rage and anger be forgot, 
 Or destinies do cut his thread of life. 
 Vour rule direct to any ; if to me. 
 Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be. 
 
 Per. I do not doubt thy faith ; 
 But should he wrong my liberties in absence — • 
 
 Hel. We'll mingle bloods together in the earth, 
 From whence we had our being and our birth. 
 
 Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and 1o 
 Tharsus 
 Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee ; 
 And by whose letters I'll dispose myself. 
 The care I had and have of subjects' good, 
 On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it. 
 I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath; 
 Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both : 
 But in our orbs* we'll live so round and safe, 
 That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince,' 
 Thou show'dst a subject's .shine, I a true prince. 
 
 [^Exeu7it. 
 
 (SCENE III. — Tyre. An Anie-chamber in the 
 Palace. 
 Enter Thahard. 
 Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. Here 
 must I kill king Pericles; and, if I do not, I am sure to 
 ho hanged at home: 'tis dangerous. — Well, I per- 
 ceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, 
 that being bid to ask what he would of the king, de- 
 sired he might know none of his secrets. Now do 
 I see he had some reason for it; for if a king bid a 
 man be a villain, he is bound by the indenture of his 
 oath to be one. — Hush, here come the lords of Tyre. 
 
 Enter Helicanus, Escanes, and other Lords. 
 
 Hel. You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre, 
 Further to (|ueslion of your king's departure. 
 IIisscar<l connnission, left in trust with me, 
 Doth speak sufiicienliy, he's gone to travel. 
 
 Thai. How ! the king gone 1 
 
 [^Aside. 
 
 Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied. 
 Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves, 
 He woukl depart, I'll give some light unto you. 
 Being at .\ntioch 
 
 Thai. What from An tioch 1 \^Aside. 
 
 Hel. Koyal Antiochus (on what cause I know not) 
 Took some displeasure at him: atleasthejudg'd so: 
 « In our different spheres. J Overcome. 
 
 And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd. 
 To show his sorrow, would correct himself; 
 So puts himself unto the shipman's toil. 
 With whom each minute threatens life or death. 
 
 Thai. Well, I perceive \^Asidb 
 
 I shall not be hang'd now, although I would ; 
 But since he's gone, the king it sure must pleasq 
 He 'scap'd the land, to perish on the seas. — 
 But I'll present me. Peace to the lords of Tyre! 
 
 Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome 
 
 Thai. From him I come 
 With message unto princely Pericles '. 
 But, since my landing, as I have understood, 
 Your lord has took himself to unknown travels, 
 My message must return from whence it came. 
 
 Hel. We have no reason to desire it, since 
 Commended to our master, not to us : 
 Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire, — 
 As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Tharsus. ARoumintheGovm\ox\ 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Cleon, Dionyza, and Attendanta 
 
 Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, 
 And by relating tales of others' griefs, 
 See if 'twill teach us to forget our own ? 
 
 Dio. That were to blow at fire, in hope to quencti 
 For who digs hills because they do aspire, [it : 
 Throws down one mountain, to cast uj) a higher 
 O my distressed lord, even such our griefs ; 
 Here they're but felt, and seen with mistful eyes 
 But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, 
 Who wantcth food, and will not say he wants it. 
 Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish ? 
 Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes 
 Into the air : our eyes do weep, till lungs 
 Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder; that 
 If heaven slumber, while their creatures want. 
 They may awake their helps to comfort them. 
 I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years, 
 And wanting breath to speak, help me with tears 
 
 Dio. I'll do my best, sir. 
 
 Cle. This Tharsus, o'er which I have government, 
 (A city, on whom plenty held full hand,) 
 For riches, strew'd herself even in the streets ; 
 Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the 
 
 clouds. 
 And strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at ; 
 Whose men and dames so jetted* and adorn'd, 
 Like one another's glass to trim them by : 
 Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight. 
 And not so much to feed on, as delight; 
 All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, 
 The name of help grew odious to repeat. 
 
 Dio. O, 'tis too true. [change^ 
 
 Cle. But see what heaven can do! By this oui 
 These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air 
 W'cre all too little to content and please. 
 Although they gave their creatures in abundance 
 As houses are defii'd for want of use. 
 They are now starv'd for want of exercise : 
 Those palates, who, not yet two summers younpc 
 Must have inventions to delight the taste. 
 Would now be glad of bread, and beg f')r it ; 
 Those mothers who, to nousle' up their babes. 
 Thought nought too curious, are readj' now 
 To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd. 
 So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
 ♦ To jet is to strut, to walk proudly. Nurse I'oualy 
 
iOS 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act II 
 
 Draw lots, who first shall die to lengthen life: 
 Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping ; 
 Here many sink, yet those which see them fall, 
 Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
 Is not this true 1 
 
 Dia. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness iu 
 C/e. 0, let those cities, that of plenty's cup 
 And her prosperities so largely taste, 
 With their superfluous riots, hear these tears ! 
 The misery of Tharsus may he theirs. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. Where's the lord governor? 
 
 C'le. Here. 
 Bj'cakout thy sorrows which thoubring'st,in haste. 
 For comfort is too for for us to expect. 
 
 Lord. We have descried, upon our neighboring 
 A portly sail of ships make hitherward. [shore, 
 
 C/e. I thought as much. 
 One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir, 
 That may succeed as his inheritor ; 
 And so in ours : some neighboring nation, 
 Taking advantage of our misery, 
 Hath stuff 'd these hollow vessels with their power. 
 To beat us down, the which are down already ; 
 And make a conquest of unhapjiy me, 
 Whereas no glory's got to overcome. 
 
 Lo7-d. That's the least fear : for, by the semblance 
 Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace. 
 And come to us as favorers, not as foes. 
 
 C/e. Thou spe.di'stlike him's untutor'd to repeat. 
 Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit. 
 But bring they what they will, what need we fear? 
 The ground's the lowest, and we are halfway there. 
 
 Go tell their general, we attend him here. 
 
 To know for what he comes, and whence he cornea 
 
 And what he craves. 
 
 Lord. I go, my lord. [^Extt 
 
 Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist ; 
 
 If wars, we are unable to resist. 
 
 Enter Pericles, with Attendants. 
 
 Per. Ijord governor, for so we hear you are, 
 Let not our ships and number of our men, 
 Be, like a beacon fired, to amaze your eyes. 
 We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 
 And seen the desolation of your streets : 
 Nor come we to add sorj'ow to your tears, 
 But to relieve them of their heavy load ; 
 And these our ships you happily may think 
 Arc, like the Trojan horse, war-stufl'd within, 
 With bloody views, expecting overthrow. 
 Arc stowed with corn, to make your needy bread, 
 And give them life, who are hunger-starv'd, half 
 
 All. The gods of Greece protect you ! [dead 
 And we'll pray for you. 
 
 Per. Rise, I pray you, rise ; 
 
 We do not look for reverence, but for love, 
 And harborage for ourself, our ships, and men. 
 
 Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, 
 Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, 
 Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves. 
 The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils ! 
 Till when (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen) 
 Your grace is welcome to our town and us. 
 
 Per. Which welcome we'll accept; feast here 
 a while. 
 Until our stars that firown, lend us a smile. [Exe 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king 
 His child, I wis,* to incest bring; 
 A better prince, and benign lord, 
 Prove awful both in deed and word. 
 Be quiet then, as men should be, 
 Till he hath pass'd necessity. 
 I'll show you those in trouble's reign, 
 Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 
 The good in conversation" 
 (To whom I give my bcnizon) 
 Is still at Tharsus, where each man 
 Thinks all is writ he spoken can : 
 And, to remember what he does. 
 Gild his statue glorious: 
 But tidings to the contrary 
 Are brought your eyes ; what need speak I? 
 
 Viintb Show. Enteral one Door, Pericles, /a/A:- 
 i/jg-tivVACLEON; allthe Train with them. Enter 
 at another Door, a Gentleman, ivith a Letter to 
 Pericles ; Pericles shotvs the Letter to Cleon ; 
 then gives the Messenger a Reward, and knights 
 him Exeunt Pericles, Cleon, Sj-c., severally. 
 
 Gow. Good Helicane hath staid at home. 
 Not to eat honey, like a drone. 
 From others' labors ; forth he strive 
 To killen bad, keep good alive ; 
 And, to fulfil his prince' desire. 
 Sends word of all that haps in Tyre : 
 How Thaliard came full bent with sin, 
 And hid intent, to murder him ; 
 .\nd that in Tharsus was not best 
 • Know. '' I. e. Conduct, behavior. 
 
 Longer for him to make his rest : 
 
 He knowing so, put forth to seas. 
 
 Where when men been, there's seldom ease -, 
 
 For now the wind begins to blow ; 
 
 Thunder above, and deeps below. 
 
 Make such unquiet, that the ship 
 
 Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split; 
 
 And he, good prince, having all lost. 
 
 By waves from coast to coast is tost : 
 
 All perishen of man, of pelf, 
 
 Ne aught escapen but himself; 
 
 Till fortune, tired with domg bad. 
 
 Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 
 
 And here he comes : what shall be next. 
 
 Pardon old Gower : this long's the text. \_Exit, 
 
 SCENE L— Pentapolis. An oj^en Place hy the Sea-tide. 
 Enter Pericles, ivel. 
 Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven 
 Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man 
 Is but a substance that must yield to you ; 
 And I, as fits my nature, do obey you ; 
 Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 
 Wash'd me fr-om shore to shore, and left me breath 
 Nothing to think on, but ensuing death : 
 Let it suflice the greatness of your powers. 
 To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; 
 And having thrown him from your wat'ry grave, 
 Here to have death in peace, is all he'll crave. 
 Enter three Fishermen. 
 
 1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche! 
 
 2 Fish. Ho, come, and bring away tie neta. 
 1 Fish. What, Patch-breech, I say ! 
 
 8 If he stands on peace. 
 
SCKNE I. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYIIE. 
 
 80T5 
 
 3 Fish. What say you, master? 
 
 1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now ! come away, 
 i>r I'll fetch thee with a wannion. 
 
 3 Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor 
 men that were cast away before us, even now. 
 
 1 Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to 
 hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to hel[) them, 
 when, wcll-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves. 
 
 3 Fish. Nay, master, said not I as much, when 
 [ saw the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled 1 
 they say, they are half fish, half flesh ; a plague on 
 them, they ne'er come, but I look to lie washed. 
 Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, as men do a-land : the great ones eat 
 up the little ones : I can compare our rich misers to 
 nothing so fitly as to a whale; 'a plays and tumbles, 
 driving the poor fry before \\\m, and at last devours 
 them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on 
 a'the land, who never leave gaping, till they've swal- 
 low'd the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and all. 
 
 Per. A pretty moral. 
 
 3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I 
 would have been that day in the belfry. 
 
 2 Fish. Why, man ? 
 
 3 Fish. Because he should have swallowed me 
 100 : and when I had been in his belly, I would 
 have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he 
 should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, 
 church, and parish, up again. But if the good 
 king Simonides were of my mind 
 
 Per. Simonides ! 
 
 3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones, 
 that rob the bee of her honey. 
 
 Per. How from the finny subject of the sea 
 These fislicrs tell the infirmities of men; 
 And from their wat'ry empire recollect 
 All that may men approve, or men detect ! 
 Peace be to your labor, honest fishermen. 
 
 2 Fish. Honest ! good fellow, what's that 1 if it 
 be a day fits you, scratch it out of the calendar, 
 and nobody will look after it. 
 
 Per. Nay, see, the sea hath cast upon your coast — 
 
 2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to 
 east thee in our way ! 
 
 Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind. 
 In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball 
 For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; 
 He asks of you, that never used to beg. 
 
 1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg 1 here's them 
 hi our country of Greece, gets more with begging, 
 than wc can do with working. 
 
 2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes then 1 
 Per. I never practised it. 
 
 2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve sure ; for here's 
 nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish 
 for't. 
 
 Per. What I have been, I have forgot to know ; 
 But what I am, want teaches me to think on ; 
 A man shrunk up with cold : my veins are chill, 
 And have no more of life, than may sufiice 
 To give my tongue that heat, to ask your help; 
 Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead. 
 For I am a man, pray sec me buried. 
 
 1 Fish. Die, quoth-a! Now gods foi-bid! I have 
 a gown here ; come, put it on ; keep thee warm. 
 Now, afore me, a handsome follow ! Come, thou 
 Bhalt go home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, 
 fisii for fasting days, and moreo'cr, puddings and 
 3ap-jacks,' and tbou shalt be welcome. 
 » Pancakes. 
 
 Per. I thank you, sn. 
 
 2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you could 
 not beg. 
 
 Per. I did but crave. 
 
 2 Fish. But crave ] Then I'll turn oraver tot^ 
 and so I shall 'scape whipping. 
 
 Per. V/hy, are all your beggars whipped, then? 
 
 2 Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all; for if ail 
 your beggars were whipped, I would wish no bet- 
 ter oflice, than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go 
 draw up the net. [^Exeunt two of the Fisiheinuii. 
 
 Per. How well this honc5.t mirth becomcB .icii 
 labor ! 
 
 1 iv,s/(.Harkyou,sir;doyouknowwhereyou t:oi 
 
 Per. Not well. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, I'll tell yon : this is called P(!nta. 
 polis, and our king, t le good Simonides. 
 
 Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him'' 
 
 1 Fish. Ay, sir ; and he deserves to be so called, 
 for his peaceable reign, and good government. 
 
 Per. He is a happy king, since from his subjects 
 He gains the name of good, by his government. 
 How far is his court distant from this shore 1 
 
 1 Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey ; and 
 I'll tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-mor- 
 row is her birth-day ; and there are princes and 
 knights come from all parts of the world, to just 
 and tourney for her love. 
 
 Per. Did but my fortunes equal my desires, 
 I'd wish to make one there. 
 
 1 Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may ; and 
 what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for — 
 his wife's soul. 
 
 Re-enter the two Fishermen, draviingup aNet 
 
 2 Fish. Help, master, help; here's a fish hanga 
 in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill 
 hardly come out. Ha ! hots on't, 'tis come at last, 
 and 'tis turned to a rusty armor. 
 
 Per. An armor, friends ! I pray you, let me see it 
 Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crosses. 
 Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself; 
 And, though it was mine own, part of mine heritage, 
 Which my dead father did bequeath to me, 
 W^ith this strict charge, (even as he left his life,) 
 Keep it, my Pericles, it hath been a shield 
 'Twixt vie and death, (and pointed to this brace:)' 
 For that it sav'd me, keep if; in like necessity, 
 Which gods proiectthee front, ! it may defend thee, 
 It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it ; 
 Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, 
 Took it in rage, though, calm'd, they giv't again ■ 
 I thank thcc for't ; my shipwreck's now no ill. 
 Since I have here my father's gift by will. 
 
 1 Fish. W'hat mean you, sir? 
 
 Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this co&t of 
 For it was sometime target to a king ; [woith, 
 I know it by this mark. He lov'd me dearlj', 
 And for his sake, I wish the having of it; 
 And that you'd guide me to j'our sovereign'^ court, 
 Where with't I may appear a gentleman ; 
 And if that ever my low fortunes better, 
 I'll pay your bounties; till then, rest jour debtor. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady T 
 
 Per. I'll show tlie virtue I have borne in arms. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, do ye take it, and the gods giv? 
 thee good on't ! 
 
 2 Fisli. Ay, but hark you, my friend : 'twas we 
 that made up this garment through the roi igh searnj 
 of the waters: there are certain condolci; icnLs, cer 
 
 ' Armor for the arm. 
 
81u 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act II 
 
 tain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll remem- 
 ber from whence you had it. 
 
 Per. Belicve't, I will. 
 Now, by your furtherance, I am cloth'd in steel ; 
 And spite of all the rupture of the sea, 
 This jewel holds his bidding'' on my arm ; 
 Unto thy value will I mount myst-lf 
 Upon a courser, whose delightful steps 
 Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. — 
 Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
 Of a pair of bases.' 
 
 2 Fish. We'll sure provide: thou shall have my 
 best gown to make thee a pair ; and I'll bring thee 
 to the court myself 
 
 Per. Then honor be but a goal to my will ; 
 This day I'll rise, or else add U to ill. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— 7%e same. A Public Way, or 
 Platform leading to the Lists. A Pavilion by 
 the side of it, for the reception of the King, 
 Princess, Lords, <^-c. 
 
 Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumphi 
 
 1 Lord. They are, my liege ; 
 And stay your coming to present themselves. 
 
 Si}7i. Return them,* we are ready ; and our 
 daughter, 
 In honor of whose birth these triumphs are, 
 Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat 
 For mc to see, and seeing, wonder at. [Exit a Lord. 
 
 Thai. It pleaseth you, my father, to express 
 My commendations great, whose merit's less. 
 
 Sim. 'Tis fit it should be so ; for princes are 
 A model, which heaven makes like to itself: 
 As jewels lose their glory, if neglected, 
 So jirinces their renown, if not respected. 
 'Tis now your honor, daughter, to explain 
 The labor of each knight, in his device. 
 
 77iai. Which, to preserve mine honor, I'll perform. 
 
 Enter a Knight; he passes oner the Stage, aiid his 
 
 Squire presents his Shield to the Princess. 
 
 iSi'm. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? 
 
 Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield, 
 Is a black .^thiop, reaching at the sun ; 
 The word. Lux tua vita mihi. 
 
 Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. 
 [The second Knight ^«sses. 
 Who is the second, that presents himself? 
 
 Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield 
 Is an arm'd knight, that's conquor'd by a lady: 
 1 he motto thus, in Spanish, Piu per dulgura que 
 per fuerqa.'' [The thii-d Knight passes. 
 
 Sim. And what's the third 1 
 
 Thai. The third, of Antioch : 
 
 And his device, a wreath of chivalry : 
 The word, Me pampas provexit apex. 
 
 [The fourth Knight j5csses. 
 
 Sim.. What is the fourth ? 
 
 Thai. A burning torch, that's turned upside down: 
 Vhe word, Quod me alif, me extinguit. 
 
 Sim. Which shows that beauty hath his power 
 and will, 
 IVhich can as well inflame, as it can kill. 
 
 [The fifth Knight joasses. 
 
 Tliai. The fifth, a hand environed with clouds; 
 
 'Keeping. s A kind of loose breeches. 
 
 * i. e. Return them notice. 
 e. e. Mere by s\reetness than by force. 
 
 Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried | 
 The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides. 
 
 [The sixth Knight passes 
 
 Sim. And what's the sixth and last, which th« 
 knight himself 
 With such a graceful courtesy delivcr'd ] 
 
 Thai. He seems a stranger; but his present ia 
 A wither'd branch, that's only green at top ; 
 The motto. In hac spe vivo. 
 
 Sim. A pretty moral ; 
 From the dejected state wherein he is, 
 He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 
 
 1 Lord. He had need mean better than his out 
 
 ward show 
 Can any way speak in his just commend : 
 For, by his rusty outside, he appears 
 To have practis'd more the whipstock,than the lance. 
 
 2 Loj'd. He well may be a stranger, for he comes 
 To an honor'd triumph, strangely furnished. 
 
 3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armor lust, 
 Until this day, to scour it in the dust. 
 
 Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan 
 The outward habit by the inward man. 
 But stay, the knights are coming; we'll withdraw 
 Into the gallery. [Exeunt. 
 
 [Great shouts,- and all cry. The mean knight! 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. A Hall of State.— A 
 
 Banquet prepared. 
 
 Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Knights, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Knights, 
 To say you arc welcome, were superfluous. 
 To place upon the volume of your deeds. 
 As in a title-page, your worth in arms. 
 Were more than you expect, or more than's fit, 
 Since every worth in show commends itself. 
 Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast : 
 You are my guests. 
 
 Thai. But you, my knight and guest 
 
 To whom this wreath of victory I give, 
 And crown you king of this day's happiness. 
 
 Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit. 
 
 Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours; 
 And here, I hope, is none that envies it. 
 In framing artists, art hath thus decreed. 
 To make some good, but others to exceed ; [feast, 
 And you're her labor'd scholar. Come, queen o'the 
 (For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place: 
 Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 
 
 Knights. We are honor'd much by good Simoni- 
 des. 
 
 (Si'm.Your presence glads our days; honor we love^ 
 For who hates honor, hates the gods above. 
 
 Marsh. Sir, yond's your place. 
 
 Per. Some other is more fit. 
 
 \Knight. Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen. 
 That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes, 
 Envy the great, nor do the low despise. 
 
 Per. You are right courteous knights. 
 
 Sim. Sit, sit, sir; sit 
 
 Per. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts 
 These cates resist me,* she not thought upon. 
 
 Thai. By Juno, that is queen 
 Of marriage, all the viands that I eat 
 Do seem unsavory, wishing him my meat, 
 Sure he's a gallant gentleman. 
 
 Sim. He's but 
 
 A country gentleman ; 
 
 « i. «. These delicaeies go against my stomaclk 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 Sli 
 
 He has ione no more than other knights have done, 
 Broken a staff, or so ; so let it pass. 
 
 Thai. To me he seems lilce diamond to glass. 
 
 Per. Yon king's to me, Uke to my father's pic- 
 ture. 
 Which tells me, in that glory once he was ; 
 Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, 
 And he the sun, for them to reverence. 
 None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights. 
 Did vail their crowns to his supremacy ; 
 Where now his son's a glow-worm in the night. 
 The which hath fire in darkness, none in light ; 
 Whereby I see that time's the king of men, 
 For he's their parent, and he is their grave, 
 And gives them what he will, not what they crave. 
 
 Sim. What, are you merry, knights 1 
 
 1 Knight. Who can be other, in this royal pre- 
 sence 1 
 
 Sim. Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto the brim, 
 (As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,) 
 We drink this health to you. 
 
 Knights. We thank your grace. 
 
 Sim. Yet pause a while ; 
 Yon knight, methinks, doth sit too melancholy, 
 As if the entertainment in our court 
 Had not a show might countervail his worth. 
 Note it not you, Thaisa 1 
 
 Thai. What is it 
 
 To me, my father 1 
 
 Sim. O, attend, my daughter; 
 
 Princes, in this, should live lilce gods above, 
 Who freely gives to every one that comes 
 To honor them : and princes, not doing so. 
 Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd 
 Are wonder'd at. 
 
 Therefore to make's entrance more sweet, here say, 
 We drink this standing bowl of wine to him. 
 
 Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not mc. 
 Unto a stranger knight to be so bold ; 
 He may my proffer take for an oflcnce, 
 Since men take women's gifts for impudence. 
 
 Sim. How! 
 i")v> as I bid you, or you'll move me else. 
 
 Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please 
 me better. [Aside. 
 
 Sim. And further tell him we desire to know, 
 Of whence he is, his name and parentage. 
 
 Thai. The king, my father, sir, has drunk to you. 
 
 Per. I thank him. 
 
 Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. 
 
 Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge him 
 freely. 
 
 Thai. And further he desires to know of you, 
 )f whence you are, your name and parentage. 
 
 Per. A gentleman of Tyre ; — (my name, Pericles ; 
 My education being in arts and arms;) — 
 Who, looking for adventures in the world, 
 Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, 
 A.nd, after shipwreck, driven upon this shore. 
 
 Thai. He thanks your grace ; names himself 
 Pericles, 
 A gentleman of Tyre, who only by 
 Misfortune of the seas has been bereft 
 Df .ships and men, and cast upon this shore. 
 
 Sim. Now by the gods, I pity his misfortune. 
 And will awake him from his melancholy. 
 Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles, 
 A.nd waste the time, which looks for other revels. 
 Even in your armors, as you are address'd. 
 Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
 
 I will not have excuse, with saying, this 
 Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads ; 
 Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. 
 
 [77je Knights dance 
 So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'd 
 Come, sir; 
 
 Here is a lady that wants breathing too: 
 And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre 
 Are excellent in making ladies trip ; 
 And that their measures are as excellent. 
 
 Per. In those that practise them, they aie, mj 
 lord. 
 
 Sim. 0, that's as much as you would be deny'd 
 [The Knights and Ladies dayice. 
 Of your fair courtesy. — Unclasp, unclasp; 
 Thanks, gentlemen, to all ; all have done well, 
 But you the best. [To Pericles.] Pages and lights, 
 
 conduct 
 These knights unto their several lodgings: Yours, 
 
 sir, 
 We have given orders to be next our own. 
 
 Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 
 
 Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love 
 For that's the mark I know you level at . 
 Therefore each one betake him to his rest; 
 To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. [Exe 
 
 SCENE IV.— Tyre. A Room in the Governor'a 
 House. 
 
 Enter Helicanus and Escanes. 
 
 Hel. No, no, my Escanes ; know this of me, 
 Antiochus from incest liv'd not free ; 
 For which, the most high gods not minding longer 
 To withhold the vengeance that they had in store, 
 Due to this heinous capital offence. 
 Even in the height and pride of all hia glory. 
 When he was seated, and his daughter with him. 
 In a chariot of inestimable value, 
 A fire from heaven came, and shrivellW up 
 Their bodies even to loathing ; for they so stunk, 
 That all those eyes ador'd them, ere their fall, 
 Scorn now their hand should give them burial. 
 
 Esca. 'Twas very strange. 
 
 Hel. And yet but just ; for though 
 
 This king was great, his greatness was no guard 
 To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. 
 
 Esca. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Enter three Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference, 
 Or council, has respect with him but he. 
 
 2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve without rcproo£ 
 
 3 Lord. Follow me then : Lord Hclicane, a word. 
 Hel. With me 1 and welcome : Happy day, mjr 
 
 lords. 
 1 Lord. Know that our griefs are risen to the top, 
 And now at length they overflow their banks. 
 Hel. Your griefs, for what ? wrong not the prince 
 
 you love. 
 
 1 Lore?. Wrong not yourself then, noble Hclicane; 
 But if the prince do live, let us salute him. 
 
 Or know what ground's made happy by his I reatb. 
 
 If in the world he live, we'll seek him out ; 
 
 If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there ; 
 
 And be resolv'd he lives to govern us. 
 
 Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral. 
 
 And leaves us to our free election. 
 
 2 Lord. Whose death's, indeed, the strongest io 
 
 our censure : 
 And knowing this kingdom, if without a head. 
 
:si2 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act li 
 
 {lAkb gooiil}' Ivjiidinj^s loll without a roof,) 
 Will soon to ruin fall, your noble self, 
 That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign. 
 We thus submit unto, — our sovereign. 
 
 All. Live, lord Helicane ! 
 
 Hel. Try honor's cause, forbear your suffrages, 
 If that you love prince Pericles, forbear. 
 Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, 
 Where's hourly trouble for a minute's ease. 
 A twelvemonth longer let me then entreat you 
 To forbear choice i' the absence o' the king ; 
 If in which time cxpir'd, he not return, 
 I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. 
 But if I cannot win you to his love ; 
 Go search like noblemen, like noble subjects, 
 And in your search spend your adventurous worth: 
 W'hom if you find, and win unto return, 
 You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 
 
 1 Lord. To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield ; 
 And, since lord Helicane enjoineth us, 
 We with our travels will endeavor it. 
 
 Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp 
 hands ; 
 When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Pentapolis. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Simonides, reading a Letter, the Knights 
 meet fiim. 
 
 1 Knight. Good-morrow to the good Simonides. 
 Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you 
 
 know. 
 That for this twelvemonth, she'll not undertake 
 A married life. 
 
 Her reason to herself is only known, 
 Which from herself by no means can I get. 
 
 2 Knight. May wc not get access to her, my lord] 
 Sim. 'Faith, by no means ; she hath so strictly 
 
 tied her 
 To her chamber, that it is impossible. 
 One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery ; 
 This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd. 
 And on her virgin honor will not break it. 
 
 2 Knight. Though loath to bid farewell, we take 
 our leaves. [Exeunt. 
 
 Sim. So 
 They're well despatch'd ; now to my daughter's 
 
 letter : 
 She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight. 
 Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
 Mistress, 'tis well, your choice agrees with mine ; 
 I like that well : — nay, how absolute she's in't. 
 Not minding whether I dislike or no ! 
 Well, I comriend her choice ; 
 And will no longer have it be delay'd. 
 Soft, here he comes: — I must dissemble it, 
 
 Enter Pericles. 
 
 Per. All fortune to tlie good Simonides ! 
 
 Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholden to you, 
 For your sweet music this last night : my ears, 
 I do protest, were never better fed 
 With such delightful pleasing harmony. 
 
 Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend ; 
 Not my desert. 
 
 Sim. Sir, you are music's master. 
 
 Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. 
 
 Sim. Let me ask ne thing. What do you think, 
 sir, of 
 My daughter'' 
 
 Per. As of a most virtuous princess. 
 
 Sim. And she is fair too, is she not 1 
 
 Per. As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair 
 
 Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well oi 
 you; 
 Ay, so well, sir, that you must be her master, 
 And she'll your scholar be ; therefore, look to it. 
 
 Per. Unworthy I to be her schoolmaster, 
 
 Sim. She thinks not so; peruse this wriling 
 else. 
 
 Per. What's here 1 
 A letter that she loves the knight of Tyre 1 
 'Tis the king's subtilty, to have my life. [/Is/jfe 
 O, seek not to entrap, my gfacious lord, 
 A stranger and distress'd gentleman, 
 That never aim'd so high to love your daughter, 
 But bent all offices to honor her. 
 
 Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and 
 thou art 
 A villain. 
 
 Per. By the gods, I have not, sir : 
 Never did thought of mine levy offence ; 
 Nor never did my actions yet commence 
 A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure. 
 
 Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 
 
 Per. Traitor! 
 
 Sim. Ay, traitor, sir. 
 
 Per. Even in his throat (unless it be the king) 
 That calls me traitor, I return the lie. 
 
 Sim. Now, by the gods, I do applaud his coU' 
 rage. [Aside. 
 
 Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts 
 That never relish'd of a base descent. 
 I came unto your court, for honor's cause, 
 And not to be a rebel to her state ; 
 And he that otherwise accounts of me, 
 This sword shall prove he's honor's enemy 
 
 Sim. No !— 
 Here comes my daughter, she can witness it 
 
 Enter Thaisa. 
 
 Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, 
 Resolve your angry father, if my tongue 
 Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
 To any syllable that made love to you ? 
 
 Thai. Why, sir, say if you had. 
 Who takes offence at that would make me glad ? 
 
 Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory ? — 
 I am glad of it with all my heart. [Aside."] I'll tame 
 
 I'll bring you in subjection. — 
 
 Will you, not having my consent, bestow 
 
 Your love and your affections on a stranger? 
 
 (Who, for aught I know to the contrarj', 
 
 Or think, may be as great in blood as I.) [Aside. 
 
 Hear, therefore, mistress : frame your will to 
 
 mine, — 
 And you, sir, hear you. — Either be rul'd by me, 
 Or I will make you — man and wife. — 
 Nay, come ; your hands and lips must seal it too. — ■ 
 And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy ; — 
 And for a further grief, — God give you joy ! 
 What, are you both pleas'd ? 
 
 Thai. Yes, if j'ou love me, sir. 
 
 Per. Even as my life, my blood that fosters it. 
 
 Sim. What, are you both agreed! 
 
 B)th. Yes, 'please your majesty 
 
 Sim. It pleaseth me so well, I'll see you wed ; 
 Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed 
 
 [ExeuJit. 
 
A.CT III. Scene T 
 
 PPtlNCE OF TYRE. 
 
 813 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Goiu. Now sleep yslaked' hath the rout 
 No din but snores, the house about, 
 Made louder by the o'er-fed breast. 
 Of this most pompous marriage-feast. 
 The cat, with eyne of burning coal. 
 Now couches 'fore the mouse's hole ; 
 And crickets sing at the oven's mouth. 
 As the blither for their drouth. 
 Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, 
 W here, by the loss of maidenhead, 
 A babe is mculdcd ; — Be attent. 
 And time that is so briefly spent. 
 With you r fine fancies quaintly eche ;' 
 What's du.Tib in show, I'll plain with speech. 
 })u/nb Show. Enter Pericles a?ic?SiMONiDES at one 
 Door, with Attendants; a Messenger meets him, 
 I'neels, and gives Pericles a Letter. Pericles 
 shows it to SiMONiDES ; the Lords kneel to the 
 former. Then enter Thaisa with child, and Ly- 
 ciiORiD A. SiMONiDES shows Ms Daughter the Let- 
 ter,- she rejoices : she and Pericles take leave of 
 her Father,and depart. ThenSuioiiWES,<Si-c.retire. 
 Gow. By many a deam' and painful perch,' 
 Of Pericles the careful search. 
 By the four opposing coignes," 
 Which the world together joins, 
 Is made with all due diligence. 
 That horse, and sail, and high expense. 
 Can stead the quest.' At last from Tyre, 
 (Fame answering the most strong inquire,) 
 To the court of King Simonides 
 A:e letters brought; the tenor these: 
 Antiochus and his daughter's dead; 
 The men of Tyrus, on the head 
 Of HeJLcanus would set on 
 The crown of Tyre, but he will none: 
 TIio mutiny there he hastes t'appease : 
 '"Jays to them, if king Pericles 
 Come not, in twice six moons, home, 
 He obedient to their doom. 
 Will take the crown. The sum of this. 
 Brought hither to Pentapolis, 
 Y-ravished the regions round, 
 And every one with claps gan sound, 
 Our heir apparent is a king ,• 
 Who dream' d, ivho thought of such a thing! 
 Brief, he must hence depart to T3Te : 
 His queen, with child, makes her desire 
 (Which who shall cross?) along to go ; 
 (Omit we all their dole and wo ;) 
 Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, 
 And so to sea. Their vessel shakes 
 On NeptuKt's billow ; half the flood 
 Hath their k^il cut; but fortune's mood 
 Varies again the grizzled north 
 Disgorges sucn a tempest forth. 
 That, as a d ack for life that dives. 
 So up and down the poor ship drives. 
 'I'he lady shrieks, and, weli-a-near !* 
 Doth fall in travail with her fear : 
 And what ensues in this fell storm, 
 Shall, for itself, itself perform. 
 
 • Quenched. 'Kkeout. 'Lonely. • A mea-suro. 
 
 • Corners. » Help, or apfist the searcli. 
 
 • An exclamation equi' 'ilfuit to well-a-divy 
 
 I nilP relate ; action may 
 
 Conveniently the rest ccnvey : 
 
 Which might not what by me is told. 
 
 In your imagination hold 
 
 This stage, the ship, upon whose deck 
 
 The sea-tost prince appears to speak. [Exit 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Enter Pericles, on a Ship at Sea. 
 
 Per. Thou god of this great vast, rebuki .:ie£-« 
 
 surges. 
 
 Which wash both heaven and hell ; and thou, that 
 
 Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, [ha?' 
 
 Having call'd them from the deep ! O still thy 
 
 deaf'ning. 
 Thy dreadful thunders ; gently quench thy nimble, 
 Sulphureous flashes ! — O how, Lychorida, 
 How does my queen ! — Thou storm, thou ! venom- 
 ously 
 Wilt thou spit all thyself! — The seaman's wliistle 
 Is as a whisper in the ears of death, 
 Unheard. — Lychorida ! — Lucina," O 
 Divinest patroness, and midwife, gentle 
 To those that cry by night, convey thy deity 
 Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs 
 Of my queen's travails ! — Now, Lychorida 
 
 Enter Lychorida, with an Infant 
 
 Lye. Here is a thing 
 Too young for such a place, who if it had 
 Conceit would die as I am like to do. 
 Take in your arms this piece of your dead queen. 
 
 Per. How ! how, Lychorida ! 
 
 Lye. Patience, good sir, do not assist the storm. 
 Here's all that is left living of your queen, — ■ 
 A little daughter ; for the sake of it. 
 Be manly, and take comfort. 
 
 Per. O you gods ! 
 
 Wh}' do you make us love your goodly gifts, 
 And snatch them straight away ] We, here below 
 Recall not what we give, and therein may 
 Vie honor' with yourselves. 
 
 Lye. Patience, good sir, 
 
 Even for this charge. 
 
 Per. Now, mild may be thy life ? 
 
 For a more blust'rous birth had never babe : 
 Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! 
 For thou'rt the ruddiest welcom'd to this world. 
 That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows ! 
 Thou hast as chiding a nativity. 
 As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make, 
 To herald thee from the womb ! even at the first, 
 Thy loss is more than can thy portage ([Uit,^ 
 With all thou canst find here. — Now the good god» 
 Throw their best eyes upon it ! 
 
 Enter two Sailors. 
 
 1 Sail. What courage, sir ] God save j'ou. 
 
 Per. Courage enougli: I do not fear the flaw ; 
 It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the lovr 
 Of this poor infant, this fresh-new st a-farf r. 
 I would, it would be quiet. 
 
 1 Sail. Slack the bolins* there ; thou wilt not 
 wilt thou ] Blow, and split thyself. 
 
 »I shall not. « The godue.'S of iliild-heariDg 
 
 'Contend wilh yon in honor. 
 
 • Than thy cntranco into life can requite 
 
 • Bowlines, ropes of the sails. 
 
 J 
 
814 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act 111. 
 
 2 Sail. But sea-room, tm the brine and cloudy 
 iillow kiss the moon, I care not. 
 
 1 Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard ; the sea 
 works hicfh, the wind is loud, and will not lie, till 
 the ship he cleared of the dead. 
 
 Per. That's your superstition. 
 
 1 Sail. Pardon us. sir; with us at sea it still hath 
 been obse-ved ; and we are strong in earnest. 
 Therefore l riefly yield her ; for she must overboard 
 straight. 
 
 Per. Be it as you think meet. — Most wretched 
 
 queen 
 
 Lt/c. Here she lies, sir. 
 
 Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear, 
 No light, no fire : the unfriendly elements 
 Forgot thee utterly ; nor have I time 
 To give thee hallowed to thy grave, but straight 
 Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze; 
 Where, for a monument upon thy bones, 
 And aye-remaining lamps, the belching whale, 
 And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse, 
 Lying with simple shells. Lychorida, 
 Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and paper ; 
 My casket, and my jewels ; and bid Nicander 
 Bring me the satin coffer : lay the babe 
 Lipon the pillow ; hie thee, whiles I say 
 A priestly farewell to her : suddenly, woman. 
 
 l_Exii Lychorida. 
 
 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, 
 caulk'd and bitumed already 
 
 Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say, what coast is this? 
 
 2 Sail. We are near Tharsus. 
 
 Per. Thither, gentle mariner, 
 Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it? 
 
 2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 
 
 Per. make for Tharsus. 
 There will I visit Cleon, for the babe 
 Cannot hold out to Tyrus ; there I'll leave it 
 At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner ; 
 I'll bring the body presently. [Exeu7it. 
 
 SCENE II. — Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some persons who 
 have been Shipwrecked. 
 Ccr. Philemon, ho ! 
 
 Filter Philemon. 
 
 Phil. Doth my lord call ? 
 Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men ; 
 I* has been a turbulent and stormy night. 
 
 Serv. I have been in many; but such a night as this, 
 Till now I ne'er endur'd. 
 
 Cer. Your master will be dead e'er you return ; 
 
 There's nothing can be minister'd to nature, 
 
 1 hat can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary. 
 
 And tell me how it works. [T'o Philemon. 
 
 [_Exeunt Philemon, Servant, and Those who 
 
 had been Shipwrecked. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Good-morrow, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. Good-morrow to your lordship. 
 
 Cer. Gentlemen, 
 
 Why do you stir so early? 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, 
 Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, 
 Shook, as the earth did quake ; 
 The very principals' did seem to rend, 
 
 ^Tnn principals are the strou;;est rafters in the roof of a 
 Suilding. 
 
 And all to topple ; pure surprise and feiar 
 Made me to quit the house. 
 
 2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you ea 
 early ; 
 'Tis not our husbandry.^ 
 
 Cer. 0, you say well. 
 
 1 Gent. But I much marvel that your lordshipi 
 
 having 
 Rich 'tire about you, should at these early hours 
 Shake off the golden slumber of repose. 
 It is most strange, 
 
 Nature should be so conversant with pain. 
 Being thereto not compell'd. 
 
 Cer. I held it ever, 
 
 Virtue and cunning' were endowments gi eater 
 Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs 
 May the two latter darken and expend ; 
 But immortality attends the former, 
 Malving a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever 
 Have studied physic, through which secret art, 
 By turning o'er authorities, I have 
 (Together with my practice) made familiar 
 To me and to my aid, the blest infusions 
 That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones ; 
 And I can speak of the disturbances 
 That nature works, and of her cures ; which give me 
 A more content in course of true delight 
 Than to be thirsty after tottering honor. 
 Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
 To please the fool and death. 
 
 2 Geiit. Your honor has through Ephesus 
 
 pour'd forth 
 Your charity, and hundreds call themselves 
 Your creatures, who by you have been rcstor'd ; 
 And not your knowledge, personal pain, but even 
 Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon, 
 Such strong renown as time shall never 
 
 Enter two Servants with a Chest 
 
 Serv. So ; lift there. 
 
 Cer. What is that ? 
 
 Serv. Sir, even now 
 
 Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest ; 
 'Tis of some wreck. 
 
 Cer. Set 't down, let's look on it 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. 
 
 Cer. Whate'er it ht, 
 
 'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight ; 
 If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold. 
 It is a good constraint of fortune, that 
 It belches upon us. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis so, my lord. 
 
 Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed ! — 
 Did the sea cast it up ? 
 
 Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir. 
 As toss'd it upon shore. 
 
 Cer. Come, wrench it open | 
 
 Soft, soft ! — it smells most sweetly in my sense. 
 
 2 Gent. A delicate odor. 
 
 Cer. As ever hit my nostrils ; so, — up with it. 
 O you most potent god ! what's here ? a corse 1 
 
 1 Gent. Most strange ! 
 
 Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd and en. 
 treasur'd 
 With bags of spices full ! A passport too 1 
 Apollo, perfe '.t me i' the characters ! 
 
 {Unfolds a Scroll 
 Here I give to tmderstand, [Reads. 
 
 (If e'er this coffm drive a-land,) 
 
 a Economical prudence, early ribing. = Knowledge 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 81{) 
 
 /, king Pericles, haue lost 
 
 This f/ueen, worth all our mimdnne cost. 
 
 Who finds her, give her burying, 
 
 Wig was the daughter of a king : 
 
 Besides this treasure as a fee, 
 
 rhe gods requite his charity ! 
 
 If mou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart' 
 
 Tlmt even cracks for wo !— This chanced tu-night. 
 
 2 Gent, Most Ukely, sir. 
 
 Ccr, Nay, certainly to-night. 
 
 For look, how fresh she looks! — They were too 
 
 rough, 
 That threw her in the sea. Make fire within ; 
 Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet. 
 Death may usurp on nature many hours, 
 And yet the fire of life kindle again 
 The overpressed spirits. I have heard 
 Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead, 
 By good appliance was recovered. 
 
 Enter a Servant, ivHh Boxes, Napkins, and Fire. 
 Well said, well said ; the fire and the cloths. — 
 The rough and woeful music that we have, 
 Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. 
 The vial once more ; — How thou stirr'st, thou 
 
 block !— 
 The music there. — I pray you, give her air : — 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 This queen will live : nature awakes ; a warmth 
 Breathes out of her ; she hath not been entranced 
 Above five hours. Sec, how she 'gins to blow 
 Into life's flower again ! 
 
 1 Gent. The heavens, sir. 
 Through you, increase our wonder, and set up 
 Your fame for ever. 
 
 Cer. She is alive ; behold. 
 
 Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels 
 Which Pericles hath lost, 
 Begin to part their fringes of bright gold ; 
 The diamonds of a most praised water 
 Appear to make the world twice rich. O live. 
 And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature, 
 Rare as you seem to be ! [.S'/^e moves. 
 
 Thai. dear Diana, 
 
 Where am I? Where's my lord ? Whatworldisthis? 
 
 2 Gent. Is not this strange 1 
 
 1 Gent. Most rare. 
 
 Cer. Hush, gentle neighbors ; 
 
 Lend mcyour hands: to the next chamber bear her. 
 Get linen ; now this matter must be look'd to. 
 For her rehufe is mortal. Come, come, come; 
 And -^icuK dus guide us ! 
 
 [Exeunt, carrying Thaisa away. 
 
 SCENE III.— Tharsus. A Room in Cleon's 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Pfi.i}CLES, Cleon, Dionyza, Lychorida, 
 
 and Marina. 
 
 T'^ M ist honor'd Cleon, I must needs be gone; 
 My twe.Vv. months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands 
 In a litigious peace. You, and your lady. 
 Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods 
 Make up the rest upon you ! 
 
 Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt 
 you mortally, 
 V^ct glance full wand'ringly on us. 
 
 Dion. O, vour sweet queen ! j 
 
 That the strict fates had pleas'd you had Lrought 
 
 her hither, 
 To have bless'd mine eyes ! 
 
 Per. We cannot but obey 
 
 The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 
 As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
 Must be as 'tis. My babe Marina (whom, 
 For she was born at sea, I have nam'd so) heie 
 I charge your charity v.'ithal, and leave her 
 The infant of your care ; beseeching you 
 To give her princely training, that she may le 
 Manner'd as she is born. 
 
 Cle. Fear not, my lord : 
 
 Your grace, that fed my country with jour coin, 
 (For which the people's prayers still firll on ycu,) 
 Must in your child be thought on. If neglection 
 Should therein make me vile, the common body,* 
 By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty ; 
 But if to that my nature need a spur, 
 The gods revenge it upon mc and mine, 
 To the end of generation ! 
 
 Per. I believe you. 
 
 Your honor and your goodness teach me credit, 
 Without your vows. Till she be married, madam 
 By bright Diana, whom we honor all, 
 Unscissor'd shall this hair of mine remain. 
 Though I show will' in't. So I take my leave. 
 Good madam, make me blessed in your care 
 In bringing up my child. 
 
 Dion. I have one myself. 
 
 Who shall not be more dear to my respect, 
 Than yours, my lord. 
 
 Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 
 
 Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edgf 
 o' the shore ; 
 Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, and 
 The gentlest winds of heaven. 
 
 Per. I will embrace 
 
 Your offer. Come, dear'st madam. — O, no tears, 
 Lychorida, no tears : 
 
 Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
 You may depend hereafter. — Come, my lord. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Ephesus. A Room in Cerimgn's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. 
 
 Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jeweib 
 Lay with you in your coflTer: which are now 
 At your command. Know you the character ? 
 
 Thai. It is my lord's. 
 That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember. 
 Even on my yearning time : but whether thero 
 Delivered or no, Ijy the holy gods, 
 I cannot rightly say: But since king Pericles, 
 My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, 
 A vestal livery will I take me to, 
 And never more have joy. 
 
 Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you spcaV, 
 Diana's temple is not distant far. 
 Where you may 'bide until your date expire 
 Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
 Shall there attend you. 
 
 Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all • 
 Yet my good will is great, though the gift small 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 * The common people. » Jtppear wilful 
 
816 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act TV. Scene I 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Gotu. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, 
 Welcom'd to his own desire. 
 His woeful queen leave at Ephess.. 
 To Dian there a votaress. 
 Now to Marina bend your mind, 
 Whom our fast-growing scene must find 
 At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd 
 [n music, letters; who hath gain'd 
 Of education all the grace, 
 Which makes her both the heart and place 
 Of general wonder. But alack! 
 That monster envy, oft the wrack 
 Of earned praise, Marina's life 
 Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 
 And in this kind hath our Cleon 
 One daughter, and a wench full grown. 
 Even ripe for marriage fight ; this maid 
 Hight* Philoten : and it is said 
 For certain in our story, she 
 Would ever with Marina be : 
 Bc't when she weav'd the sleidcd'^ silk 
 With fingers long, small, white as milk ; 
 Or when she would with sharp neeld' wound 
 The cambric, which she made more sound 
 By hurting it; or when to the lute 
 She sung, and made the night-bird mute, 
 That still records,' with moan ; or when 
 She would with rich and constant pen 
 Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 
 This Philoten contends in skill 
 With absolute' Marina: so 
 With the dove of Paplios might the crow 
 Vie feathers white. Marina gets 
 All praises, which are paid as debts, 
 And not as given. This so darks 
 In Philoten all graceful marks. 
 That Oleon's wife, with envy rare, 
 A present murderer does prepare 
 For good Marina, that her daughter 
 Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 
 The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, 
 Lychorida, our nurse, is dead ; 
 And cursed Dionyza hath 
 The pregnant' instrument of wrath 
 Prest' for this blow. The unborn event 
 I do commend to your content : 
 Only I carry winged time 
 Post on the lame feet of my rhyme ; 
 Which never could I so convey, 
 Unless your thoughts went on my way. — 
 Dionyza does appear, 
 With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit. 
 
 M ENE I. — Tha.-sus. An open Place near the 
 Sea-shore. 
 Enter Dionyza and Leoxine. 
 Dion. Thy oath remember ; thou hast sworn to 
 do it; 
 'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. 
 Thou canst not do a thing i' the world so soon 
 To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience. 
 Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom, 
 [nflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which 
 Even women have cast ofl", melt thee, but be 
 ^ soldier to thy purpose. . 
 
 'Ca'lecl. 'Untwisted. 'Needle. » Sings. 
 
 4.ccoEiplished, perfect. » Prepared. 'KeMly. 
 
 Leo7i. I'll do't; but yet she is a goodly creature 
 Dion. The fitter then the gods slwuld have her 
 Here 
 
 Weeping she comes for her old nurse's death. 
 
 Thou art resolv'd 1 
 
 Leon. I am resolv'd. 
 
 Enter Marina, with a Basket of Flowerc. 
 
 Mar. No, no, I will rob Tellu.s* of her weed. 
 To strew thy green with flowers : the yellows, bite* 
 The purple violets, and marigolds. 
 Shall, as a chaplct, hang upon thy grave. 
 While summer days do last. Ah me! poor maid. 
 Born in a tempest, when my mother died. 
 This world to me is like a lasting storm. 
 Whirring me from my friends. 
 
 Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep alone? 
 How chance my daughter is not with you ? Do not 
 Consume your blood with sorrov.'ing: you have 
 A nurse of me. Lord ! how your favor's changed 
 With this unprofitable woe! Come, come; 
 Give me your wreath of flowers. Ere the sea mar it, 
 Walk forth with Leonine ; the air is quick there. 
 Piercing, and sharpens well the stomach. Come ;— 
 Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. 
 
 Mar. No, I pray you ; 
 I'll not bereave you of your servant. 
 
 Dion. Come, come , 
 
 I love the king your father, and yourself. 
 With more than foreign heart. We every day 
 Expect him here: when he shall come and find 
 Our paragon to all reports, thus blasted. 
 He will repent the breadth of his great voyage; 
 Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en 
 No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you. 
 Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve 
 That excellent complexion, which did steal 
 The eyes of young and old. Care not for me; 
 I can go home alone. 
 
 Mar. Well, I will go , 
 
 But yet I have no desire to it. 
 
 Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you. 
 Walk half an hour. Leonine, at the least; 
 Remember what I have said. 
 
 Leon. I warrant you, madam. 
 
 Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while 
 Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood : 
 What ! I must have a care of j'ou. 
 
 Mar. Thanks, sweet madam. — [Exit DiokTi 
 Is this wind westerly that blows ? 
 
 Leon. South-west. 
 
 Mar. W^hen I was born, the wind was north. 
 
 Leon. Was'tso? 
 
 Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear. 
 But cry'd, good seamen ! to the sailors, galling 
 His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes ; 
 And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea [tackle 
 That almost burst the deck, and from the ladder* 
 Wash'd off a canvass-climber : Ha! says one, 
 V'J'ill out? and, with a dropping industry. 
 They skip from stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, 
 The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 
 
 Leon. And when was this "? 
 
 Mar. u was when I was born •■ 
 
 Never was waves nor wind more violent. 
 
 Leon. Come, say 3'our prayers speedily. 
 
 Mar. What mean you! 
 
 4 The earth. 
 
Scene III 
 
 PRINCE OF TYEE. 
 
 817 
 
 Leon. If you require a little space for prayer, 
 I grant it: Pray ; but be not tedious, 
 For the gods are quick of ear, and 1 am sworn 
 fo do my work with haste. 
 
 Mar. Why will you kill me? 
 
 Leon. To satisfy my lady. 
 
 Mar. Why would she have me kiil'd 1 
 Now, as I can remember, by my troth, 
 I never did her hurt in all iny life ; 
 1 never spake bad word, nor did ill turr 
 To any living creature : believe me, la, 
 r never kiil'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly : 
 1 trod upon a worm against my will, 
 But I wept for it. How have I oflended. 
 Wherein riiy death might yield her profit, or 
 My life imply her danger 1 
 
 Leon. My commission 
 
 Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. 
 
 Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I hope. 
 You are well favor'd, and your looks foreshow 
 You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately. 
 When you caught hurt in parting two that fought : 
 Good sooth, it show'd well in you ; do so now : 
 Your lady seeks my life: come you between, 
 And save poor me, the weaker. 
 
 Leon. I am sworn, 
 
 And will despatch. 
 
 Enter Pirates, whilst Marina is struggling. 
 
 1 Pirate. Hold, villain ! [Leoxixe runs awax, . 
 
 2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize ! 
 
 3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, 
 let's have her aboard suddenly. 
 
 [Exeunt Pirates with Marina. 
 
 8CENE U.—The same. Re-enter Leonine. 
 
 Leon. These roving thieves serve the great pi- 
 rate Valdes ; 
 And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go : 
 There's no hope she'll return. I'll swear she's dead. 
 And thrown into the sea. — But I'll see further; 
 Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her. 
 Not caiTy her aboard. If she remain. 
 Whom they have ravish'd, must by mebe slain. [JS'o.vV. 
 
 .SCENE III.— Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel. 
 Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 
 
 Pund. Boult. 
 
 Boult. Sir. 
 
 Pand. Search the market naiTowly ; Mitylene 
 i* full of gallants. We lost too much money this 
 mart, by being too wenchless. 
 
 Bawd. We were never so much out of creatures. 
 We have but poor three, and they can do no more 
 thin they can do ; and with continual action are 
 even as good as rotten. 
 
 Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er 
 we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to 
 be used in every trade, we shall never prosper. 
 
 Bawd. Thou say'st true : 'tis not the bringing 
 up of poor bastards, as I think I have brought up 
 some eleven 
 
 Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down 
 again. But shall I search the market"! 
 
 Bawd. What else, man 1 The stufl' we have, a 
 strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so piti- 
 fidly sodden. 
 
 Pand. Thou say'st true ; they are too unwhole- 
 some o' conscience. The poor Transylvanian is 
 dead, that lay with the little baggage. 
 
 Boult. Ay, she quickly poop'd him ; she made 
 
 him roast meat for worms : but I'll go search thr 
 market. [Exit Boult 
 
 Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as 
 pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. 
 
 Bawd. Why, to give over, 1 pray you 1 is it a 
 shame to get when we are old ] 
 
 Pand. O, Ourcreditcomesnotin likcthecomrao- 
 dity ; nor the commodity wages not with the dan. 
 ger; therefore, if in our youths we could pick up 
 some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door 
 latched.' Besides, the sore terms we starcl upon 
 with the gods, will be strong with usforgivirg csver. 
 
 Bawd. Come, other sorts oflfend as well as we. 
 
 Pand. As well as we! ay, and better too; W9 
 offend worse. Neither is our profession any trade j 
 it's no calling: — But here comes Boult. 
 
 Enter the Piratcs,andBovLT,dragging in Marina. 
 
 Boult. Come your ways. [To Marina.] — My 
 masters, you say .she's a virgin ] 
 
 1 Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not. 
 
 Boult. Master, I have gone thorough' for this 
 piece, you see : if you like her, so ; if not, I have 
 lost my earnest. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities ? 
 
 Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and has 
 excellent good clothes ; there's no further ner^es- 
 sity of qualities can make her refused. 
 
 Bawd. What's her price. Bolt 7 
 
 Boult. I cannot be baited one doit of a thousand 
 pieces. 
 
 Pane/. Well,follow me,my masters; you shall have 
 your money presently. Wife, take her in ; instruct 
 her what she has to do, that she may not l)e raw in 
 her entertainment. [Exeunt Pander and Pirates 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her; the 
 color of her hair, complexion, height, age, with 
 warrant of her virginity ; and cry. He that will 
 give most shall have her first. Such a maiden- 
 head were no cheap thing, if men were as they 
 have been. Get this done as I command you. 
 
 Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit Boult. 
 
 Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow ! 
 (He should have struck, not spoke;) or that these 
 
 pirates 
 (Not enough barbarous) had not overboard 
 Thrown mc to .seek my mother ! 
 
 Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one ] 
 
 Mar. That I am pretty. 
 
 Bawd. Comc,the gods have done their part in you 
 
 Mar. I accuse them not. 
 
 Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you 
 are like to live. 
 
 Mar. The more my fault, 
 To 'scape his hands, where I was like to die. 
 
 Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 
 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Bawd. Yes, indeed, shall you, and taste gentle- 
 men of all fishions. You shall fare well; you shall 
 have the difference of all complexions. What! dc 
 you stop your ears 1 
 
 Mar. Are you a woman ] 
 
 Bated. What would you have mc be, an I bfl 
 not a woman ; 
 
 Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman 
 
 Bawd. Marry, whip thee, goslin: I think I shall 
 have something to do with you. Come, you are a 
 young foolish .sapling, and must be '-owed as ? 
 would have you. 
 
 Mar. The gods defend mc ! 
 ' i. t. Half open. • Bid a bigh price for her. 
 
818 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Bawd. If it ploase the gods to defend you by 
 men, then men must comfort you, men must feed 
 vou, men must stir you up. — ^Boult's retum'd. 
 
 Enter Bodlt. 
 Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market ? 
 
 Boidt. I have cried her ahnost to the number of 
 her hairs ; I have drawn her picture with my voice. 
 
 Bawd. And I pr'ythee tell me, how dost thou 
 find the inclination of the people, especially of the 
 younger sort? 
 
 Boiilt. 'Faith, they listened to me, aa they would 
 have hearkened to their father's testament. There 
 was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went 
 to bed to her very description. 
 
 Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with 
 his best ruff on. 
 
 Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, doyoii 
 know the French knight that cowers' i' the hamsl 
 
 Bawd. Who 1 monsieur Veroles 1 
 
 Boult. Ay ; he offered to cut a caper at the pro- 
 clamation ; but he made a groan at it, and swore 
 he would see her to-morrow. 
 
 Bawd. Well, well ; as for him, he brought his 
 disease hither: here he does but repair it. I know, 
 he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns 
 in the sun. 
 
 Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a travel- 
 ler, we should lodge them with this sign. 
 
 Bawd. Pray you, come hither a while. You have 
 fortunes coming upon you. Mark me; you must 
 seem to do that fearfully, which you commit wil- 
 lingly ; to despise profit, where you have most gain. 
 To weep that you live as you do, makes pity in 
 your lovers : Seldom, but that pity begets you a 
 good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit. 
 
 Mar. I understand you not. 
 
 Boult. O, take her home, mistress, take her 
 home : these blushes of hers must be quenched with 
 some present practice. 
 
 Bawd. Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they must: 
 for your bride goes to that with shame, which is 
 her way to go with warrant. 
 
 Boult. 'Faith some do, and some do not. But, 
 mistress, if I have bargained for the joint, 
 
 Bawd. Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit. 
 
 Boult. I may so. 
 
 Bawd. Who should deny itl Come, young one, 
 I like the manner of your garments well. 
 
 Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed 
 yet. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town: report 
 what a sojourner we have; you'll lose nothing by 
 custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant 
 thee a good turn ; therefore say what a paragon she 
 is, and thou hast the harvest of thine own report. 
 
 Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall 
 irt so awake the beds of eels, as my giving out 
 her beauty stir up the lewdly inclined. I'll bring 
 hoine some to-night. 
 
 Bawd. Come your ways ; follow me. 
 
 Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep. 
 Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 
 Diana, aid my purpose ! 
 
 Bawd. What have we to do with Diana ? Pray 
 f ou, will you go with us 1 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Tharsus. ARoominCh-EOs'sHouse. 
 Enter Cleon and Dionyza. 
 Dion Why, are you foolish 1 Can it be undone ? 
 ' BencJa. 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece, of slaughter 
 The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon ! 
 
 Dion. I think 
 
 You'll turn a child again. 
 
 Cle. Were I chief lord of all the spacious worJc^ 
 I'd give it to undo the deed. lady, 
 Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
 To equal any single crown i' the earth, 
 I' the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine, 
 Whom thou hast poison'd too ! 
 If thou hadst drunk to him, it had been a kindncM 
 Becoming well thy feat:' What canst thou say, 
 When noble Pericles shall demand his child 1 
 
 Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fate* 
 To foster it, nor ever to pi-eserve. 
 She died by night ; I'll say so. Who can crciss it ' 
 Unless you play the impious innocent,' 
 And for an honest attribute, cry out. 
 She died by foul play, 
 
 Cle. O, go to. Well, well, 
 
 Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 
 Do like this worst. 
 
 Dion. Be one of those that think 
 
 The petty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence, 
 And open this to Pericles. I do shame 
 To think of what a noble strain you are, 
 And of how cow'd a spirit. 
 
 Cle. To such proceeding 
 
 Who ever but his approbation added. 
 Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow 
 From honorable courses. 
 
 Dion. Be it so then : 
 
 Yet none does know, butyo<fi, how she came dead 
 Nor none can know. Leonine being gone. 
 She did disdain my child, and stood between 
 Her and her fortunes: None would look on hei, 
 But cast their gazes on Marina's face : 
 Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malldn,' 
 Norworth the timeof day. It pierced mc thorough, 
 And though you call my course unnatural, 
 You not your child well loving, yet I find, 
 It greets me, as an enterprize of kindness, 
 Perform'd to your sole daughter. 
 
 Cle. Heavens forgive iti 
 
 Dion. And as for Pericles, 
 What should he say ] We wept after her hearse, 
 And even yet we mourn : her monument 
 Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs 
 In glittering golden characters express 
 A general praise to her, and care in us 
 At whose expense 'tis done. 
 
 Cle. Thou art likf the harpy, 
 
 Which, to betray, doth wear an angel'h face, 
 Seize with an eagle's talons. 
 
 Dion. You are like one, that superstitiously 
 Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies; 
 But yet I know you'll do as I advise. ^Exeunt, 
 
 Enter Gower, lefore the monument of Marina, 
 at Tharsus. 
 
 Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues 
 make short; 
 Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for't; 
 Making (to take your imagination) 
 From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
 By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
 To use one language in each several clime 
 
 9 i. e. Of a piece with tlie rest of thy exploit. 
 9 An iunocent was formerly a common appellation fcl 
 an idiot. 
 • A coarse wench, not worth a good-morr? v. 
 
Scene VJ. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 819 
 
 Wnere cur scenes seem to live. I do beseech you 
 
 To learn of me. who stand i' the gap to teach you 
 
 "^'he stages of our story. Pericles 
 
 ;.-. now again thwarting the wayward seas 
 
 (Attended on by many a lord and knight) 
 
 To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
 
 Old Escanes, whom Ilelicanus late 
 
 Advanced in time to great and high estate, 
 
 [s left to govern. Bear you it in mind, 
 
 Old Ilelicanus goes along behind. [brought 
 
 VVoll-sailing ships, and bounteous winds, have 
 
 This king to Tharsus, (think his pilot thought ; 
 
 So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,) 
 
 To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. 
 
 Like motes and shadows see them move a while ; 
 
 Y"our cars unto your eyes I'll reconcile. 
 
 Dumb show. Enter at one Door, Pericles, with 
 /lis Train,- Cleon a?zrf Dionyza, ai the other. 
 Cleon shows Pericles the Tomb of Marina ; 
 whereat Pericles maA'es lamentation, puts on 
 Sackch)th, and in. a mighty passion departs. 
 Then Cleon and Dionyza retire. 
 
 Oow. See how belief may suffer by foul show! 
 This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe ; 
 And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd. 
 With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er- 
 
 shower'd. 
 Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears 
 IVever to wash his face, nor cut his hairs ; 
 He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
 A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears. 
 And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
 The epitaph is for Marina writ 
 By wicked Dionyza. 
 
 [^Reads the inscription on Marina's Monument. 
 
 The fairest, siceet''st, and best, lies here, 
 
 Wto wither d in her spring of year. 
 
 She was of Ti/rus, the king^s daughter, 
 
 On whom foul death hath made this slaughter,- 
 
 Marina she was caWd,- a7id at her birth, 
 
 Thetis,"^ being proud, swallow'd some part o' the 
 
 earth .- 
 Therefore the earth, fearing to be overflow'' d. 
 Hath Thetis^ birth-child on the heavens bestow' d: 
 Wherefore she does (and swears she'll never stinf) 
 Make raging battery upon shores of flint. 
 No visor does become black villany, 
 So well as soft and tender flattery. 
 Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead, 
 And bear his courses to be ordered 
 By lady fortune ; while our scenes display 
 flis daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day, 
 In her unholy service. Patience then, 
 \iu' think you now are all in Mitylen. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE v.— Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel. 
 Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 f^ent. Did you ever hear the like ? 
 
 2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place 
 as this, she being once gone. 
 
 1 dent. But to have divinity preached there! did 
 you ever dream of such a thing 1 
 
 2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy- 
 houses: shall we go hear the vestals sing! 
 
 1 Gent. I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; 
 Mil I am out of the road of" rutting, for over. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 ' F K se.i. » Never cease. 
 
 SCENE Vl.—Thesante. A Room in the Brothei 
 Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 
 
 Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the wortli 
 of her, she had ne'er come here. 
 
 Bawd. Fye, fye upon her ; she is able to freeze 
 the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. Wo 
 must cither get her ravished, or be rid of her. — 
 When she should do for clients her fitment, and do 
 me the kindness of her profession, she has me hei 
 quirks, her reasons, her master-reasons, her pray 
 ers, her knees; that she would make a puritan cf 
 the devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her. 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll disfur 
 nish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swear 
 ers priests. 
 
 Pand. Now, the pox upon her grcoi-sitkness 
 for me ! 
 
 Bawd. 'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't, but 
 by the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Ly 
 simachus, disguised. 
 
 Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the 
 peevish baggage would but give way to customers. 
 Enter Lysimachus. 
 
 Lys. How now? How* a dozen virginities? 
 
 Bawd. Now, the gods to bless your honor ! 
 
 Boult. I am glad to see your honor in good health. 
 
 Lys. You may so : 'tis the better for }'ou that 
 your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now 
 wholesome iniquity ? Have you that a man may 
 deal withal, and defy the surgeon ? 
 
 Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would - 
 
 but there never came her like in Mitylene. 
 
 Lys. If she'd do the deeds of darkness, thou 
 would'st say. 
 
 Bawd. Your honor knows what 'tis to say, well 
 enough. 
 
 Lys. Well ; call forth, call forth. 
 
 Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, 
 you shall see a rose ; and she were a rose indeed 
 if she had but 
 
 Lys. What, pr'ythee ? 
 
 Boult. O, sir, I can be modest. 
 
 Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less 
 than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. 
 Enter Marina. 
 
 Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk; 
 — never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is she not 
 a fair creature ? 
 
 Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long voy- 
 age at sea. Well, there's for you ; — leave us. 
 
 Bawd. I beseech your honor, give me leave ; a 
 word, and I'll have done presently. 
 
 Lys. I beseech you, do. 
 
 Bawd. First, I would have you note, this is an 
 honorable man. [To Marina, ttjAom she takes aside. 
 
 Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily 
 note him. 
 
 Bawd. Next, he is the governor of this country, 
 and a man whom I am hound to. 
 
 il/ar. If he govern the country, you are bound 
 to him indeed ; but how honorable he is in that, J 
 know not. 
 
 Bawd. 'Pray you, without any more virginai 
 fencing, will you use him kindly? He will line youi 
 apron with gold. 
 
 Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thank- 
 fully receive. 
 
 Lys. Have you done 1 
 
 Bawd. My lord, she's not paced yet; you mus 
 ' How much? what price? 
 
520 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 take some pains to work her to your manage. 
 Come, we will leave his hono: and tiCr together. 
 [^Exeunt Bawd, Pander, a?id Boult. 
 Li/s. Go thy ways. — Now, pretty one, how long 
 have you been at this trade 1 
 Mar. What trade, sir 1 
 
 Lr/s. What I cannot name but I shall offend. 
 Alar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please 
 V'ou to name it. 
 
 Lys. How long have you been of this profession 1 
 3Iar. Ever since I can remember. 
 Lt/s. Did you go to it so young? Were you a 
 gamester at five, or at seven ? 
 
 Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 
 Lys. Why, the house you dwell in, proclaims 
 ycu to be a creature of sale. 
 
 Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of 
 
 such resort, and will come into it 1 I hear say, you are 
 
 of honorable parts, and arc the governor of this place. 
 
 Lys. Why, hath your principal made known 
 
 unto you, who I am 1 
 
 Mar. Who is my principal 1 
 Lys. Why, your herb-woman ; she that sets seeds 
 and roots of shame and iniquity. 0, you have heard 
 something of my power, and so stand aloof for 
 more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty 
 one, my authority shall not see thee, or else look 
 friendly upon thee. Come, bring me to some pri- 
 vate place. Come, come. 
 
 Mar. If ye were born to honor, show it now ; 
 If put upon you, make the judgment good 
 That thought you worthy of it. 
 
 Lys. How's this 1 how's this 1 — Some more 1 — 
 be sage. 
 
 Mar. For me, 
 That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
 Hath placed me here within this loathsome sty. 
 Where, since I came, diseases have been sold 
 Dearer than physic, — 'O that the good gods 
 Would set me free from this unhallow'd place, 
 Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
 That flies i' the purer air ! 
 
 Lys. I did not think 
 
 Thou could'st have spoke so well ; ne'er dream'd 
 
 thou could'st. 
 Had I brought hither a corrupted mind, 
 Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for thee: 
 Pers^ver still in that clear way thou goest, 
 And the gods strengthen thee ! 
 Mar. The gods preserve you ! 
 Lys. For me, be you thoughten 
 
 That I came with no ill intent ; for to me 
 The very doors and windows savor vilely. 
 Farewell. Thou art a piece of virtue, and 
 I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. — 
 Hold ; here's more gold for thee. — 
 A. curse upon him, die he like a thief, 
 That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou hear'st from 
 It shall be for thy good. _ _ [me, 
 
 ^As Lysimachus is putting up his Purse, 
 BoDLT enters. 
 Boult. I beseech your honor, one piece for me. 
 Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper ! Your 
 house, 
 But for this virg'.n that doth prop it up. 
 Would sink and overwhelm you all. Away ! 
 
 [Exit LvsiirAcnus. 
 
 Boult. How's this 1 We must take another 
 
 X)urse with you. If your peevish chastity, which 
 
 6 not worth a brealdast in the cheapest country 
 
 under the cope,' shall undo a whole household, lei 
 me be gelded like a spaniel. Come your ways. 
 Mar. Whither would you have me 1 
 Boult. I must have your maidenhead taken ofl, 
 or the common hangman shall execute it. Come 
 your way. We'll have no more gentlemen driven 
 away. Come your ways, I say. 
 
 Re-enter Bawd. 
 
 Bawd. What now ! what's the matter 1 
 
 Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; she has here 
 spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus. 
 
 Bawd. O abominable ! 
 
 Boult. She makes our profession, as it were, to 
 stink afore the face of the gods. 
 
 Bawd. Many, hang her up forever ! 
 
 Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with he) 
 like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as 
 a snowball ; saying his prayers too. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take her away ; use her at thy 
 pleasure : crack the glass of her virginity, and 
 make the rest malleable. 
 
 Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground 
 than she is, she shall be ploughed. 
 
 Mar. Hark, hark, you gods ! 
 
 Bawd. She conjures : away with her. Would 
 she had never come within my doors ! Marry hang 
 you ! She's born to undo us. Will you not go the 
 way of woman-kind ] Marry come up, my dish of 
 chastity with rosemary and bays ! [Exit Bawd. 
 
 Boult. Come, mistress; come your way with me. 
 
 Mar. Whither would you have me ] 
 
 ^ot</^.Totake from you the jewel you hold sodear. 
 
 Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first. 
 
 Boult. Come now, j'our one thing 1 
 
 Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? 
 
 Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master, 
 or rather, my mistress. 
 
 Mar. Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art, 
 Since they do better thee in their command. 
 Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend 
 Of hell would not in reputation change : 
 Thou'rt the damn'd doorkeeper to every coystrel'" 
 That hither comes inquiring for his tib ; 
 To the choleric fisting of each rogue thy ear 
 Is liable ; thy very food is such 
 As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. 
 
 Boult. What would you have me ] go to the 
 wars, would you 1 where a man may serve seven 
 years for the loss of a leg, and have not money 
 enough in the end to buy him a wooden one ? 
 
 Mar. Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty 
 Old receptacles, common sewers, of filth ; 
 Sei-ve by indenture to the common hangman ; 
 Any of these ways are better yet than this: 
 For that which thou professest, a baboon. 
 Could he but speak, would own a name too dt ar 
 
 that the gods would safely from this place 
 Deliver me ! Here, here is gold for thee. 
 
 If that thy master would gain aught by me. 
 Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance 
 With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast* 
 And I will undertake all these to teach. 
 
 1 doubt not but this populous city will 
 Yield many scholars. 
 
 Boult. But can you teach all this you speak ofl 
 3Iar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again 
 
 And prostitute me to the basest groom 
 
 That doth frequent your house. 
 
 s Cope or canopy of heaveu. Paltiy fellow. 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 821 
 
 Bnnlt. Well, I will see what I can do for thee : 
 if I can place thee, I will. 
 
 Mar. Bat, amongst honest women? 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst 
 them. But since my master and mistress have 
 
 bought you, there's no going but by their consent; 
 therefore I will make them acquainted with youi 
 purpose, and I doubt not but I shall find them 
 tractable enough. Come, I'll do for thee what 1 
 can ; come your ways. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 (yotu. Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and chances 
 Into an honest house, our story says. 
 She sings like one immortal, and she dances 
 As goddess-like to her admired lays: [poses 
 
 Deep clerks' she dumbs ; and with her neeld" com- 
 Nature's uwn shape, of bud, bird, branch, or beiTy ; 
 That even her art sisters the natural roses : 
 Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry : 
 That pupils lacks she none of noble race. 
 Who pour their bounty on her ; and her gain 
 She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place. 
 And to her father turn our thoughts again, 
 Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost ; 
 Whence, driven before the winds, he is arriv'd 
 Here where his daughter dwells ; and on this coast 
 Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd 
 God Neptune's annual feast to keep ; from whence 
 Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies, 
 His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense ; 
 And to him in his barge with fervor flies. 
 In your supposing once more put your sight ; 
 Of heavy Pericles think this the bark : 
 Where, what is done in action, more, if might, 
 Shall be discover'd; please you, sit, and hark. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I.— OnboardPendes' Ship, offMitylene. 
 A close Pavilion on Deck ivith a Curtain before 
 it ; Pericles within it, reclined on a Couch. A 
 Barge lying beside the Tyrian Vessel. 
 
 Enter two Sailors, oiie belonging to the Tyrian 
 Vessel, the other to the Barge,- to them Helic anus. 
 
 Tyr. Sail. Where's the lord Helicanus? He can 
 resolve you. [To the Sailor of Mitylene. 
 
 O, here he is. 
 
 Sir, there's a barge put off from Mitylene ; 
 
 And in it is Lisymachus the governor, 
 
 W^ho craves to come aboard. What is your will 1 
 
 Hel. That he have his. Call up some gentlemen. 
 
 Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord calls. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 1 Gent. Doth your lordship call 1 
 Hel. Gentlemen, [you 
 
 There is some of worth would come aboard ; I pray 
 To greet them fairly. 
 
 [The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, 
 and go on board the Barge. 
 Enter from thence Lysimachi-s and Lords ; the 
 Tyrian gentlemen and the two Sailors. 
 Tyr. Sail. Sir, 
 This is the man that can, in aught you would. 
 Resolve you. 
 
 Lys. Hail, reverend sir ! The gods preserve you ! 
 Hel. And you, sir, to out-live the age I am, 
 And die as I would do. 
 
 Tjys. You wish me well. 
 
 Being on shore, honoring of Nej)tunc's triumphs, 
 Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, 
 I made to it, to know of whence you are. 
 
 ■> Learned men. • Needle. 
 
 63 
 
 Hel. First, sir, what is your place 1 
 
 Lys. I am governor of this place you lie befora, 
 
 liel. Sir, 
 Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king ; 
 A man, who for this three months hath not spoken 
 To any one, nor taken sustenance. 
 But to prorogue" his grief. 
 
 Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature * 
 
 Hel. Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat ; 
 But the main grief of all springs from the loss 
 Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 
 
 Lys. May we not see him, then 1 
 
 Hel. You may, indeed, sir, 
 
 But bootless is your sight ; he will not speak 
 To any. 
 
 Lys. Yet, let me obtain my wish. 
 
 Hel. Behold him, sir : [Pericles discovered.'] 
 this was a goodly person. 
 Till the disaster, that, one mortal night, 
 Drove him to this. 
 
 Lys. Sir, king, all hail ! the gods preserve you I 
 Hail, 
 Hail, royal sir ! 
 
 Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. 
 
 I Lord. Sir, we have a maid in Mitylene, I dursl 
 wager. 
 Would win some words of him. 
 
 Lys. 'Tis well bethought 
 
 She, questionless, with her sweet harmony 
 And other choice attractions, would allure. 
 And make a battery through his deafen'd parts,' 
 Which now are midway stopp'd ; 
 She, all as happy as of all the fairest, 
 Is, with her fellow maidens, now within 
 The leafy shelter that abuts against 
 The island's side. 
 
 [He whispers one of the attendant Lords. — 
 Exit Lord, i?i trie Barge of Lysimachus. 
 
 Hel. Sure, all's effectless; yet nothing we'll omit 
 That bears recovery's name. But, since your kind- 
 ness 
 We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you fur- 
 That for our gold we may provision have, [ther, 
 Wherein we are not destitute for want. 
 But weary for the stateness. 
 
 Lys. O, sir, a courtesy, 
 
 Which if we should deny, the most just God 
 For every grafl" would send a caterpillar, 
 And so inflict our province. — Yet once more 
 Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
 Of your king's sorrow. 
 
 Hel. Sit, sir, I will recount it; 
 
 But see, I am prevented. 
 
 Enter, from the Barge, Lord, Marina, a7id a 
 young Lady. 
 Lys. O, here is 
 
 The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one ! 
 Is't not a goodly presence 1 
 
 Hel. A gallant lady. 
 
 • To lengthen or prolong his grief. ' Ears 
 
822 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Lys, She's such, that were I well assur'tl she came 
 Of gentle kind, and noble stock, I'd wish 
 No bettei" choice, and think me rarely wed. 
 Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty 
 Expect even here, where is a kingly patient : 
 If that thy prosperous artificial feat 
 Can dratv him but to answer thee in aught, 
 Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
 As thy desires can wish. 
 
 Mar. Sir, I will use 
 
 My utmost skill in his recovery, 
 Provided none but I and my companion 
 Be suflcr'd to come near him. 
 
 Lys. Come, let us leave her. 
 
 And the gods make her prosperous 1 [Mar. sings. 
 
 Lys. Mark'd he your music ? 
 
 Mar. No, nor looked on us. 
 
 Lys. See, she will speak to him. 
 
 Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend ear : — • 
 
 Per. Hum ! ha! 
 
 Mar. I am a maid. 
 
 My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes. 
 But have been gazed on comet-like: she speaks, 
 My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief 
 Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. 
 Though wayward fortune did malign my state, 
 My derivation was from ancestors 
 Who stood equivalent with mighty kings: 
 But time hath rooted out my parentage. 
 And to the world and awkward casualities 
 Bound me in servitude. — I will desist; 
 But there is something glows upon my cheek, 
 And whispers in mine ear. Go not till he speak. 
 
 ^Asidc. 
 
 Per. My fortunes — parentage — good paiTUtage — 
 To equal mine; — was it not thus"! what say youl 
 
 Mar. I said, my lordjfyou did know my parentage, 
 You would not do me violence. 
 
 Per. I do think so. 
 
 I pray you turn your eyes again upon me. — 
 You are like something that — What country- 
 Here of these shores ? [woman] 
 
 Mar. No, nor of any shores : 
 Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am 
 No other than I appear. [weeping. 
 
 Per. I am great with wo, and shall deliver 
 My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one 
 My daughter might have been : my queen's square 
 
 brows ; 
 Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight ; 
 As silver-voiced ; her eyes as jewel-like. 
 And cased as richly : in pace another Juno ; 
 Who starves the ear she feeds, and makes them 
 
 hungry, 
 The more she gives them speech. — Where do you 
 live'? 
 
 Mar. Where I am but a stranger; from the deck 
 You may discern the place. 
 
 Per. Where were you bred ] 
 
 And how achiev'd you these endowments, which 
 You make more rich to owe 1 
 
 Mar. Should I tell my history, 
 
 'Twould seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting. 
 
 Per. Pr'ythee speak ; 
 Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st 
 Modest as justice, and thou scem'st a palace 
 For the crown'd truth to dwell in: I'll believe thee, 
 And make my senses credit thy relation. 
 To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st 
 Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends'! 
 
 Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back, 
 ( Which was when I perceiv'd thee,) that thou cam'si 
 From good descending] 
 
 Mar. So indeed I did. 
 
 Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st 
 Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, 
 And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mi ne 
 If both were open'd. 
 
 Mar. Some such thing indeed 
 
 I said, and said no more but what my thoughts 
 Did warrant me was likely. 
 
 Per. Tell thy story ; 
 
 If thine consider'd prove the thousandth pail 
 Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I 
 Have suffer'd like a girl : yet thou dost look 
 Like patience, gazing on king's graves, and smilii.g 
 Extremity out of act. What were thy friends ] 
 How lost thou them ] Thy name, my most kind 
 
 virgin ] 
 Recount, I do beseech thee ; come, sit by me. 
 
 Mar. My name, sir, is Marina. 
 
 Per. O, I am mock'd, 
 
 And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
 To make the world laugh at me. 
 
 Mar. Patience, good sir, 
 
 Or here I'll cease. 
 
 Per. Nay, I'll be patient ; 
 
 Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, 
 To call thyself Marina. 
 
 3Iar. The name M-irina, 
 
 Was given me by one that had some f-Aver ; 
 My father, and a king. 
 
 Per. How ! a king's daughtei ] 
 
 And call'd Marina 1 
 
 Mar. You said, you would believe me ; 
 
 But, not to be a troubler of your peace, 
 I will end here. 
 
 Per. But are you flesh and blood ] 
 
 Have you a working pulse ] and are no fairy 1 
 No motion 1'^ — Well ; speak on. Where were you 
 And wherefore call'd Marina ] [born ] 
 
 Mar. Call'd Marina, 
 
 For I was born at sea. 
 
 Per. At sea ? Thy mother ] 
 
 Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king • 
 Who died the very minute I was born. 
 As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft 
 Deliver'd weeping. 
 
 Per. 0, stop there a little ! 
 
 This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep. 
 Did mock sad fools withal : this cannot be. 
 My daughter's buried. f^Aside.^ Well : — where 
 
 were you bred ] 
 I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story, 
 Ar.d never interrupt you. 
 
 Mar. You'll scarce beheve me; 'twere best I did 
 give o'er. 
 
 Per. I will believe you by the syllable 
 Of what j'ou shall deliver. Yet, give me leave: — 
 How came you in these parts? where were you bred' 
 
 Mar. The king, my fathcr,did in Tharsus leave me, 
 Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife. 
 Did seek to murder me : and having woo'd 
 A villain to attempt it, who having drawn, 
 A crew of pirates came and rescued me ; 
 Brought me to Mitylcne. But now, good sir. 
 Whither will you have me] Why do you wec^p? 
 
 It may be. 
 You think me an imposter ; no, good faith , 
 « i. e. No puppet dressed up to deceive me. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 825 
 
 I am the daughter to king Pericles, 
 [f good king Pericles be. 
 Per. Ho, Hclicanus ! 
 
 Hel. Calls my gracious lord! 
 
 Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor. 
 Most wise in general : Tell me, if thou canst, 
 What this maid is, or what is like to be. 
 That thus hath made me weep 1 
 
 Hel. I know not ; but 
 
 Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene, 
 Speaks nobly of her. 
 
 Lys. She would never tell 
 
 Her parentage ; being demanded that, 
 She would sit still and weep. 
 
 Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honor'd sir ; 
 Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; 
 Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, 
 O'crbcar the shores of my mortality, 
 And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither. 
 Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget : 
 Thou that wast barn at sea, buried at Tharsus, 
 And found at sea again ! O Helicanus, 
 Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, as loud 
 As thunder threatens us. This is Marina. — 
 What was thy mother's name 1 tell me but that. 
 For truth can never be confirm'd enough. 
 Though doubts did eveiaeleep. 
 
 Mar. First, sir, I pray, 
 
 What is your title? 
 
 Per. I am Pericles of Tyre : but tell me now 
 (As in the rest thou hast been godlike perfect) 
 My drown'd queen's name, thou art the heirof king- 
 And another life to Pericles thy fother. [doms. 
 
 Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than 
 To say, my mother's name was Thaisa 1 
 Thaisa was my mother, who did end. 
 The minute I began. 
 
 Per. Now, blessing on thee,rise ; thou art my child. 
 Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus, 
 (Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been. 
 By savage Cleon,) she shall tell thee all; 
 When tliou shall kneel and justify in knowledge. 
 She is thy very princess. — Who is thisl 
 
 Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene, 
 Who, hearing of your melancholy state, 
 Pid come to see you. 
 
 Per. I embrace you, sir. 
 
 Give me my robes ; I am wild in my beholding. 
 O heavens bless my girl ! But hark, what music ! — 
 Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him 
 O'er point by point, for yet he seems to doubt. 
 How sure you are my daughter. — But what music 1 
 Hel. My lord, I hear none. 
 Per. None] 
 The music of the spheres : List, my Marina. 
 Lys. It is not good to cross him ; give him way. 
 Per. Rarest sounds ! 
 Do ye not hear? 
 
 Ly-i. Music ? my lord, I hear — 
 
 Per. Most heavenly music : 
 ft nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber 
 Hangs on mine eyelids; let me rest, [//e sleeps. 
 Lys. A pillow for his head ; 
 [T//e Curtain before the Pavilion r*/" Pericles 
 is closed. 
 Ro leave him all. -Well, my companion-friends, 
 tf this but answer to my just belief, 
 \'\\ w^ll remember you. 
 
 \_Eteuni Lysimachus, Helicanus, Ma- 
 rina, and Attendant Lady. 
 
 SCENE II. — Tfie same. Pericles on the Decli 
 asleep ,■ Diana appearing to him as in a Vision 
 
 Dia.My temple stands in Ephcsus; hie thee thither. 
 And do upon mine altar sacrifice : 
 There, when my maiden priests are met t gethe* 
 Before the people all, 
 
 Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
 To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call, 
 And give them repetition to the life. 
 Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe : 
 Do't, and be happy, by my silver bow. 
 Awake, and tell thy dream. [Diana disjppeart 
 
 Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine,' 
 I will obey thee ! — Helicanus ! 
 
 Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. 
 
 Hel. Sir. 
 
 Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike 
 The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am 
 For other service first : toward Ephesus 
 Turn our blown sails; eftsoons' I'll tell thee why. — 
 
 [To Helicanus. 
 Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore. 
 And give you gold for such provision 
 As our intents will need 1 
 
 Lys. With all my heart, sir ; and when you coma 
 I have another suit. [ashore 
 
 Per. You shall prevail. 
 
 Were it to woo my daughter ; for it seems 
 You have been noble towards her. 
 
 Lys. Sir, lend your arm. 
 
 Per. Come, my Marina. [^Exeunt, 
 
 Enter Gower, before the Temple ofDiAi^x at 
 Ephcsus. 
 
 Gow. Now our sands are almost run ; 
 More a little, and then done. 
 This, as my last boon, give me 
 (For such kindness must relieve me) 
 That you aptly will suppose 
 What pageantry, what feats, what shows, 
 What minstrelsy, and pretty din. 
 The regent made in Mitylcn, 
 To greet the king. So he was thrived. 
 That he is promis'd to be wived 
 To fair Marina ; but in no wise, 
 Till he' had done his sacrifice. 
 As Dian bade: whereto being bound 
 The interim, pray you, all confound.* 
 In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd. 
 And wishes fall out as they're will'd. 
 At Ephesus, the temple see. 
 Our king, and all his compan}% 
 That he can hither come so soon. 
 Is by your fancy's thankful boon. [£ t/& 
 
 SCENE m.—The Temple of Bixjf a at 'Ephesns 
 TnAiSAstanding near the Altar, as High-Priest 
 ess ; anumber of Virgins on each side; Ceriiiok 
 and other Lihubitants q/" Ephesus attending. 
 
 Enter Pericles, with his Train ,- Lysimachus, 
 
 Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady 
 
 Pc . Hail, Dian; to perform thy just command 
 
 I here confess myself the king of Tyre; 
 
 Who, frighted from my country, did wed 
 
 The foir Thaisa, at Pentapolis. 
 
 At sea in child-bed died she ; but brought forth 
 
 A maid-child call'd Marina ; who, goddess, 
 
 » i. e. Regent of the silver moon. * Poon. 
 
 » i. e. Pericles. • Confounil here signifies to consum" 
 
824 
 
 PEKICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Wears yet thy silver livery.' She at Tharsus 
 Was nurs'd with Cleon ; whom at fourteen years 
 He sought to murder : but her better stars 
 Brought her to Mityleiie ; against whose shore 
 Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us, 
 Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she 
 Made known herself my daughter. 
 
 Thai. " Voice and favor ! — ■ 
 
 You are — you are — O royal Pericles ! [^She faints. 
 
 Per. What means the woman ? she dies \ help, 
 gentlemen ! 
 
 Cer. Noble sir, 
 If you have told Diana's altar true, 
 This is your wife. 
 
 Per. Reverend appearer, no ; 
 
 I threw her o'erboard with these very arms. 
 
 Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 
 
 Per. 'Tis most certain. 
 
 Cer. Look to the lady ; — O, she's but o'erjoy'd. 
 Early, one blust'ring morn, this lady was 
 Thrown on this shore. I oped the coffin, and 
 Found there rich jewels ; recover'd her and placed 
 Here in Diana's temple. [her 
 
 Per. May we see them 1 
 
 Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my 
 house. 
 Whither I invite you. Look ! Thaisa is 
 Recover'd. 
 
 Thai. O, let me look ! 
 If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
 "Will to my sense' bend no licentious ear, 
 But curb it spite of seeing. O, my lord, 
 Are you not Pericles ] Like him you speak, 
 Like him you are : Did you not name a tempest, 
 A birth, and death ? 
 
 Per. The voice of dead Thaisa ! 
 
 Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead, 
 And drown'd. 
 
 Per. Immortal Dian ! 
 
 Thai. Now I know you better. — 
 
 When we with tears parted Pentapolis, 
 The king, my father, gave you such a ring. 
 
 [Shows a ring. 
 
 Per. This, this: no more, you gods! your pre- 
 sent kindness 
 Makes my past miseries sport: You shall do well, 
 That on the touching of her lips I may 
 Melt, and no more be seen. O come, be buried 
 A second time within these arms. 
 
 Mar. My heart 
 
 IjCaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 
 
 [Kneels to Thaisa. 
 
 Fa. Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy flesh, 
 Thaisa : 
 ■^ h_,' burden at the sea, and call'd Marina, 
 For she was yielded there. 
 
 Thai. Bless'd and mine own! 
 
 Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen ! 
 
 Thai, I know you not. 
 
 Per. You have heard me say, when I did fly 
 from Tyre, 
 
 »i. e. Her wliite robe of innocence. 
 •Sensual passion. 
 
 I left behind an ancient substitute. 
 
 Can you remember what I call'd the man? 
 
 I have named i.rm oft. 
 
 Thai. 'Twas Helicanus then. 
 
 Per. Still confirmation : 
 Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he. 
 Now do I long to hear how you were found : 
 How possibly preserv'd ; and whom to thank, 
 Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man 
 Through whom the gods have shown their poT^ra 
 
 that can 
 From first to last resolve you. 
 
 Per. Reverend sir, 
 
 The gods can have no mortal officer 
 More like a god than you. Will you deliver 
 How this dead queen re-livcs ? 
 
 Cer. I will, my lord. 
 
 Beseech you, first go with me to my house. 
 Where shall be shown you all was found with h<*» 
 How she came placed here within the templf, 
 No needful thing omitted. 
 
 Per. Pure Dian ! 
 
 I bless thee for thy vision, and will ofl!er 
 My night oblations to thee. Thaisa, 
 This prince, the fair-betrothed of your dauj^/jtei"; 
 Shall marry her at Pent»polis. And now, 
 This ornament' that makes me look so dismal, 
 Will I, my lov'd Marina, clip to form ; 
 And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd. 
 To grace thy marriage day, I'll beautify. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, 
 Sir, that my father's dead. 
 
 Per. Heavens make a star of him ! Yet there 
 my queen. 
 We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves 
 Will in that kingdom spend our following days; 
 Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. 
 Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay 
 To hear the rest untold. — Sir, lead the way. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Gow. In Antioch,' and his daughter, you have 
 heard 
 Of monstrous lust the due and just reward : 
 In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen 
 (Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen) 
 Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast. 
 Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last 
 In Helicanus may you well descry 
 A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty : 
 In reverend Cerimon there well, appears. 
 The worth that learned cbaritj aye wear». 
 For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
 Had spread their cursed deed, and honor'd name 
 Of Pericles, to rage the city turn, 
 That him and his they in his palace burn. 
 The gods for murder seemed so content 
 To punish them ; although not done, but meant. 
 So on your patience evermore attending. 
 New joy wait on you] Here our play has ending 
 
 [Exit GowER 
 » i. e. His beard. > i. e. The king of Antioch 
 
ING LEAR. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 L?An, King of Britain. 
 
 KiXG OF France. 
 
 Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Duke of Cornwall. 
 
 Duke of Alrant. 
 
 Earl of Kent. 
 
 Earl of Gloster. 
 
 Edgar, <S'o?i fo Gloster. 
 
 EuMUNr, Bastard Son to Gloster. 
 
 OuRAN, a Courtier. 
 
 Old Man, Te/ia?it to Gloster 
 
 Physiciaiu 
 
 FooL 
 
 Oswald, Steward to Goneril. 
 
 An Officer, employed by Edmund. 
 
 Gentleman, Attendant on Cordelia, 
 
 A Herald. 
 
 Servants to Cornwall. 
 
 Goneril, 
 
 Regan, 
 
 Cordelia, 
 
 Daughters to Lear. 
 
 Knights attending on the King, Officers, Mtssenr 
 gers. Soldiers, and Attendants 
 
 SCENE, Britain. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ Room of State in King Lear's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund. 
 
 Kent. I thought, the king had more affected the 
 duke of Albany, than Cornwall. 
 
 Glo. It did always seem so to us ; but now, in 
 the division of the kingdom, it appears not which 
 of the dukes he values most ; for equalities are so 
 weigh'd, that curiosity' in neither can make choice 
 of cither's moiety." 
 
 Kent. Is this your son, my lord ! 
 
 Glo. Kis breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: 
 I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that 
 now I am brazed to it. 
 
 Kent. I cannot conceive 3'ou. 
 
 Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could : 
 whereupon she grew round-wombed ; and had, 
 indeed, sir, a son for her cradle, ere she had a hus- 
 band for her bed. Do you smell a fault 1 
 
 Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue 
 of it being so proper. 
 
 Glo. But I have, sir, a son, by order of law, some 
 year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my 
 account : though this knave came somewhat saucily 
 into the world before he was sent for, yet was his 
 mother fair; there was good sport at his making, 
 and the whoreson must be acknowledged. — Do you 
 know this noble gentleman, Edmund 1 
 
 Edni. No, m}' lord. 
 
 Glo. My lord of Kent; remember him hereafter 
 IS my honorable friend. 
 
 Edni. My services to your lordship. 
 
 A'<'nM must love you, and sue to know you better. 
 ' Most KJrupulous nioety. » Part or division. 
 
 Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 
 Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he 
 shall agi^in: — The king is coming. 
 
 [^Trumpets sound within. 
 Enter Leak, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, 
 Cordelia, and Attendants. 
 Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 
 Gloster. 
 
 Glo. I shall, my liege. 
 
 [^Exeunt Gloster and Edmund. 
 Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker 
 purpose. 
 Give me the map there. — Know, that we have 
 
 divided. 
 In three, our kingdom ; and "tis our fast intent 
 To shake all cares and business from our age : 
 Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
 Unburden'd crawl toward death. — Our son of 
 
 Cornwall, 
 And you, our no less loving son of Albany, 
 We have this hour a constant will to publish 
 Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
 May be prevented now. The princes', France and 
 
 Burgundy, 
 Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love. 
 Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, 
 And here are to be answer'd. — Tell mc, my daugh- 
 (Since now we will divest us, both of rule, [terSj 
 Interest of territory, cares of state,) 
 Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most' 
 That we our largest bounty may extend 
 Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril. 
 Our eldest-born, speak first. 
 
 Gon. Sir, I 
 
 Do love you more tlian words can wield the matter 
 825 
 
526 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act 
 
 Dearer than eye-sight, space, and hberty ; 
 
 Beyond what can be valued, rich, or rare; 
 
 No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor : 
 
 As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found. 
 
 A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
 
 Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 
 
 Cor. What shall Cordelia do ! love, and be silent 
 
 [Aside 
 
 Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to 
 this. 
 With shadowy forests and with champains'rich'd, 
 With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads. 
 We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue 
 Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter, 
 Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall ? Speak. 
 
 Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, 
 And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
 I find, she names my very deed of love; 
 Only she comes too short, — That I profess 
 Myself an enemy to all other joys. 
 Which the most precious square ' of sense possesses; 
 And find, I am alone felicitate' 
 In your dear highness' love. 
 
 Cor. Then poor Cordelia! 
 
 \_Aside. 
 And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's 
 More richer than my tongue. 
 
 Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, 
 Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom: 
 No less in space, validity," and pleasure, 
 Than that confirm'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy, 
 .Although the last, not least; to whose young love 
 The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, 
 Strive to be interess'd: what can you say, to draw 
 A third more opulent than your sisters'? Speak. 
 
 Cor. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Lear. Nothing] 
 
 Cor. Nothing. 
 
 Lear. Nothing can come of nothing: speak again. 
 
 Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
 My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty 
 According to my bond ; nor more nor less. 
 
 Lear. IIow, how, Cordelia 1 mend your speech 
 a little, 
 Lest it may mar your fortunes. 
 
 Cor. Good my lord, 
 
 You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
 Return those duties back as are right fit. 
 Obey you, love you, and most honor you. 
 Why have my sisters husbands, if they say, 
 They love you, all 1 Haply, when I shall wed, 
 That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall 
 
 carry 
 Half my love with him, half my care, and duty : 
 Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
 To love my father all. 
 
 Lear. But goes this with thy heart? 
 
 Cor, Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Lear. So young, and so untender "? 
 
 Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 
 
 Lear. Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy dower: 
 For, by the sacred radiance of the sun ; 
 The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; 
 By a.! the operations of the orbs, 
 From whom we do exist, and cease to be , 
 Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
 Propinquity," and property of blood, 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me 
 
 3 Open plains. 
 * Value 
 
 < Comprehension. 
 ■■ Kindred. 
 
 'Made happy. 
 
 Hold thee, from this' forever. The barbarous 
 
 Scythian, 
 Or he that makes his generation" messes 
 To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
 Be as well ncighbor'd, pitied, and reliev'd, 
 As thou my sometime daughter. 
 
 Kent. Good my hege, — 
 
 Lear. Pea.:3, Kent! 
 Come not between the dragon and his wrath: 
 I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest 
 On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid mj 
 sight ! — [To Cordelia 
 
 So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
 Her father's heart from her ! — Call France ; — WLo 
 
 stirs 1 
 Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany, 
 With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: 
 Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 
 I do invest you jointly with my power, 
 Pre-eminence, and all the large eflects 
 That troop with majesty. — Ourself, by monthly 
 
 course. 
 With reservation of an hundred knights. 
 By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
 Make with you by due turns. Only v^'e still retalE 
 The name, and all the additions 'to a king; 
 The sway, 
 
 Revenue, execution of the rest, 
 Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm. 
 This coronet part between you. [Giving the Crown, 
 
 Kent. Royal I^ear, 
 
 Whom I have ever honor'd as my king, 
 Lov'd as my father, as my master fellow 'd. 
 As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 
 
 Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from 
 the shaft. 
 
 Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
 The regio/1 of my heart: be Kent unmannerly. 
 When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man? 
 Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak, 
 When power to flattery bows 1 To plainness ho- 
 nor's bound. 
 When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; 
 And, in thy best consideration, check 
 This hideous rashness: answer my life my judg- 
 ment. 
 Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; 
 Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound 
 Re verbs ^ no hollowness. 
 
 Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 
 
 Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 
 To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it, 
 Thy safety being the motive. 
 
 Lear. Out of my sight! 
 
 Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain 
 The true blank ^ of thine eye. 
 
 Lear. Now, by Apollo, — 
 
 Kent. Now, by Apollo, kmg, 
 
 Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 
 
 Lear. O, vassal, miscreant. 
 
 [Laying his Hand on his Sword 
 
 Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 
 
 K-:nt. Do; 
 Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
 Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift : 
 Or whilst I can vent clamor from my throat, 
 I'll tell thee, thou dost evil. 
 
 Lear, Hear me, recreant ! 
 
 « From this time. 
 sileTerberates. 
 
 His children. ' Titles. 
 
 ' The mark to shoot at 
 
Scene T. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 82^ 
 
 On thine allegiance hear me ! — 
 Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 
 (Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd pride, 
 To come betwixt our sentence and our power; 
 (Which nor our nature, nor our place can bear;) 
 Our potency make good, take thy reward. 
 Five days we do allot thee, for provision 
 To shield thee from diseases of the world : 
 And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back 
 Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following. 
 Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions. 
 The moment is thy death: Away! By Jupiter, 
 This shall not be revok'd. 
 
 Kent. Fare thee well, king: since thus thou wilt 
 appear, 
 Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — 
 The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, 
 
 [7b Cordelia. 
 That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! — 
 And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 
 [To Rebak a«<^ Gonehil. 
 That good effects may spring from words of love. — 
 Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ; 
 He'll shape his old course in a country new. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Gloster; with France, Burgundy, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 
 
 Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
 We first address towards you, who with this king 
 Hath rivall'd for our daughter; What, in the least, 
 Will you require in present dower with her. 
 Or cease your quest of lovel 
 
 Bur. Most royal majesty, 
 
 [ crave no more than hath your highness offer'd, 
 Nor will you tender less. 
 
 Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 
 
 When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 
 But now her price is fall'n : Sir, there she stands; 
 If aught within that little, seeming substance, 
 Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, 
 And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, 
 She's there, and she is yours. 
 
 Bur. I know no answer. 
 
 Lear. Sir, 
 Will you, with those infirmities she owes,' 
 Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, 
 Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath. 
 Take her, or leave her 1 
 
 Bur. Pardon me, royal sir; 
 
 Election makes not up on such conditions. 
 
 Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power 
 that made me, 
 I tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king, 
 
 [To France. 
 I would not from your love make such a stray, 
 To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you 
 To avert your liking a more worthier way. 
 Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed 
 Almost to acknowledge hers. 
 
 France. This is most strange ! 
 
 That she, that even but now was your best object, 
 'J'he argument of your praise, balm of your age, 
 Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time 
 Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
 So many folds of favor ! Sure, her ollence 
 Must be of such unnatural degree, 
 That monsters it, or your forc-vouch'd affection 
 Fal' into taint: which to believe of her, 
 ♦ Owns, is possessed o£ 
 
 Must be a faith, that reason without miracle 
 Could never plant in me. 
 
 Cor. I yet beseech your inajestjr 
 
 (If for' I want that glib and oily art, 
 To s])eak and purpose not ; since what I well intend 
 I'll do't before I s[)eak,) that you make known 
 It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
 No unchaste action or dishonor'd step. 
 That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favor: 
 But even for want of that, for which I am richer 
 A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
 That I am glad 1 have not, though not to haA'C it. 
 Hath lost me in your liking. 
 
 Lear. Better thou 
 
 Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd ma 
 better. 
 
 France. Is it but this? a tardiness in nature, 
 Which often leaves the history unspoke. 
 That it intends to dol — My lord of Burgundy, 
 What say you to the lady 1 Love is not love, 
 When it is mingled with respects, that stand 
 Aloof from the entire point. Will you have herl 
 She is herself a dowry. 
 
 Bur. Royal Lear, 
 
 Give but that portion which yourself propos'd. 
 And here I take Cordelia by the hand. 
 Duchess of Burgundy. 
 
 Lear. Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. 
 
 Bur. I am sorry then, you have so lost a father 
 That you must lose a husband. 
 
 Cor. Peace be with Burgundy ! 
 
 Since that respects of fortune are his love, 
 I shall not be his wife. 
 
 France. Fairest Cordelia, thou art most ricti, 
 being poor ; 
 Most choice, forsaken: and most lov'd, despis'd! 
 Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : 
 Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away. 
 Gods, gods ! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st ne- 
 glect 
 My love should kindle to inflamed respect.— 
 Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, 
 Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
 Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy 
 Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. — 
 Bid them farewell, Cordelia; though unkind: 
 Thou losest here, a better where to find. 
 
 Lear. Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; 
 for we 
 Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
 That face of hers again: — Therefore begone. 
 Without our grace, our love, our benizon.'^ — 
 Come, noble Burgundy. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Buhgundt, Coiin« 
 WALL, Albany, Glostkr, and Attendants, 
 
 France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 
 
 Cur. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
 Coulelia leaves you ; I know you what you are ; 
 And, like a sister, am most loath to call 
 Your faults, as they are named. Use well our father: 
 To your professed bosoms I commit him : 
 But yet, alas ! stood I within his grace, 
 I would prefer him to a better place. 
 So farewell to you both. 
 
 Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. 
 
 Reg. Let your studj 
 
 Be, to content your lord; who hath receiv'd you 
 At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted 
 And well are worth the want that you have wante<1 
 t Because. > Bussing 
 
828 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Aci 1 
 
 Co?: Time shall unfold what plaited cunning 
 hides ; 
 Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. 
 Well may you prosper! 
 
 France. Come, my fair Cordelia. 
 
 {Exeunt France and Coiidei.ia. 
 
 Gon. Sister, it is not a little I liave to say, of 
 what most nc.iily appertains to us both. I think, 
 our father will hence to-night. 
 
 Reg. That's most certain, and with you ; next 
 month with us. 
 
 Gon. You see how full of changes his age is : the 
 observation we have made of it hath not been little: 
 he always loved our sister most ; and with what poor 
 judgment he hath now cast her off appears too 
 grossly. 
 
 Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age : yet he hath 
 ever but slenderly known himself. 
 
 Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been 
 but rash ; then must we look to receive from his age, 
 not alone the imperfections of long-engi-afted con- 
 dition,'' but therewithal, the unruly waywardness 
 that infirm and choleric years bring with them. 
 
 Reg. Such unconstant starts arc we like to have 
 from him, as this of Kent's banishment. 
 
 Go/!. There is further compliment of leave-taking 
 between France and him. Pray you, let us hit 
 together : If our father carry authority with such 
 dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his 
 will but offend us. 
 
 Reg. We shall further think of it. 
 
 Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Hallin the Earl of Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Edmund with a Letter. 
 
 Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law 
 My services are bound : Wherefore should I 
 Stand in the plague of custom ; and permit 
 The curiosity' of nations to deprive me, 
 For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines 
 Lag of a brother 1 Why bastard 1 wherefore base 1 
 When my dimensions are as well compact, 
 My mind as generous, and my shape as true, 
 As honest madam's issue 1 Why brand they us 
 With base 1 with baseness 1 bastardy 1 base, base 1 
 Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 
 More composition and fierce quality, 
 Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed. 
 Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops. 
 Got 'tween asleep and wake 1 — Well then, 
 Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land : 
 Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund, 
 As to the legitimate : Fine word, — legitimate ! 
 Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, 
 And my inveniion thrive, Edmund the base 
 Shall top the legitimate. I grow ; I prosper : — 
 Now, gods, stand up for bastards ! 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 GIo. Kent banish'd thus ! And France in choler 
 
 parted ! 
 
 And the king gone to-night! subscribed' his power! 
 
 Confined to exhibition !' All this done [news? 
 
 I'pon the gad !' Edmund ! How now ? what 
 
 Edm. So please your lordship, none. 
 
 [Putting up the Letter. 
 Gto.Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? 
 
 Edm. I know no news, my lord. 
 
 'Qualities of mind. The nicety of civil institution. 
 
 ♦ V iel led, surrendered. ' Allowance. a Suddenly. 
 
 Glo. What paper were you reading ? 
 
 Edm. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Glo. No? What needed then that terrible des- 
 patch of it into your pocket ? the quality ol" nothing 
 hath not such need to hide itself Let's see : Come, 
 if it be nothing,! shall not need spectacles. 
 
 Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me : it is a letter 
 fro*.n my brother, that I have not all o'er read; for 
 so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your 
 over-looking. 
 
 Glo. Give me the letter, sir. 
 
 Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it> 
 The contents, as in part I understand them, are to 
 blame. 
 
 Glo. Let's see, let's see. 
 
 Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, ha 
 wrote this but as an essay ^ or taste of my virtue. 
 
 Glo. [Reads.] This policy, and reverence of age 
 makes the world hitter to the best of our times,- keepa 
 our fortunes from us, till our oldness canriot elish 
 them. I begin to find an idle andfund^ bondage in 
 the oppression of aged tyranny ,- who sways, not as 
 it hath power, but as it issuffered. Come to me, that 
 of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep 
 till I umked him, you should enjoy half his revenue 
 for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, Ed- 
 gar. — Humph — Conspiracy ! — ^leep till I waked 
 him — you should enjoy half his revenue. — My son 
 Edgar ! had he a hand to write this ? a heart and 
 brain to breed it in? — When came this to you? 
 Who brought it ? 
 
 Edm. It was not brought me, my lord, there's 
 the cunning of it ; I found it thrown in at the case- 
 ment of my closet. 
 
 Glo. You know the character to be your brother's? 
 
 Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
 swear it were his ; but in respect of that, I would 
 fain think it were not. 
 
 Glo. It is his. 
 
 Edm. It is his hand, my lord ; but, I hope, his 
 heart is not in the contents. 
 
 Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in 
 this business ? 
 
 Edm. Never, my lord: But I have often heard 
 him maintain it to be fit, that sons at perfect age, 
 and fathers declining, the father should be as ward 
 to tiie son, and the son manage his revenue. 
 
 Glo. O villain, villain ! — His very opinion in the 
 letter ! — Abhorred villain ! Unnatural, detested, 
 brutish villain ! worse than brutish ! — Go, sirrah, 
 seek him ; I'll apprehend him : — Abominable vil- 
 lain ! — Where is he ? 
 
 Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it .shall 
 please you to suspend your indignation against my 
 brother, till you can derive from him better testi- 
 mony of his intent, you shall run a certain course ; 
 where,* if you violently proceed against him, mis- 
 taking his purpose, it would make a great gap in 
 your own honor, and shake in pieces the heart of 
 his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him^ 
 that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your 
 honor, and to no other pretence of danger. 
 
 Glo. Think you so? 
 
 Edm. If your honor judge it meet, I will place 
 you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by 
 an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and 
 that without any further delaj' than this very 
 evening. 
 
 Glo. He cannot be such a monster. 
 
 3 Trial. 
 
 « Weak and foolish. 
 
 « Whare«8 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 829 
 
 Edm. Nor is it not, sure. 
 
 Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely 
 loves him. — Heaven and earth ! — Edmund, seek 
 him out; wind me into him, I pray you : frame the 
 business after your own wisdom : I would unstate 
 myself, to be in a due resolution. 
 
 Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently ; convey' 
 the business as I shall find means, and acquaint 
 you withal. 
 
 Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon 
 portend no good to us : Though the wisdom of 
 nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds 
 itself scourged by the sequent' eflects : love cools, 
 friendship falls off, brothers divide : in cities, mu- 
 tinies ; in countries, discord ; in palaces, treason ; 
 and the bond cracked between son and father. 
 This villain of mine comes under the prediction ; 
 there's son against father : the king falls from bias 
 of nature ; there's father against child. We have 
 seen the best of our time : Machinations, hollow- 
 ness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us 
 disquietly to our graves ! — Find out this villain, 
 Edmund, it shall lose thee nothing ; do it carefully : 
 ■ — And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished ! 
 his offence, honesty ! Strange ! strange ! [^Exit. 
 
 Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world ! 
 that when we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeit of 
 our own behavior,) we make guilty of our disasters, 
 the sun, the moon, and the stars : as if we were vil- 
 lains by necessity ; fools, by heavenly compulsion ; 
 knaves, thieves, and treachers,' by spherical predo- 
 minance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an en- 
 forced obedience of planetary influence ; and all 
 that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on : An 
 admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his 
 goatish dispnsitjon to the charge of a star ! My father 
 compounded with my mother under the dragon's 
 tail; and my nativity was under t<rsam«/or,- so that 
 it follows, I am rough and lecherous. — Tut, I should 
 have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the 
 firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar — 
 
 Enter Edgar. 
 and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of tho old 
 comedy : my cue is villanous melancholy, with a 
 sigh like Tom o'Bedlam. — O, these eclipses do 
 pjrtcnd these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi.' 
 
 Edg. How now, brother Edmund 1 What 
 serious contemplation are you in ? 
 
 Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read 
 this other day, what should follow these eclipses. 
 
 Edg. Do you busy yourself with that 1 
 
 Edm. I promise you the effects he writes of, 
 succeed unhappily; as of unnaturulness between 
 the child and the parent ; death, dearth, dissolu- 
 tion 5 of ancient amities ; divisions in state, menaces 
 and maledictions against king and nobles ; needless 
 diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of 
 cohorts,' nuptial breaches, and I know not what. 
 
 Edg How long have you been a sectary astro- 
 nomicall 
 
 Edm, Come, come, when saw you my father last 1 
 
 Edg. Why, the night gone by. 
 
 Edm. Spake you with him ] 
 
 Edg. Ay, two hours together. 
 
 Edm. Parted you in good terms ] Found you 
 no displeasure in him, by word or countenance ? 
 
 Edg. None at all. 
 
 6 Manajre. ' Following. • Traitors. 
 
 • These sounds are unnatural and offensivo iu music. 
 
 ' Vol cohorts some editors read courts. 
 
 Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein yon aiay have 
 oftendcd him : and, at my entreaty, forbear his pre- 
 sence, till some little time hath qualified the heat 
 of his displeasure ; which at this instant so rageth 
 in him, that with the mischief of your person il 
 would scarcely alloy. 
 
 Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. 
 
 Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a con- 
 tinent'* forbearance, 'till the speed of his rage goes 
 slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, 
 from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord 
 speak : Pray you, go ; there's my key .—If you 
 do stir abroad, go armed. 
 
 Edg. Armed, brother 1 
 
 Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best; go 
 armed; I am no honest man, if there be any good 
 meaning towards you : I have told you what I have 
 seen and heard, but faintly ; nothing like the image 
 and horror of it : Pray you, away. 
 
 Edg. Shall I hear from you anon 1 
 
 Edm. I do serve you in this business. — 
 
 [^Exit Edgae. 
 A credulous father, and a brother noble. 
 Whose nature is so far from doing harms. 
 That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty 
 My practices ride easy ! — I see the business. — 
 Let «ie, if not by birth, have lands by wit : 
 All With me's meet, that I can fashion fit. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in the Duke of Albany's 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Goneril and Steward. 
 
 Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman foi 
 chiding of his fool 1 
 
 Stew. Ay, madam. 
 
 Gon. By day and night ! he wrongs me ; every 
 He flashes into one gross crime or other, [hour. 
 That sets us all at odds : I'll not endure it : 
 His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
 On every trifle : — When he returns from hunting, 
 I will not speak with him ; — say, I am sick : 
 If you come slack of former services. 
 You shall do well ; the fault of it I'll answer. 
 
 Stew. He's coming, madam ; I hear him. 
 
 [Hor7is within. 
 
 Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please 
 You and your fellows ; I'd have it come to question : 
 If he dislike it, let him to my sister. 
 Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one. 
 Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, 
 That still would manage those authorities. 
 That he hath given away ! — Now, by my life, 
 Old fools are babes again ; and must be used 
 With checks, as flatteries, — when they are seen 
 Remember what I have said. [abused. 
 
 Stew. Very well, madam. 
 
 Go7i. And let his knights have colder looks 
 among you : 
 What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so: 
 I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, 
 That I may speak. — I'll write straight to my sister, 
 To hold my very course : — Prepare for dinner. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— yl Hall in the same. 
 
 Enter Kent, disguised. 
 
 Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 
 
 That can my speech diffuse,' my good intent 
 
 May carry through itself to that full issue 
 
 2 Temperate. • Disorder, disguiso 
 
830 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act 
 
 For which 1 raz'd' my likeness. — Now, banish'd 
 
 Kent, 
 If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, 
 (So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st, 
 Shall find thee full of labors. 
 
 Horns within. Enter Leaii, Knights, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner: go, gel 
 it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now, what 
 art thou? 
 
 Kent. A man, sir. 
 
 Lear. What dost thou profess] What wouldst 
 thou with us 1 
 
 Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem; to 
 serve him truly, that will put me in trust; to love 
 him that is honest; to converse with him 'hat is 
 wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight, 
 when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. 
 
 Lear. What art thou 1 
 
 Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor 
 as the king. 
 
 Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is 
 for a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st 
 thou ■? 
 
 Kent. Service. 
 
 Lear. Who wouldst thou serve ? 
 
 Kent. You. 
 
 Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow] 
 
 Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your coun- 
 tenance, which I would fain call master. 
 
 Lear. What's that] 
 
 Kent. Authority. 
 
 Lear. "What services canst thou do ] 
 
 Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar 
 a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain mes- 
 sage bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, 
 I am qualified in ; and the best of me is diligence. 
 
 Lear. How old art thou ] 
 
 Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for 
 singing; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing: 
 I have years on my back forty-eight. 
 
 Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like 
 thee no worse after dinner, I will not i)art from thee 
 yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner! — Where's my knave] 
 my fool ] Go you, and call my fool hither : 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter ] 
 
 Stew. So please you, — [Exit. 
 
 Lear. What says the fellow there ] Call the clot- 
 poll back. — Where's my fool, ho] — I think the 
 world's asleep. — How now, where's that mongrel ] 
 
 Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not 
 well. 
 
 Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, when 
 I call'd him] 
 
 Knight. Sir, he answcr'd me in the roundest 
 laanner, he would not. 
 
 Lear. He would not! 
 
 Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is ; 
 but, to my judgment, your highness is not enter- 
 tain'd with that ceremonious alfcction as you were 
 wont; there's a great abatement of kindness ap- 
 pears, as well in the general dependants, as in the 
 duke himself also, and your daughter. 
 
 Lear. Ha! say'st thou so] 
 Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if 
 I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be siler', when 
 I think your highness is wrong'd. 
 * Effaced. 
 
 Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own 
 conception ; I have perceived a most faint neglect 
 of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own 
 jealous curiosity,' than as a very jiretcnce*^ and 
 pur[)oae of unkindness : I will look further into't. 
 — But where's my fool] I have not seen him this 
 two days. 
 
 Knight. Since my young lady's going into 
 France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. 
 
 Lear. No more of that ; I have noted it well. — 
 Go, you, and tell my daughter I would speak with 
 her. — Go you, call hither my fool. — 
 
 Re-enter Steward. 
 
 O, you sir, you sir, come you hither: Who am I,sir5 
 
 Stew. My lady's father. 
 
 Lear. My lady's father! my lord's knave: you 
 whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! 
 
 Stew. I am none of this, my lord ; I beseech you, 
 pardon me. 
 
 Lea?: Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal] 
 
 [Striking him. 
 
 Stew, ni not be struck, my lord. 
 
 Kent. Nor tripped neither; you base foot-ball 
 player. [Tripping up his Heels. 
 
 Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou scrvcst me, 
 and I'll love thee. 
 
 Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ; I'll teach you 
 differences ; away, away: If you vi'ill measure your 
 lubber's length again, tarry : but away ; go to 
 Have you wisdom] so. [Pushes the Steward out' 
 
 Lear. Now, mj!- friendly knave, I thank thee : 
 there'searncstof thy service. [Giving Ki^ht Money. 
 Enter Fool. 
 
 Fool. Let me hire him too; — Here's my cox- 
 comb. [Giving Kent his Cap. 
 
 Lear. How now,my pretty knave] how dost thou] 
 
 Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxco.mb. 
 
 Kmt. Why, fool ] 
 
 Fool. Why, for taking one's part that is out of 
 favor: Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind 
 sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly : There, take my 
 coxcomb : Why, this fellow has banish'd two of his 
 daughters, and did the third a blessing against his 
 will ; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my 
 coxcomb. — Hownow, nuncle] 'Would I had two 
 coxcombs, and two daughters ! 
 
 Lear. Why, my boy ] 
 
 Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my 
 coxcombs m3'self : There's mine : beg another of 
 thy daughters. 
 
 Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 
 
 Fool. Trutli's a dog that must to kennel ; ha 
 must be whipp'd out, when Lady, the brach,' may 
 stand by the fire, and stink. 
 
 Lear. A pestilent gall to me ' 
 
 Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speecn. 
 
 Lear. Do. 
 
 Fool. Mark it, nuncle ; — 
 
 Have more than thou showest, 
 Speak less than thou Icnoiccst. 
 Lend less than thou owest,* 
 Ride more than tJioti goest. 
 Learn more than thou trowest/ 
 Set less than thou throwest; 
 Leave thy drink and thy whore, 
 And deep in-a-door, 
 And thou shalt have more 
 Than ttco tens to a score. 
 
 » Punctilious jealousy. 
 • Ownest, possessest. 
 
 • Design. 
 
 • Believest. 
 
 'Bitch-hotmi 
 
{Scene IV. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 8;n 
 
 Lear. This is nothing, fool. 
 Fool. Then 'tis hke the breath of an untee'i? 
 lawyer; you gave me nothing for't: Can you make 
 no use of nothing, nuncle ? 
 
 Lear. \\'hy, no, boy; nothing can he made out 
 (sf nothing. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of 
 his land comes to ; he will not believe a fool. 
 
 [7b Kext. 
 Lear, A bitter fool ! 
 
 FooL Dost thou know the difference, my boy, 
 Between a bitter fool and a sweet fool"! 
 Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
 Fool. That lord, that counaelTd thee, 
 To give awai/ thy land, 
 Come place him here by me, — 
 
 Or do thou for him xtatid: 
 The sivect and Ijiltcr fool 
 Will presently appear,- 
 Tlie one in viollcy here. 
 The other found, out there. 
 Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? 
 Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; 
 that thou wast born with. 
 
 Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
 Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let 
 me ; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part 
 on't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all 
 fool to myself; they'll be snatching. — Give me an 
 egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. 
 Lear. What two crowns shall they be 1 
 FooL Why, after I have cut the egg i'the middle, 
 and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the c^g. 
 When thou clovest thy crown i'tho middle and 
 gavest away bolh ])arts, thou borest thine ass on 
 thy back over the diit : 'J'hou badst little wit in thy 
 bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. 
 If I speak like myself in this, let him be whFpp'd 
 that first finds it so. 
 
 Fooh had ne'er leas r/race^ in a year; [Singing. 
 
 For wise men are ijrown fnjipiali ; 
 And know not how their luits to wear, 
 Their manners are so ajjisJi. 
 Lear. When were you wont to be so full of 
 songs, sirrah 1 
 
 Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou 
 madest thy daughters thy mother : for when thou 
 gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own 
 breeches, 
 
 Then they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing. 
 
 And J for sorrow suvrj. 
 That such a Icing should play bo-pec]), 
 And I/O the fools amonr/. 
 Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach 
 tl.y fool to lie ; I would fiiin learn to lie. 
 
 Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. 
 Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters 
 are : they'll have me whipp'd for sjieaking true, 
 thou'lt have me whipp'd fur lying ; and, sometimes, 
 I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather 
 be any kind of thing, than a fool : and yet I would 
 not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast par'd thy wit o' both 
 sides, and left nothing in the middle: Here comes 
 one o'the parings. 
 
 Enter Go.nkuil. 
 Lear. How now, daughter ! what makes that 
 frontlet'' onl Mcthinks, yju are too much of late 
 i' the frown. 
 
 * Favor. 
 
 • Part of a woman's licad-drcss, tc which Lear compares 
 SO. frowning brow. 
 
 Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thot 
 hadst no need to care for her frowning; i ow tho" 
 art an O ^ without a figure: I am better than thou 
 art now ; I am a fool, ihou art nothing. — Yes, for« 
 sooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face [ To Gon.j 
 bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, 
 
 He that heeps nor crust nor criim. 
 
 Weary of all, .shall want .some. — 
 
 That's a sheal'd jieascod. [Pointing to Leak. 
 
 Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool, 
 But other of your insolent retinue. 
 Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
 In rank and not-lo-bc-cndured riot';. Sir, 
 I had thought, by making this well k/iovvn unto yofi, 
 'I'o have found a safe redress ; but n. iw grow fearful, 
 By what yourself too late have spoke and done, 
 That you protect this course, and put it on 
 By your allowance ;' which if you should, the fault 
 \^'ould not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep; 
 Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,' 
 Might in their working do you that ofifence, 
 Which else were shame, that then necessity 
 Will call discreet proceeding. 
 
 Fool. For you trow, nuncle, 
 
 The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, 
 
 That it had its head bit off by its young. 
 So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling 
 
 Lear. Are you our daughter 1 
 
 Gon. Come, sir, I would, you would make use of 
 that good wisdom whereof I know you arc fraught;'' 
 and put away these dispositions, wliich of late trans* 
 form you from what you rightly are. 
 
 Fool. May not an ass know when the carl draws 
 the horse ! — Whoop, Jug ! I love thee. 
 
 Lear. Docs any here know me ] — Why this is 
 not Lear: does Lear walk thus] speak thusi Where 
 are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, or his 
 discernings arc lethargied. — Sleepingorwaking?^ 
 Ha! sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that can tell me 
 who I am 1 — Lear's shadow 1 I would learn that; 
 for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and 
 reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters. 
 
 Fool. Which they will make an obedient father. 
 
 Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman 1 
 
 Gon. Come, sir ; 
 This admiration is much o' the favor' 
 Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
 To understand my purposes aright : 
 As you arc old and reverend, you should be wise : 
 Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires. 
 Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd, and bold, 
 That this our court, infected with their manners. 
 Shows like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust 
 Make it more like a tavern or a brothel, 
 Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth 
 For instant remedy : Be then dcsir'd [speak 
 
 By her, that else will take the thing she begs, 
 A little to disquantity your train ; 
 And the remainder, that shall still depend,* 
 To be such men as may besort your age, 
 And know themselves and you. 
 
 Ijcar. Darkness and devils !— 
 
 Saddle my horses; call my train together. 
 Degenerate bastard ! I'll not trouble thee ; 
 Yet have I left a daughter. [rabble 
 
 Gon. You strike my people ; and your disorder'd 
 Make servants of their betters. 
 
 ' A cypher. * A mere hu.sk which contains nothing, 
 
 » .\!.pn)l';;tion. ^ Well governed state. 
 
 ' Stored. • Complexion. » Continue in serrica 
 
832 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act I. Scene V 
 
 Enter Albany. 
 
 Lear. Woe, that too late rcpcnts,- 
 you come " 
 
 O, sir, are 
 -Prepare 
 
 \s it your will? [7'o Ai.ii.] Speak, sir. 
 
 my horses. 
 Ingratitude ! thou inarblc-hcartcd fiend, 
 More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child, 
 Than the sca-moiistcr ! 
 
 All). Pray, sir, be patient. 
 
 Lear. Detested kite ! thou liest: [7b Gonkiul. 
 My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 
 That all particulars of duly know; 
 And in the most exact regard support 
 The worships of their name. — O most small fault, 
 How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show ! 
 Which, like an engine,' wrcnch'd my frame of na- 
 ture 
 From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love. 
 And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
 Beat at this gate that let thy folly in, 
 
 \_Sfri/ci)7g his Head. 
 And thy dear judgment out! — Go, go, my people. 
 
 Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
 Of what halli mov'd you. 
 
 Lear. It may he so, my lord. — Hear, nature, 
 hear! 
 Dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if 
 Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful ! 
 Into her womb convey sterility ! 
 Dry up in her the organs of increase; 
 And from her derogate" body never spring 
 A babe to honor her ! If she must teem. 
 Create her child of spleen; that it may live. 
 And be a thwart disnatured (orment to her ! 
 Let it stamj) wrinkles in her brow of youth; 
 With cadent' tears fret channels in her cheeks; 
 Turn all her mother's pains, and bcnelits, 
 To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
 How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 To have a thankless child ! — Away, away ! [Exit. 
 Alb. Now, gods, that we adore,whereof comes this] 
 Gon. Never aflHict yourself to know the cause ; 
 But let his disposition have that scope 
 That dotage gives it. 
 
 Re-enter Lkau. 
 Lear. What, fifty of my followers, at a clap ! 
 Within a fortnight ] 
 
 Alb. What's the matter, sir? 
 
 Lear. I'll tell thee; — Life and death! I am 
 ashamed 
 That thou hast {)ower to shake my manhood thus; 
 
 [To GoNKItlL. 
 
 That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, 
 Sho;ild make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs 
 
 upon thee ! 
 Tilt untented' woundings of a father's curse 
 Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, 
 Bcwcep this cause again, I'll pluck you out ; 
 And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 
 To temper clay. — Ha! is it come to this? 
 Let it be so: — Yet have I left a daughter. 
 Who, I am sure, is kind and coml\)rtable ; 
 When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
 Bhe'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find. 
 That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think 
 have cast oil' for ever; thou shall, I warrant thee. 
 [Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants. 
 
 • Tho. racl^ 
 » Falliuff. 
 
 'J D«!;raclcU. 
 * UrdrcssoJ. 
 
 don. Do you mark that, my lord ? 
 
 Allj. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 
 To the great love I bear you, — 
 
 Gon. Pray you, content. — What, Oswald, ho! 
 You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master 
 
 [7'o the Fool 
 
 Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Leai, tarry, and take 
 the fool with thee. 
 
 A fox, ivhen one has caught her, 
 
 And such a daughter, 
 
 Should sure to the slaughter. 
 
 If m;i cap would buy a halter ; 
 
 So the fool folhncs after. [Exit, 
 
 Gon. This man hath had good counsel : — A 
 hundred knights ! 
 'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep 
 At point,' a hundred knights. Yes, that on every 
 
 dream, 
 Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, 
 lie may enguard his dotage with their powers, 
 And hold our lives in mercy. — Oswald, I say! — 
 
 Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 
 
 Gon. Safer than trust : 
 
 Let me still take away the arms I fear, 
 Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart: 
 What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister ; 
 If she sustain him and his hundred knights. 
 When I have show'd the unfitness, — How now, 
 Oswald ! 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 What, have you writ that letter to my sister 1 
 
 Stew. Ay, madam. 
 
 Gon. Take you some company, and away tc 
 horse : 
 Inform Ix-r full of my particular fear; 
 And thereto add such reasons of your own, 
 As may compact it more. Get you gone ; 
 And hasten your return. [Exit Stew.] No, no, 
 
 my lord. 
 This milky gentleness, and course of yours. 
 Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon, 
 You are much more attask'tl"^ for want of wisdom. 
 Than prais'd for harmful mildness. 
 
 Alb. How liir your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell ; 
 Striving to better, ofl we mar what's well. 
 
 (ron. Nay, then — 
 
 Alb. Weil, well ; the event. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Coitrt before the same. 
 
 Enter Leah, Kent, and Fool. 
 
 Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters; 
 acquaint my daughter no further with any thing 
 you know, than comes from her demand out of the 
 letter : If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be 
 there before you. 
 
 Kc7it. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have deli, 
 vered yo\ir letter. [Exit, 
 
 Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were'l 
 not in danger of kibes ? 
 
 Lrar. Ay, boy. 
 
 Fool. Then, I j)r'ythee, be merry ; thy wit shall 
 not go slip-shod. 
 
 Ijcar. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Fool. Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee 
 kindly : fi>r though she's as like this as a crab is liku 
 an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 
 
 » Annod 6 Liable to reprehension. 
 
A-CT n. Scene 1. 
 
 KING LEAR 
 
 833 
 
 Lear. Whv, wluit canst thou toll, my boy 1 
 
 Fuol. She will tiisto as like this, as a crab docs 
 to a crab. Thou canst tell, why one's nose staTids 
 t the middle of his face 1 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Why, to keep his eyes on cither side his 
 nose ; that what a man cannot smell out, he may 
 spy into. 
 
 Lear. I did her wrong : — 
 
 Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Nor I neither : but I can tell why a snail 
 has a house. 
 
 Lear. Why 1 
 
 Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not tJ give it 
 away to his daughters, and leave his horns without 
 a case. 
 
 Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a fa- 
 ther ! — Be my horses ready 1 
 
 Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. Th^; rea- 
 son why the seven stars are no more than seven, 
 is a pretty reason. 
 
 Lear. Because they arc not ciglit '' 
 
 Fool. Yes, indeed : thou wouldst make a gooo 
 fool. 
 
 Lear. To take it again perforce ! — Monster in- 
 gratitude .' 
 
 F'ool. If thou wort my fool, nunclc, I'd have 
 thcc beaten for being old before thy time. 
 
 Lear. How's that] 
 
 Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old, befor« 
 thou hadst been wise. 
 
 Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet 
 heaven ! Keep me in temper ; I would net L-a 
 mad ! — 
 
 Enter Gentleman. 
 
 How now ! Are the horses ready 1 
 Gent. Ready, my lord. 
 Lear. Come, boy. 
 
 Foul. She that is maid now, and laughs at my 
 dej)arture. 
 Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut 
 shorter. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Court tvilliin the Castle of the 
 Eetrl of Glostci: 
 
 Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting. 
 
 Edm. Save thee, Curan. 
 
 Car. And you, sir. I have been with your 
 (iillier; and given him notice, that the duke of 
 Cornwall, and Regan his duchess, will be here 
 vvilh hiin to-night. 
 
 Edin. How comes that '.' 
 
 Cur. Nay, I know not: You have heard of the 
 news abroad ; I mean the whispered ones, for they 
 arc yet but ear-kissing arguments? 
 
 Edni. Not I ; 'Pray you, what are they 1 
 
 Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 
 'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany ! 
 
 Edm. Not a word. 
 
 Cur. You may then, in time. Fare you well, sir. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Edm. 'J'he duke be here to-night? The better! 
 Best ! 
 This weaves itself perforce into my Ijusiness ! 
 My father hath set guard to take my brotiicr ; 
 And I have one thing of a queazy' question. 
 Which I must act : — Briefness, and fortune, 
 
 work ! — 
 Brother, a word; descend: — Brother, I say; 
 
 Enter Ei)fiAii. 
 
 My father watches : — O sir, fly this place ; 
 Intelligence is given where you are liid ; 
 V'ou have now the good advantage of the night: — 
 Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall? 
 He's coming hilher; now i' the night, i' the haste. 
 And Regan with him ; Have you nothing said 
 Ujion his i)arty 'gainst the duke of Albany ? 
 Advise' yourself. 
 
 Edf^. I am sure on't, not a word. 
 
 Edm. I hear my lather coming, — Pardon me : — 
 [n cunning, I must draw my sword upon you : — 
 Draw: Seem to defend yourself: Now quit you 
 well. 
 * Delicate. • Consider, recollect yourself. 
 
 Yield: — come before my father; — Light, no 
 
 here !— 
 Fly, brother; — Torches! torches! So farewell. — 
 
 [^L'tXit Edoah. 
 Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 
 
 [^W'oundf Ill's Arm. 
 Of my more fierce endeavor: I have seen drunkards 
 Do more than this in sport. — Father ! father ! 
 Stop, stop ! No help ? 
 
 Enter Glostkii, and Servants with Torches. 
 
 do. Now, Edmund, whore's the villain? 
 
 Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp swoid 
 out, 
 Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon 
 To stand his auspicious mistress : — 
 
 Glo. But where is he 1 
 
 Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 
 
 do. Where is the villain, Edmund ? 
 
 Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means 
 he could — 
 
 do. Pursue him, ho ! — Go after. — [Exit Serv.] 
 By no means, — what ? 
 
 Edm. Persuade nuUo the murder of yniu' lordship; 
 But that I told him, the revenging gods 
 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; 
 Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
 The child was bound to the tiuher; — Sir, in finft, 
 Seeing how loathly o])p()site I stood 
 To bis unnatural ])urj)ose, in fell motion, 
 W^ith his jMopared sword, he charges home 
 My uni)rovided body, lanced mine arm : 
 But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, 
 Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encountci 
 Or whether gastod" by the noise I made. 
 Full suddenly bo fled. 
 
 Glo. T-ct him fly far : 
 
 Not in this land shall he remain uncaught ; 
 Andfound^Despatch. — The noble duke my masi*" 
 My worthy arch ' and patron, comes to-night : 
 By his authority I will proclaim it, 
 That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanka * 
 » Friithted. ' Chief 
 
S84 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Bringing the murJerous coward to the stake ; 
 He, that conceals him, death. 
 
 Edni. When I dissuaded him from his intent, 
 And found him pight' to do it, with curst' speech 
 I threaten'd to discover him : He replied, 
 Thou unpossessiiig bastard.' dost thou think. 
 If I would stand against thee, would the reposal 
 Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee 
 Make thy words faith' d? No.- what I should deny, 
 {As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce 
 My very character,) Vd turn it all 
 To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: 
 And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
 If they not thought the profits of my death 
 Were very pregnant and potential spurs 
 To make thee seek it. 
 
 Glo. Strong and fasten'd villain ! 
 
 Would he deny his letter' — I never got him. 
 
 [^Trumpets within. 
 Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not why he 
 
 comes: — 
 All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; 
 The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture 
 I will send far and near, that all the kingdom 
 May have due note of him ; and of my land, 
 Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means 
 To make thee capable.* 
 
 Enter Couxwali., Rerax, a7id Attendants. 
 
 Corti. How now, my noble friend ? since I came 
 hither, 
 ( Which I can call but now,) I have heard strange 
 news. 
 
 Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short, 
 Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord! 
 
 Glo. 0. madam, my old heart is crack'd, is crack'd! 
 
 Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your lifel 
 He vvhom my father named 1 your Edgar "? 
 
 Glo. O lady, lady, shame would have it hid! 
 
 Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous 
 knights 
 That tend upon my father 1 
 
 Glo. I know not, madam : 
 
 It is too bad, too bad. — 
 
 Edm. Yes, madam, he was. 
 
 Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill affected; 
 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, 
 To have the waste and spoil of his revenues. 
 I have this present evening from my sister 
 Been well inform'd of them ; and with such cautions, 
 That, if they come to sojourn at my house, 
 I'll not be there. 
 
 Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. — 
 
 Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father 
 A child-like office. 
 
 Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. 
 
 Glo. He did bewray his practice ; ' and receiv'd 
 This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 
 
 Corn. Is he pursued] 
 
 Glo. Ay, my good lord, he is. 
 
 Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more 
 Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose, 
 How in my strength you please. — For you, Ed- 
 mund, 
 Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
 Bo much commend itself, you shall be ours; 
 Natures of such deep trust we shall much need ; 
 Vou we first seize on. 
 
 a Pitched, fixed. =■ Severe harsh, 
 
 ♦i. e. Capable of succeeding to my land. 
 • Wicked purpose. 
 
 Act n, 
 
 I shall serve you, eb 
 
 Edm. 
 Truly, however else. 
 
 Glo. For him, I thank your grace. 
 
 Corn. You know not vs'hv we came to visit you, — 
 
 Reg. Thus out or season; threading dark-ey'tl 
 night. 
 Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poise,'' 
 Wherein we must have use of your advice: — 
 Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister. 
 Of differences, which I best thought it fit 
 To answer from our home; the several messengers 
 From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend-, 
 Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow 
 Your needful counsel to our business, 
 Which craves the instant use. 
 
 Glo. I serve you, madara: 
 
 Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.—Before Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Kent a7id Steward, severally, 
 
 -S/ew. Good dawni.ig to thee, friend : Art of the 
 
 Kent. Ay. [house ^ 
 
 Stew. Where may we set our horses 1 
 
 Kent. V the mire. 
 
 Stew. Pr'ythce, if thou love me, tell me. 
 
 Kent. I love thee not. 
 
 Stew. Why, then I care not for thee. 
 
 Kent. If 1 had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would 
 make thee care for me. 
 
 Stew. Why dost thou use me thus ] I know thee 
 
 Kent. Fellow, I know thee. [not. 
 
 Stew. What dost thou know me for 1 
 
 Kent. A knave ; a rascal, an eater of broken 
 meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly ,three-suited, 
 hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a 
 lily-liver'd, action-taking knave ; a whoreson, glass- 
 gazing, supersei-viceable, finical rogue: one-trunk- 
 inheriting slave ; one that wouldst be a bawd, in 
 way of good service, and art nothing but the com- 
 position of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and 
 the son of an heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom 
 I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deny'st 
 the least syllable of thy addition.'' 
 
 Stew. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, 
 thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, 
 nor knows thee 1 
 
 Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, ii 
 deny thou know'st me ! Is it two days ago, since I 
 tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king ] 
 Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, the 
 moon shines; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of 
 you: Draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-mon 
 ger, draw. [Drawing his Sword 
 
 Stew. Away ; I have nothing to do with thee. 
 
 Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with letters 
 against the king ; and take Vanity* the puppet's 
 part, against the royalty of her father: Draw, you 
 rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks: — draw, you 
 rascal; come your ways. 
 
 Stew. Help, ho! murder! help! 
 
 Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand- 
 you neat slave, strike. [Beating him. 
 
 Stew. Heljj, ho! murder! murder! 
 
 Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Glosteh, 
 and Servants. 
 
 Edm. How now 7 What's the matter] Part. 
 Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please ; 
 come, I'll flesh you; come on, young master. 
 Weight '• Titles. • A character In the old moralities 
 
Sf'KiNR [T. 
 
 KING LEAR 
 
 835 
 
 GA^ \Veaj)0.is! arms! What's the matter here? 
 
 Corn. Keep peace, upon your hves ; 
 He dies, that strikes -again: What is the matter? 
 
 Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. 
 
 Corn. What is your differenced speak. 
 
 Slew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 
 
 Kent. No marvel, you have so bcstirr'd your 
 Valor. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in 
 thee ; a tailor made thee. 
 
 Corn. Thou art a strange fellow : a tailor make 
 a man ! 
 
 Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter, or a pain- 
 ter, could not have made him so ill, though they 
 had been but two hours at the trade. 
 
 Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ] 
 
 Stew. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have 
 At suit of his grey beard, — [spared, 
 
 Keiit. Thou whoreson zed ! thou unnecessary 
 letter ! — My lord, if you will give me leave, I will 
 tread this unbolted' villain into mortar, and daub 
 the wall of a jakcs' with him. — Spare my grey 
 beard, you wagtail ! 
 
 Corn. Peace, sirrah! 
 You beastly knave, know you no reverence ] 
 
 Kent. Yes, sir; but anger has a privilege. 
 
 Corn. Why art thou angry"! 
 
 Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a 
 sword, 
 Who wears no honesty. Such snailing rogues as 
 
 these, 
 Like rats, oft bile the holy cords atwain 
 Which are too intrinse' t' unloose: smooth every 
 
 passion 
 That in the natures of their lords rebels ; 
 Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; 
 Renege,' afiirm, and turn their halcyon ^ beaks 
 With every gale and vary of their masters, 
 As knowing nought, like dogs, but following. — 
 A plague upon your epileptic visage! 
 Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool T 
 Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 
 I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.' 
 
 Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow 1 
 
 Glu. How fell you out? 
 
 Say that. 
 
 Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, 
 Than I and such a knave. 
 
 Corn. Why dost thou call him knave ? What's 
 his offence? 
 
 Kent. His countenance likes me not. 
 
 Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or 
 hers. 
 
 Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain; 
 I have seen better faces in my time, 
 'J'lian stands on any shoulder that f sec 
 B;fore me at this instant. 
 
 Corn. This is some fellow, 
 
 Who, having been prais'd for bluntnc-ss, dolh affect 
 A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb. 
 Quite from his nature: He cannot flatter, he! — 
 \n honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth: 
 And they will take it, so; if not, he's plain, 
 'i'hesekindof knaves I know, which in tliis plainness 
 Harbor more craft, and more corrupter ends, 
 J'lian twenty silly ducking observants, 
 That stretch their duties nicely. 
 
 "Unrefined. 'Privy. 'Perplexed. aoisown. 
 
 'The tint called the kin^-tisher, which, wlien dried ;ind 
 mini; wy liy a llireud, is suiijiDsed to turn his bill to the 
 poin* from whence the wind blows. 
 ' In Somersetsh ire, where are bre(f great (quantities of p;eeso. 
 
 Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, 
 Under the allowance of your grand asjiect. 
 Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire 
 On flickering Phoebus' front, — 
 
 Corn. What mean'st by this '. 
 
 Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis» 
 commend so much. I know, sir, I am rjo flatterer: 
 he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain 
 knave ; which, for my part, I will not be, though I 
 should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. 
 
 Corn. What was the offence you gave him ? 
 
 Stew. Never any . 
 
 It pleas'd the king his master, very late. 
 To strike at me, upon his misconstruclir?i ; 
 When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, 
 Tripp'd me behind : being down, insulted, rail d, 
 And put upon him such a deal of man, 
 'J'hat worthy 'd him, got praises of the king 
 For him attempting who was self-subdued; 
 And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 
 Drew on me here. 
 
 Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards, 
 
 But Ajax is their fool.' 
 
 Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho ! 
 
 You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend braggart. 
 We'll teach you 
 
 Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn- 
 
 Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; 
 On whose employment I was sent to you ; 
 You shall do small re-spect, show too bold malice 
 Against the grace and person of my master, 
 Stocking his messenger. 
 
 Cm-n. Fetch forth the stocks 
 
 As I've life and honor, there shall he sit till noon. 
 
 Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all 
 night too. 
 
 Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog. 
 You should not use me so. 
 
 Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will 
 
 \_Stocks brought out. 
 
 Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same color 
 Our sister speaks of: — Come, bring away the stocks. 
 
 Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so : 
 His fault is much, and the good king his master 
 Will check him for't: your puipos'd low correction 
 Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches, 
 For pilferings and most common trespasses. 
 Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill, 
 That he's so slightly valued in his messengei, 
 Should have him thus restrain'd. 
 
 Corn. I'll answer that. 
 
 Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse, 
 To have her gentleman abused, assaulted. 
 For following her affairs. — Put in his legs. — 
 
 [Kknt is put in the Stoc/as 
 Come, my good lord; away. 
 
 [Exeunt Rkoax and Cornwall. 
 
 Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the duke's 
 pleasure, 
 Whose disposition, all the world well knows, 
 W^ill not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd : ["ll entreat for 
 thee. 
 
 Kent. Pray, do not, sir; I have watch'd, and 
 travell'd hard; 
 Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. 
 A good man's fortune may grow out at heels: 
 Give you good-morrow ! 
 
 Gh). The duke's to blame in this: 'twill be ill 
 taken. [Erii 
 
 't. e. .\jax is a fool to them. 
 
836 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Kent. Good king, that must approve the common 
 saw ! ^ 
 Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st 
 To the warm sun ! 
 
 Approach, thou beacon to this under globe. 
 That by thy comfortable beams I may 
 Perust -his letter ! — Nothing almost sees miracles, 
 But misery; — I know 'tis from Cordelia; 
 Who hath most fortunately been inform'd 
 Of my obscured course; and shall find time 
 From this enormous state, — seeking to give 
 Losses their remedies: — All weary and o'erwatch'd. 
 Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
 This shameful lodging. 
 
 Fortune, good night ; smile once more ; turn thy 
 wheel ! [He sleeps. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Part nf *he Heath. 
 Enter Edrak. 
 
 Eclg. I heard myself proclaim'd: 
 And, by the happy hollow of a tree, 
 Escap'd the hunt. No port is free ; no place, 
 That guard, and most unusual vigilance. 
 Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape, 
 I will preserve myself: and am bethought 
 To take the basest and most poorest shape. 
 That ever penury, in contempt of man. 
 Brought near to beast : my face I'll grime with filth; 
 Blanket my loins: elf' all my hair in knots; 
 And with presented nakedness outface 
 The winds, and persecutions of the sky. 
 The country gives me proof and precedent 
 Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices. 
 Strike in their nuinb'd and mortified bare arms 
 Pins, wooden pricks,' nails, sprigs of rosemary ; 
 And with this horrible object, from low farms. 
 Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills. 
 Sometime with lunatic bans," sometime with prayers, 
 Enforce their charity .— Poor Turlygood! poor Tom! 
 That's something yet; — Edgar I nothing am. 
 
 [Exit. 
 SCENE lY.— Before Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Leab, Fool, and Gentleman. 
 
 Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart 
 from home, 
 *nd not send back my messenger. 
 
 Gent. As I learn'd, 
 
 The night before there was no purpose in them 
 Of this remove. 
 
 Kent. Hail to thee, noble master! 
 
 Lear. How ! 
 Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime 1 
 
 Kent. No, my lord. 
 
 Fool. Ha, ha ; look ! he wears cruel ' garters ! 
 florses are tied by the heads ; dogs and bears, by 
 the neck ; monkies by the loins ; and men by the 
 legs: when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he 
 wears wooden nether stocks.'' 
 
 Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place 
 mistook 
 To set thee here ? 
 
 Kent. It is both he and she, 
 
 Vour son and daughter. 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Kent. Yes. 
 
 » Saying or proverb. 
 
 ' Hair thus knotted was supposed to be the work of 
 (Ives and fairies in the night. 
 « Skewers. ' Curses. 
 
 » A quibble on creivel, worsted. 
 • The old word for stockings. 
 
 Lear. No, I s:iy. 
 
 Kent. I say, yen. 
 
 Lear. No, no ; they would not. 
 
 Kent. Yes, they have. 
 
 Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 
 
 Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 
 
 Lear. They durst not do't; [murdei 
 
 They could not, would not do't ; 'tis worse than 
 To do upon respect such violent outrage : 
 Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 
 Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage, 
 Coming from us. 
 
 Ke7it. My lord, when at their homfi 
 
 I did commend your highness' letters to them, 
 Ere I was risen from the place that show'd 
 My duty kneeling, came there a reeking po.st, 
 Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
 From Goneril his mistress, salutations ; 
 Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission, 
 Which presently they read: on whose contents, 
 They summon'd up their meiny," straight took 
 Commanded me to follow, and attend [horse ; 
 The leisure of their answer : gave me cold looks • 
 And meeting hei-e the other messenger, 
 Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine, 
 (Being the very fellow that of late 
 Di.splay'd so saucily against your highness,) 
 Having more man than wit about me, drew : 
 He raised the house with loud and coward cries • 
 Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
 The shame which here it suffers. 
 
 Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the loild geese fly 
 that %cay. 
 Fathers, that wear rags. 
 
 Do make their children blind; 
 But fathers, that bear bags, 
 
 Shall see their children kind. 
 Fortune, that arrant whore, 
 Ne'er turn'd the hey to the poor. — 
 But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolors 
 for thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year. 
 
 Lear. 0, how this mother' swells up toward my 
 heart ! 
 Hi/sterica passio.' down, thou climbing sorrow, 
 Thy element's below ! — Where is this daughter 1 
 
 Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 
 
 Lear. Follow me not ; 
 
 Stay here. [^Exit. 
 
 Gent. Made you no more offence than what you 
 
 Kent. None. [speak of? 
 
 How chance the king comes with so small a train 1 
 
 Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for 
 that question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
 
 Kent. Why, fool? 
 
 Fool.We'W set thee to school to an ant,to teach thee 
 there's no laboring in the winter. All that follow 
 their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men ; and 
 there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell, 
 him that's stinking. Let go thy hold, when a great 
 wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with 
 following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, 
 let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee 
 better counsel, give me mine again: I would have 
 none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. 
 
 That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain. 
 
 And folloiDS but for form, 
 Will pack, when it begins to rain, 
 
 And leave thee in the storm, 
 
 > People, train or retinue, 
 
 « A quibble between dolors and doUan. 
 
 • The disease called the mother. 
 
8CKNK IV. 
 
 KING LEAK. 
 
 837 
 
 Bui I tvill tarry, the fool will stay, 
 
 And let the wise man Jly, 
 The knave turns fool, that runs away,- 
 The fool no knave, perdy. 
 Kent. Where learned you this, fool ? 
 Fool. Not i'the stocks, fool. 
 
 Re-enter Leah, with Glosteh. 
 
 Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sickl 
 they are weary 1 
 They have travell'd hard to-night 1 Mere fetches; 
 The images of revolt and flying off! 
 Fetch me a better answer. 
 
 Glo. My dear lord, 
 
 You know the fiery quality of the duke; 
 How unremoveable and fix'd he is 
 In his own course. 
 
 Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion ! 
 Fiery 1 what quality 1 Why, Gloster, Gloster, 
 I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife. 
 
 Glo. W"ell,my good lord, I have inform'd them so. 
 
 Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand me, 
 man? 
 
 Glo. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the 
 dear father 
 Would with his daughter speak, commands her 
 service : 
 
 Are they inform'd of thisi My breath and 
 
 blood !— 
 Fiery 1 the fiery duke ? — Tell the hot duke that — 
 No, but not yet: — may be he is not well: 
 Infirmity doth still neglect all ofliice, 
 Whereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves, 
 VVhen nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 
 To suffer with the body: I'll forbear; 
 And am fallen out with my more headier will, 
 To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
 For the sound man. — Death on my state ! wherefore 
 
 l_Looking on Kent. 
 Should he sit here T This act persuades me. 
 That this remotion' of the duke and her 
 Is practice'' only. Give me my servant forth : 
 Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them, 
 Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me. 
 Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum. 
 Till it cry — Sleep to death. 
 
 Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. \_Exit. 
 
 Lear. O mc, my heart, my rising heart! — but, 
 down. 
 
 Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the 
 eels, when she put them i'the paste alive; she rapp'd 
 'em o'the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, Down, 
 wantons, down: 'Twas her brother, that in pure 
 kindness to his horse, buttered his hay. 
 
 ZJn/erConNWALL, Regan, GLosTEu,ancf Servants. 
 
 Lear. Good morrow to you both. 
 Corn. Hail to your grace ! 
 
 [Kent is set at liberty. 
 Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 
 Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what 
 reason 
 I have to think so : if thou shouldst not be glad, 
 I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb. 
 Sepulchring an adultrcss. — O, are you free ? 
 
 [7'o Kent. 
 Some other time for that. — Beloved Regan, 
 
 • Removing from their own house. 
 54 
 
 ' Artifice. 
 
 Thy sister's naught: O, Regan, she hath tied 
 Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here. — 
 
 [Points to his Heart 
 I can scarce speak to thee; tliou'lt not believe. 
 Of how deprav'd a quality.- — O, Regan ! 
 
 Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hope, 
 You less know how to value her desert, 
 Than she to scant her duty. 
 
 Lear. Say, how is that ? 
 
 Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least 
 Would fail her obligation: If, sir, perchance, 
 She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, 
 As clears her from all blame. 
 
 Lear. My curses on her ! 
 
 Reg. O, sir, you arc old ; 
 
 Nature in you stands on the very verge 
 Of her confine: you should be rul'd, and led 
 By some discretion, that discerns your state 
 Better than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you, 
 That to our sister you do make return; 
 Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. 
 
 Lear. Ask her forgiveness 7 
 
 Do you but mark how this becomes the house;' 
 Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; 
 Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg, [Kneeling. 
 IViat youUl vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 
 
 Reg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightlv 
 tricks : 
 Return you to my sistec 
 
 Lear. Never, Regan: 
 
 She hath abated me of half my train ; 
 Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongui,, 
 Most serpent-like, upon the very heart: — 
 All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
 On her ingrateful top ! Strike her young bones 
 You taking airs, with lameness! 
 
 Corn. Fye, fye, fye! 
 
 Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding 
 flames 
 Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty. 
 You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun 
 To fall and blast her pride ! 
 
 Reg. the blest gods ! 
 
 So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on 
 
 Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my cursej 
 Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
 Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thine 
 Do comfort, and not burn: 'Tis not in thee 
 To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train. 
 To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes," 
 .\nd, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
 Against my coming in : thou better know'st 
 The offices of nature, bond of childhood. 
 Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; 
 Thy half o'the kingdom hast thou not forgot 
 Wherein I thee endow'd. 
 
 Reg. Good sir, to the purpose 
 
 [Trumpets ivithin, 
 
 Lear. Who put my man i'the stocks? 
 
 Corn. What trumpet's that? 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 
 Reg. I know't, my sister's: this approves \w 
 letter. 
 That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come? 
 
 Lear. This is a slave, whose ea.sy borrow'd prid« 
 Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows:— 
 Out, varlct, fiom my sight! 
 
 < The order of families. » Contract my allowanofl* 
 
338 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act II. Scene IV 
 
 Com. What means your grace 1 
 
 Lear. Who stock'd my servant 1 Regan, I have 
 good hope 
 Thou didst not know oft. — Who comes herel O 
 heavens, 
 
 Enter Goneuil. 
 If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
 Allow' obedience, if yourselves are old. 
 Make it your cause ; send down, and take my part! 
 Art not ashamed to look upon this beard 1 — 
 
 [To GoNEnii,. 
 
 Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 
 
 Gon. Why not by the hand, sir ] How have I 
 offended 1 
 All's not offence, that indiscretion finds, 
 And dotage terms so. 
 
 Lear. O, sides, you are too tough ! 
 
 Will you yet hold?— IIovv came my man i'the stocks? 
 
 Cmvi. I set him there, sir : but his own disorders 
 Deserv'd much less advancement. 
 
 Lear. You ! did you 1 
 
 Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
 If, till the expiratfion of your month, 
 You will return and sojourn with my sister. 
 Dismissing half your train, come then to me; 
 
 1 am now from home, and out of that provision 
 Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 
 
 Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? 
 No, rather I abjure ail roofs, and choose 
 To wage against the enmity o'the air; 
 To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 
 Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her ? 
 Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowcrless took 
 Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 
 To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
 To keep base life afoot: — Return with her? 
 Persuade me rather to be slave and sumptcr' 
 To this detested groom. [^Looking on the Steward. 
 
 Gon. At your choice, sir. 
 
 Lea): I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad; 
 I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
 We'll no more meet, no more see one another :— 
 But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; 
 Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh, 
 Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil, 
 A plague-sore, an cmboss'd' carbuncle, 
 In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide tliee ; 
 Let shame come when it will, I do not call it: 
 I did not bid the thunder-bearer shoot. 
 Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove: 
 Mend when thou canst ; be better at thy leisure : 
 I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
 I, and my hundred knights. 
 
 lieg. Not altogether so, sir ; 
 
 I looked not for you yet, nor am provided 
 I'or your fit welcome : Give ear, sir, to my sister 
 I'^or those that mingle reason with your passion. 
 Must be content to think you old, and so — 
 But she knows what she does. 
 
 Lear. Is this well spoken now? 
 
 Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers? 
 Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? 
 Yea, or so many ? sith' that both charge and danger 
 Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house 
 Should many people, under two commands. 
 Hold amity ? 'Tis hard ; almost impossible, [ance 
 
 Gon. Why might notyou, my lord, receive attend- 
 From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? 
 
 » Approve. »A horse that carries necessaries on a journey. 
 •Swelling. « Since. 
 
 Reg. Why not, my lord ? If then they chanced 
 
 to slack you. 
 We could control them : If you will come to mOj 
 (For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you 
 To bring but five and twenty ; to no more 
 Will I give place or notice. 
 
 Lear. I gave you all — 
 
 Reg. And in good time you gave it. 
 
 Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries ; 
 But kept a reservation to be follow'd 
 With such a number: What, must I come to yon 
 With five and twenty, Regan? said you so? 
 
 Reg. And speakit again, my lord; nomorewitli 
 me. 
 
 Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- 
 favor'd. 
 When others are more wicked ; not being the worst 
 Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ; 
 
 [7'o GoNElllt. 
 
 Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, 
 And thou art twice her love. 
 
 Gon. Hear me, my lord, 
 
 What need you five and twenty, ten, or five. 
 To follow in a house, where twice so many 
 Have a command to tend you ? 
 
 Rcc 
 
 What need one? 
 
 Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggai 
 Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
 Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
 Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art.a lady; 
 If only to go warm were gorgeous. 
 Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wea/ st, 
 Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — But, for true 
 
 need, — 
 You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need' 
 You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 
 As full of grief as age; wretched in both ! 
 If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
 Against their father ; fool me not so much 
 To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
 0, let not won^icn's weapons, water-drops. 
 Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural hags, 
 I will have such revenges on you both. 
 That all the world shall — I will do such things, — 
 What they are, yet I know not ; but they shall be 
 The terrors of the earth. You think, Til weep; 
 No, I'll not weep: — 
 
 I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
 Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 
 Or ere I'll weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad ! 
 
 \_Exe11r2t Lkah, Glosteu, Kkxt, and Fool. 
 
 Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. 
 
 ISiorni heard at a distance. 
 
 Reg. This house 
 
 Is little; the old man and his people cannot 
 Be well bestow'd. 
 
 Gon. 'Tis his own blame; he hath put 
 
 Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly, 
 
 Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, 
 But not one follower. 
 
 Gon. So am I purpos'u. 
 
 Where is my lord of Gloster ? 
 
 Re-enter Glosteu. 
 
 Corn. Follow'd the old man forth; — he is re- 
 
 turn'd. 
 Glo. The king is in high rage. 
 Corn. Whither is he going ? 
 
 Glo. He calls to horse ; but will I know no< 
 
 whither. 
 
Act JIL Scene II. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 83!) 
 
 Cojn. 'T:s best to give him way; he leads himself. 
 
 Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. 
 
 Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak 
 winds 
 Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about 
 There's scarce a bush. 
 
 Keg. O, sir, to wilful men, 
 
 ■^he injuries that they themselves procure, 
 
 Must be their schoolmasters : Shut up your doors 
 He is attended with a desperate train ; 
 And what they may incense' him to, being apt 
 To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear 
 
 Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a wild 
 night: 
 My Regan counsels well : come out o'the storm. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE \.—A Heath. 
 
 A Storm is heard, with Thimder and Lightning. 
 Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting. 
 
 Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather 1 
 Gent. One minded like the weather, most un- 
 
 quietly. 
 Kent. I know you; Where's the kingi 
 Gent. Contending with the fretful element : 
 Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, 
 Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, 
 That things might change, or cease : tears his 
 
 white hair: 
 Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, 
 Catch in their fury, and make nothing of: 
 Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 
 The to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain. 
 This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear * would 
 
 couch. 
 The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 
 Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs. 
 And bids what will take all. 
 
 Kent. But who is with him 1 
 
 Ge?it. None but the fool ; who labors to out-jest 
 His heart-struck injuries. 
 
 Kent. Sir, I do know you ; 
 
 And dare, upon the warrant of my heart. 
 Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, 
 Although as yet the face ol it be cover'd 
 With mutual cunning, 'twixt Alhany and Cornwall; 
 Who have (as who have not, that their great stars 
 Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less; 
 Which are to France the spies and speculations 
 Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen, 
 Either in snuffs and packings' of the dukes; 
 Or the hard rein wliich both of them have borne 
 Against the old kind king: or something deeper, 
 Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings :* — 
 But, true it is, from France there comes a power 
 Into this scatter'd kingdom ; who already. 
 Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 
 In some of our best ports, and are at point 
 To show their open banner. — Now to you : 
 If on my credit you dare build so far 
 To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 
 Some that will thaidi you, making just report 
 Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 
 The king hath cause to 'plain. 
 ( am a gentleman of blood and breeding; 
 And from some knowledge and assurance, offer 
 This oflice to you. 
 
 Gi'iil. I will talk further with you. 
 Kent. No, do not. 
 
 Por confirmation that I am mucn more 
 
 'Whose dugs <ire drawn dry by its young. 
 vVnujfs arc dislikes, and packings underhand contri- 
 vanci^s. • Samples. 
 
 Than my out wall, open this purse, and take 
 What it contains : If you shall see Cordelia, 
 (As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring ; 
 And she will tell you who your fellow is 
 That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm ! 
 I will go seek the king. 
 
 Gent. Give me your hand: Have you no morn 
 to say ■? 
 
 Kent. Few words, but to effect,more than allyet 
 That, when we have found the king, (in which 
 
 your pain 
 That way ; I'll this,) he that first lights on him. 
 Holla the other. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE U.— Another Part of the Heath. 
 
 Storm continues. 
 
 Enter Leau and Fool. 
 
 Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! ra^' 
 
 You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout [blow 
 
 Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the 
 
 cocks ! 
 You sulphurous and thought-executing' fires, 
 Vaunt couriers' to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts. 
 Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking 
 
 thunder. 
 Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! 
 Crack nature's moulds, all gcrmins spill at once. 
 That make ingrateful man ! 
 
 Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water' in a dry house 
 is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good 
 nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's 
 a night pities neither wise men nor fools. 
 
 Lear. Rumble thy belly-full! Spit, fire! spout, rain! 
 Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: 
 I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, 
 I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, 
 You owe me no subscription;' why then, let fall 
 Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand your slave, 
 A poor infirm, weak, and despised old man ; — 
 But yet I call yon servile ministers, 
 That have with two pernicious daughters join';!. 
 Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head 
 So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! 
 
 Fool. He that has a house to put his head jn, 
 has a good head-piece. 
 
 The cod-piece that will house, 
 
 Before the head has any. 
 The head and he shall louse; — 
 
 So beggars marry many. 
 The man that makes his toe 
 
 What he his heart should make. 
 Shall of a corn cry woe, 
 And turn his sleep to wake. 
 — for there was never yet fair woman, but sh« 
 made mouths in a glass. 
 
 'Instigate. » Quick as thouglit. * Avant couriers, VTcmii 
 « A proverbial phrase fox fair words. » Obed ien m 
 
Ma 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act m 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 
 be the pattern of all patience, I 
 
 Lear. No, T wi 
 will say nothing. 
 
 Kent. Who's there T 
 
 Fuol. Marry, here's grace, and a cotl-piece ; that's 
 ii wine man, and a fool. 
 
 Ki'iif. Alas, sir, are you here ? things that love 
 night, 
 l.ne not such nights as these: the wrathful skies 
 Gallow^ the very vs^anderers of the dark, 
 A nd make them keep their caves. Since I was man, 
 fAich sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder. 
 Such groans of roaring v/ind and rain, I never 
 Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry 
 The affliction, nor the fear. 
 
 Lear. Let the great gods, 
 
 That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads. 
 Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch. 
 That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
 Unwhipp'd of justice : Hide thee, thou bloody hand ; 
 Thou perjur'd, and thou simular* man of virtue, 
 Thou art incestuous : Caitiff, to pieces shake. 
 That under covert and convenient seeming 
 Hast practised on man's life: — Close pent-up guilts, 
 Kive your concealing continents, and cry 
 These dreadful summoncrs grace." — I am a man. 
 More sinn'd against than sinning. 
 
 Kent. Alack, bare-headed! 
 
 Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
 Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest; 
 Repose you there : while I to this hard house 
 (More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis raised; 
 Which evea but now, demanding after you, 
 Denied me to come in (return, and force 
 Their scanted courtesy. 
 
 Lear. My wits begin to turn, — 
 
 Come on, my boy : How dost, my boy 1 Art cold 1 
 1 am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow? 
 The art of our necessities is strange, [hovel, 
 
 That can make vile things precious. Come, your 
 Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
 Thai's sorry yet for thee. 
 
 Fool. He that has a little ti7iy wit, — 
 
 With heigh, ho, theivindandthe rain, — 
 Must make content with liis fortunes fit; 
 For the rain il raineth every day." 
 
 Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to 
 this hovel. [Exeunt Lear and Kent. 
 
 Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. 
 I'll speak a prophecy ere I go : 
 
 When priests are more in word than matter,- 
 
 When brewers mar their malt loifh water,- 
 
 When nobles are their taihirs^ tutors,- 
 
 No heretics buni'd, hut wenches' suitors: 
 
 When every case in law is right, - 
 
 No squirt in debt, nor no poor knight, - 
 
 Wlien slanders do not live in tongucs,- 
 
 Nvr cutpwses come not to throngs,- 
 
 When usurers tell their gold «' the field,- 
 
 And bawds and whores do churches build; — 
 
 Then shall the realm of Albion 
 
 Come to great confusion. 
 
 Then comes the time, tuho lives to see't, 
 
 That going shall be used with feet. 
 
 This prophecy Merlin shall make: for I live before 
 Bis time. [Exit. 
 
 3 Soiiip or fi-if!:hten. 'Counterfeit. f Favor. 
 
 « P;ut iif the clown's song iu Twelfth Night. 
 
 SCENE HL— ^ Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Gloster and Edmund. 
 
 Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un- 
 natural dealing: 'When I desired their leave that \ 
 might pity him, they took from me the use of mine 
 own house ; charged me on pain of their perpetual 
 displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for 
 him, nor any way sustain him. 
 
 Edm. Most savage, and unnatural ! 
 
 Glo. Go to ; say you nothing : There is division 
 between the dukes ; and a worse matter than that : 
 I have received a letter this night; — 'tis dangerous 
 to be spoken ; — I have locked the letter in my 
 closet : these injuries the king now bears will be 
 revenged home ; there is pact of a power already 
 footed : we must inclihe to the king. I will seek 
 him, and privily relieve him : go yon, and maintain 
 talk with the duke, that my charity he not of him 
 perceived : If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to 
 bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me, 
 the king my old master must be relieved. There 
 is some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, 
 be careful. [Exit. 
 
 Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke 
 Instantly know ; and of that letter too : — 
 This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
 That which my father loses ; no less than all : 
 The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Part of the Heath, ivith a Hovel. 
 
 Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 
 
 Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord, 
 The tyranny of the open night's too rough [enter ; 
 For nature to endure. [iitorm still. 
 
 Lear. Let me alone. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Wilt break my heart T 
 
 Kent. I'd rather break mine own: Good my lord, 
 enter. [tious storm 
 
 Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this conten- 
 Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; 
 But where the greater malady is fix'd, 
 The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear : 
 But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 
 Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the 
 
 mind's free, 
 The body's dehcate : the tempest in my mind 
 Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
 Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude ! 
 Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand, 
 For lifting food to't 1 — But I will punish home ; — 
 No, I will weep no more. — In such a night 
 To shut me out ! — Pour on ; I will endure : 
 In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goncril ! — 
 Your old king father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
 O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that : 
 No more of that. — 
 
 Kent, Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease: 
 This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
 On things would hurt me more.^ — But I'll go in: 
 In boy; go first. — [To the Fool.] You houselcsi 
 
 poverty, — 
 Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll slrej).— 
 
 [Fool goes in 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'cr you are. 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless stoiii. 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfi'l si 'i' 
 Your loop'd, and window'd raggednt ss, d'-<'' ".'' • 
 From seasons such as these'' D. ! have ta'eii 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 841 
 
 Too little care of this ! Talte physic, pomp ; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
 That tliou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
 And show the heavens more just. 
 
 Eclg-l Within.'] Fathom and half, fathom and half! 
 Poor Tom ! [The Fool runs out from the Hovel. 
 
 Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. 
 Help me, help me ! 
 
 Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there? 
 
 Fool. A spirit, a spirit; he says his name's poor 
 Tom. 
 
 Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there 
 Come, forth. [i' the straw ? 
 
 Enter Edgar, disguised as a Madman. 
 
 EiJg. Away ! the. foul fiend follows me ! — 
 Through the shai-p hawthorn blows the cold wind. — 
 Humph ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 
 
 Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters'? 
 And art thou come to this ? 
 
 Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ? whom 
 the foul fiend hath led through fire and through 
 flame, through ford and whirlpool, over bog and 
 quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow, 
 and halters in his pew ; set ratsbane by his porridge; 
 made hii.a p'-oud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting- 
 horse over four-inched biidges, to course his own 
 shadow for a traitor: — Bless thy five wits! Tom's 
 a-cold, — O, do de, do de, do de. — Bless thee from 
 whirlwinds,star-blasting, and taking!'' Do poor Tom 
 some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes : There 
 could I have him now, — and there, — -and there, — 
 and there again, and there. [Storm continues. 
 Lear. What,- have his daughters brought him to 
 this pass ? — 
 Couldst thou save nothing? Didstthou give them all? 
 Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we. had 
 been all shamed. 
 
 Lear, Now, all the plagues that in the pendu- 
 lous air 
 Hang fated o'er men's faults, lighten thy daughters! 
 Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 
 Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have sub- 
 dued nature 
 To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — 
 Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 
 Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ! 
 Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot 
 Those pelican daughters. 
 
 Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's hill ; — 
 Halloo, halloo, loo, loo ! 
 
 Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools 
 and madmen. 
 
 Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : obey thy pa- 
 rents ; keep thy word justly ; swear not ; commit 
 not with man's sworn spouse ; set not thy^ sweet 
 heart on proud array : Tom's a-cold. 
 Ijear. What hast thou been ? 
 Edw. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; 
 that curled my hair; wbre gloves in my cap ;' served 
 the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the act of 
 darkness with her ; swore as many oaths as I spake 
 words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven : 
 one, that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked 
 to do it: Wine loved I deeply; dice dearly; and in 
 woman, out-paramourcd the Turk : False of heart, 
 light of ear, bloody of hand : Hog in sloth, fox in 
 itcalth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in 
 
 'To tale is to blast, or strike with malignant influence. 
 
 • It was the custom to wear gloves in the hat, as the 
 
 4ivor of a mistress. I 
 
 prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rust* 
 ling of silks, betray thy poor heart to women : Keep 
 thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of placket^ 
 thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the i'oul fiend. 
 — Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind." 
 Says suum, mun, ha no nonny, dolphin my boy, my 
 boy, sessa; let him trot by. [Slorm still contimies. 
 
 Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than 
 to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity 
 of the skies. — Is man no more than this ? Con- 
 sider him well : Thou owest the worm no silk, the 
 beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no pev- 
 fume : — Ha! here three of us are sophisticated ! — 
 Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man 
 is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as 
 thou art. — Off, off, you lendings : — Come ; unbut- 
 ton here. [Tearing off his Clothes. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a 
 naughty night to swim in. — Now a little fire in a 
 wild field were like an old lecher's heart : a small 
 spark, all the rest of his body cold. — Look, here 
 comes a walking fire. 
 
 Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : he 
 begins at curfev/, and walks till the first cock; he 
 gives the web and the pin,' squints the eye, and 
 makes the hare-lip : mildews the white wheat, and 
 hunts the poor creature of earth. 
 
 Saint Withold^ footed thrice the woldp^ 
 He met the night-mare, and her ninefold.- 
 
 Bid her alight, 
 
 And her troth plight, 
 And aroint thee,^ mitch, aroint thee! 
 
 Kent. How fares your grace ? 
 * Enter Gloster, with a Torch. 
 
 Lear. What's he ? 
 
 Kent. Who's there ? What is't you seek ? 
 
 Glo. What are you there ? Your names ^ 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom; that eat3 the swimming trog, 
 the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water;' 
 that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend 
 rages, eats cow-dung for sallets ; swallows the old 
 rat, and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of 
 the standing-pool; who is whipped from ty thing to 
 tything,' and stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; 
 who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to 
 his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear. 
 
 But mice, and rats, and such small deer. 
 Have been Tom'' s food for seven lojjg year. 
 
 Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin -^ peace, 
 thou fiend! 
 
 Glo. What, hath your grace no better company? 
 
 Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman; 
 Modo he's call'd, and Mahu.'' 
 
 Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, 
 That it doth hate what gets it. 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Glo. Go in with me ; my duty cainiot sulTer 
 To obey in all your daughter's hard commands; 
 Though their injunction be to bar my doors. 
 And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you; 
 Yet have I ventured to come seek j'ou out. 
 And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 
 
 » Bispfipes of the eye. 
 
 ' A saint, paid to protect his devotees from the diseh&< 
 called the jnrjhl-mare. 
 Wild downs, so called in various parts of England. 
 ' Avanr.t. ' t. e. The water-newt 
 
 ' A tything is a division of a county. 
 « N ame of a sciri t. ' The chief devil. 
 
842 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act in. 
 
 Lem. First let nie talk with this philosopher. — 
 What is the cause of thunder 1 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; 
 Go into the house. 
 
 Jjcar. I'll talk a word with this same learned 
 Theban.— 
 What is your study ] 
 
 Edg, How to prevent the fiend, and to kill ver- 
 min. 
 Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 
 Kent. Importune hini once more to go, my lord ; 
 His wits begin to unsettle. 
 
 G/o. Canst thou blame him 1 
 
 His daughters seek his death: — Ah, that good 
 
 Kent!— 
 He said it would be thus: — Poor banish'd man ! — 
 Thou say'st, the king grows mad ; I'll tell thee, 
 
 friend, 
 I am almost mad myself: I had a son, 
 Now outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought my life, 
 But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend, — 
 No father his son dearer: true to tell thee, 
 
 [^Storni continues. 
 The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this! 
 I do beseech your grace, — 
 
 Lear. 0, cry you mercy : 
 
 Noble philosopher, your company. 
 Edg. Tom's a-cold. 
 Glo. In, fellow, there, to the hovel: keep thee 
 
 warm. 
 Lear. Come, let's in all. 
 Kent. I'his way, my lord. 
 
 Lear. With him ; 
 
 I Vi'ill keep still with my philosopher. ^ 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, soothe him ; let him take 
 
 the fellow. 
 Glo. Take him you on. 
 Ke7it. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 
 Lear. Come, good Athenian. 
 Glo. No words, no words : 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 Edg. Child' Rowland to the dark tower came, 
 Hi" word ivas still, — Fie, full, and furn, 
 I smell the blood of a British man. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter ConNWALL and Edmund. 
 
 Corn. I will have my revenge, ere I depart his 
 house. 
 
 Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that 
 nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears 
 Die to think of 
 
 Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your 
 brother's evil disposition made him seek his death ; 
 but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable 
 badness in himself 
 
 Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must 
 repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of, 
 which approves him an intelligent party to the ad- 
 vantages of France. O heavens ! that this treason 
 were :iot, or not I the detector! 
 
 Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 
 
 Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you 
 have mighty business in hand. 
 
 Corn. True, or false, it hath made thee earl of 
 Gloster. Seek out where thy father is, that he 
 may be ready for our apprehension. 
 
 s Child is an okl name for knight. 
 
 Edm. [Aside.^ If I find him comforting lh« 
 king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I will 
 persevere in my course of loyalty, though the con« 
 ilict be sore between that and my blood. 
 
 Corn. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt 
 find a dearer father in my love. \_Exeimt 
 
 SCENE VI. — A Chamber in a Farm-House, 
 adjoining the Castle. 
 
 Enter Glosteb, Leah, Kent, Fool, and Edgah. 
 
 Glo. Here is better than the open air; take it 
 thankfully ; I will piece out the comfort with what 
 additior. I can : I will not be long from you. 
 
 Kent. All the power of his wits has given way 
 to his impatience: — The gods reward your kind- 
 ness! [Exit GhosTKn 
 
 Edg. Frateretto calls me; and tells me, Nero is 
 an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, inno- 
 cent,' and beware the foul fiend. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a mad 
 man be a gentleman, or a yeoman'? 
 
 Lear. A king, a king ! 
 
 Fool. No; he's a yeoman that has a gentleman 
 to his son : for he's a mad yeoma.i that sees his 
 son a gentleman before him. 
 
 Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits 
 Come hissing in upon them : — 
 
 Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 
 
 Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a 
 wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath. 
 
 Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them 
 straight ; — 
 Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer; — 
 
 [To Edgar. 
 Thou, sapient sir, sit here. \_To the Fool.] — Now, 
 you she-foxes ! — 
 
 Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — - 
 Wantcst thou eyes at trial, madam 1 
 
 Come o'er the bourn,* Bessy, to me: — 
 
 Fool. Her boat hath a leak, 
 
 And she must not speak 
 Why she dare not come over to thee. 
 
 Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the 
 voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's 
 belly for two white herrings. Croak not, black 
 angel ; I have no food for thee. 
 
 Kent. How do you, sir 1 Stand you not so amaz'd: 
 Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions! 
 
 Lear. I'll see their trial first: — Bring in the evi- 
 dence. — 
 Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ; 
 
 [To EnoAR 
 And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [7o//;eFool 
 Bench by his side: — You arc of the commission 
 Sit you too. [To Ksnt 
 
 Edg. Let us deal justly. 
 
 Steepest, or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? 
 
 Thy sheep be in the corn; 
 And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
 
 Thy sheep will take no harm. 
 
 Pur ! the cat is grey. 
 
 Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take 
 my oath before this honorable assembly, she kicketi 
 the poor king her father. 
 
 Fool. Come hither, mistress ; Is your name Go 
 neril 1 
 
 » Addressed to the Fool, who were anciently calJed la 
 j nocents. • Brook, or rivulet. 
 
fe'OENE VI. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 843 
 
 Lear, She cannot dcnj it. 
 
 Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint- 
 stool. 
 Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks 
 proclaim 
 What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there ! 
 Arms, arms, sword, fire ! — Corruption in the place! 
 False justi^er, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
 Edg. Bless thy five wits! 
 
 Kent. O pity! — Sir, where is the patience now, 
 That you so oft have boasted to retain ' 
 
 Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much. 
 They'll mar my counterfeiting. \_Aside. 
 
 Lear. The little dogs and ail. 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, sec, they bark at me. 
 
 Eds:. Tom will throw his head at thera: — 
 Avaunt, you curs ! 
 
 Be thy mouth or black or white, 
 Tooth that poisons if it bite,- 
 Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim. 
 Hound, or spaniel, brach, or Tym; "^ 
 Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail; 
 Tom will make them weep and wail: 
 For, with throwing thus my head. 
 Dogs leap the hatch, and all are Jled. 
 Do de, do de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and 
 fairs, and market towns : — Poor Tom, thy horn is 
 dry. 
 
 Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan, see what 
 breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in na- 
 ture that makes these hard hearts? — You, sir, I 
 entertain you for one of my hundred; only, I do 
 not like the fashion of your garments: you will 
 say, they are Persian attire; but let them be changed. 
 
 [To Eugah. 
 Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 
 Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the 
 curtains: So, so, so: We'Ugo to supperi' the morn- 
 ing: So, so, so. 
 
 Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. 
 
 Re-enter Glosteu. 
 
 Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king 
 
 my master ? 
 Kent. Here, sir ; but trouble him not, his wits 
 
 are gone. 
 Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy 
 arms; 
 I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him : 
 There is a litter ready; lay him in't. 
 And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt 
 
 meet 
 Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master: 
 If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life. 
 With thine, and all that oiler to defend him, 
 Jtand in assured loss: Take up, take up; 
 And follow me, that will with some provision 
 Give thee quick conduct. 
 
 Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps: — 
 
 This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses, 
 Which, if convenience will not allow, 
 Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to bear thy master; 
 Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool. 
 
 Gin. Come, come, away. 
 
 [Exeunt Kknt, Glostkh, and the Fool, 
 hearing off the King. 
 Edg When we our betters see bearing our woes, 
 We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
 Who alone suficrs, suffers most i' the mind; 
 *A blood-hound. 
 
 Leaving free things, and hapfy shows, behind: 
 But then the mind much putlerance doth o'erskip. 
 When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
 How light and portable my pain seems now. 
 When that which makes me bend, makes the king 
 
 bow ; 
 He childed, as I father'd ! — Tom, away : 
 Mark the high noises ; ' and thyself bewray. 
 When false opinion, whose wrong thought defile. 
 
 thee. 
 In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. 
 Vv'hat will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king'. 
 Lurk, lurk. [ExiL 
 
 SCENE VII.— ^ Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 
 Enter Cohnwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, 
 
 and Servants. 
 
 Corn. Post speedily to my lord, your husband , 
 show him this letter: — the army of France is landed: 
 Seek out the villain Gloster. 
 
 [Exeunt some of the Servants. 
 
 Reg. Hang him instantly. 
 
 Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 
 
 Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. — Edmund, 
 keep you our sister company ; the revenges we are 
 bound to take upon your traitorous father are not 
 fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you 
 are going, to a most festinate preparation : we are 
 bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and 
 intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister ;- 
 farewell, my lord of Gloster.* 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 
 How now ? Where's the king? 
 
 Stew. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him 
 hence : 
 Some five or six and thirty of his knights. 
 Hot questrists s after him, met him at gate : 
 Who, with some other of the lord's dependants, 
 Are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast 
 To have well armed friends. 
 
 Corn. Get horses for your mistress. 
 
 Go?i. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 
 
 [Exeunt Goneril and Edmund 
 Corn. Edmund, farewell. — Go, seek the traitor 
 Gloster, 
 Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us: 
 
 [Exeunt other Servants. 
 Though well we may not pass upon his life 
 Without the form of justice ; yet our power 
 Shall do a courtesy * to our wrath, which men 
 May blame, but not control. Who's there? The 
 traitor. 
 
 Re-enter Servants with Glosteu. 
 
 Reg. Ingrateful fox ! 'tis he. 
 
 Corn. Bind fist his corky ''arms. 
 
 Glo. What mean your graces ? Good my 
 
 friends, consider 
 You are my guests : do me no foul play, friends. 
 
 Corr}. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him. 
 
 Reg. Hard, hard : — O filthy traitor ! 
 
 Glo. Ummerciful lady as you are, I am none. 
 
 Corn. To this chair bind him : — Villain, thou 
 shalt find — [Rkoxs plucks his Beard 
 
 Glo. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done 
 To pluck me by the beard. 
 
 ' The fcrcat events ttiat are approaching. 
 
 * Meaning Edmund invested with his father's titlt 
 
 » Enquirers • Bend, ' Dry. 'ike cork 
 
844 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act TV 
 
 Reg. Sj white, and such a traitor! 
 
 Glo. Naughty lady, 
 
 These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin, 
 Will quicken" and accuse thee: I am your host; 
 With robbers' hands, my hospitable favors' 
 fou should not ruffle thus. What will you do? 
 
 Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from 
 France ? 
 
 Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth. 
 
 Com. And what confederacy have you with the 
 traitors 
 Late footed in the kingdom 1 
 
 Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic 
 king] 
 Speak. 
 
 Glo. I have a letter guessingly set down, 
 Which came from one that's of a neutral heart. 
 And not from one oppos'd. 
 
 Cor7i. Cunning. 
 
 Reg. And false. 
 
 Corn. Where hast thou sent the king 1 
 
 Glo. To Dover. 
 
 Reg. Wherefore 
 
 To Dover 1 "W"ast thou not charged at thy peril — 
 
 Corn. Wherefore to Dover 1 Let him first answer 
 that. 
 
 Glo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the 
 course. 
 
 Reg. Wherefore to Dover ? 
 
 Glo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
 Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister 
 In his anointed flesh stick bearish fangs. 
 The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 
 In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up, 
 And quench'd the stelled' fires: yet, poor old 
 
 heart. 
 He holp the heavens to rain. 
 If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time. 
 Thou should'st have saiil, Good poi-ter, turn the key,- 
 All cruels else subscribed :° — But I shall see 
 The winged vengeance overtake such children. 
 
 Corn. See it shalt thou never: — Fellows, hold 
 the chair: 
 Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot. 
 
 [Glosteh is held down in Ins Chair, ivhlle 
 Cornwall plucks out one of his Eyes. 
 and sets his Foot on it. 
 
 Glo. He, that will think to live till he be old. 
 Give me some help : — O cruel ! O ye gods ! 
 
 Reg. One side will mock another; the other too. 
 
 Corn. If you see vengeance, — 
 
 Serv. Hold your hand, my lord: 
 
 I have serv'd you ever since I was a child : 
 
 But better service have I never done you, 
 Than now to bid you hold. 
 Reg. How now, you dog ? 
 Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chui. 
 I'd ohake it on this quarrel: What do you mean 1 
 Corn. My villain ! [^Draws,and runs at him 
 Serv. Nay, then come on, and take the chance 
 
 of anger. 
 [^Draws. They Jight. Corn"wall is wounded, 
 Reg. Give me thy sword. — [^To another Serv.] 
 
 A peasant stand up thus ! 
 [Snatches a Sword,comes behind, and slabs him. 
 Serv. O, I am slain! — My lord, you have one 
 eye left 
 To see some mischief on him : — O ! [Vies. 
 
 Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it: — Out, vile 
 jelly! 
 Where is thy lustre now 1 
 
 [Tears out Glosteti's other Eye, and throws ti 
 
 on the Ground. 
 Glo. All dark and comfortless. — Where's my 
 son Edmund] 
 Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, 
 To quit' this horrid act. 
 
 Reg. Out, treacherous villain! 
 
 Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he 
 That made the overture ' of thy treasons to us ; 
 Who is too good to pity thee. 
 
 Glo. O my follies ! 
 
 Then Edgar was abused.— 
 Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 
 
 Reg. Go, tlirust him out at gates, and let him smell 
 His way to Dover. — How is't, my lord] How look 
 you ] 
 Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt : — Follow me, lady.— 
 Turn out that eyeless villain; throw this slave 
 Upon the dunghill. — Regan, I bleed apace: 
 Untimely comes this hurt: Give me your arm. 
 [Exit Cornwall, led by Regan' ; — Servants 
 imbiiid Gloster, and lead him out. 
 
 1 Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do. 
 If this man comes to good. 
 
 2 Serv. If she live long, 
 And, in the end, meet the old course cf death, 
 Women will all turn monsters. 
 
 1 Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the 
 
 Bedlam ' 
 To lead him where he Avould ; his roguish madness 
 Allows itself to any thing. 
 
 2 Serv. Go thou ; I'll fetch some flax, and whites 
 
 of eggs. 
 To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help 
 him ! [Exeunt severally 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Heath. 
 
 Ent^r Edgar. 
 
 Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd. 
 
 Than still contemn'd and flattcr'd. To be worst, 
 
 The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, 
 
 Stands still in esperance,' lives not in fear : 
 
 Vhe lamentable change is from the best; 
 
 The vvorft returns to laughter. Welcome then, 
 
 » Live. 9 Features. ' Starred. 
 
 » Tielied, submitted tc the necessity of the occasion. 
 • In hope. 
 
 Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace ! 
 
 The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, 
 
 Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes here'' 
 
 Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man. 
 My father, poorly led] — World, world, O world! 
 But thai thy strange mutations make us hate thee 
 Life would not yield to age. 
 
 Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your te- 
 nant, and your lather's tenant, these fourscore years, 
 
 * Jtecjuite. 
 
 s Laid QDen. 
 
 8 Bedlamite, rnadmaa 
 
 J 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 84ft 
 
 GIo. Away, get thee away ; good fiiond, be gone: 
 Thy comforts can do me no good at all, 
 Thee they may hurt. 
 
 Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 
 
 GIo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; 
 I stumbled when I saw : Full oft 'tis seen. 
 Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects 
 Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son Edgar, 
 The food of thy abused father's wrath ! 
 Mie:ht I but live to see thee in my touch, 
 I'd .say, I had eyes again ! 
 
 Old Man. How now 1 Who's there ] 
 
 Edg [Aside."] O gods ! Whois't can say, lam at 
 I am w orse than e'er I was. [the worst? 
 
 Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 
 
 Edg. [Aside.'] And worse I may be yet: The worst 
 So long as we can say. This is the worst, [is not, 
 
 Old Man. Fellow, where goest 1 
 
 GIo. Is it a beggar-man ? 
 
 Old Man, Madman and beggar too. 
 
 GIo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
 I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ; 
 Which made me think a man a worm : My son 
 Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind 
 Was then scarce friends with him : I have heard 
 
 more since. 
 As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods ; 
 They kill us for their sport. 
 
 Edg. How should this be t — 
 
 Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, 
 Ang'ring itself and others. [Aside.] — Bless thee, 
 master ! 
 
 GIo. Is that the naked fellow 1 
 
 Old Man. Ay, my lord. 
 
 GIo. Then, pr'y thee, get thee gone: If, for my sake. 
 Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
 I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
 \nd bring some covering for this naked soul. 
 Whom I'll entreat to lead me. 
 
 Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad. 
 
 GIo. 'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead 
 the blind. 
 Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; 
 Above the rest, be gone. 
 
 Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parol that I have. 
 Come on't what will. [Exit. 
 
 GIo. Sirrah, naked fellow. 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold : I cannot daub' it fur- 
 ther. [Aside. 
 
 GIo. Come hither, fellow. 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. — Bless thy 
 sweet eyes, they bleed. 
 
 GIo. Know'st thou the way to Dover 1 
 
 Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot- 
 path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good 
 wits: Bless the good man from the foul fiend! 
 Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; of lust, 
 as, Ohidicut ; Hobhididance, prmce of dumbness; 
 Mahu, of stealing; M;c?o, of Murder; and Flibber- 
 tigibbet, of mopping and mowing; who since pos- 
 sesses chamber-maids and waiting-women. So 
 bless thee, master ! 
 
 GIo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the hea- 
 ven's plagues 
 Have humbled to all strokes: that I am WTctched, 
 Makes thee the happier: — Heavens, deal so still ! 
 Set the superfluous, and lust-dictcd man, 
 I'hat slaves youi ordinance, that will not see 
 because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; 
 
 1 Di££:uise. 
 
 So distribution should undo excess. 
 
 And each man have enough. — Dost thou know 
 
 Edg. Ay, master. 
 
 [Dover 1 
 
 GIo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
 Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
 Bring me but to the very brim of it. 
 And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear. 
 With something rich about me : from that place 
 I shall no leading need. * 
 
 Edg. Give me thy arm ; 
 
 Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.— Before the Duke o/Albany's Palace 
 
 Enter Goneril and Edmund; Steward meeting 
 
 them. 
 
 Gon. Welcome, my lord : I marvel, our mild 
 husband 
 Not met us on the way: — Now,where'syourmaster1 
 
 Stew. Madam, within; but never man so changed: 
 I told him of the army that was landed ; 
 He smil'd at it : I told him you were coming ; 
 His answer was. The worse : of Gloster's treachery. 
 And of the loyal service of his son. 
 When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot ; 
 And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out : — 
 What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him; 
 What like, oflensive. 
 
 Gon. Then shall you go no further. 
 
 [To Edmuxd. 
 It is the cowish terror of his spirit. 
 That dares not undertake : he'll not feel wrongs. 
 Which tie him to an answer; Our wishes, on the way, 
 May prove effects.' Back, Edmund, to my brother: 
 Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers : 
 I must change arms at home, and give the distaff 
 Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant 
 Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear 
 If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
 A mistress's command. Wear this : spare speech ; 
 
 [Giving a Favor. 
 Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, 
 Would stretch thy spirits up into the air ; — 
 Conceive, and fare thee well. 
 
 Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. 
 
 Gon. My most dear Gloster! [£x(7Edmckd. 
 0, the difference of man, and man ! To thee 
 A woman's services are due ; my fool 
 Usurps my bed. 
 
 Stew. Madam, here comes my lord. 
 
 [Exit Steward. 
 Enter Albany. 
 
 Gon. I have been worth the whistle.' 
 
 Alb. O Goneril, 
 
 You are not worth the dust wliich the rude wind 
 Blows in your face. — I fear your disposition : 
 That nature, which contemns its origin. 
 Cannot be border'd certain in itself; 
 She that herself will sliver' and disbranch 
 From her material sap, perforce must wither, 
 And come to deadly use. 
 
 Gon, No more; the text is foolish. 
 
 AJb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile.' 
 Filths savor but themselves. What have you done? 
 Tigers, not daughters, what have you pcrform'd? 
 A father, and a gracious aged man, 
 Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, 
 Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded 
 Could my good brother suffer you to do it 1 
 
 • I. «. Our wishes on the road may te rompletcd. 
 » 'Worth calliiiK for. ' Tear ofi 
 
846 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 A man, a prince, by him so benefited ! 
 
 If that tlie heavens do not their visible spirits 
 
 8encl quick I}' down to tanie these vile oflcnccs, 
 
 'Twill come, 
 
 Humanity must perforce prey on itself, 
 
 Like monsters of the deep. 
 
 Gon. Mill<-livcr'd man! 
 
 That bear'st a clicek for blows, ahead for wrongs; 
 Who hast not in tliy brovs an eye discerning 
 Thine honor from tiiy suffering ; that not know'st. 
 Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd 
 Ere they liave done their mischief. Where's thy 
 
 drum 1 
 France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; 
 With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats; 
 Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and cry'st. 
 Alack.' why docs ht so? 
 
 Alb. See thyself, devil ! 
 
 Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 
 So horrid, as in woman. 
 
 Gon. O vain fool ! 
 
 Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for 
 shame, 
 Be-monster not tliy feature. Were it my fitness 
 To let these hands obey my blood, 
 They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
 Thy flesh and bones: — Howc'cr thou art a fiend, 
 A woman's shape doth shield thee. 
 
 Gon. Marry, your rnanliood now ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Alb. What news] 
 
 Mess. 0, my good lord, the duke of Comwall's 
 dead ! 
 Slain by his servant, going to put. out 
 The other eye of Gloster. 
 
 Alb. Gloster's eyes! 
 
 Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, 
 Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword 
 To his great master; who, thereat enragjed, 
 Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead: 
 But not without that harmful stroke, which since 
 Hath pluck'd him after. 
 
 Alb. This shows you are above, 
 
 y"ou justiccrs, that these our nether crimes 
 So speedily can venge! — But, poor Gloster! 
 Lost he his other eye? 
 
 Mess. Both, both, my lord. — 
 
 1 his letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; 
 Tis from your sister. 
 
 Gen. [^s/V/e.] One way I like this well ; 
 But being widow, and my Gloster with her. 
 May all the building in my fancy pluck 
 Upon my hateful life: Another way. 
 The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and answer. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his 
 eyes'? 
 
 Mess. Come with my lady hither. 
 
 Alb. He is not here. 
 
 Mess. No, my good lord ; I met him back again. 
 
 Alb. Knows he the wickedness! 
 
 Mess. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform' (' 
 against him; 
 A nd quit the house on purpose,that their punishment 
 Might have the freer course. 
 
 Alb. Gloster, I live 
 
 To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king, 
 And to revenge thine eyes. — Come hither, friend: 
 Tell me what more thou knowest. \Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE m.—Tht French Camp near Dover 
 
 Enter Kknt, and a Gentleman. 
 
 Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenlj 
 gone back, know you the reason ? 
 
 Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state. 
 Which .since his coming forth is thought of; which 
 Imports to tlie kingdom so much fear and danger, 
 Tiiat his personal return was most requir'd, 
 And necessary. 
 
 Kent. Who hath he left behind him ccnerall 
 
 Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fei 
 
 Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to anj 
 demonstration of grief? 
 
 Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my 
 presence ; 
 And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
 Her delicate cheek: it seem'd, she was a queen 
 Over her [)assion; who, most rebel-like, 
 Sought to be king o'er her. 
 
 Kent. O, then it mov'd her 
 
 Gent. Not to a rage : patience and sorrow strove 
 Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
 Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears 
 Were like a better day: Those happy smiles. 
 That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know 
 What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence. 
 As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow 
 Would be a rarity most bclov'd, if all 
 Could so become it. 
 
 Kent. Made she no verbal question? 
 
 Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name 
 of Father 
 Pantingly forth, as if it prcss'd her heart; 
 Cried, Sisters! sisters! — Shame of ladies! sisters! 
 Kent! father! sisters! What? i'the storm? i'tke 
 
 night? 
 Let pill/ nut be believed!^ — There she shook 
 The holy water from her heavenly eyes, 
 And clamor moisten'd : then away she started 
 To deal with grief alone. 
 
 Kent. It is the stars, 
 
 The stars above us, govern our conditions;* 
 Else one self mate and mate could not beget 
 Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? 
 
 Gent. No. 
 
 Kent. Was this before the king return'd? 
 
 Gent. No, since. 
 
 Kent. Well, sir; the poor distress'd Lear is i'the 
 town: 
 Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers 
 What wc are come about, and by no means 
 Will yield to see his daughtc. 
 
 Gent. Why, good sir ? 
 
 Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his own 
 unkindness. 
 That stripji'd her from his benediction, turn'd her 
 To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
 To his dog-hearted daughters, — these things sting 
 His mind so venomously, that burning shame 
 Detains him from Cordelia. 
 
 Gent. Alack, poor gentleman! 
 
 Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you 
 heard not? 
 
 Gent. 'Tis so; they are afoot. 
 
 Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear 
 And leave you to attend him : some dear cause, 
 
 a Discourse, conversation. 
 
 = i. e. Let not pity lie supposed to esist. 
 
 * Digpositioas. 
 
fe'CKME IV 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 847 
 
 Will in conccalmci/t wrap me up awliile; 
 When I am known aright, you shall not grieve 
 Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go 
 Along witb me. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE lY.— The same. A Tenl. 
 
 Enter Cordelia, Physician, aJxd Soldiers, 
 Cor, Alack, 'tis he ; why, he was met even now 
 As mad as the vcx'd sea: singing aloud; 
 Crown'd with rank funiiter,' and furrow weeds. 
 With harlocks,' hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers. 
 Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
 In our sustaining corn. — A century send forth; 
 Search every acre in the high-grown field, 
 And bring him to our eye. [^Exil an Officer.] — 
 
 What can man's wisdom do, 
 [n the restoring his bereaved sense 1 
 He, that helps him, take all my outward worth. 
 
 Pliy. There is means, madam : 
 Our foster-nurse of nature is repose. 
 The which he lacks; that to provoke in him. 
 Are many simples operative, whose power 
 Will close the eye of anguish. 
 
 Cor. All blcss'd secrets, 
 
 All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth. 
 Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate, 
 In the good man's distress! — Seek, seek for him; 
 Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
 That wants the means to lead it. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Madam, news ; 
 
 The British powers are marching hitherward. 
 
 Cor. 'Tis known before; our preparation stands 
 In expectation of them. — O dear father. 
 It is thy business that I go about; 
 Therefore great France 
 
 My mourning, and important' tears, hath pitied. 
 No blown' ambition doth our arms incite. 
 But love, dear love, and our aged father's right: 
 Soon may I hear, and see him. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 
 Enter Regan and Steward. 
 
 Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth 1 
 
 Ay, madam. 
 
 Slew. 
 Res 
 
 Himself 
 
 In person there? 
 
 Stew. Madam, with much ado: 
 
 Vour sister is the better soldier. 
 
 Ri'g. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at 
 home ] 
 
 Stew. No, madam. 
 
 Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him? 
 
 Stew. I know not, lady. 
 
 Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. 
 It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out, 
 T ) let him live; where he arrives, he moves 
 All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone, 
 In i)ity of his misery, to despatch 
 His nightcd life; moreover, to descry 
 The strength o'the enemy. 
 
 Slew. I must needs after him, madam, with my 
 letter. 
 
 Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow; stay with u?' 
 The ways are dangerous. 
 
 Stew. I may not, madam ; 
 
 My lady charged my duty in this business. 
 
 Reg. Why should she write to Edmund 1 Might 
 not you 
 Transport her purposes by word? Belike, 
 Something — I know not what: — I'll lovo hee 
 
 much, 
 Let mc unseal the letter. 
 
 Stew. Madam, I had ratlicr — 
 
 Reg. I know, your lady does not love her husband^ 
 I am sure of that: and, at her late being here. 
 She gave strange a'iliads," and most speaking looka 
 To noble Edmund : I know, you are of her bosom. 
 
 Stew. I, madam ? 
 
 /?p^. Ispeak in understanding; you are, I know it 
 Therefore, I do advise you, take this note;' 
 My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd 
 And more convenient is he for my hand. 
 Than for your lady's; — You may gather more. 
 If you do find him, pray you, give him this: 
 And when your mistress hears thus much from you, 
 I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. 
 So, fare you well. 
 
 If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, 
 Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. 
 
 >SYcu.'. 'Would I could meet him, madam ; I would 
 show 
 What party I do follow. 
 
 ReL 
 
 Fare thee well. [Exeunt. 
 
 » Fumitory. 
 1 1mportunate. 
 
 • Charlocks. 
 
 • Inflated, swelling. 
 
 SCENE Yl.— The Country near Dover. 
 
 E7iter GLOfiT EH, a7id'EuG All dressed like a Peasant 
 
 Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same 
 hill? 
 
 Edg. You do climb up it now; look, how wa 
 labor. 
 
 Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. 
 
 Edg. Horrible steep; 
 
 Hark, do you hear the sea? 
 
 Glo. No, truly. 
 
 Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfecl 
 By your eyes' anguish. 
 
 Glo. So may it be, indeed : 
 
 Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou spcak'st 
 In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst. 
 
 Edg. You arc mu'^h decciv'd ; in nothing am I 
 changed. 
 But in my garments. 
 
 Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken. 
 
 Edg. Come on, sir ; here's the place : — stand 
 still. — How fearful 
 And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! 
 The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, 
 Show scarce so gross as beetles: Halfway down 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire;' dreadful traJe! 
 Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: 
 The fishermen, that walk upon the beach. 
 Appear like mice; and yon' tall anchoring bark, 
 Diminish'd to her cock;^ her cock, a buoy 
 Almost too small for sight : The murmuring surg*\ 
 That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes. 
 Cannot be hoard so high: — I'll look no more; 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 Topple' down headlong. 
 
 Glo. Set me where you stan<1 
 
 ' A cast, or significant glance of the eye. 
 
 • Observe what I am .saying. 
 
 » A vegetable gathered for pickling 
 
 ' Her cfK-k-boat * Tumbin. 
 
B48 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Ed(i. Give me your hand : you are now within a 
 foot 
 Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
 Would I not leap upright. 
 
 Glo. Let go my hand, 
 
 Here, friend, is another purse; in it a jewel 
 Well worth a poor man's taking : Fairies, and gods, 
 Prosper it with thee ! Go thou further off; 
 Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 
 
 Edij. Now fare you well, good sir. \_Seems to (jo. 
 
 Glo. With all my heart. 
 
 Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair, 
 Is don 2 to cure it. 
 
 Glo. you mighty gods ! 
 
 This world I do renounce : and, in your sights, 
 Shake patiently my great affliction off : 
 If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
 To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, 
 My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should 
 Burn itself out. If Edgar live, 0, bless him ! — 
 Now fellow, fare thee well. \He leaiw, and falls along. 
 
 Edfj. Gone, sir ? farewell ! — 
 
 And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
 The treasury of life, when life itself 
 Yields to the theft: Had he been where he thought. 
 By this, had thought been past. — Alive, or dead? 
 IIo, you sir! friend! — Hear you, sir? — Speak! 
 Thus might he pass indeed:' — Yet he revives: 
 What are you, sir ? 
 
 Glo. Away, and let me die. [thers, air, 
 
 Edr/. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, fea- 
 So many fathoms down precipitating, 
 Thou hadst shiver'd like an egg : but thou dost 
 
 breathe ; 
 Hast heav}'- substance ; bleed'st not; speak'st : art 
 Ten masts at each malte not the altitude, [sound. 
 Which thou hast perpendicularly fell ; 
 Thy life's a miracle : Speak yet again. 
 
 Glo. But have I fallen, or no ? 
 
 Edj. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn; 
 Look up a-height ; — the shrill-gorg'd" lark so far 
 Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 
 
 Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. — 
 Is wretchedness deprived that benefit, 
 To end itself by death ? 'Twas yet some comfort, 
 When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage, 
 And frustrate his proud will. 
 
 Edij. Give me your arm : 
 
 Up: — So: — How is't? Feel you your legs? You 
 
 Glo. Too well, too well. [stand. 
 
 Ed(/. This is above all strangeness. 
 
 Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
 Which parted from you ? 
 
 Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. 
 
 Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyes 
 Were two full moons ; he had a thousand noses, 
 Horns whelk'd,i and waved like the enridg'd sea; 
 It was some fiend ; Therefore, thou happy father, 
 Think that the clearest' gods, who make them honors 
 Of men's impossibilitie?, have preserved thee. 
 
 Glo. I do remember now : henceforth I'll bear 
 Affliction, till it do cry out itself, 
 Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of, 
 I took it for a man ; often 'twould say. 
 The fiend, the fiend : he led me to that place. 
 
 Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. — But who 
 comes here ? 
 Enter ljYiA.n, fantastically dressed up icith Flowers. 
 The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
 His master thus. 
 
 Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining; 
 I am the king himself. 
 
 Edg. thou side-piercing sight! 
 
 Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — There's 
 four press-money. That fellow handles his bow like 
 
 » Thus might he die in reality. « Shrill-throated. 
 
 « Twisted, coavolTed. • The purest. 
 
 a crow-keeper: draw me * clothierls yard. — -Look, 
 look, a mouse ! Peace, peace ; — this piece of toasted 
 cheese will do't, — There's my gauntlet : I'll prove 
 it on a giant. — Bring up the brown bills.' — 0, well 
 flown bird !—-i' the clout, i' the clout:' bpw^h! — 
 Give the word.* 
 
 Edg. Sweet mirj Oram. 
 
 Lear. Pass. 
 
 Glo. I know that voice. 
 
 Lear. Ha! Goneril! — with a white beard! — They 
 flatter'd me like a dog; and told me, I had white 
 hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. 
 To say ay, and no, to every thing I said ! — Ay and 
 no too was no good divinity. AVhen the rain came 
 to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; 
 When the thunder Avould not peace at my bidding; 
 there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to. 
 they are not men o' their words : they told me I was 
 every thing; 'tis a lie; I am not ague-proof. 
 
 Glo. The trick* of that voice I do well remember: 
 Is't not the king? 
 
 Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 
 
 When I do stare, sec, how the subject quakes. 
 I pardon that man's life ; what was thy cause ?- 
 Ad\.ii.':ry. — 
 
 Thou shalt not die; Die for adultery ! No : 
 The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly 
 Does lecher in my sight. 
 
 Let copulation thrive, for Gloster's bastard son 
 Was kinder to his father, than my daughters 
 Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
 To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. — 
 Behold yon' simpering dame. 
 Whose face between her forks prcsageth snow; 
 That minces virtue, and does shake the head 
 To hear of pleasure's name ; 
 The fitchew, nor the soil'd horse, goes to't 
 With a more riotous appetite. 
 Down from the waist they are centaurs, 
 Though women all above : 
 
 But to the girdle do the gods inherit, [nesij, 
 
 Beneath is all the fiend's ; there's hell, there's dark- 
 There is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, 
 stench, consumption ; — Fie, fie, fie ! pah ! pah ! 
 give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to 
 sweeten my imagination ; there's money for thee. 
 
 Glo. 0, let me kiss that hand ! 
 
 Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. 
 
 Glo. ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
 Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me ? 
 
 Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost 
 thou squiny' at me ? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid ; 
 I'll not love. — Read thou this challenge ; mark but 
 the penning of it. 
 
 Glo. Were al' 'he letters suns, I could not see one. 
 
 Edg. I would not take this from report; — it is, 
 And my heart breaks at it. 
 
 Lear. Read. 
 
 Glo. What, with the case of eyes ? 
 
 Lear. 0, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in 
 your head, nor no money in your purse ? Your eyes 
 are in a heavy ease, 3'our purse in a light : Yet you 
 see how this world goes. 
 
 Glo. I see it feelingly. 
 
 Lear. What, art mad ? A man may see how this 
 world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears; 
 see how yon' justice rails upon j'on' simple thief. 
 Hark, in thine ear : change places ; and, handy- 
 dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? — 
 Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar ? 
 
 Glo. Aj, sir. 
 
 Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There 
 thou might'st behold the great image of authority ; 
 A dog's obey''i in ofiice. 
 
 • An arrow of a cloth yard long. 'Battle-axes. 
 
 s The white mark for archers to aim at. 
 
 » The watch-word. « Likeness, manner. » Look asquiat 
 
Scene VI, 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hnnd : [Imck ; 
 Why dost tliou lash that whoro ? Strip tliinc own 
 Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind 
 For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hang.-- 
 
 the cozener. 
 Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
 Rolies.and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold. 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: 
 A'-ni it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
 IVone does offend, none, I say, none ; I'll able 'em : 
 Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
 To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes; 
 And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
 To see the things thou dost not. — Now, now, now, 
 
 now : 
 Pull olFmy boots: — harder, harder; so. 
 
 Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
 Reason in madness ! 
 
 Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 
 [ know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster: 
 Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither. 
 Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, 
 We wawl, and cry : — I will preach to thee ; mark me. 
 
 Glo. Alack, alack the day ! 
 
 Lear. V\"hen we are born, we cry, that we are come 
 
 Vo this great stage of fools; This a good 
 
 block 1 ^ 
 It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
 A troop of horse with felt: I'll put it in proof; 
 And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, 
 Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants. 
 
 Gent. O, here he is, lay hand upon him, — Sir, 
 Four most dear daughter 
 
 Lear. No rescue ? What, a prisoner 1 I am even 
 The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well ; 
 You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon, 
 I am cut to the brains. 
 
 Gent. You shall have any thing. 
 
 Lear. No seconds? All myseJf 1 
 Why, this would make a man, a man of salt,'' 
 To use his eyes for garden water-pots. 
 Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 
 
 Gent. Good sir, — 
 
 Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom : 
 W^iat! 
 I will be jovial ; come, come ; I am a king, 
 .My masters, know you that ! 
 
 Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 
 
 hear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an you get 
 it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 
 
 [^Exit running ; Attendants yo//oiy. 
 
 Gait. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch ; 
 Past speaking of in a king! — Thou hast one 
 
 daughter. 
 Who redeems nature from the general curse 
 Which twain have brought her to. 
 
 Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 
 
 Gent. Sir, speed you : What's your willl 
 
 Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward 1 
 
 Gent. Mostsure, and vulgar; everyone hears that, 
 Which can distinguish sound. 
 
 Edg. But by your favor. 
 
 How near's the other army ] 
 
 Gent. Near, and on speedy foot ; the main descry 
 Stands on the hourly thought.' 
 
 • Block ancinntly signified the head part of a hat. 
 ' I. f. A iiiiin of toars. 
 
 • The uiaiu body is expected to be descried every hour. 
 
 ^49 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir : that's all 
 
 Gent. Though that the queen on special cau.s« 
 is here. 
 Her army is moved on. 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. 
 
 Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from 
 me ; 
 Let not my worser spirit' tempt me again 
 To die before you please ! 
 
 Edg. Well pray you, father. 
 
 Glo. Now, good sir, what are you 1 
 
 Edg. A most poor man, made tame by forti. lie's 
 blows ; 
 Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
 Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
 I'll lead you to some biding. 
 
 Glo. Hearty thanks: 
 
 The bounty and the benizon ' of heaven 
 To boot, and boot \ ' 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 
 Stew. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy ! 
 
 That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh 
 To raise my fortunes. — Thou old unhappy traitor, 
 Briefly thyself remember : — The sword is out 
 That must destroy thee. 
 
 Glo. Now let thy friendly hand 
 
 Put strength enough to it. [Edgar opposes. 
 
 Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant, 
 
 Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor 1 Hence • 
 Lest that the infection of his fortune take 
 Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 
 
 Edg. Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. 
 
 Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest. 
 
 Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait,^ and let 
 poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out 
 of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by 
 a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man , 
 keep out, che vor' ye, or ise try whether your cos- 
 tard' or my bat' be the harder: Ch'ill be plain 
 with you. 
 
 Slew. Out, dunghill ! 
 
 Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no 
 matter vor your foins.^ 
 
 [They fight ; and Ei)G.\n hnochs him down. 
 
 Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me : — Villain, take 
 my purse ; 
 If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; 
 And give the letters, which thou find'st about mc. 
 To Edmund earl of Gloster; seek him out 
 
 Upon the British party : O, untimely death ! 
 
 IDie-t. 
 
 Edg. I know thee well : a serviceable villain. 
 As duteous to the vices of thy mistress. 
 As badness would desire. 
 
 Glo. What, is he dead ? 
 
 Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. — 
 Let's see his pockets: these letters, that he speaks of, 
 May be my friends.- — He's dead : I am only sorry 
 He had no other death's man. — Let us see: 
 Leave, gentle wax ; and, manners, blame us not : 
 To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts; 
 Their papers, is more lawful. 
 
 [Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows he reniemhered 
 Youhavemanyopiwrtnnilicstocut him off: if youi 
 will want not, time and place willbe fruirfully oj 
 fered. There is nothing dune, if he return the con 
 
 » Evil senilis. 
 ' Go your way. 
 
 ' Bloi^sin.!?. 
 * Head. 
 
 5 Kcwanl, recompence 
 > Club. ■ Thructi 
 
«50 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Scene IV. Scene VI. 
 
 queror: Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my 
 gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver 
 me, and supply the place for your labor. 
 
 Your wife, (so I would say,) and your 
 affectionate servant, Goneril. 
 
 undistinguish'd space of woman's will ! — 
 A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ; 
 
 And the exchange, my brother! — Here, in the sands, 
 Thee I'll rake up,' the post unsanctified 
 Of murderous lechers: and, in the mature time, 
 With this ungracious paper strike the sight 
 Of the death-practis'd duke: For him 'tis well, 
 That of thy death and business I can tell. 
 
 [Exit Ediar, dragging out the Body. 
 
 Glo. The king is mad: How stiff is my vile sense, 
 That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
 Of my huge sorrows ! Better I were distract : 
 So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs; 
 And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose 
 The knowledge of themselves. 
 
 Re-enter Edgar. 
 
 Edg. Give me your hand : 
 
 Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. 
 Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— ^ Tent in the French Camp. 
 
 liE AH o?i a Bed asleep: Physician,Gentleman, and 
 others, attending. Enter Cordelia and Kent. 
 
 Cor. thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, 
 To match thy goodness 1 My life will be too short. 
 And every measure fail me. 
 
 Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. 
 All my reports go with the modest truth ; 
 Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 
 
 Cor. Be better suited:^ 
 
 These weeds are memories of those worser hours ; 
 
 1 pr'ythee, put them off. 
 
 Kent. Pardon me, dear madam; 
 
 Yet to be known, shortens my made intent: 
 My boon I make it, that you know me not, 
 Till time and I think meet. 
 
 Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. — How does 
 the king] [To /Ae Physician. 
 
 Fhys. Madam, sleeps still. 
 
 Cor. O you kind gods. 
 Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
 Th' untuned and jarring senses, 0, wind up, 
 Of this child-changed father! 
 
 Phys. So please your majesty. 
 That we may wake the king] he hath slept long. 
 
 Cor. Be govcrn'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
 ' the sway of your own will. Is he array 'd] 
 
 Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep, 
 ft'e put fresh garments on him. 
 
 Phys. Be by, good madam,when we do awake him; 
 f doubt not of his temperance. 
 
 Cor. Very well. 
 
 Phys. Please you, draw near. — Louder the mu- 
 sic there ! 
 
 Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang 
 Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
 Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
 Have in thy reverence made ! 
 
 Kent. Kind and dear princess! 
 
 Cor. Had you not been their father, these while 
 flakes 
 
 ' I'll cover thee (the dead steward) in (he sands. 
 •Dieseed 
 
 Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face 
 
 To be expos'd against the warring winds ] 
 
 To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder] 
 
 In the most ten-ible and nimble stroke 
 
 Of quick, cross lightning] to watch (poor perdu P) 
 
 With this thin helm]' Mine enemy's dog, 
 
 Though he had bit me, should have stood that nigh« 
 
 Against my fire; And wast thou fain, poor father 
 
 To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, 
 
 In short and musty straw] Alack, alack! 
 
 'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
 
 Had not concluded all. — He wakes; speak to Iiim 
 
 Phys. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest. 
 
 Cor. How does my royal lord ] How fares your 
 majesty] 
 
 Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the 
 grave : — 
 Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound 
 Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
 Do scald like molten lead. 
 
 Cor. Sir, do you know me ] 
 
 Lear. You are a spirit, I know ; When did yoM 
 die] 
 
 Cor. Still, still, far wide! 
 
 Phys. He's scarce awake ; let him alone awhile 
 
 Lear. Where have I been] — Where am I]— 
 Fair day-light] — 
 I am mightily abused. — I should even die with pity, 
 To see another thus. — I know not what to say. — 
 I will not swear, these are my hands: — let's see; 
 I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assured 
 Of my condition. 
 
 Cor. O, look upon me, sir, 
 And hold your hands in benediction o'er me. — 
 No, sir, you must not kneel. 
 
 Lear. Pray, do not mock me, 
 
 I am a very foolish fond old man, 
 Fourscore, and upwards ; and, to deal plainly, 
 I fear, I am not in my perfect mind. 
 Methinks, I should know you, and know this man : 
 Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant 
 What place this is; and all the skill I have 
 Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not 
 Where I did lodge last night : Do not laugh at me ; 
 For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
 To be my child Cordelia. 
 
 Cor. And so I am, I am. 
 
 Lear. Be your tears wet] Yes, faith. I pray, 
 weep not: 
 If you have poison for me, I will drink it. 
 I know, you do not love me; for your sisters 
 Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : 
 You have some cause, they have not. 
 
 Cor. No cause, no cause. 
 
 Lear. Am I in France] 
 
 Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 
 
 Lear. Do not abuse me. 
 
 Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, 
 You see, is cured in him : and yet it is danger 
 To make him even'' o'er the time he has lost. 
 Desire him to go in; trouble him no more. 
 Till further settling. 
 
 Cor. Will't please your highness walk] 
 
 Lear. You must bear with me. 
 
 Pray now, forget and forgive: I am old, and foolish. 
 [Exeiwt Lear, Cordelia, Physician, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 'The allusion is to the forlorn hope in an army, called 
 in French, enfans perdus. « Thin covering of hair. 
 
 »Xo reconcile it to his apprehension. 
 
iCT V. kSCENE II. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 85j 
 
 Gent IIolJs it true, sir, 
 'T'hat the duke of Cornwall was so slain? 
 
 Kent. Most certain, sir. 
 
 Gent. Who is conductor of his people'? 
 
 Kent. As 'tis said, 
 
 The bastard son of Gloster. 
 
 Gent. They say, Edgar, 
 
 His banish'd son, is with the earl of Kent 
 Tn Germany. 
 
 Kent. Report is changeable. 
 
 'Tis time to look about ; the powers o' the kingdojja 
 Approach apace. 
 
 Gent. The arbitrcment' is like to be a bloody. 
 Fare you well, sir. [Exit 
 
 Kent. My point and period will be thoroughly 
 wrought. 
 Or well, or ill, as this day's battle's fought. \Ezit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Camp of the British Forces, 
 near Dover. 
 
 fUnier, with Dru}ns and Colors, Edmund, Rkgan, 
 Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Edni. Knowofthedukc, if his last purpose hold; 
 Or, whether since he is advis'd by aught 
 To change the course: He's full of alteration, 
 \nd self-approving : — Bring his constant pleasure.' 
 [^To an Officer, who goes out. 
 
 Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 
 
 Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam. 
 
 Reg. Now, sweet lord, 
 
 You know the goodness I intend upon you: 
 Tell me, — but truly, — but then speak the truth, 
 Do you not love my sister 1 
 
 Edm. In honor'd love. 
 
 Reg. But have you never found my brother's way 
 To the forefendcd* place 1 
 
 Edm. That thought abuses' you. 
 
 Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct 
 And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 
 
 Edm. No, by mine honor, madam. 
 
 Reg. I never shall endure her: Dear my lord. 
 Be not familiar with her. 
 
 Edm. Fear me not : — 
 She, and the duke her husband, 
 
 Enter Ai.eany, Goxeril, and Soldiers. 
 
 Gon. I had rather lose the battle, than that sister 
 Should loosen him and me. [^Aside. 
 
 Alb. Our very loving sister, well be met. — 
 Sir, this I hear, — 'The king is come to his daughter. 
 With others, whom the rigor of our state 
 Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest, 
 I never yet was valiant : for this business, 
 It touchcth us as France invades our land. 
 Not bolds^ the king ; with others, whom, I fear, 
 Most just and heavy causes make oppose.' 
 
 Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 
 
 Reg. Why is this reason'd 1 
 
 Gon. Combine together against the enemy : 
 For these domestic and particular broils 
 Are not to question here. 
 
 Alb. Let us then determine 
 
 With the ancient of war on our proceedings. 
 
 Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. 
 
 Reg. Sister, you'll go with us 1 
 
 Gon. No. 
 
 Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us. 
 
 Gon. O, ho, I know the riddle : [^Aside.] I will go. 
 
 As they are going out, enter Edgak, disguised. 
 
 Edg. If e'er your g ace had speech with man 
 so poor. 
 Hear me one word. 
 
 »IIis settled resoluOon. 
 • ini]]i)ses on you 
 ' Opposition. 
 
 « Forbidden. 
 
 • i. e. Emboldens him. 
 
 Alb. I'll overtake you. — Speak. 
 
 [_Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Gcneril, Officer* 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter 
 If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
 For him that brought it : wretched though I seem, 
 I can produce a champion, that will prove 
 What is avouched there : If you miscarry. 
 Your business of the world hath so an end, 
 And machination ceases. Fortune love you . 
 
 Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. 
 
 Edg. I was forbid it 
 
 When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, 
 And I'll appear again. [Exit. 
 
 Alb. Why, fare thee wtII ; I will o'erlook thy 
 paper. 
 
 Re-enter Edmund. 
 
 Edm. The enemy's in view, draw up your powers. 
 Here is the guess of their true strength and forces 
 By diligent discovery ; — But your haste 
 Is now urged on you. 
 
 Alb. We will greet the time." [Exit. 
 
 Edm, To both these sisters have I sworn my love ; 
 Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
 Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take 1 
 Both ] one 1 or neither 1 neither can be enjoy'd, 
 If both remain alive : To take the widow, 
 Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril ; 
 And hardly shall I carry out my side,' 
 Her husband being alive. Now then we'll use 
 His countenance for the battle : which being done, 
 Let her, who would be rid of him, devise 
 His speedy taking off. As for the mercy 
 Which he intends to Lear, and to Cordelia,- 
 The battle done, and they within our power, 
 Shall never see his pardon : for my state 
 Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE II. — A Field between the two Camps. 
 
 Alarum within. Enter, with Drum and Colors, 
 Lear, Cordelia, a/ic? their Forces,- and exeunt. 
 
 Enter Edgar and Gloster. 
 
 Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree 
 For your good host ; pray that the right may thrive. 
 If ever I return to you again, 
 I'll bring you comfort. 
 
 Glo. Grace go witli you, sir. 
 
 [Exit Edgar 
 Alarums: afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter Edqa.r 
 
 Edg. Away, old man, give mc thy hand, away 
 King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en 
 Give me thy hand, come on. 
 
 Glo No further, sir; a man may rot even her* 
 
 » Decision. s Be ready to meet the cvcsusion 
 
 * J. e. Make my part £ood. 
 
•552 
 
 KING LEAK. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Edg. What, Ik ill thouglus a|,ain ] Men must 
 endure 
 Their going hence, even as their coming hither : 
 Ripeness is all : Come on. 
 
 Glo. And that's true too. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE UL—r/ie British Camp near Dover. 
 
 Enter, in Conqicest, with Drum and Colors, Ed- 
 MUXD ; Lear and Coudklia, as Prisoners ,- 
 Officers, Soldiers, Sfc. 
 
 Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard; 
 Until their greater pleasures first be known 
 Tiiat are to censure'' them. 
 
 Cor. We are not the first, 
 
 Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst. 
 For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
 Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown. — 
 Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters ] 
 
 Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to prison: 
 We two ulone will sing like birds i'the cage : 
 When thou dost ask my blessing, I'll kneel down. 
 And ask of thee forgiveness : so we'll live. 
 And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
 At gikled butterfiies, and hear poor rogues 
 Talk of court news : and we'll talk with them too — 
 Who loses, and wh© wins; who's in, who's out; — 
 And take upon us the mystery of things, 
 As if we were God's spies: And we'll wear out, 
 In a wall'd prison, pacts and sects of great ones. 
 That ebb and flow by the moon. 
 
 Edm. Take them away. 
 
 Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
 The gods themselves throw incense. Have I 
 
 caught thcc 1 
 He, that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven. 
 And fire us hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes; 
 The goujecrs' shall devour them, flesh and fell,' 
 Ere they shall make us weep : we'll see them starve 
 
 first. 
 Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. 
 
 Edm. Come hither, captain ; hark. 
 Take thou this note; [^Giving a Paper.'] go, follow 
 
 them to prison : 
 One step I have advanced thee ; if thou dost 
 As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
 To noble fortunes : Know thou this, — that men 
 Are as the time is : to be tcndcr-mindcd 
 Docs not become a sword : — Thy great employment 
 Will not bear question; either say, thou'lt do't, 
 Or thrive by other means. 
 
 Off. I'll do't, my lord. 
 
 Edm, About it ; and wrrite happy, when thou hast 
 Mark, — I say, instantly ; and carry it so, [done. 
 As I have set it down. 
 
 Off. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oals ; 
 If it be man's work, I will do it. [Exit Officer. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, 
 Officers, and Attendants. 
 
 Alh. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant 
 strain, 
 And fortune led you well : You have the captives. 
 Who were the opposites of this day's strife ; 
 We do require them of you ; so to use them, 
 As we shall find their merits and our safety 
 May equally determine. 
 
 Edm. Sir, I thought it fit 
 
 •Pass judgment on them. • The French disease. "Skin. 
 
 To send the old and mist/able king 
 
 To some retention, and appointed guaul , 
 
 Whose age has charms in it, whose title more. 
 
 To pluck the common bosom on his side. 
 
 And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 
 
 Which do command them. With him I sent th* 
 
 queen; 
 My reason all the same; and they are ready 
 To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
 Where you shall hold your session. At this time 
 We sweat, and bleed ; the friend hath lost his fricn I 
 And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd 
 By those that ieel their sharpness : — 
 The question of Cordelia, and her father, 
 Requires a fitter place. 
 
 Alb. Sir, by your patience, 
 
 I hold you but a subject of this war. 
 Not as a brother. 
 
 Reg. That's as we list to grace him. 
 
 Methniks, our pleasure might have been demandeil, 
 Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers ; 
 Bore the commission of my place and person; 
 The which immediacy' may well stand up, 
 And call itself your brother. 
 
 Gon. Not so hot : 
 
 In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
 More than in your advancement. 
 
 Reg. In my rights, 
 
 By me invested, he compeers the best. 
 
 Gon. That were the most, if he should husband 
 you. 
 
 Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 
 
 Gon. Holloa, holloa ! 
 
 That eye, that told you so, look'd but a-squint.^ 
 
 Reg. Lady, I am not well ; else I should answej 
 From a full-flowing stomach. — General, 
 Take thou thy soldiers, prisoners, patrimony ; 
 Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine : 
 Witness the world, that I create thee here 
 My lord and master. 
 
 Gon. Mean you to enjoy him? 
 
 Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will. 
 
 Edm. Nor in thine, lord. 
 
 Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 
 
 Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title 
 thine. \_To Edmund. 
 
 Alb. Stay yet ; hear reason : — Edmund, I arrest 
 thee 
 On capital treason ; and, in thy arrest. 
 This gilded serpent: [^PointingtoGoT^.'] — foryoui 
 
 claim, fair sister, 
 I bar it in the interest of my wife ; 
 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord. 
 And I, her husband, contradict your banns. 
 If you will marry, make your love to me, 
 My lady is bespoke. 
 
 Gon. An interlude ! 
 
 Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster : — Let the trumpet 
 sound : 
 If none appear to prove upon thy person. 
 Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, 
 There is my pledge : [Throwing down a Glove.} 
 
 I'll prove it on thy heart, 
 Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
 Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 
 
 Keg. Sick, 0, sick. 
 
 Gon. If not, I'll ne'er trust poison. [Aside, 
 
 ' Authority to act on his own judgment, 
 a Alluding to the proverb : "Love being jealous makef 
 a good eye look asquint." 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 853 
 
 Edm. There's my exchange: [J'hrowing down 
 a Glovc.^ what in the world he is 
 That names me traitor, villain-likt he Hes : 
 Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach, 
 On him, on you, (who not I) I will maintain 
 My truth and honor firmly. 
 
 Alb. A herald, ho ! 
 
 Edm. A herald, ho, a herald ! 
 
 A/b. Trust to thy single virtue f for thy soldiers. 
 All levied in my name, have in my name 
 Took their discharge. 
 
 lieg. This sickness grows upon me. 
 
 Eiiter a Herald. 
 
 Alb. She is not well ; convey her to my tent. 
 
 [^Exit Regan, led. 
 Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet sound, — 
 And read out this. 
 
 Off. Sound trumpet. [^A Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Herald reads. 
 
 If any man of quality, or degree, within the 
 lists of the army, ivill muinlain upon Edmund, 
 supposed Earl of Gloster, that he is a manifold 
 traitor, let him appear at the third sound of the 
 trumpet : He is bold in his defence. 
 
 Edm. Sound. [1 Trumpet. 
 
 Her. Again. [2 Trumpet. 
 
 Her. Again. [3 Trumpet. 
 
 [^Trumpet answers within. 
 
 Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a Trumpet. 
 
 Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
 Upon this call o' the trumpet. 
 
 Her. What are you 1 
 
 Your name, your quality] and why you answer* 
 This present summons 1 
 
 Edg. Know, my name is lost; 
 
 By treason's tooth bare-gnawn, and canker-bit : 
 Yet am I noble, as the adversary 
 I come to cope withal. • 
 
 Alb. Which is that adversary 7 
 
 Edg. What's he, that speaks for Edmund earl 
 of Gloster ] 
 
 Edm. Himself; — What say'st thou to him ] 
 
 Edg. Draw thy sword ! 
 
 That, if my speech offend a noble heart, 
 Thy arm may do thee j ustice : here is mine. 
 Behold, it is the privilege of mine honors. 
 My oath, and my profession : I protest, — 
 Maugrc' thy strength, youth, place, and eminence. 
 Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune. 
 Thy valor, and thy heart, — tiiou art a traitor: 
 False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father ; 
 Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince; 
 Ami, from the extremest upward of thy head, 
 To the descent and dust beneath thy feet, 
 A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, No, 
 This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent 
 'J'o prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, 
 Thou liest. • 
 
 Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name : 
 But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike. 
 And that thy tongue some 'say ' of breeding 
 
 breathes. 
 What safe and nicely I might well delay 
 By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn : 
 Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ; 
 With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart; 
 
 »«'.«. Valor *XotwitIistanding. 'Sample. 
 
 65 
 
 Which, (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,) 
 This sword of mine shall give them instant way. 
 Where they shall rest forever. — Trumpets, speak. 
 [Alaru/n.s. They fight. Edmund /a/&. 
 
 Alb. O save him, save lum ! 
 
 Gon. This is mere practice,' Gloster: 
 
 By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer 
 An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd, 
 But cozen' d and beguii'd. 
 
 Alb. Shut your mouth, dame, 
 
 Or with this paper shall I stop it: — Hold, sir: 
 Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil : — 
 No tearing, lady : I perceive you know it. 
 
 l^Gives the Letter to Edmund. 
 
 Go7i. Say, if I do ; the laws are mine, not thine* 
 Who shall arraign me for'f? 
 
 Alb. Most monstrous ! 
 
 Know'st thou this paper] 
 
 Gon. Ask me not what I know. 
 
 [Exit GONEIIIL. 
 
 Alb. Go after her : slie's desperate ; govern her. 
 
 [7b an Officer, who goes out. 
 
 Edm. What you have charged me with, that 
 
 have I done ; 
 
 And more, much more ; the time will bring it out ; 
 
 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou, 
 
 That hast this fortune on me ] If thou art noble, 
 
 I do forgive thee. 
 
 Ed 
 
 to* 
 
 Let's exchange charity. 
 
 I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; 
 If more, the more thou hast wronged me. 
 My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
 The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
 Make instruments to scourge us : 
 The dark and vicious place where thee he got, 
 Cost him his eyes. 
 
 Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis truo ■ 
 
 The wheel has come full circle ; I am here. 
 
 Alb. Methought, thy very gait did prophesy 
 A royal nobleness : — I must embrace thee ; 
 Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I 
 Did hate thee, or thy father ! 
 
 Edg. Worthy prince, 
 
 I know it well. 
 
 Alb. Where have you hid yourself] 
 
 How have you known the miseries of your father ? 
 
 Edg. By nursing tiiein, my lord. — List' a briei 
 tale ; — 
 And, when 'tis told, 0, that my heart would burst! — 
 The bloody proclamation to escape, 
 Thaf follovv'd me so near, (O, our lives' sweetness ! 
 That with the pain of death we'd hourly die. 
 Rather than die at once I) taught me to shift 
 Into a mad-man's rags ; to assume a semblance 
 That very dogs disdain'd : and in this habit 
 Met I my father whh his bleeding rings, 
 Their precious stones new lost; became his guide, 
 Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair; 
 Never (U fault !) reveal'd myself unto him. 
 Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd, 
 Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, 
 I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
 Told him my pilgrimage : but his fiavv'd heart, 
 (Alack, too weak the conflict to sujjport !) 
 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
 Burst smilingly. 
 
 Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me, 
 And shall, perchance, do good : but speak you on ', 
 You look as you had something more to say 
 s Strataircm. ' Hear 
 
554 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Edg. 
 Alb. 
 Edg. 
 Gent. 
 
 Alb. It theie be more, more woeful, hold it in; 
 Vox I am almost ready to dissolve, 
 Hearing jf this. 
 
 Edg. This would have scem'd a period 
 
 To such as love not sorrow; but another, 
 To amplify too much, would make much more, 
 And top extremity. 
 
 Whilst I was big in clamor, came there a man. 
 Who having seen me in my worst estate, 
 Shunn'd my abhorr'd society ; but then, finding 
 Who 't was that so endured, with his strong arms 
 He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
 As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father; 
 Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him. 
 That ever ear receiv'd ; which in recounting, 
 His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
 Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet sounded. 
 And there I left him tranced. 
 
 Alb. But who was this? 
 
 Edg. Kent, sir, the banisli'd Kent; who in dis- 
 guise 
 Follow'd Ilia enemy king, and did him service 
 Improper for a slave. 
 Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody Knife. 
 
 Gent. Help ! help ! O help ! 
 
 What kind of help ? 
 Speak, man. 
 What means that bloody knife'? 
 
 'Tis hot, it smokes; 
 [t came even from the heart of — 
 
 Alb. Who, man? speak. 
 
 Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister 
 By her is poison'd; she confesses it. 
 
 Edni. I was contracted to them both; all three 
 Now marry in an instant. 
 
 Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or 
 dead !— 
 This judgment of the heavens, that makes us 
 
 tremble. 
 Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 Edg. Here comes Kent, sir. 
 
 All) O! it is he. 
 The time will not allow the compliment. 
 Which very manners urges. 
 
 Kent. I am come 
 
 To bid my king and master aye' good night; 
 Is he not here ? 
 
 Alb. Great thing of us forgot !— 
 
 Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's 
 
 Cordelia? — 
 See'st thou this object, Kent? 
 
 [The Bodies o/GoNEniL a7id Regan are 
 brought in. 
 Kent. Alack, why thus? 
 
 Edin. Yet Edmund was belov'd: 
 
 The one the other poison'd for m^' sake. 
 And after slew herself. 
 
 Alb. Even so. — Cover their faces. 
 Edm. I pant for life : — Some good I mean to do, 
 Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, — 
 Be brief in it, — to the castle; for my writ 
 Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: — 
 Nay, send in time. 
 
 Alb. Run, run, 0, run — 
 
 Edg. To whom, my lord ? — Who has the office ? 
 send 
 Thy token of reprieve. 
 
 8 For ever. 
 
 Edm. Well thought on ; take my sword, 
 Give it the captain. 
 
 Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [E.vit Edgab 
 
 Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me 
 To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
 To lay the blame upon her own despair, 
 That she fordid'' herself. 
 
 Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence 
 awhile. [YiU'm.vhi) is borne off. 
 
 •&• 
 
 Enter Leah, xvith Cordelia dead in his Arms; 
 Ehuaii, Officer, and others. 
 
 Lear. Howl, howl, howl, hovil ! — O, ye aie 
 men of stones: 
 Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so 
 That heaven's vault should crack • — 0, she is gone 
 
 for ever! — 
 I know when one is dead, and when one lives, 
 She's dead as earth: — Lend me a looking glass; 
 If that her breath will mist or stain the stone. 
 Why, then she lives. 
 
 Kent. Is this the prcmis'd end? 
 
 Edg. Or image of that horror ? 
 
 Alb. Fall, and cease ' 
 
 Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives ! if it be so. 
 It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows 
 That ever I have felt. 
 
 Kent. O my good master ! [Kneelin. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythce, away. 
 
 Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend 
 
 Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors, all! 
 I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever! — 
 Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha! 
 What is't thou say'st? — Her voice was ever soft. 
 Gentle, and low; an excellent thing in woman:— 
 I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. 
 
 Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. 
 
 Lear. Did I rot, fellow' 
 
 I have seen the day, with my good biting fiulchion 
 I would have made them skip: I am old nov.^, 
 And these same crones spoil me. — Who are you? 
 Mine eyes are noueo' the best: — I'll tell you straight- 
 
 Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, 
 One of them we behold. 
 
 Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent? 
 
 Kent. The same; 
 
 Your servant Kent : Where is your servant Cains ? 
 
 Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; 
 He'll strike, and quickly too: — He's dead and 
 rotten. 
 
 Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man ; — 
 
 Lear. I'll sec that straight. 
 
 Kent. That, from your first of dillerence and 
 decay. 
 Have follow'd your sad steps. 
 
 Lear. You are welcome hither. 
 
 Kent. Nor no man eke; 
 All's cheerless, dark, and deadly. — 
 Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves, 
 And desperately are dead. 
 
 Le'ar. Ay, so I think. 
 
 Alb. He knows not what he sa3's; and vain it ie 
 That we present us to him. 
 
 Edg. Very bootless.' 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. 
 Alb. That's but a trifle here.— 
 
 You lords and noble friends, know our intent: 
 » Destroyed herself. ' Useless. 
 
gOENE in 
 
 KING LEAR, 
 
 855 
 
 ''-^'^hat comfort to this great decay may come, 
 Shall be applied: F^r us, we will resign, 
 During the life of this old majesty, 
 To him our absolute power: — You to your rights; 
 
 [Tu Edgaii and Kent. 
 With boot, and such addition as your honors 
 Have more than merited. — All friends shall taste 
 The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
 The cup of their descrvings. — 0, see, see! 
 
 Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no 
 life: 
 Why should a dog, a horso, a rat, have life, 
 And thou no breath at alH O, thou wilt come no 
 
 more. 
 Never, never, never, never, never ! — 
 Pray you, undo this button : Thank you, sir. — 
 Do you see this 1 Look on her, — look, — her lij)s, — 
 Look there, look there ! — [//e dies. 
 
 Edg, He faints ! — My lord, my lord. — 
 
 Kent. Bretdj, heart: I pr'ythee break! 
 
 Look up, n.y lord. 
 O, let him pass! ht 
 
 Edg. 
 
 Kent. Vex i.ot his gho.st : 
 hates him, 
 
 That would upon the rack of this tough world 
 Stretch him out longer. 
 
 Edg. O, he is gone, indeed. 
 
 Kent. The wonder is, he hath endured so long 
 He but usurp'd his life. 
 
 A/l). Bear them from hence.- — Our present 
 business 
 Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain 
 
 \_To Kent and Edgau. 
 Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. 
 
 Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; 
 My master calls, and I must not say, no. 
 
 Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey 
 Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
 The oldest hath borne most: we, that are young, 
 Shall never see .so much, nor live so long. 
 
 ^.Ej:euni, with a dead Mnrr.k 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Est ALUS, Prince o/Verona. 
 
 Paris, a young Nobknum, Kinsman to the Prince. 
 
 Montaruj:, } "Heads of two Houses at variance 
 
 Capulet, ^ with each other. 
 
 An old Man, Uncle to Capulet. 
 
 Romeo, Son to Montague. 
 
 MtitcuTio, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend 
 
 to Romeo. 
 Bknvolio, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to 
 
 Romeo. 
 Tybalt, Nephew to Lady Capulet 
 FiiiAii LAUBK?fcr,,a Franciscan. 
 Fill AH John, of the same Order. 
 Baltiiazak, Servant to Roineo. 
 
 Akiiam, Servant to Montague 
 
 An Apothecary. 
 
 Three Musicians. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Boy, Page to Paris. 
 
 Peteu, an Officer. 
 
 Lady Moxtaguk, lV//e j'o Montague. 
 Lady Capui.kt, Wife to Capulet. 
 Juliet, Daughter to Capulet. 
 Nurse to Juliet. 
 
 Citizens of Verona ; several Men and Wonien, reta- 
 lions to both Houses,- Maskers, Guards, Watch- 
 men, and Attendants. 
 
 f^ ' i Sei-vaiils to Capulet. 
 
 (jIlEGORY, ) '■ 
 
 SCENE, during the greater part of tlu Flay, in Verona; once, in the fifth Act, at Mantua, 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 I'wo households, both alike in dignity, 
 
 In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, 
 From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. 
 
 Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
 From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 
 
 A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life ; 
 Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 
 
 Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. 
 
 The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, 
 And the continuance of their parents' rage, 
 
 Which, but their children's end, nought could re> 
 move, 
 Is now the two-hours traflic of our stage; 
 
 The which, if y^ a with patient ears attend. 
 
 What here si-all miss, our toil shall strive to mend 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L— ^ Public Place. 
 
 Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with Swords 
 and Bucklers. 
 
 Sam. Gregoiy, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.' 
 
 Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 
 
 Sam. I mean, and we be in choler, we'll draw. 
 
 Gi-e. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of 
 the collar. 
 
 Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 
 
 Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 
 
 Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. 
 
 Gre. To move, is — to stir ; and to be valiant, is — 
 to stand to it : therefore, if thou art moved thou 
 runn'st away. 
 
 Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to 
 stand : I will take the wall of any man or maid of 
 Montague's. 
 
 Gre. That shows thee a weak slave ; for the weak- 
 est goes to the wall. 
 
 Sam. True ; and therefore women, being the 
 • A phrase formerly in use, to signify the bearing injiu-ies. 
 856 
 
 weaker vessels, arc ever thrust to the wall ; — there* 
 fore I will push Montague's men from the wall, 
 and thrust liis maids to the wall. 
 
 Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and 
 us their men. 
 
 Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: 
 when I have Ibught with the men, I will be cruel 
 with the maids ; I will cut off their head3. 
 
 Gre. The heads of the maids 1 
 
 Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maid- 
 enheads ; take it in what sense thou wilt. 
 
 G7-e. They must take it in sense, that fcvl it. 
 
 Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able ti 
 stand : and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh. 
 
 Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish ; if thou hadst, 
 thou hadst been poor John." Draw thy tool ; here 
 comes two of the house of the Montagues. 
 
 Enter Abram and Balthazar. 
 
 Sam. My naked weapon is out ; quarrel, I wi\I 
 back thee. 
 
 » Poor John is hake, dried and salted. 
 
/O 
 
^CKNE 1. 
 
 ROMEO AND JirUET. 
 
 857 
 
 Gre. How? turn thy back, and run? 
 
 8am. Fear me not. 
 
 Gre. No, marry: I fear thee ! 
 
 •S'ftrtj. Let us take the law of our sides ; let them 
 r'pgin 
 
 Gre. I will frown as I pass by ; and let them 
 Sake it as they list. 
 
 Ham. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb 
 Bt them ; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. 
 
 Ahr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
 
 Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 
 
 Ahr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
 
 Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say — ay? 
 
 Gre. No. 
 
 Sam. No, sir; I do not bite my thumb at you, 
 sir: but I bite my thumb, sir. 
 
 Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 
 
 Ahr. Qua'rel, sir? no, sir. 
 
 Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you ; I serve as 
 good a man as you. 
 
 Ahr. No better. 
 
 Sam. Well, sir. 
 
 Enter Bexvolio, at a distance. 
 
 Gre. Say — better; here comes one of my mas- 
 ter's kinsmen. 
 
 Sam. Yes, better, sir. 
 
 Ahr. You lie. 
 
 Sam. Draw, if you be men. — Gregory, remem- 
 oer th}' swashing blow. [^I'/iey fight. 
 
 Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know 
 not what you do. [^Beais down their Swords. 
 
 Enter Tybalt. 
 
 Tijb. What, art thou drawn among these heart- 
 less hinds? 
 Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. 
 
 Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword. 
 Or manage it to part these men with me. 
 
 Tyh. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate 
 the word. 
 As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee ; 
 Have at thee, coward. [They fight. 
 
 Enter several Partizans of both Houses, who join 
 the Fray; then enter Citizens loith Clubs. 
 
 Cit. Clubs,' bills, and partizans ! strike ! beat 
 them down ! 
 Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! 
 
 Enter CAPULKxt/i his Gown,- and Jjwy Capulkt. 
 
 Cap. What noise is this? — Give me my long 
 
 sword, ho ! 
 La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! — Why call you for 
 
 a sword ? 
 Cap. My sword, I say ! — Old Montague is come, 
 And llonrishes his blade in spite of me. 
 
 Enter Montague, d7id Ladt Montague. 
 
 Man. Thou villain, Capulet, — Hold me not, let 
 
 me go 
 
 La. Mofi.Thoa shalt not stirone foot to seek a foe. 
 
 Enter Prince, ivith Attendants. 
 
 Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
 Prof'aners of this neighbor-stained steel, — 
 Will they not hear? — what, ho! you men, you 
 
 beasts, — 
 That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 
 With purple fountains issuing from your veins, 
 
 ^ Clubs was the usual exclamation at an aflray in the 
 «tree<s, ss wc now call AVatch! 
 
 On pain of torture, from those bloody hands 
 
 Throw your mistemper'd' weapons to the ground 
 
 And hear the sentence of your moved prince. — 
 
 Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word. 
 
 By ihee, old Cajnilet and Montague, 
 
 Have thrice disturl)'d the quiet of our streets; 
 
 And made Verona's ancient citizens 
 
 Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments. 
 
 To wield old partizans,' in hands as old, 
 
 Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: 
 
 If ever you disturb our streets again. 
 
 Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 
 
 For this time, all the rest depart away: 
 
 You, Ci'.pulet, shall go along with me; 
 
 And, Montague, come you this afternoon. 
 
 To know our further pleasure in this case. 
 
 To old F'ree-town, our common judgment-placi, 
 
 Once more, on pain of death, ail men depart. 
 
 \_Excunt Prince, and Attendants; Capulet, 
 Lady Capulet, Tyh alt, Citizens, end 
 Servants. 
 
 ilfo«. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? — 
 Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began? 
 
 Ben. Here were the servants of yoirr adversary 
 And yours, close fighting ere I did approach 
 I drew to part them ; in the instant came 
 The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared 
 Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears. 
 He swung about his head, and cut the winds, 
 Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn 
 While we were interchanging thrust and blows, 
 Came more and more, and fought on part and part, 
 Till the prince came, who parted either part. 
 
 La. Man. O, where is Romeo ? — saw you him to 
 day '• 
 Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. 
 
 Ben. Madam, an hour Ijelbre the worshipp'd sun 
 Peer'd ' forth the golden window of the east, 
 A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; 
 Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore, 
 That westward rooteth from the city's side, — 
 So early walking did I see 3'our son: 
 Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me, 
 And stole into the covert of the wood : 
 I measuring his aflections by my own, — 
 That most are busied when they are most alone, — 
 Pursued my humor, not pursuing his, 
 And gladly shunn'd who gladly lied from me. 
 
 Mun. Many a morning hath he there been seen, 
 With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
 Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs: 
 But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 
 Should in the furthest east begin to draw 
 The shady curtains from Aurora's bed. 
 Away from light steals home my heavy son, 
 And private in his chamber pens himself; 
 Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, 
 And makes himself an artificial night: 
 Black and poitentous must this humor prove. 
 Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 
 
 Ben. My nolile uncle, do you know the cause ! 
 
 Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. 
 
 Ben. Have you importuned him by any r.iieans1 
 
 Mon. Both by myself and many other friend.« 
 But he, his own afifections' counsellor. 
 Is to himself — I will not say, how true — 
 But to himself so secret and so close, 
 So far from sounding and discovery. 
 As is the bud bit with an envious worm. 
 
 'Ani;rj'. ♦ A kind of pike. 'Appeared. 
 
8&8 
 
 HOMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
 Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
 Could we but Icaru from whence his sorrows grow, 
 We would as willingly give cure, as know. 
 
 Enter Romeo, at a distance. 
 
 tien. See, where he comes : So please you, step 
 aside ; 
 I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. 
 
 Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay. 
 To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's away. 
 [Exe'int Montague and Lady. 
 Be?i. Good morrow, ."usin. 
 Rom. Is the day so young 1 
 
 Ben. But new struck nine. 
 Rom. Ah me ! sad hours seem long. 
 
 Was that my father that went hence so fast ] 
 Ben. It was : — What sadness lengthens Romeo's 
 
 hours'? 
 Rom. Not having that, which having, makes 
 
 them short. 
 Be7i. In love 1 
 Rom. Out — 
 Ben. Of level 
 
 Rom. Out of her favor, where I am in love. 
 Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, 
 Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! 
 
 Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 
 Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 
 Where shall we dine 1 — O me ! — What fray was 
 
 hei-e ] 
 Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
 Here's much to do with hate, hut more with love: — 
 Why then, O brawling love ! O loving hate ! 
 any thing, of nothing first create ! 
 heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 
 Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! 
 Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health ! 
 Still waking sleep, that is not what it is ! — • 
 This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
 Dost thou not laugh 1 
 
 Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 
 
 Rom. Good heart, at what 1 
 Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 
 
 Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. — 
 Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ; 
 Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
 With more of thine : this love, that thou hast shown, 
 Uoth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
 Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; 
 Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; 
 Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 
 What is it else 1 a madness most discreet, 
 A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. 
 Farewell, my coz. [Going. 
 
 Ben. Soft, I will go along ; 
 
 An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 
 
 Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; 
 'J'his is not Romeo, he's some other where. 
 Ben. Tell me in sadness who she is you love. 
 Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee ] 
 Ben. Groan 1 why no ; 
 
 Jut sadly tell me, who. 
 
 Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will : — 
 ^.h, word ill-urged to one that is so ill ! — 
 In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 
 
 Ben. I aira'd so near, when I supposed you lov'd. 
 Rom. A right good marksman ! — And she's fair 
 
 I love. 
 Ben A right fau- mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 
 
 Rom.WcW, in that hit, you miss :. she'll not be hil 
 With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit ; 
 And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd. 
 From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd 
 She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 
 Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
 Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
 O, she is rich in beauty ; only poor, 
 That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 
 
 Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live 
 chaste ? 
 
 Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes liug« 
 For beauty, starv'd with her severity, [waste; 
 Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
 She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair, 
 To merit bliss by making me despair: 
 She hath forsworn to love ; and in that vow, 
 Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 
 
 Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. 
 
 Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to thinlc 
 
 Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; 
 Examine other beauties. 
 
 Rom. 'Tis the way 
 
 To call hers, exquisite, in question more : 
 These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows. 
 Being black, put us in mind they hide the fiiir ; 
 He, that is struckcn blind, cannot forget 
 The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : 
 Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 
 What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
 Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair 1 
 Farewell ; thou canst not teach me to forget. 
 
 Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
 Enter Capdlet, Paiiis, and Servant. 
 
 Cap. And Montague io hound as well as I, 
 In penalty alike ; and 'tis not hard, I think, 
 For men so old as we to keep the peace. 
 
 Far. Of honorable reckoning^ are you both; 
 And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long. 
 But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ? 
 
 Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before ; 
 My child is yet a stranger in the world, 
 She hath not seen the change of fourteen years ; 
 Let two more summers wither in their pride. 
 Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 
 
 Far. Younger than she are happy mothers made 
 
 Cap. And too soon marr'd arc those so early made 
 The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, 
 She is the hopeful lady of my earth : 
 But \voo her, gentle Paris, get her heart. 
 My will to her consent is but a part ; 
 An she agree, within her scope of choice 
 Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
 This night I hold an old accustom'd feast. 
 Whereto I have invited many a guest, 
 Such as I love ; and you, among the store. 
 One more, most welcome, makes my number more 
 At my poor house, look to behold this night 
 Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light 
 Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel 
 When well-apparell'd April on the heel 
 Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
 Among fresh female binls shall you this nighl 
 Inherit' at my house; hear all, all see, 
 And like her most, whose ment most shall be : 
 
 * Account, estimation. 
 
 ' To inherit, in the language of Sliakspeare, is to possess 
 
feCENE III. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 859 
 
 finch, amongst view of ninny, mine, being one, 
 Mny stand in number, though in reckoning none. 
 Cnine, go with me : — Go, sirrah, trudge about 
 Througli fair Verona; find those persons out, 
 Whose names are written there, [Gives a Paper.] 
 
 and to them say, 
 My liousc and welcome on their pleasure stay. 
 
 [Exeunt Capulet nnd Paris. 
 Serv. Find them out, whose names aro written 
 hero? It is written — that the shoemaker should 
 meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, 
 the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his 
 nets : but I am sent to find those persons, whose 
 names are here writ, and can never find what 
 names the writing person hath here writ. I must 
 to tlie learned : — In good time. 
 
 Enter BenvoliO and RoMEO. 
 
 /?.?)(. Tut, man ! one fire burns out another's burn- 
 One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; [ing, 
 Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning : 
 
 One desperate grief cure with another's languish: 
 Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 
 And the rank poison of the old will die. 
 
 Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that. 
 
 Ben. For what, I pray thee? 
 
 J'om. For your broken shin. 
 
 J>en. Wliy, Romeo, art thou mad ? 
 
 Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is : 
 Shut up in prison, kept without my food, [low. 
 
 Whipp'd, and tormented, and — Good e'en, good fel- 
 
 Sei-v. God gi' good e'en. — I pray, sir, can you read? 
 
 Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 
 
 Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book : 
 Rut I pray, can you read any thing you see ? 
 
 J'om. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. 
 
 tS'eri'. Ye say honestly : Rest you merry ! 
 
 Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. [Reads. 
 
 Si(/nior Martino, and his toife and datif/hters ; 
 Conntr/ Anseline, and his beauteous sisters; The lady 
 widow of Vitruvio ; Sifjnior Placentio, and his lovely 
 nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; 3Iine 
 xnifle Capulet, his wife and daiir/hters ; My fair 
 niece Rosaline; Livia; jS'/V/Jiioc Valentio, foicZ his 
 vousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lire!// Helena. 
 A fair assembly ; [Gives back the Note.] Whither 
 should they come ? 
 
 Scrv. Up. 
 
 Rom. Whither? 
 
 Serv. To supper; to our house. 
 
 Pom. Whose house ? 
 
 Serv. My master's. 
 
 Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. 
 
 Sere. Now I'll tell you without asking : My master 
 is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the 
 house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a, cup 
 of wine. ^ Rest you merry. [Exit. 
 
 Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 
 Sups the fiiir Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; 
 \\'ith all the admired beauties of Verona. 
 Go thither, and, with unattaintod eye, 
 Comiiare her face with some that I shall show, 
 And I will make thee think tliy swan a crow. 
 
 Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 
 
 Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires ! 
 Anil tliose, who, often drown'd, could never die. 
 
 Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 
 One fairer tlian my love ! the all-seeing sun 
 No'er saw her match, since first the world begun. 
 
 /len. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, 
 Herself pois'd^ with herself in either eye : 
 But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd 
 \'iuir lady's love against some other maid 
 That I will sliow you, shining at this feast, 
 \iid she shall scant' show well, that now shows best. 
 
 > \\\- still say in cant languajje — cracJc a hnltle. 
 » Wfighea t Scarcely, hardly. 
 
 Jiom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown. 
 But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— tI Room in Capulet's House 
 Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 
 La. Ca^i. Nurse, whore's my daughter ? call her 
 
 forth to me. 
 Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head, at twelve yoa! 
 old,— 
 I bade her come. — What, lamb ! what, lady-bird ! 
 God forbid! — where's this girl ? — what, Juliet? 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Jul. How now, who calls ? 
 
 Nurse. Your mother. 
 
 Jul. Madam, I am herft. 
 
 What is your will ? [awhile, 
 
 La. Cap. This is the matter: — Nurse, give Jeava 
 We must talk in secret. — Nurse, come back again ; 
 I have remember'd me, thou snalt hear our counsel. 
 Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. 
 
 Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 
 
 La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 
 
 Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, 
 And yet, to my teen^ be it spoken, I have but four,— • 
 She is not fourteen : How long is it now 
 To Lammas-tide ? 
 
 La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. 
 
 N^urse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 
 Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. 
 Susan and she, — God rest all Christian souls ! — 
 Were of an age. — Well, Susan is with God ; 
 She was too good for me : But as I said. 
 On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. 
 That shall she, marry ; I remember it well. 
 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
 And she was wean'd, — I never shall forget it, — 
 Of all the days in the year, upon that day: 
 For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 
 Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, 
 My lord and you were then at Mantua : — 
 Nay, I do bear a brain,'' — But, as I said. 
 When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
 Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool ! 
 To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. 
 Shake, quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, I troWi 
 To bid me trudge. 
 
 And since that time it is eleven years : 
 For then she could stand alone ; nay, by the rood,* 
 She could have run and waddled all about, 
 For even the day before, she broke her brow: 
 And then my husband — God be with his soul! 
 'A was a merry man ; — took up the child : 
 Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon tliyfucef 
 Tlioii unit fall backward, when ihou lia.it more ivit / 
 Wilt thou not, Jule? and by my holy-dam, 5 
 The pretty wretch left crying, and said — Ay: 
 To see now, how a jest shall come about ! 
 I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 
 I never should forget it: Wilt thou not, Juhf 
 
 quoth he : 
 And, prett}' fool, it stinted,^ and said — Ay: 
 
 La. Cap. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold thy 
 peace. 
 
 Nurse. Yes, madam; yetlcannotchoosebutlaugh, 
 To think it should leave crying, and say — Ay: 
 And yet I warrant, it had upon its brow 
 A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; 
 A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly. 
 Yea, quoth my husband, /(j/r** ujmn thy face? 
 Tlioii wilt fall bach-ward, when thou com'st of age ; 
 Wilt thou not, Jnlc ? it stinted, and said — Ay. 
 
 Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I 
 
 'To my sorrow. 
 
 » I. e. 1 have a perfect rcinombrance or recollection. 
 
 * The cross. » Holy tiame, i. e. the blessed VirsjiD 
 
 * It stopped cryiug. 
 
«60 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act ] 
 
 Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to 
 his grace ! 
 Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I r.urs'd : 
 An I might live to see thee married once, 
 I have my wish. 
 
 La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme 
 r came to tallj of: — Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
 How stands your disposition to be married? 
 
 Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of. 
 
 Nurse. An honor! were not I thine only nurse, 
 I'd say, thou had'st suck'd wisdom from thy teat. 
 
 La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now ; younger 
 Here, in Verona, ladies of esteem, [than you. 
 
 Are made already mothers: by my count, 
 I was your mother much upon these j'ears 
 That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief: — 
 The gallant Paris seeks you for his love. 
 
 Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man. 
 As all the woi-ld — Why, he's a man of wax.s 
 
 La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 
 
 Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. 
 
 La. Cap. What say you, can you love the gentle- 
 man? 
 This night you shall behold him at our feast : 
 Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, 
 And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; 
 Examine every married lineament. 
 And see how one another lends content: 
 And what obscured in this fair volume lies, 
 Find written in the margin of his eyes." 
 This precious book of love, this unbound lover. 
 To beautify him only lacks a cover : 
 The fish lives in the sea ;'' and 'tis much pride. 
 For fair without the fair within to hide : 
 That book in many's eyes doth share the glory. 
 That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; 
 So shall you share all that he doth possess. 
 By having him, making yourself no less. — 
 
 Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by men. 
 
 La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love ? 
 
 Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move : 
 But no more deep will I endart mine eye. 
 Than yoijr consent gives strength to make it fly. 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served 
 up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse 
 cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I 
 must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. 
 
 La. Cap. We follow thee. — Juliet, the county stays. 
 
 Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy 
 days. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Street. 
 
 Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, toitJi Jive or 
 six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. 
 
 Bom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our ex- 
 Or shall we on without apology ? [cuse ? 
 
 Ben. The date is out of such prolixity : 
 We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, 
 Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, 
 Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper :s 
 Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
 After the prompter, for our entrance : 
 But, let them measure us by what they will. 
 We'll measure them a measure," and be gone. 
 
 ^om.Give me a torch,' — I am not for this ambling; 
 Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 
 
 Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. 
 
 ' Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax. 
 
 8 The comments on ancient books were always printed in 
 the margin. 
 
 ■• i. e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to hind 
 him. 
 
 « A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows. 
 
 » A dance. 
 
 ' A torch-hearer was a constant appendage to every troop 
 Df maskers. 
 
 Bom. Not I, believe Ti.c: you have dancing shoe^ 
 With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead, 
 So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. 
 
 Mer. You are a lover: borrow Cupid's wings, 
 And soar with them above a common bound. 
 
 Bom. I am too sore impierced with his shaft 
 To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, 
 I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : 
 Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 
 
 3Ter. And, to sink in it, should you burden lova ; 
 Too great oppression for a tender thing. 
 
 Bom. Is love a tender thing ? it is too rough. 
 Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn. 
 
 3Ier. If love be rough with you, be rough with love ; 
 Prick love for pricking, and you beat lovo down, — 
 Give me a case to put my visage in ; 
 
 [Putting on a Mask, 
 A visor for a visor ! — what caro I, 
 AVhat curious eye doth quotes deformities ? 
 Here are the beetle brows, shall blush for me. 
 
 Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in, 
 But every man betake him to his legs. 
 
 Bom. A torch for me : let wantons, light of heart, 
 Tickle the senseless rushess with their heels ; 
 For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, — 
 I'll be a candle-holder, and look on, — 
 The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 
 
 3Ier. Tut! dun's the mouse,the constable's own word: 
 If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire 
 Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st 
 Up to the ears. — Come, we burn day-light, ho. 
 
 Bom. Nay, that's not so. 
 
 Mer. I mean, sir, in delay. 
 
 We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. 
 Take our good meaning : for our judgment sits 
 Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. 
 
 Bom. And wo mean well, in going to this mask ; 
 But 'tis no wit to go. 
 
 3Icr. Why, may one ask ? 
 
 Bom. I dreamt a dream to-night. 
 
 Mer, And so did I. 
 
 Bom. Well, what was yours? 
 
 3[er. That dreamers often lie. 
 
 Bom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things 
 true. 
 
 3[er. 0, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. 
 She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman, 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies< 
 Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : 
 Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; 
 The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
 The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
 The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams: 
 Her whip, of cricket's bone : the lash, of film : 
 Her waggoner, a small gray-coated gnat. 
 Not half so big as a round little worm 
 Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut. 
 Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 
 Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
 And in this state she gallops night by night 
 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: 
 On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight; 
 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses drQam ; 
 Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues. 
 Because their breath with sweet-meats tainted aroi 
 Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
 And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:» 
 And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
 Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep. 
 Then dreams he of another benefice : 
 
 a Observe. 
 
 » It was anciently the custom to strew rooms with rushes 
 
 ♦ Atoms. » A place in court 
 
f.OENE V 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 861 
 
 Soinctiine she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, 
 And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
 Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
 Drums in his car ; at which he starts, and wakes. 
 And, being thus frighted, swears a pra3'cr or two. 
 And sleeps again. This is that very Mab 
 That plats the manes of horses in the night ; 
 And bakes the elk-locks' in foul sluttish hairs, 
 Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 
 This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs. 
 That presses them, and learns them first to 
 
 bear. 
 Making them women of good carriage. 
 This, this is she — 
 
 Hum. Peace, peace, Mcrcutio, peace ; 
 
 Thou talk'st of nothing. 
 
 Mer. True, I talk of dreams; 
 
 Which are the children of an idle brain. 
 Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
 Which is as thin of substance as the air; 
 And more inconstant than the wind, who woos 
 Even now the frozen bosom of the north, 
 And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, 
 Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 
 
 Ben. This wind you talk of, blows us from our- 
 selves ; 
 Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 
 
 Rvm. I tear, too early : for my mind misgives, 
 Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars. 
 Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
 With this night's revels; and expire the term 
 Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast. 
 By some vile forfeit of untimely death: 
 But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 
 Direct my sail ! — On, lusty gentlemen. 
 
 Beii. Strike, drum. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Hall in Capulet's House. 
 Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 
 
 1. iServ. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take 
 away 1 he shift a trencher ! he scrape a trencher ! 
 
 2 Sei-v. When good manners shall lie all in one 
 or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a 
 foul thing. 
 
 1 Serv. Away with the joint stools, remove the 
 court-cupboard,'' look to the plate: — good thou, 
 uave me a piece of march-pane ;'' and, as thou lovest 
 me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and 
 Nell. — Antony ! and Potpan ! 
 
 2 Serv. Ay, boy ; ready. 
 
 1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked 
 for, and sought for, in the great chamber. 
 
 2 Serv. We cainiot be here and there too. — 
 Checrly, boys ; be brisk a while, and the longer 
 liver take all. ["^^^y retire behind. 
 Enter Cavulet, ^c. with the Guests a7id Maskers. 
 
 Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have 
 their toes 
 Unplagued with corns, will have a bout with you : — 
 Ah ha, my mistresses ! which of you all 
 Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, 
 I'll swear, hath corns ; Am I come near you now 1 
 You arc welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day. 
 That I have worn a visor ; and could tell 
 
 » i. e. Fairy-locks. locks of hair clotted anj tangled in the 
 ni^'ht. 
 6 A siieboard on which the plate was placed. 
 ' Almond cake. 
 
 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. 
 
 Such as would please ; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: 
 
 You are welcome, gentlemen I — Come, musicians, 
 
 play, 
 A hall ! a hall !' give room, and foot it, girls. 
 
 \_Music plaijs, and tlifif dance. 
 More light, ye knaves ; and turn the tables up. 
 And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot,— 
 Ah, sirrah, this unlooked-for sport comes ■^ell. 
 Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; 
 For you and I are past our dancing days: 
 How long is't now, since last yourself ai:d I 
 Were in a mask 1 
 
 2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years. 
 
 1 Cap. What man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis in bo 
 
 much : 
 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
 Come Pentecost as quickly as it will. 
 Some five-and-twenty years ; and ther '^e mask'd. 
 
 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son Is elder, sir : 
 His son is thirty. 
 
 1 Cap. Will you tell me that? 
 
 His son was but a ward two years ago. 
 
 Rom. \^'hat lady's that which doth enrich the hand 
 Of yonder knight 1 
 
 Serv. I know not, sir. 
 
 Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! 
 Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: 
 Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! 
 So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 
 As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
 The measure' done, Fll watch her place of stand, 
 And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. 
 Did my heart love till now 1 forswear it, sight ! 
 For I ne'er saw true beauty till this riight. 
 
 Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : — 
 Fetch me my rapier, boy : — What ! dares the slave 
 Come hither, cover'd with an antic facf' 
 To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ': 
 Now, by the stock and honor of my kin. 
 To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 
 
 1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman 1 wnerefora 
 storm you so 1 
 
 Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe ; 
 A villain, that is hither come in spite. 
 To scorn at our solemnity this night. 
 
 1 Cap. Young Romeo is't 7 
 
 Tab. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo 
 
 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, 
 tie bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
 And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, 
 To be a virtuous and well-govcrn'd youth : 
 I would not for the wealth of all this town, 
 Here in my house, do him disparagement: 
 Therefore, be patient, take no note of him. 
 It is my will ; the which if thou respect. 
 Show a fair presence, and put off these fiowns. 
 An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 
 
 Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest, 
 I'll not endure him. 
 
 1 Cap. He shall be endured ; 
 
 What, goodman boy ! — I say, he shall ; — Go to;— 
 Am I the mnster here, or you ? go to. 
 You'll not endure him ! — God shall mend my soul • 
 You'll make 'a mutiny among my guests! 
 You will set a cock-a-hoop ! you'll be the man ! 
 
 Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 
 
 I Cap. Go to, go to, 
 
 1 
 
 • i.e. Make room. 
 
 ° The dance. 
 
862 
 
 llOMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Vou are a saucy boy: — Is't so indeed ? — 
 This trick may chance to scath' you; — I know what. 
 You must contn'iry mc! marry, 'tis time — 
 Well said, my hearts: — You are aprincox;'^ go: — 
 Be quiet,or — More light, more light! — For shame! — 
 I'll make you quiet; What! — Checrly, my hearts. 
 
 Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting. 
 Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
 I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, 
 Now .seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit. 
 
 Bom. If I orofane with my unwor'.hy hand 
 
 [To JUL'.ET. 
 
 This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, — 
 Ully lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
 
 To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 
 Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too 
 much, 
 Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; 
 For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, 
 And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 
 Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too'? 
 Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips, that they must use in 
 
 prayer. 
 Rom . then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do ; 
 Then pray, grant thou, lest fiiith turn to despair. 
 Jul. Saints do not move, though grant forprayers' 
 
 sake. 
 Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect 
 I take. 
 Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 Jill. Then have my lips the sii; that they have took. 
 Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged ! 
 Give me my sin again. 
 
 Jul. You kiss by the book. 
 
 Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with 
 Rom. What is her mother 1 [you. 
 
 Nu7-se. Marry, bachelor, 
 
 Her mother is the lady of the house. 
 And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous: 
 I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; 
 I tell you, — he, that can lay hold of her, 
 Shall have the chinks. 
 
 Rom. Is she a Capulet ? 
 
 dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
 
 Den. Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. 
 
 Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 
 
 1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to he gone. 
 We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.— 
 Is it e'en so ? Why, then I thank you all ; 
 I thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night : — 
 More torches here! — Come on, then let's to lied. 
 Ah, sirrah, [To 2 Cap.] by my fay,' it waxes late 
 I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse 
 
 Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman ! 
 
 Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 
 
 Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door ' 
 
 Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. 
 
 Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would 
 
 Nurse. I know not. [not dance? 
 
 Jul. Go, ask his name: — if he be married. 
 My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 
 
 Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; 
 The only son of your great enemy. 
 
 Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate ! 
 Too early seen unknown, and known too late ! 
 Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 
 That I must love a loathed enemy. 
 
 Nurse. What's this ? what's this ? 
 
 Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now 
 
 Of one I danced withal. [One calls wit/tin, iuliet^ 
 
 Nurse. Anon, anon: — 
 
 Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Now old Desire doth in his death-bed lie. 
 
 And young Affection gapes to be his heir; 
 That fair, which love groan'd for, and would dit. 
 
 With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair. 
 Now Romeo is bclov'd and loves again, 
 
 Alike bewitched by the charm of looks ; 
 But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, 
 
 And she steal love's sweet bait from fearlid hooks. 
 Being held a foe, he may not have access 
 
 To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; 
 And she as much in love, her means much less 
 
 To meet her new-beloved any where : 
 But passion lends them power, time means to meet, 
 Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exii 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Ari open Place, adjoining Capulet's 
 Garden. 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here? 
 Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. 
 [He climbs the Wall, and leaps down within it. 
 
 Enter Bexvolio and Mercutio. 
 
 Ben Romeo ! my cousin Romeo ! 
 
 Mcr. He is wise ; 
 
 And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. 
 
 Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd thisorchard wall: 
 Call, good 'Mercutio. 
 
 Mrr. Nay, I'll conjure too — 
 
 Romeo! humors! madman! passion! lover! 
 Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh. 
 Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied ; 
 Cry but — Ah me ! couple but — love and dove ; 
 Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word. 
 One nick-name for her purblind son and heir. 
 Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim. 
 
 Do you nn injury a A coxcor-b. 
 
 When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.'* — 
 He heareth not, stirreth not, he movcth not ; 
 The ape' is dead, and I must conjure him. — 
 I conjure thee by Ro.ialine's bright eyes, 
 By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip, 
 By her fine foot, straigQt leg, and quivering thigU 
 And the demesnes that there adjacent lie. 
 That in thy likeness thou appear to us. 
 
 Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him 
 Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger liirE 
 To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle. 
 Of some strange nature, letting it there stand 
 Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down ; 
 That were some spite; my invocation 
 Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name. 
 I conjure only but to raise up him. 
 
 Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfamong those trees 
 To be consorted with the humorous* night : 
 Blind in his love, and best befits the dark. 
 
 sFiiith. 
 
 « Alluding to the old ballad of the king and the beggar. 
 
 ' This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an ea 
 pression of tenderue?s. • Humid, moist. 
 
HCENE 11. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 865 
 
 ilfo-rlf love be bliud, love cannot hit the mark. 
 Now will he sit under a medlixr-trcc, 
 And wisli liis mistrcs were that kind of fruit, 
 As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. 
 Romeo, good night ;^ril to my truckle bed ; 
 This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : 
 Come, sh.5il we go? 
 
 Ben, Go, then ; for 'tis in vain 
 
 To j^-ck nim here, that means not to be found. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Capulet's Garden 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 ^ivi. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — 
 [Juliet appears above, at. a Window. 
 B;!t, soft ! what light through yonder window breaks! 
 It is the east, and .hiliet is the sun !— 
 Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, 
 Who is already sick and pale with grief. 
 That thou her maid art far more fair than she: 
 Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
 Her vestal livery is but sick and green. 
 And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. — 
 It is my lady ; O, it is my love : 
 O, that she knew she were! — 
 She speaks, yet she says nothing: What of that? 
 Her eye discourses, I will answer it, — 
 I am too bold, 'tis not to me she .speaks: 
 Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven. 
 Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
 To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
 \\'hat if her eyes were there, they in her head? 
 The brightness of her cheek would shame those Stars, 
 As daylight doth a lamp; 'her eye in heaven 
 WoulJi through the airy region stream so bright, \ 
 That birds would sing, and think it were not night.' 
 See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
 0, that [ vi'ere a glove upon that hand. 
 That I might touch that cheek ! 
 
 Jnl. Ah me ! 
 
 Rom. She speaks :-j— 
 
 O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art ) 
 
 As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, 
 As is a winged messenger of heaven 
 TJnto the white-upturned vi'ond'ring eyes 
 Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him. 
 When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, 
 And sails upon the bosom of the air. 
 
 Jh/.O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? 
 Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: 
 Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
 \nd I'll no longer be a Capulet. 
 
 AV -v, Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? 
 
 l^Aside. 
 
 J:} ris but thy name, that is my enemy; — 
 I f.a:'- ait thyself though, not a Montague. 
 What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, 
 Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
 Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! 
 U'hat's in a name? that which we call a rosf 
 By any other name would smell as sweet; 
 So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 
 Retain that dear perfection which he owes,'' 
 W'illiout that title: — R()ineo, doff* thy name; 
 And for that name which is no part of thee, 
 Take all myself. 
 
 Rom. I take thee at thy word : 
 
 l3all me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd ; 
 Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 
 
 ' ' '"lit, possesseu. 'Do olT, pi t off. 
 
 Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'o 
 in niglit, 
 So stumblcst on my counsel? 
 
 Rom, By a name 
 
 I know not how to tell thee who I am : 
 My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
 Because it is an enemy to thee; 
 Had I it written, I would tear the word. 
 
 Jul- My ears have not yet drunk a hundred wordl 
 Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound 
 Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? 
 
 Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 
 
 Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and w her© 
 fore ? 
 The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb ; 
 And the place death, considering who thou art. 
 If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 
 
 Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-percn 
 these walls; 
 For stony limits cannot hold love out: 
 And what love can do, that dares love attempt. 
 Therefore thy kinsmen are no let' to me. 
 
 Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee 
 
 Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, 
 Than twenty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, 
 And I am proof against their enmity. 
 
 Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here, 
 
 Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me fi-om their 
 sight ; 
 And, but' thou love me, let them find me here* 
 My life were better ended by their hate. 
 Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 
 
 Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this 
 place? 
 
 Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire 
 He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
 I am no pilot ; yet wert thou as far 
 As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, 
 I would adventure for such merchandise. 
 
 Jul.T\\ou know'st the mask ofnightisonmyface 
 Else would a maiden lilush hejiaint my cheek. 
 For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night 
 Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain, deny 
 What I have spoke: But farewell compliment! 
 Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say — Ay; 
 And I will take thy word : yet if thou swear'st, 
 Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' jierjuries, 
 They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, 
 If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
 Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
 I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay. 
 So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. 
 In truth, fiiir Montague, I am too fond ; 
 And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light 
 But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
 Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
 I should have been more strange, I must confcb.«, 
 But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware, 
 My true love's passion ; therefore, pardon me ; 
 And not impute this yielding to light love, 
 \^■ hich the dark night hath so discovered. 
 
 Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I sweai, 
 That tips with silver all these fruit-tr'>e tops, — 
 
 Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstau' 
 moon, 
 That monthly changes in her circled orb. 
 Lest that thy love prove likewise variablp 
 
 Rom, What shall I swear by ? 
 
 Jul. Do not swear at all 
 
 •Iliu'lraDce 'Unless. 'Shy 
 
8(j4 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, 
 Which is the god of mv idolatry, 
 And I'll believi? thee. 
 
 tloiu. If my heart's dear love — 
 
 Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thetv 
 I have no joy of this contract to-night: 
 It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden ; 
 Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be. 
 Ere one can say — It lightens. Sweet, good night I 
 This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, 
 May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
 Good night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest 
 Come to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 
 
 Rom. 0, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? 
 
 Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night ■! 
 
 Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow 
 
 for mine. 
 Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it : 
 And yet I would it were to give again. 
 
 Rom. Would'st thou wiihdravv if? for what pur- 
 pose, love 1 
 
 Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
 And yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
 My bounty is as boundless as the sea. 
 My love as deep; the more I give to thee. 
 The more I have, for both are infinite. 
 
 [Nurse calls within. 
 I hear some noise within : Dear love, adieu ! 
 Anon, good nurse ! — Sweet Montague, be true. 
 Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit. 
 
 Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! lam afeard, 
 Being in night, all this is but a dream. 
 Too il.ittering-svveet to be substantial. 
 
 Re-enter Julikt, above. 
 
 Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, 
 indeed. 
 If that thy bent^ of love be honorable, 
 Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow. 
 By one that I'll procure to come to thee. 
 Where, and what time, thou wilt perform (he rite; 
 \nd all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay. 
 And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world: — 
 Nurse. \_Within.'\ Madam. 
 
 Jul. I come, anon: — But if thou mean'st not 
 well, 
 I do beseech thee, — 
 
 Nurse. [Within.^ Madam. 
 Jul. By and by, I come : — 
 
 To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
 To-morrow will I send. 
 
 Rom. So thrive my soul, — 
 
 Jul. A thousand times good night ! [Exit. 
 
 Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy 
 light.— 
 Love gies toward love, as school-boys trom their 
 
 books, 
 Bu Ivive from love, toward school with heavy looks. 
 
 [Retiring slow It/. 
 
 Re-enter Juliet, above. 
 Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — 0, for a falconer's 
 voice, 
 I'o lure this tassel-gentle'' back again ! 
 Bondage is hoaise, and may not speak aloud ; 
 Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, 
 .\nd make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine 
 With repetition of ray Romeo's name. 
 
 » Inclination. 
 
 ' The teircd is the male hawk, the falcon the female. 
 
 Rom. It is my soul, that cails upon my name! 
 How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
 Like softest music to attending ears 1 
 
 Jul. Romeo ! 
 
 Rom. My sweet ! 
 
 Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow 
 
 Shall I send to thee 1 
 
 Rom. At the hour of nine. 
 
 Jul. I will not fail ; 'tis twenty years till then. 
 I have forgot why I did call thee back. 
 
 Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 
 
 Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, 
 Rememb'ring how I love thy company. 
 
 Ro?7i. And ril still stay, to have thee still forget, 
 Forgetting any other home but this. 
 
 Jul, 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone • 
 And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
 Who lets it hop a little from her hand. 
 Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,' 
 And with a silk thread plucks it back again, - 
 So loving-jealous of his liberty. 
 
 Rom. I would, I were thy bird. 
 
 Jul. Sweet, so would I: 
 
 Yet I should kill thee wiih much cherishing. 
 Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet 
 [ sorrow, 
 
 "^hat I shall say — good night, till it be morrow. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in th) 
 breast ! — 
 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ! 
 Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 
 His help to crave, and my dear hap^ to tell. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Friar Lawrence's Cell. 
 
 Enter FiiiAn Lawrence, with a Basket. 
 
 Eri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frown- 
 ing night. 
 Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light , 
 And flecked' darkness like a drunkard reels 
 From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's' whei Is. 
 Now ere the sun advance his burning eye. 
 The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
 I must fill up this osier cage of ours. 
 With baleful weeds, and preciou.s-juiced flowers. 
 The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb ; 
 What is her burying grave, that is her womb : 
 And from her womb children of divers kind 
 We sucking on her natural bosom find ; 
 Many for many virtues excellent. 
 None but for .some, and yet all diflerent. 
 O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies 
 In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: 
 For nought so vile that on the earth doth live. 
 But to the earth some special good doth give ; 
 Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use 
 Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse ; 
 Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
 And vice sometime 's by action dignified. 
 Within the infant rind of this small flower 
 Poison hath residence, and med'cine power: 
 For this, being smelt, with that part cheei;^ each part 
 Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
 Two such opposed foes encamp them still 
 In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will ; 
 And where the worser is predominant. 
 Full soon the canker death eats up that plant 
 
 5 Fetter.':. 
 
 ' Spotted, .streaked. 
 
 « Chance, fortune. 
 » The .sun. 
 
r 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 86t 
 
 Enler Roiieo. 
 
 Rom. Good rnorrow, father ! 
 Fri. Benedicite ! 
 
 Wliat early tongue so sweet saluteth mel 
 Young son, it argues a distcmper'd head, 
 So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
 Care keeps his watch in every ohl man's eye. 
 And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; 
 But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain 
 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign 
 Therefore thy carliness dotli me assure. 
 Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature ; 
 Or if not so, then here I hit it right — 
 Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 
 
 Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. 
 
 Fri. God |)ardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline! 
 
 Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father 1 no ; 
 I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. 
 
 Vri. That's my good son: But where hast thou 
 been then \ 
 
 Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
 I have been feasting with mine enemy ; 
 Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded mc, 
 That's by me wounded ; both our remedies 
 Within thy help and holy physic lies : 
 [ bear no hatred, blessed man : for, lo, 
 My intercession likewise steads my foe. 
 
 Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; 
 Riddling coiifession finds but riddling shrift. 
 
 /lOWi.Thcn plainly know. my heart's dearloveisset 
 On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: 
 As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; 
 And all combin'd, save what thou must combine 
 By holy marriage: When, and where, and hovi'. 
 We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, 
 I'll tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray, 
 That thou consent to marry us this day. 
 
 Fri. Holy saint Francis ! what a change is here 1 
 Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, 
 So soon forsaken ? 5'oung men's love then lies 
 Not truly in their hearts but in their eyes. 
 Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine 
 Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline ! 
 How much salt water thrown away in waste, 
 To season love, that of it doth not taste ! 
 The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
 Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
 Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
 Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: 
 If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine. 
 Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline ; [then — 
 .\nd art thou changed ? pronounce this sentence 
 Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. 
 
 Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. 
 
 F^-i. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 
 
 Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 
 
 Fri. Not in a grave. 
 
 To lay one in, another out to have. 
 
 Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she,whom I love now. 
 Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ; 
 The other did not so. 
 
 Fri. 0, she knew well, 
 
 Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. 
 But come, yotnig v.'avcrer, come go with me, 
 In one respect I'll thy assistant be ; 
 For this alliance may so hapjjy prove, 
 To turn your households' rancor to pure love. 
 
 R<mi. O let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. 
 
 Fri. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run 
 fast [I'lxtunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Street. 
 Enter BENvoriio and Mercutio. 
 
 Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo bs '? 
 Came he not home to-night 1 
 
 Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man 
 
 Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench 
 that Rosaline, 
 Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 
 
 Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
 Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 
 
 Mer. A challenge, on my life. 
 
 Ben. Romeo will answer it. 
 
 il/er. Any man, that can write, may answer a letjet 
 
 Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master^ 
 how he dares, being dared. 
 
 Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! 
 stabbed with a white wench's black eye ! shot 
 thorough the car with a love-song: the very pin of 
 his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft;* 
 And is he a man to encounter Tybalt 1 
 
 Ben. Why what is Tybalt ? 
 
 Mer. More than prince of cats,' I can tell you. O 
 he is the courageous captain of compliments. He 
 fights as you sing prick-song,'^ keeps time, distance, 
 and proportion; rests me his minim rest one, two, and 
 the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk but- 
 ton, a duellist, a duellist ; a gentleman of the very first 
 house, — of the first and second cause: Ah, the im 
 mortal passado ! the punto reverse ! the hay !' 
 
 Ben. The what ] 
 
 Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting 
 fantasticocs : these new tuners of accents ! — Bij 
 Jesit, a very good blade! — a very tall man! — a 
 very good whore! — Why, is not this a lamentablo 
 thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted 
 with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, 
 these pardonnez-moys, who stand so much on the 
 new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old 
 bench ? O, their ho7is, their hons ! 
 
 Enter Rojieo. * 
 
 Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 
 
 Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring: — O 
 flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified I — Now is he for 
 the numbers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura, to hig 
 lady, was but a kitchen-wench; — marry, she had 
 a better love to be-rhyme her : Dido, a dowdy : 
 Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and 
 harlots; Tliisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the 
 purpose. — Siguier Romeo, ban jour ! There's a 
 French salutation to your French slop.* You gave 
 us the counterfeit fairly last night. 
 
 Rom. Good morrow to you both. What coiui- 
 terfcit did I give youl 
 
 Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ;' Can you not con- 
 ceive ? 
 
 Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was 
 great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may 
 strain courtesy. 
 
 Mer. That's as much as to say — such a case a 
 yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 
 
 Rom. Meaning — to court'sy, 
 
 Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 
 
 Rom. A most courteous exposition. 
 
 » Arrow. • ?ee (he Ftorj' of Reynard the fix. 
 
 "Hy notes prickeJ down. 
 'Terms of (hi; foncing-'schocl. 
 
 «Trowsers or pantaloons, ii French fa.shion iu Shakf 
 poavo"s time. 
 'A ■ un on cou nterfeit moue v oalleiJ. slios 
 
806 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act n 
 
 Me.-. JS'ay, I am the ^orj' pink of courtesj'. 
 
 Jiom. Pinli fur llower. 
 
 3lei: Right. 
 
 Horn. ^Vhy, then is luy pump' well flowered, 
 
 3Ici: Well said : Follow me this jest now, till thou 
 bq.'t worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole 
 of it is won:, the JRjt may remain after the wearing, 
 Bolely singular. 
 
 Jiom. single-soled jest, solely singular for the 
 uinglcness ! 
 
 Mer. Come between us, good Ben volio; my wits fail. 
 
 Eoiii. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll 
 cry a match. 
 
 3fef. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I 
 Laye done : for thou hast more of the wild-goose in 
 onD of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole 
 fire : Was I with you there for the goose ? 
 
 Jiom. Thou wast never Avith me for any thing, 
 when thou wast not there for the goose. 
 
 Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 
 
 Jiom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 
 
 Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter-sweeting;* it is a 
 most sharp sauce. 
 
 Jiom. And is it not well served into a sweet goose ? 
 
 Mer. 0, here's a wit of cheverel,'' that stretches 
 from an inch narrow to an ell broad ! 
 
 Jiom. I stretch it out for that word— -broad: which 
 added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad 
 goose. 
 
 Mer. Whj', is not this better now than groaning 
 for love ? now art thou sociable, now art thou Ro- 
 meo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as 
 by nature : for this drivelling love is like a great 
 natural, that runs lolling up and down, to hide his 
 bauble in a hole. 
 
 Ben. Stop there, stop there. 
 
 3Jcr. Thou dcsirest mo to stop in my tale against 
 the hair. 
 
 lien. Thou wouklst else have made thy tale large. 
 
 jlfcr. 0, thou art deceived, I would have made it 
 short, for I was come to the whole depth of my tale ; 
 and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. 
 
 Horn. Here's goodly geer. 
 
 Enter Nurse and Peter. 
 
 J/er. A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 
 Ben. Two, two ; a shirt, and a smock. 
 
 Nurse. Peter! 
 
 Pet. Anon ? 
 
 Nurse. My fan, Peter. 
 
 3fer. Pr'ythee, do, good '^eter, to hide her face ; 
 for her fan's the fairer of tb- two. 
 
 Nurse. God ye good-mr'-row, gentlemen. 
 
 3Ier. God ye good-den,' fair gentlewoman. 
 
 Nurse. Is it good-den? 
 
 Mer. 'Tis no les.=, I tell you ; for the bawdy hand 
 of the dial is now -ipon the prick' of noon. 
 
 Nurse. Out'ipon you! what a man are you? 
 
 Jiom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made 
 himself to mar. 
 
 Nurse. By my troth, it is well said ; — For himself 
 to mar, quoth'a ? — Gcnllemen, can any of you tell me 
 where I may find the young Romeo ? 
 
 Jiom. I can tell you ; but young Romeo will be 
 older when you have found him, than he was when 
 you sought him : I am the youngest of that name, 
 for fault of a worse. 
 
 Nurse. You say well. 
 
 J/er. Yea, is the worse well? very well tools, i' faith; 
 wisely, wisely. 
 
 Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence 
 Irith you. 
 
 Beji. She will indite him to some supper. 
 
 Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho ! 
 
 Ro7n. What hast thou found ? 
 
 » Shoe. « An apple. 
 
 • Good even 
 
 ■< Soft stretching leather. 
 •Point. 
 
 Jfer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, m a lenteu 
 pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. 
 An old hare hoar,^ 
 And an old hare hoar, 
 Is very good meat in lent: 
 But a hare that is hour, 
 /<i too much for a score, 
 When it hoars ere it he spent. 
 
 Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we'll to liD- 
 ncr thither. 
 
 Jiom. I will follow you. 
 
 3Jer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, ladj^ 
 lady. [Exeunt Mercutio and Benyolio. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, farewell! — I pray you sir, what 
 saucy merchant- was this, that was so full of his 
 ropery ? 
 
 Jiom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear him- 
 self talk : and will speak more in a minute, than he 
 will stand to in a month. 
 
 Nurse. An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take 
 him down an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty 
 such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that 
 shall. — Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; 
 I am none of his skains-mates :' — And thou must 
 stand by too, and sufiFer every knave to use me at 
 his pleasure ? 
 
 Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure ; if I had, 
 my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant 
 you : I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see 
 occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. 
 
 Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every 
 part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! — Pray you, 
 sir, a word ; and, as I told you, my young lady bade 
 me inquire you out ; what she bade me say, I will 
 keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should 
 lead her into a fool's Paradise, as they say, it were a 
 very gross kind of behavior, as they say, for the gen- 
 tlewoman is young: and, therefore, if you should deal 
 double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be of- 
 fered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. 
 
 Jiom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- 
 tress. I protest unto thee, — 
 
 Nurse. Good heart! and, i' faith, I will tell her 
 as much : Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. 
 
 Jiom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse ? thou dost 
 not mark me. 
 
 N'urse. I will tell her, sir — that you do protest; 
 which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer. 
 
 Bom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift' 
 This afternoon; 
 
 And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell 
 Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. 
 
 Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny 
 
 Jiom. Go to, I say you shall. 
 
 Nurse. This afternoon, sir; well, she shall be there. 
 
 Jiom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbej'-wall; 
 Within this hour my man shall be with thee; 
 And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, 
 Which to the high top-gallant» of my joy 
 Must be my convoy in the secret night. 
 Farewell ! — be trusty, and I'll quit' thy pains. 
 Farewell ! — Commend me to thy mistress. [sir. 
 
 Nurse. Now, God in heaven bless thee ! — Hark yoa, 
 
 Jiorn. AVhat say'st thou, my dear nurse ? 
 
 Nurse. Is your man secret ? Did you ne'r hear 
 say- 
 Two may keep counsel, putting one away ? 
 
 Bom. I warrant thee ; my man's as true as steel. 
 
 Nurse. AVell, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady : 
 — Lord, lord ! — when 'twas a little prating thing, — 0, 
 — there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would 
 
 • Iloary, mouldy. 
 
 a A term of disrespect, in contradistinction to gentleman 
 > A mate or companion of one wearing a skaiu ; a sliori 
 sword. * Confession. 
 
 • The highest extremity of the mast of a ship. 
 •Keq.uite. 
 
Scene VI 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET 
 
 867 
 
 fain lay knife aboard ; but she, good soul, had as lieve 
 Bce a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger hci' 
 Bometitncs, and tell her that Paris is the properer 
 man ; but, I'll warrant yon, when I say so, she 
 looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth 
 not rosemary and llouico begin both with a letter? 
 
 Rom. Ay. nurse ; what of tliat? both with an R. 
 
 Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name; R is 
 lor the dog. No ; I know it begins with some other 
 letter; and she hath the prettiest .sententious of it, 
 of you and rosemarj', tliat it would do you good to 
 hear it. 
 
 Rom. Commend me to thy lady. [F'.U. 
 
 Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter ! 
 
 Pet. Anon ? 
 
 Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and p;o beforo '^j^xeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Capalet's Garden. 
 Enter Jdi-iET. 
 Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the 
 In half an hour she promis'd to return. [nurse ; 
 
 Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. — 
 0, she is lame ! love's heralds should be thoughts, 
 Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, 
 Driving back shadows over low'ring hills : 
 Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love. 
 And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
 Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
 Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve 
 Is three long hours, — yet she is not come. 
 Had shft aifections, and warm youthful blood, 
 She'd be as swift in motion as a ball ; 
 3Iy words would bandy* her to my sweet love, 
 And his to me : 
 
 But old folks, many feign as they were dead; 
 Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
 
 Enter '^nrs.Q and Peter. 
 God, she comes ! — honey nurse, what news ? 
 Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away. 
 
 Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Pcier. 
 
 Jid. Now, good, sweet nurse, — lord ! why look'ic 
 thou sad? 
 Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; 
 If good, thou sham'st the music 'jf sweet news 
 By playing it to me with so sour a face. 
 
 Nurse. I am weary, give me leave a while ; — 
 Fye, how my bones ache ' What a jaunt have I had ! 
 
 Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy 
 news: 
 Nay, come, I pray thee, Bpeak ; — good, good nurse, 
 speak. 
 
 Nurse. Jesu ! What haste ? can you not stay a 
 while ? 
 Do you not see that I am out of breath ? 
 
 Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast 
 breath 
 To say to me — that thou art out of breath ? 
 The excuse that thou dost make in this delay, 
 Is lunger than the tale thou dost excuse. 
 Is th}' news good or bad ? answer to that ; 
 Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: 
 Let me be satisfied, Is'tgood or bad? 
 
 Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; you 
 know not how to choose a man : Romeo ! no, not he ; 
 though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg 
 excels all men's; and for a hand and a foot, and a 
 body, — though they be not to bo talked on, yet they 
 are past compare : He is not the flower of courtesy, 
 —but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. — Go thy 
 R-ays, wench ; serve God. — What, have you dined 
 at home ? 
 
 Jul. No, no : But all this did I know before ; 
 H'hat says he of )ur marriage? what of that? 
 
 \urse. Lord, now my head aches ! what a head 
 It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces, [have I! 
 
 * Drive her, as a ball struck with a bandy, t". e. bat or 
 Nitt'edore. 
 
 My liack o' t'other side. — 0, my back, my back !- 
 
 Be shrew your heart, for sending me about, 
 
 To catch my death with jaunting up and down ! 
 
 Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that tliou .art not well : 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says mj 
 love ? 
 
 N'urse. Yoi;: iove says, like an honest gentleman 
 And a coirteou", <ind a kind, and a handsome. 
 
 And, I wp'.x-ant, ii virtuous: Where is youi 
 
 nether ? 
 
 J J. Where is niy mother? — why, the is within; 
 'rt'here /Uould she be? How oddly thou reply'stj 
 Your love says like an honent (jentleman, — 
 Wliere is your mother ? 
 
 Nurse. 0, God's lady dear ! 
 
 Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow: 
 Is this the poultice for my aching bones ! 
 Henceforward do your messages yourself. 
 
 Jxd. Here's such a coil,* — come, what says Romeo? 
 
 Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day ? 
 
 Jul. I have. 
 
 Nurse. Then hie you hp»^ . to friar Laurence' cell, 
 There stays a husband aiake you a wife: 
 Now comes the waii •• olood up in your cheeks, 
 They'll be in sc:i ^i straight at any news. 
 Hie you to ^'.arcU : I must another way. 
 To fetcn a Jadder, by the which your love 
 Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark ; 
 I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; 
 But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
 Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. 
 
 Jul. Hie to high fortune ! — honest nurse, farewell 
 
 \_Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VL— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 
 
 Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, 
 That after-hours with sorrow claide us not. 
 
 Rom. Amen, amen ! but come what sorrow can, 
 It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
 That one short minute gives me in her sight: 
 Do thou but close our hands with holy words, 
 Thca love-devouring death do what he dare, 
 It is enough I may but call her mine. 
 
 Fri. These violent delights have violent ends. 
 And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, 
 Which, as they kiss, consume : The sweetest honey 
 Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. 
 And in the taste confounds the appetite : 
 Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so; 
 Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Here comes the lady : — 0, so light a foot 
 Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: 
 A lover may bestride the gossamers* 
 That idle in the wanton summer air, 
 And yet not fiill ; so light is vanity. 
 
 Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 
 
 Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for iis both. 
 
 Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much. 
 
 Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
 Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
 To blazon'' it, then sweeten with thy breath 
 This neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue, 
 Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both 
 Receive in either by this dear encounter. 
 
 /i(?.Coneeit," more rich in matter than in words, 
 Brags of his substance, not of ornament: 
 They are but beggars that can count their worth ; 
 But my true love is grown to such excess, 
 I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. [work; 
 
 Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short 
 For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone. 
 Till holy church incorporate two in one. \_Exeunt, 
 
 » Hustle. 
 
 « The long whitt filament which flies in the air. 
 
 ' Paint, display. • Imncination. 
 
hb» 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act in 
 
 ACT HI 
 
 SCENE I.— vl riihlic Place. 
 
 Enter Mehcutio, Bentolio, Page, atid Servants. 
 
 Be7i. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire; 
 The (lay is hot, the Capulets ahroad, 
 And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a hrawl; 
 For now, these hot days, is the mad hlood stirring. 
 
 Mer. 'I'hou art like one of these fellows, that, 
 when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me 
 his sword upon the table, and says, God send me 
 no need of thee! and, by the operation of the second 
 cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is 
 no need. 
 
 Ben. Am I like such '< Mow ? 
 
 Mer. Come, come, thou u s hot a Jack in thy 
 mood as anj^ in Italy ; and as '>n moved to be 
 moody, and as soon moody to be iiiu ''d. 
 
 Ben. And what tol 
 
 Mer. Nay, an there were tv»'o such, we should 
 have none shortly, for one would kill the other. 
 Thou I why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath 
 a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou 
 hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for crficking 
 nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast 
 hazel. eyes; What eye, but such an eye, would spy 
 out such a quarrel T Thy head is as full of quarrels 
 as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath 
 been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. 
 Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in 
 the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that 
 hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out 
 with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before 
 Easter 1 with another, for tying his new shoes with 
 old riband T and yet thou wilt tutor ine from quar- 
 relling ! 
 
 Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any 
 man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an 
 hour and a quarter. 
 
 Mc7. The fee-simple ? simple ! 
 
 Enter Ttbalt, and others. 
 
 Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. 
 
 Mer. By my heel, I care not. 
 
 Tyh. Follow mc close, for I will speak to them. — 
 Gentlemen, good den; a word with one of you. 
 
 Mer. And but one word with one of us ] Couple 
 l\ with something; make it a word and a blow. 
 
 Tyh. You will find nic apt enough to that, sir, 
 if you will give me occasion. 
 
 Mer. Could you not take some occasion without 
 'iving? 
 
 Tyh. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo, — 
 
 Mer. Consort? what, dost thou make us minstrels? 
 an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing 
 but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall 
 make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! 
 
 Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men : 
 Either withdraw into some private place. 
 Or reason coldly of your grievances, 
 Dr else depart; here ail eyes gaze on us. 
 
 Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them 
 gaze ; 
 r will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Tyb, Well, peace be with you, sir ! here comcj 
 my man. 
 
 Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: 
 Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; 
 Your worship, in that sense, m!,/ call him — man. 
 
 Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee, can afford 
 No better term than this — Thou art a villain. 
 
 Rum. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love the« 
 Doth much excuse the appertaining rage 
 To such a greeting: — Villain am I none; 
 'J'herefore, farewell ; I see, thou know'st mc not. 
 
 Tyh. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
 T'hat thou hast done me; therefore turn, and draw 
 
 Rom. I do protest I never injur'd thee; 
 But love thee better than thou canst devise, 
 Till thou shall know the reason of my love: 
 And so, good Capulet, — which name I tendci 
 .\s dearly as mine own, — be satisfied. 
 
 Mer. calm, dishonorable, vile submission! 
 A la sfoccafa'' carries it away. [^Draw% 
 
 Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? 
 
 Tyh. What wouldst thou have with me? 
 
 Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your 
 nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and 
 as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of 
 the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of hia 
 pilfher' by the ears? make haste, lest mine be 
 about your ears ere it be out. 
 
 Tyh. I am for you. [Drawing. 
 
 Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 
 
 j\Ier. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight 
 
 Rom. Draw, Benvolio; 
 Beat down their weapons: — Gentlemen, for shame 
 Forbear this outrage; — Tybalt — Mercutio — 
 The j)rince expressly hath forbid this bandying 
 In Verona streets : — hold, Tybalt ; — good Mercutio 
 [Exeunt Txha-lt and his Partisans 
 
 Mer. I am hurt ; — 
 A plague o'both the houses! — I am sped: — 
 Is he gone, and hath nothing ? 
 
 Be?i. What, art thou hurt? 
 
 Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'ti? 
 enough. — 
 Where is my page? — go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much 
 
 Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide 
 as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask 
 for me to-morrov*', and you shall find me a grava 
 man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world: — 
 A plague o'both your houses ! — Zounds, a dog, a rat, 
 a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death ! a brag- 
 gart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of 
 arithmetic! — Why, the devil, came you between 
 
 us 
 
 ? I was hurt under your arm. 
 
 Rom. I thought all for the best. 
 
 Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, 
 
 Or I shall faint. — A plague o' both your houses! 
 
 They have made worm's rucat of me: 
 
 I have it, and soundly too: — Your houses! 
 
 [Exeunt MKncuxio and BEyyoi.ia 
 
 . ^ The Italian term for a thrust or stab with a rapii-r. 
 ' Case or scabbard. 
 
■fcfcW- J'^ 1» J- l--^. .t l> ^ I 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 KOMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 869 
 
 Rom. This gentleman, tte prince's near ally, 
 My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 
 In my behalf; my reputation stain'd 
 V/ith Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour 
 Ilath been my kinsman : — sweet Juliet, 
 Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, 
 And in my temper softcn'd valor's steel. 
 Re-enter Benvolio. 
 
 Ben. Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead; 
 That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, 
 Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. 
 
 Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth de- 
 pend ; 
 This but begins the woe, others must end. 
 
 Re-enter Tybalt. 
 
 Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. 
 
 Rom. Alive ! in triumph ! and Mereutio slain ! 
 Away to heaven, respective^ lenity, 
 And fire-eyed fury be my conduct' now ! — 
 Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again. 
 That late thou gav'st me ; for Mercutio's soul 
 Is but a little way above our heads, 
 Staying for thine to keep him company ; 
 Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. 
 
 Ti/b. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort* him 
 Shalt with him hence. [here, 
 
 Rom. This shall determine that. 
 
 [ Thcij fight : T YBALT falls. 
 
 Ren. Romeo, away, begone ! 
 The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain : 
 Stand notamaz'd: — the prince will doom thee death, 
 If thou art t.aken : — hence ! — be gone ! — away ! 
 
 Rom. ! I am fortune's fool ! 
 
 Ben. Why dost thou stay? {Exit Romeo. 
 
 Enter Citizens, &c. 
 
 1 Clt. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mereutio ? 
 Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? 
 
 Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 
 
 1 Git. Up, sir, go with me ; 
 
 I charge thee in the prince's name, obe}\ 
 
 Enter Vvlace, attended; MoNTAGDE, CapdlET, fAci'r 
 Wives, and others. 
 
 Prin. AVhere are the vile beginners of this fray? 
 
 Ben. noble prince, I can discover all 
 The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : 
 There lies the man slain by young Romeo, 
 That slew thy kinsman, brave Mereutio. 
 
 La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin ! — my brother's 
 child ! 
 Unhappy sight ! ah me, the blood is spill'd 
 Of my dear kinsman ! — Prince, as thou art true,» 
 For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. — 
 cousin, cousin ! 
 
 Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? 
 
 Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did 
 Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink [slay; 
 How nice*^ the quarrel was, and urged withal 
 Your high displeasure : — All this — uttered 
 With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, — 
 Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 
 Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts 
 AVith piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast; 
 Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point. 
 And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 
 Cold death aside, and with the other sends 
 It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 
 Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 
 llold, friends! friends, 2iart! and, swifter than his 
 
 tongue, 
 Ilis agile arm beats down their fatal points, 
 And 'twixt them rushes; un<]erneath whose arm 
 An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
 
 » ConsidiTJitf. 'Conductor. « Accompany. 
 
 'Just and upright. 'Slight, unimportant. 
 
 %6 
 
 Of stout Mereutio, and then Tybalt fled: 
 But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
 AVho had but newly entertaln'd revenge. 
 And to"t they go like lightning; for, ere I 
 Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain; 
 And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly : 
 This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 
 
 La. Caj}. He is a kinsman to the Montague, 
 Affection makes him false, he speaks not true : 
 Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, 
 And all those twenty could but kill one life : 
 I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give: 
 Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 
 
 Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mereutio; 
 Who now the price of his dear blood doth ow9. 
 
 3lon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend { 
 His fault concludes but what the law should end, 
 The life of Tybalt. 
 
 Prin. And, for that offence. 
 
 Immediately we do e.\ile him hence : 
 I have an interest in your hates' proceeding, 
 My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding; 
 But I'll amerce'' you with so strong a fine. 
 That you shall all repent the loss of mine : 
 I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; 
 Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses; 
 Therefore use none : let Romeo hence in haste, 
 Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. 
 Bear hence this body, and attend our will : 
 Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in Capulet's Home. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
 Towards Phoebus' mansion ; such a waggoner 
 As Phaeton would whip you to the west. 
 And bring in cloudy night immediately. — 
 Spread thy close curtain, love performing night ! 
 That run-away's eyes may wink ; and Romeo 
 Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen ! — 
 Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
 By their own beauties : or, if love be blind. 
 It best agrees with night. — Come, civil' night. 
 Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
 And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
 Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods : 
 Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks,'' 
 With thy black mantle ; till strange love, grown bold, 
 Think true love acted, simple modesty. 
 Come, night ! — Come, Romeo ! come, thou day in 
 For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night [night ! 
 Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. — 
 Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-broVd 
 
 night. 
 Give me my Romeo : and when he shall die, 
 Take him and cut him out in little stars. 
 And he will make the foco of heaven so fine 
 That all the world will be in love with night, 
 And pay no worship to the garish' sun. — 
 0, I have bought the mansion of a love. 
 But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold, 
 Not 3'et enjoy'd : so tedious is this day. 
 As is the night before some festival 
 To an impatient child, that hath new robes. 
 And may not wear them. 0, here comes my nurse, 
 
 Enter Nurse, xcith Cords. 
 
 And she brings news ; and every tongue, that speaks 
 But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. — 
 Now, nurse, what news ? What hast thou there, the 
 That Romeo bade thee fetch ? [cords. 
 
 Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. 
 
 \^Throws them doion. 
 
 1 Punish by fine. •Grave, solemn. 
 
 • Tlinse are terms of fiilconry. ' tiaudy, showy 
 
870 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Tul Ah me ! what news ! why dost thou wring 
 thy hands ? 
 
 Nurse. Ah wcll-a-day ! he's dead, he's dead, he's 
 We are undone, lady, we are undone! — [dead ! 
 Alack the day ! — he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead ! 
 
 Jul. Can heaven be so envious 1 
 
 Nurse. Romeo can, 
 
 Though heaven cannot : — Romeo ! Romeo ! 
 Who ever would have thought it? — Romeo ! 
 
 Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me 
 This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell, [thus 1 
 Hath Romeo slain himself! say thou but 7,' 
 And that bare vowel I shall poison more 
 Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : 
 I am not I, if there be such an I: 
 Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, I. 
 If he be slain, say — /,- or if not, no • 
 Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. 
 
 Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eye, — 
 God save the mark ! — here, on his manly breast : 
 A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
 Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood. 
 All in gore blood ; I swoonded at the sight. 
 
 Jul. break, my heart ! — poor bankrupt, break at 
 To prison, eyes ! ne'er look on liberty ! [once ! 
 Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
 And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier! 
 
 Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had ! 
 O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! 
 That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 
 
 Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary! 
 Is Romeo slaughter'd ; and is Tybalt dead 1 
 My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord 1 
 Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! 
 For who is living, if those two are gone 1 
 
 Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; 
 Romeo, that kill'd hiin, he is banished. 
 
 Jul. O God ! — did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's 
 blood 1 
 
 Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day ! it did. 
 
 Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a fiow'ring face ! 
 Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave 7 
 Beautiful tyrant ! fiend angelical ! 
 Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish ravening lamb ! 
 Despised substance of divinest show ! 
 lust opposite to what thou justly seem'st, 
 A damned saint, an honorable villain ! — 
 O, nature ! what hadst thou to do in hell, 
 When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 
 In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh 1 
 Was ever book, containing such vile matter, 
 So fairly bound ? O, that deceit should dwell 
 In such a gorgeous palace ! 
 
 Nurse. There's no trust. 
 
 No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd, 
 All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. — 
 Ah, where's my man 1 give me some aqua vitse: — 
 These griefs, these woes, tliese sorrows, make me old. 
 Shame come to Romeo ! 
 
 Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, 
 
 For such a wish ! he was not born to shame : 
 Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; 
 For 'tis a throne where honor may be crown'd 
 Bole monarch of the universal earth. 
 0, what a beast was I to chide at him ! 
 
 Nu7-se. Will you speak well of him that kill'd 
 your cousin 1 
 
 'In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay was 
 usually Trrittep 7, and here it is necessary to retain the 
 oli spelling. 
 
 Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husliand ? 
 Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy 
 
 name, 
 When I, thy three-hour's wife, have mangled it? — 
 But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin ? 
 That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: 
 Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; 
 Your tributary drops belong to woe, 
 Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
 My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain ; 
 And Tybalt's dead, thai would have slain my hus- 
 band : 
 All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then? 
 Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 
 That murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; 
 But, O ! it presses to my memory, 
 Like horrid guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 
 Ti/ball is dead, and Romeo — banished, 
 That — banished, that one word, — banished, 
 Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 
 Was woe enough, if it had ended there : 
 Or, — if sour woe delights in fellowship. 
 And needly will be ranked with other griefs, — 
 Why follow'd not, when she said — Tybalt's dead, 
 Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both. 
 Which modern' lamentation might have mov'd? 
 But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
 Romeo is banished, — to speak that word, 
 Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
 All slain, all dead : — Romeo is banished, — 
 There is no end, no limit, measure, bound. 
 In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. 
 Where is my fother, and my mother, nurse 1 
 
 Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: 
 Will you go to them ] I will bring you thither. 
 
 Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears 1 mine 
 shall be spent. 
 When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
 Take up those cords: — Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, 
 Both you and I ; for Romeo is exil'd : 
 He made you for a highway to my bed ; 
 But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. 
 Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed; 
 And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead ! 
 
 Nurse. Hie to your chamber : I'll find Romeo 
 To comfort you : — I wot' well where he is. 
 Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night; 
 I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 
 
 Jul. O find him ! give this ring to my true knight, 
 And bid him come to take his last farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 
 
 Fri. Romeo, come forth ; come forth 'hou fearful 
 Affliction is enamor'd of thy parts, [man ; 
 
 And thou art wedded to calamity. [doom ? 
 
 Rom. Father, what news 1 what is tnt prince's 
 What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand. 
 That I yet know not ! 
 
 Fri. Too familiar 
 
 Is my dear son with such sour company : 
 I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 
 
 Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince a 
 doomi 
 
 Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, 
 Not body's death, but body's banishment, 
 
 Rom. Ha ! banishmenti be mercitui, say — death s 
 
 » Common. 
 
 » Know. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 871 
 
 For exile hatli more tenor in his look, 
 
 Much more than death : do not say — hanishment. 
 
 Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished : 
 Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 
 
 Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, 
 But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
 Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, 
 And world's exile is death: — then banishment. 
 Is death mis-term'd : calling death — banishmen 
 Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe, 
 And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. 
 
 Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness ! 
 Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince, 
 Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, 
 And turn'd that black word death to banishment: 
 This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 
 
 Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is here. 
 Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog. 
 And little mouse, every unworthy thing, 
 Live here in heaven, and may look on her. 
 But Romeo may not. — More validity,' 
 More honorable state, more courtship lives 
 In carrion flies, than Romeo : they may seize 
 On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, 
 And steal immortal blessing from her lips; 
 Who, even in pure and vestal modesty. 
 Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; 
 But Romeo may not; he is banished: 
 Flies may do this, when I from this must fly ; 
 They are free men, but I am banished. 
 And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death? 
 Had'st thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, 
 iVo sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, 
 But, — banished — to kill me ; banished 1 
 O friar, the damned use that word in hell ; 
 Rowlings attend it : How hast thou the heart, 
 Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
 A sin absolver, and my friend profess'd, 
 Tomangle me with that word — banishment? [word. 
 
 Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a 
 
 Rom. O thou wilt speak again of banishment. 
 
 Fri. I'll give thee armor to keep off that word; 
 Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. 
 To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 
 
 Rom. Yet banished ! — Hang up philosophy ! 
 Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
 Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom ; 
 It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. 
 
 Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 
 
 Rom. How should they, when that wise men 
 have no eyes? 
 
 Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 
 
 Rom. Tliou canst not speak of what thou dost 
 not feel : 
 Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 
 An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, 
 Doting like me, and like me banished. 
 Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear 
 
 thy hair. 
 And fall upon the ground as I do now. 
 Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 
 
 Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide 
 thyself. [^Knocking within. 
 
 Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick 
 groans. 
 Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes. 
 
 [_KnocJting. 
 
 Fri. HarK, how th^y knock ! — Who's there I — 
 Roneo, arise : 
 
 * Worlti, value. 
 
 Thou wilt be taken: — Stay a while: stand up; 
 
 [Knocliing 
 Run to my sludy : — By and by : — God's will! 
 What wilfulness is this ? — I come, I come. 
 
 \_K7uickine 
 
 •n\] '? v\'bnt. 
 
 Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what' 
 your will ? 
 
 Niase. [Vi'il/iin.^ Let me come in, and you shall 
 k.iow my errand; 
 I come from Lady Juliet. 
 
 Fri. Welcome then. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. holy friar, 0, tell me, holy friar, 
 Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo ? 
 
 Fri. There, on the ground, wilh his owr tears 
 made drunk. 
 
 Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, 
 Just in her case ! 
 
 Fri. O woeful sympathy ! 
 
 Piteous predicament ! 
 
 Nurse. Even so lies she. 
 
 Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubber- 
 ing:— 
 Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man: 
 For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; 
 Why should you fall into so deep an O ? 
 
 Rom. Nurse ! 
 
 Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! — Well, death's the end 
 of all. 
 
 Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it wi'.h her! 
 Does not she think me an old murderer. 
 Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
 With blood remov'd but little from her own ? 
 Where is she? and how doth she ? and what says 
 My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love ? 
 
 Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps anti 
 weeps ; 
 And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, 
 And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries. 
 And then down falls again. 
 
 Rom. As if that name, 
 
 Shot from the deadly level of a gun, 
 Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand 
 Murder'd her kinsman. — O tell me, friar, tell me. 
 In what vile part of this anatomy 
 Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack 
 The hateful mansion. [^Drawing his sword. 
 
 Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: 
 
 Art thou a man ? thy form cries out, thou art; 
 Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote 
 The unreasonable fury of a beast. 
 Unseemly woman, in a seeming man ! 
 Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both ! 
 Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order 
 I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 
 Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay l! ystlf? 
 And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, 
 By doing damned hate upon thyself? 
 Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? 
 Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 
 In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. 
 Fye, fye ! thou sbam'st thy shape, thy love, thy wii, 
 Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all. 
 And usest none in that true use indeed 
 Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit 
 Thy noble shape is but a form of wax. 
 Digressing from the valor of a man : 
 Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury. 
 Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish 
 
■gjum teWa^.w.l^M . iitojii^ 
 
 8r: 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIEl, 
 
 Act III. 
 
 rijy \\\t, '.ii-ii nriiaiiiciit to shape and love, 
 Mi.s-slia|ieii ill tile conduct of ihcm both, 
 I..ikc powder in a skill-less soldier's flask, 
 fb set on fire liy thine own ig-norance, ^ 
 
 And thou dismemhcr'd with thine own defence. 
 What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, 
 For whose dear sake thou wast hut lately dead; 
 There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee. 
 But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too: 
 The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend, 
 And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: 
 A pack of blessings lights upon thy back: 
 Happiness courts thee in her best array; 
 But, like a mis-bchav'd and sullen wench. 
 Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: 
 Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
 Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
 Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her; 
 But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set, 
 For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; 
 Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 
 To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends. 
 Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
 With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
 Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. — 
 Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; 
 And bid her hasten all the house to bed. 
 Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: 
 Romeo is coming. [night, 
 
 Niase. O Lord, 1 could have staid here all the 
 'J'fi hear good counsel: (), what learning is! — 
 My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. 
 
 Rum. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 
 
 Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: 
 Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit. 
 
 Rom. How well my comfort is rcviv'd by this! 
 
 Fri. Go hence: goodnight: and here standi all 
 your state;' 
 Either be gone before the watch be set. 
 Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence: 
 Sojourn in Mantua ; I'll find out your man. 
 And he shall signify from time to time 
 Every good hap to you, that chances here: 
 Give me thy hand; 'tis late; farewell; good night. 
 
 Rum. But that a joy past joy calls out on me. 
 It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
 Farewell. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 A Room in Capulct's House. 
 
 Enter Capulkt, Lady Capulet, and Paths. 
 
 Cap. Things have fallen out, sii, so unluckily. 
 That we have had no time to move our daughter: 
 Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly. 
 And so did I; — Well, we were born to die. — 
 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: 
 I promise you, but for your company, 
 I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 
 
 Par. These times of woe afiord no time to woo; 
 ATadanijgood night; commend me to your daughter. 
 
 La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to- 
 morrow ; 
 To-night she's mew'd'' up to her heaviness. 
 
 Cup. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate' tender 
 
 Of my child's love: I think, she will be rul'd 
 
 In all respects by me ; nay more, I doubt it not. 
 
 Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; 
 
 Aci[uaint her here of my son Paris' love; 
 
 ^ The whole of your fortune depends on this. 
 *ShiUup. -Bold. 
 
 And bid her, mark yon me, on ^^ cdncsday next-- 
 But soft: What day is this? 
 
 Par. ]\Tonday, my lord. 
 
 Cap. Monday T ha ! ha ! Well, Wednesday is to« 
 soon, 
 0' Thursday let it be;— o' Thursday, tell her, 
 She shall be married to this noble carl: — 
 Will you be ready] do you like this haste? 
 We'll keep no great ado; — a friend, or two: 
 For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late. 
 It may be thought we held him carelessly, 
 Being our kinsman, if we revel much: 
 Therefore we'll have some half a dozen fiiends, 
 And there an end. But what say you to Thursday! 
 
 Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to 
 morrow. 
 
 Cap, Well, get you gone: — O' Thursday be m 
 then : — 
 Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed. 
 Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day, — 
 Farewell, my lord. — Light to my chamber, ho ! 
 Afore me, it is so very late, that we 
 May call it early by and by: — Good night. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 SCENE v.— Juliet's Chamber. 
 Enfer Romeo and Juliet, 
 
 Jul. Wilt thou be gonel it is not yet near day: 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark. 
 That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: 
 Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 
 
 Rum. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
 No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks 
 Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : 
 Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
 Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; 
 I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 
 
 JuL Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: 
 It is some meteor that the sun exhales, 
 To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
 And light thee on thy way to Mantua: 
 Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 
 
 Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death' 
 I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
 I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow!' 
 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
 The vaulty heaven so high above our heads- 
 I have more care' to stay, than will to go; — 
 Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. 
 How is't,my souH let's talk, it is not day. 
 
 Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away ; 
 It is the lark that sings so out of time. 
 Straining harsh discords, and unpieasing sharps. 
 Some sav, the lark makes sweet division;' 
 This doth not so, for she divideth us: 
 Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyea! 
 O, now I would they had changed voices too; 
 Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, 
 Hunting thee hence with hunts-up^ to the day. 
 O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. 
 
 Rom. More light and light 1 — more dark and 
 dark our woes. 
 
 Enter Nurse. , 
 
 Nurse. Madam ! 
 
 sHeflection of the moon. » Inclination. 
 
 ' Division was the technical phrase for miisioal composition 
 ^ A tune pla3'ed to wuke hunters, also a morning song t« 
 a woman the day after marriage. 
 
r 
 
 SCKKE V. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 87? 
 
 Jul. iVurse 1 [ber : 
 
 Nurse. Your lady mother's coining to youi Trham- 
 riie day is broke ; be wary, look about. [^Exit. 
 
 Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. 
 
 Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll de- 
 scend. [Romeo descends. 
 
 Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my 
 I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, [friend ! 
 For in a minute there are many days : 
 O! by this count I shall he much in years, 
 Ere I again behold my Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity 
 That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 
 
 Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? 
 
 Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall 
 For sweet discourses in our time to come, [serve 
 
 Jul. O God ! I have an ill-divining soul : 
 Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below. 
 As one dead in the bottom of a tomb : 
 Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale. 
 
 Rom. And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you . 
 Dry sorrow drinks our blood, Adieu ! adieu ! 
 
 [^Exit RoJiEo. 
 
 Jul. O fortune ! foi;tune ! all men call thee fickle : 
 If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
 That is renown'd for faith ; Be fickle, fortune : 
 For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, 
 But send him back. 
 
 La. Cap.\^Wiihin.^ Ho, daughter! are you up? 
 
 Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? 
 Is she not down so late, or up so early ? 
 What unaccustom'd cause procures' her hither ? 
 
 Eater Lady Capulet. 
 
 La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet ? 
 Jul. Madam, I am not well. 
 
 La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's 
 death ? 
 What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with 
 
 tears ? 
 An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live ; 
 Therefore, have done : Some grief shows much of 
 
 love ; 
 But much of grief shows still some want of wit. 
 Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. 
 La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the 
 friend. 
 Which you weep for. 
 
 Jul. Feeling so the loss, 
 
 I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 
 
 La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much 
 for his death, 
 As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. 
 Jul. W'hat villain, madam? 
 La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo. 
 
 Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. 
 God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; 
 And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart. 
 La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer 
 
 lives. 
 Jul, Ay, madam, from the reach of these my 
 hands. 
 Would, none but I might 'vcnge my cousin's death! 
 La. Cap. We \%ill have vengeance for it, fear 
 tiiou not : 
 Then weep no more. I'll send to one in j\Tan- 
 
 tua, — 
 Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, — 
 That shall bestow on him so sure a draught, 
 <!BrinKB. 
 
 That he shall soon keep Tybalt company ; 
 And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. 
 
 Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied 
 With Romeo, till I behold him — dead — 
 Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd: — 
 Madam, if you could find out but a man 
 'J'o bear a poison, I would temper it; 
 That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof. 
 Soon sleep in quiet. — O, how my heart abhors 
 To hear him named, — and cannot come to him,— • 
 To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt 
 U[;on his body that hath slaughter'd him ! 
 
 La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such 
 a man. 
 But now, I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 
 
 Jul. And joy comes well in such a needfcJ 
 time: 
 WHiat are they, I beseech your ladyship? 
 
 La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, 
 child; 
 One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness. 
 Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy. 
 That thou cxpect'st not, nor I look'd not for. 
 
 Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that* 
 
 La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday 
 morn. 
 That gallant, young, and noble gentleman, 
 The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church. 
 Shall hajipily make thee there a joyful bride. 
 
 Jul. Novi', by Saint Peter's church, and Petei 
 too, 
 He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
 I wonder at this haste : that I must wed 
 Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. 
 I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, 
 I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear, 
 It shall lie Romeo, whom you know I hate. 
 Rather than Paris : — These are news indeed ! 
 
 La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him ft 
 yourself. 
 And see how he will take it at your hands. 
 
 Enter Capulet, and Nurse. 
 
 Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew 
 But for the sunset of my brother's son, 
 It rains downright. — 
 
 How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears! 
 Ever more showering; in one little body 
 Thou countcrfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; 
 For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea. 
 Do ebb ami flow with tears; the bark thy body Is, 
 Sailing in this salt flood: the winds, thy siglis; 
 Who, — raging with thy tears, and they with 
 
 them, — 
 Without a sudden calm, will overset 
 Thy tempest-tossed body. — How now, wife! 
 Have you dcliver'd to her our decree? 
 
 La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she givt-a 
 
 you thanks. 
 I would, the fool were married to her grave ! 
 Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, 
 
 wife. 
 How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? 
 Is she not proud? dolh she not count her bless'd. 
 Unworthy as slie is, that we have wrought 
 So worthy a gentleman to he her bridegroom? 
 Jul. Not ])roud, you have; but thankful, that yoq 
 
 have : 
 Proud can I never be of wliat I hate; 
 But thankful even for hate, that is meant \o\e 
 
874 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Crip How now ! how now, chop-logic ! What 
 IS this \ 
 Proud, — and, I thankyou, — and, I thank you not; — 
 And yet not proud ; — Mistress minion, you, 
 Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds. 
 But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next. 
 To go with Paris to St. Peter's church, 
 Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 
 Out, you green-sickness carrion ! out, you baggage! 
 You tallow-face ! 
 
 La. Cap. Fye, fye, what, are you mad? 
 
 Jul. Good father, I beseech you on ray knees, 
 Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 
 
 Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobedient 
 wretch ! 
 I tell thee what, — get thee to church o' Thursday, 
 Or never after look me in the face : 
 Speak not, reply not, do not answer me : 
 My fingers itch. — Wife, we scarce thought us 
 
 bless'd. 
 That heaven had sent us but this only child : 
 But now I see this one is one too much. 
 And that we have a curse in having her: 
 Out on her, hilding!^ 
 
 Nurse. God in heaven bless her ! — ■ 
 
 You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 
 
 Cap. And why, my lady wisdom ! hold your 
 tongue, 
 Good prudence ; smattcr with your gossips, go. 
 
 Nurse. I speak no treason. 
 
 Cap. O, God ye good den ! 
 
 Nurse. May not one speak 1 
 
 Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool ! 
 
 Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, 
 For here we need it not. 
 
 La. Cap. You are too hot. 
 
 Cap. God's bread ! it makes me mad : Day, night, 
 late, early. 
 At home, abroad, alone, in company. 
 Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been 
 To have her matched : and having now provided 
 A gentleman of princely parentage. 
 Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, 
 Stufi'd (as they say) with honorable parts, 
 Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man, — 
 And then to have a wretched puling fool, 
 A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, 
 To ansvi-er — I'll 7wt wed, — I cannot love, 
 I am too 9/ounfr, I pray you, pardon me; — 
 But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you : 
 Srazc where you will, you shall not house with me ; 
 Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. 
 Thursday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise : 
 An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend ; 
 An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets. 
 
 For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee. 
 Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : 
 Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. \ExU. 
 
 Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, 
 That sees into the bottom of my grief? 
 O, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 
 Delay this marriage, for a month, a week : 
 Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
 In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 
 
 La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak q 
 word : 
 Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee [Exit, 
 
 Jul. O God ! — nurse ! how shall this be pre« 
 vented ? 
 My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; 
 How shall that faith return again to earth, 
 Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
 By leaving earth ? — Comfort me, counsel me, — 
 Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems 
 Upon so soft a subject as myself ! — 
 What say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy '' 
 Some comfort, nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Faith, here 'tis : Romeo 
 
 Is banish'd ; and all the world to nothing. 
 That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you» 
 Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
 Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
 I think it best you married with the county. 
 O, he's a lovely gentleman ! 
 Romeo is a dishclout to him ; an eagle, madam. 
 Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye. 
 As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
 I think you are happy in this second match, 
 For it excels your first : or if it did not. 
 Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were, 
 As living here and you no use of him. 
 
 Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart ? 
 
 Nurse. From my soul too, 
 
 Or else beshrew them both. 
 
 Jul. Amen .' 
 
 Nurse. To what ? 
 
 Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous 
 Go in ; and tell my lady I am gone, [much 
 
 Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell. 
 To make confession, and to be absolv'd. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, I will ; and this is wisely done. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Jul. Ancient damnation ! most wicked fiend! 
 Is it more sin — to wish me thus forsworn, 
 Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue 
 W^hich she hath prais'd him with above compare 
 So many thousand times ? — Go, counsellor ; 
 Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. — 
 I'll to the friar, to know his remedy; 
 If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. 
 
 Fri. On Thursday, sir ? the time is very short. 
 
 Far. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
 And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. 
 
 Fri. You say you do not know the lady's mind ; 
 Uneven is the course, I like it not. 
 
 Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, 
 And therefore have I little talk'd of love, 
 For Venus smiles not in a hous." of tears. 
 
 a Base woman. 
 
 Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, 
 That she doth give her sorrow so much sway ; 
 And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage. 
 To stop the inundation of her tears ; 
 Which, too much minded by herself alone. 
 May be put from her by society : 
 Now do you know the reason of this haste. 
 
 Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. 
 
 [Aside 
 Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife ! 
 
S'CJENE n. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 875 
 
 Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 
 
 Par That may be, must be, love, on Thursday 
 next. 
 
 Jul. What must be shall be. 
 
 Fri. That's a certain text. 
 
 Par. Come you to make confession to this father? 
 
 Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you. 
 
 Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me. 
 
 Jul. I will confess to you, that I love him. 
 
 Par So will j'ou, I am sure, tiiat you love me. 
 
 Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, 
 Beinq; spoke behind your back, than to your face. 
 
 Par, Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. 
 
 Jul. The tears have got small victory by that; 
 For it was bad enough before their spite. 
 
 Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with 
 that report. 
 
 Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth ; 
 And what I spake, I spake it to my face. 
 
 Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. 
 
 Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. — 
 Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
 Or shall I come to you at cvenrng mass 1 
 
 Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, 
 now : — 
 My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 
 
 Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion ! 
 Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you : 
 Till then, adieu ! and keep this holy kiss. 
 
 [^Exit Paris. 
 
 Jul. 0, shut the door! and when thou hast done so. 
 Come weep with me ; Past hope, past cure, past 
 help! 
 
 Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
 It strains me past the compass of my wits : 
 I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it, 
 On Thursday next be married to this county. 
 
 Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
 Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : 
 If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help. 
 Do thou but call my resolution wise. 
 And with this knife I'll help it presently. 
 God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands ; 
 And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo scal'd. 
 Shall be the label to another deed, 
 Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
 Turn to another, this shall slay them both : 
 Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time. 
 Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 
 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
 Shall play the umpire;' arbitrating that 
 Which the commission' of thy years and art 
 Could to no issue of true honor bring. 
 Be not so long to speak ; I long to die, 
 If wb.at thou speak'st speak not of remedy. 
 
 Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope. 
 Which craves as desperate an execution 
 As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
 If, rather than to marry county Paris, 
 Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, 
 Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake 
 A thing like death to chide away this shame, 
 That cop'st with death himself to scape from it; 
 And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy. 
 
 Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
 From olTtho bat'loments of yonder tower: 
 Or walk in thievish ways; or hid me lurk 
 Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears; 
 
 ' Dcciile the struggle between me and my distresses. 
 * Authority or power 
 
 Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
 O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling tioneo, 
 With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls ; 
 Or bid me go into a new-made grave. 
 And hide mc witli a dead man in his shroud ; 
 Things that, to hear them told, have made m. 
 
 tremble ; 
 And I will do it without fear or doubt. 
 To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 
 
 Fri. Hold, then ; go home, be meiTy, give con«cn 
 To marry Paris : Wednesday is to-morrow ; 
 To-morrow night look that thou lie alone. 
 Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: 
 Take thou this phial, being then in bed, 
 And this distilled liquor drink thou off: 
 When, presently, through all thy veins shall rwTi. 
 A cold and drowsy humor, whicli shall seize 
 Each vital spirit ; for no pulse shall keep 
 His natural progress, but surcease to beat: 
 No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st 
 The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
 To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fall. 
 Like death, when he shuts up the day of life ; 
 Each part, depriv'd of supple government. 
 Shall stifl", and stark, and cold, appear like death 
 And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
 Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours. 
 And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
 Now when the bridegroom in the morning comei 
 To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead. 
 Then, (as the manner of our country is,) 
 In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier. 
 Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, 
 Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
 In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 
 Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift: 
 And hither shall he come ; and he and I 
 Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
 Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
 And this shall free thee from this pi-esent shamo , 
 If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, 
 Abate thy valor in the acting it. 
 
 Jul. Give me, O give me ! tell me not of fear. 
 
 Fri. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and prosperous 
 In this resolve : I'll send a friar with speed 
 To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 
 
 Jul. Love, give me strength ! and strength shall 
 
 help afibrd. 
 
 Farewell, dear father ! [^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Capulet's House. 
 
 Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and 
 
 Servants. 
 
 Cap. So many guests invite as hei'e are writ. — 
 
 [Exit Servant 
 Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 
 
 2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir ; for I'll try 
 if they can lick their lingers. 
 
 Cap. How canst thou try them so"? 
 
 2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot 
 lick his own fingers : therefore he, that cannot lick 
 his fingers, goes not with mc. 
 
 Cap. Go, begone. — [Exit Servant. 
 
 We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. 
 What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence 1 
 
 Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on hef 
 A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Nurse. See, where she comes from ehrift witi 
 merry look. 
 
87G. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Cap. How now, iny hoail^trong'? where have you 
 been gadding 1 
 
 Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin 
 Of disobedient opposition 
 To you, and your behests ;' and am enjoin'd 
 By tioly Laurence to fall prostrate here, 
 And beg your pardon: — Pardon, I beseech you! 
 Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. 
 
 Cap. Send for the county: go tell him of this; 
 '^'ll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. 
 
 Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; 
 4nd gave him what becoincd'' love I might, 
 Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. [up : 
 
 Cup. Why, I am glad on't; this is well, — stand 
 This is as't should be. — Let me see the county ; 
 Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. — 
 Now, by my life, this reverend holy friar. 
 All our whole city is much bound to him. 
 
 Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, 
 To help me sort such needful ornaments 
 As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? [enough. 
 
 La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is time 
 
 Cap. Go, nurse, go with her :— we'll to church 
 to-morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. 
 
 La Cap. We shall be short in our provision ; 
 *Tis now near night. 
 
 Cap. Tush ! I will stir about, 
 
 And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: 
 Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her ; 
 I'll not to bed to-night ; — let me alone ; 
 I'll play the housewife for this once. — What, ho ! 
 They are all forth : Well, I will walk myself 
 To county Paris, to prepare him up 
 Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, 
 Since tliis same wayward girl is so rcclaim'd. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Juliet's Chamber. 
 Enter Juliet U7id Nurse. 
 Jul. Ay, those attires are best : — But, gentle 
 I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; [nurse, 
 For 1 have need of man}' orisons'" 
 To move the heavens to smile upon my state. 
 Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin. 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 La. Cap. What, are you busy? do you need my 
 
 hell- " 
 Jul. No, madam ; we have cull'd such necessaries 
 As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : 
 So please you let me now be left alone, 
 And let the nurse this night sit up with you ; 
 For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
 In this so sudden business. 
 
 La. Cap. Good-night ! 
 
 Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 Jul. Farewell ! — God knows when wc shall 
 meet again. 
 [ have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life: 
 I'll call them back again to comfort me; 
 Nurse! — What should she do here? 
 Vly dismal scene I needs must act alone. — 
 Come, phial. — 
 
 What if this mixture do not work at all? 
 Must I of force be married to the county ? — 
 No, no ;— this shall forbid it : — lie thou there. — 
 [Lni/ing down a Dagger 
 i Commands. 'Eocomiiis. '' Prayers. 
 
 What if it be a poison, which the friar 
 
 Subtly hath ministcr'd to have me dead ; 
 
 Lest in this marriage he should be dishonor'd, 
 
 Ceca\ise he married me before to Romeo? 
 
 I fear, it is: and yet, methinks, it should not; 
 
 For he hath still been tried a holy man: 
 
 I will not entertain so bad a thought. — 
 
 How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
 
 I wake before the time that Romeo 
 
 Come to redeem me ? there's a fearful point ! 
 
 Shall I not then be stifled in the vault. 
 
 To whose foul mouth no healthsome aii breathes ii 
 
 And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? 
 
 Or, if I live, is it not very like, 
 
 The horrible conceit of death and night, 
 
 Together with the terror of the place, — 
 
 As in a vault, an ancient receptacle. 
 
 Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
 
 Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
 
 ■Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
 
 Lies fest'ring in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
 
 At some hours in the night, spirits resort; 
 
 Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, 
 
 So early waking, — what with loathsome smells, 
 
 And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the eartlx 
 
 That living mortals, hearing them, run mad ; ' — 
 
 ! if I wake, shall I not be distra-ight,' 
 
 Environed with all these hideous fears? 
 
 And madly play with my forefathers' joints? 
 
 And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? 
 
 And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bon<^ 
 
 As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? 
 
 O, look ! methinks I see my cousin's ghost 
 
 Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
 
 Upon a rapier's point: — Stay, Tybalt, stay !^ 
 
 Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. 
 
 [She throws herself on the Bed 
 
 SCENE IV.— Capulet's Hall. 
 
 Enter Lahy Capulet and Nurse. 
 
 La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, ant'i fetch more 
 
 spices, nurse. 
 Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in tho 
 
 pastry.' 
 
 Enter Capulet. 
 
 Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir ! the second cock hatb 
 crow'd, 
 The curfeu bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: — 
 Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: 
 Spare not for cost. 
 
 Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go. 
 
 Get you to bed; faith, you'll be sick to-morrow 
 For this night's watching. 
 
 Cap. No, not a whi' • What! I have watch'a 
 eie now 
 All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 
 La. Cap. Ay, you iiave been a mouse-hunt in 
 your time ; 
 But I will watch you from such watching now 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 Cup. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood ! — Now, 
 fellow. 
 What's there ? 
 
 8 The fabulous accounts of the plant called a mandratci 
 {rive it a degree of animal life, and when it is torn from 
 the ground, it groaas', which is fatal to him that pulls it up 
 
 •Distracted. 'The room were Dies were made. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 87- 
 
 Eiife7- Servants, with Spits, Logs, and Baskets. 
 
 1 Scrv. Things for the cook, sh-; but I know not 
 
 what. 
 Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Serv.] — 
 Sirrah, fetch drier logs ; 
 (Jail Peter, he will show thee where they are. 
 
 2 Ssrv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, 
 And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. 
 
 Cap. 'Mass, and well said : A merry whore- 
 son ! ha, 
 Thou shalt be logger-head. — Good faith, 'tis day: 
 The county will be here with music straight, 
 
 [Music within. 
 For so he said he would. I hear him near : — 
 Nurse ! — Wife ! — what, ho ! — what, nurse, I say! 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her up ; 
 I'll go and chat with Paris : — Hie, make haste, 
 Make haste ! the bridegroom he is come already : 
 Make haste, I say ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Juliet's Chamber; Juliet on the Bed. 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Mistress ! — what, mistress ! — Juliet ! — 
 
 fast, I warrant her, she : — 
 Why, lamb ! — why, lady ! — fye, you slug-a-bed ! — 
 Wniy, love, I say ! — madam ! — sweetheart ! — why, 
 
 bride ! 
 What, not a word ? — you take your pennyworths 
 
 now ; 
 Sleep for a week : for the next night, I warrant, 
 The county Paris hath set up his rest, 
 That you shall rest but little. — God forgive me, 
 (Marry and amen !) how sound is she asleep ! 
 I needs must wake her: — Madam, madam, madam! 
 Ay, let the county take you in your bed ; 
 He'll fright you up, i'faith.— Will it not be 1 
 What, drest! and in your clothes! and down again! 
 [ must needs wake you : Lady I lady ! lady ! — 
 Alas! alas! — Help! help! my lady's dead ! — 
 O, well-a-day, that ever I was born ! — 
 Some aqua vitaj, ho ! — my lord, my lady ! 
 Enter Lady Capclet. 
 
 La. Cap. What noise is here ] 
 
 Nurse. O lamentable day ! 
 
 i«. Cap. What is the matter? 
 
 Nurse. Look, look ! O heavy day ! 
 
 La. Cap. O me, O me! — my child, my only life, 
 Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! — 
 Help, help ! — call help. 
 
 Etiter Capulkt. 
 
 3ap. For shame, bring Juliet forth ; her lord ia 
 
 come. 
 Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead ; alack 
 
 the day ! 
 La. Cap, Alack the day! she's dead, she's dead, 
 
 she's dead. 
 Cap. Ha! let me see her: — Out, alas, she's cold. 
 Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff: 
 Ijife and these lips have long been separated: 
 Death lies on her, like an untimely frost 
 Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
 .Accursed time ! unfortunate old man ! 
 Nurse. O lamentable day! 
 La. Cap. woeful time ! 
 
 Ca/). Death, that hath ta'cn her hence to make 
 me wail, 
 ''ies up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 
 
 Enter Fiuar Laurexcb and Pxnis, with Musi« 
 cians. 
 
 Fri. Come, is the bride ready io go to church . 
 
 Cap. Ready to go, but never to return: 
 O son, the night before thy wedding-day 
 Hath death lain with thy bride; — See, there she lies, 
 Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
 Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; 
 My daughter he hath vi'edded ! I will die, 
 And leave him all ; life leaving, all is death's. 
 
 Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's 
 face. 
 And doth it give me such a sight as this ? 
 
 La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful 
 day! 
 Most miserable hour that e'er time saw 
 In lasting labor of his pilgrimage ! 
 But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, 
 But one thing to rejoice and solace in. 
 And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight. 
 
 Nurse. O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day I 
 Most lamentable day ! most woeful day. 
 That ever, ever, I did yet behold ! 
 O day ! O day ! O day ! hateful day ! 
 Never was seen so black a day as this: 
 woeful day, O woeful day ! 
 
 Par. Bcguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slam. 
 Most detestable death, by thee bcguil'd. 
 By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown ! 
 love! life! — not life, but love in death! 
 
 Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd,kill'd ! 
 Uncomfortable time! why cam'st thou now 
 To murder, murder our solemnity 1 — 
 O child! child ! — my soul, and not my child! — 
 Dead art thou, dead! — alack! my child is dead' 
 And with my child, my joys are buried! 
 
 F?^. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not 
 In these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
 Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven hath ail, 
 And all the better is it for the maid: 
 Your part in her you could not keep from death; 
 But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
 The most you sought was — her promotion ; 
 For 'twas your heaven, she should be advanced : 
 And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced. 
 Above the clouds, as higli as heaven itself? 
 O, in this love, you love your child so ill. 
 That you run mad, seeing that she is well : 
 She's not well married, that lives married long ; 
 But she's best married, that dies married young. 
 Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
 On this feir corse ; and, as the custom is. 
 In all her best array bear her to church : 
 For though fond nature bids us all lament, 
 Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 
 
 Cap. All things that we ordained festival, 
 Turn from their office to black funeral : 
 Our instruments, to melancholy bells ; 
 Our wedding-cheer, to a sad burial feast; 
 Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; 
 Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse. 
 And all things change them to the contrary. 
 
 Fri. Sir, go you in, — and, madam, go with him; 
 And go, sir Paris ; — every one prepare 
 To follow this fair corse unto her grave: 
 The heavens do lower upon you, for some ill; 
 Move them no more, by crossing their high will. 
 [Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capdlkt, Pibis, 
 and Friar. 
 
878 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 1 Mill . 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be 
 
 gone. 
 Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up ; put up ; 
 For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. 
 
 \_Exii Nurse. 
 J Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. 
 
 Enter Peter. 
 
 Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, Hearfs case,hefiri's 
 tase; O, an you'll have me live, play — heart'' s ease. 
 
 1 Mus. Why heart's ease ? 
 
 Pet. 0, musicians, because my heart itself plays 
 — My hi art is full of looe : O, play me some 
 merry dump,^ to comfort me, 
 
 2 Mus. Not a dump we ; 
 
 now. 
 
 Pet. You will not then ? 
 
 Mus. No. 
 
 Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 
 
 1 Mus. What will you give us 7 
 
 Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek:^ I 
 will give you the minstrel. 
 
 1 Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature. 
 
 Pet. Then will I lay the serving creature's dagger 
 on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : I'll re you, 
 V\\ fa you ; Do you note mel 
 
 1 Mus. An you re us, anAfa us, you note us. 
 
 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put 
 out your wit. 
 
 'tis no time to play 
 
 Pet. Then have at you with my wit ; I will 
 dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron 
 dagger: — Answer me like men: 
 
 When griping grief the heart doth wound, 
 
 And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
 Then music, with her silver sound ; 
 
 Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver 
 sound ? 
 What say you, Simon Catling] 
 
 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a eweet 
 sound. 
 
 Pet. Pretty ! What say you, Hugh Rebeck 1 
 
 2 Mus. I say — silver sound, because musiciana 
 sound for silver. 
 
 Pet. Pretty too ! — What say you, James Sound- 
 post 1 
 
 3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. 
 
 Pet. 0, I cry you mercy ! you are the singer: I 
 will say for you. It is— music with her silver 
 sound, because such fellows as you have seldom 
 gold for sounding : — 
 
 Then music with her silver sound, 
 With speedy help doth lend redress. 
 
 ISxit, singing. 
 
 1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same ! 
 
 2 Mus. Hang him, Jack ! Come, we'll in here : 
 tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Mantua. A Street. 
 
 Enter Romko. 
 
 Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, 
 My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : 
 My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; 
 And all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit 
 Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 
 I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead; 
 (Strange dream ! that gives a dead man leave to 
 
 think,) 
 And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, 
 That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
 Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd 
 When but love's shadows are so rich in joy ! 
 
 Enter Baltuazak. 
 
 News from Verona ! — How now, Balthazar 1 
 Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar 1 
 How doth my lady 1 is my father well ] 
 How fares my Juliet 1 That I ask again ; 
 For nothing can be ill, if she be well. 
 
 Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill ; 
 iler body sleeps in Capels' monument. 
 And her immortal part with angels lives ; 
 I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 
 And presently took post to tell it you : 
 O pardon me for bringing these ill news, 
 Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 
 
 Rom. Is it even so ] then I defy you, stars ! — 
 Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper, 
 A.nd liire post-horses ; I will henca ♦o-night. 
 
 » Dumps were heavy mournful tunes. 
 
 * To ghek is to scoff, and a gletkman Bignified a minstrel. 
 
 Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus ; 
 Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
 Some misadventure. 
 
 Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd ; 
 
 Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do : 
 Hast thou no letters to me from the fiiar 1 
 
 Bal. No, my good lord. 
 
 Rom. No matter : get thee gone; 
 
 And hire those horses ; I'll be with thee straight. 
 
 [Exit Balthazaiw 
 Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
 Let's see for means : — O, mischief, thou art swift 
 To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 
 I do remember an apothecary, — 
 And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted 
 In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 
 Culling of simples; meagre were his looks. 
 Sharp misery had worn him to the bones : 
 And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 
 An alligator stuff'd, and other skins 
 Of ill-shap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 
 A beggarly account of empty boxes, 
 Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 
 Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses» 
 Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. 
 Noting this penury, to myself I said — 
 An if a man did need a poison now. 
 Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 
 Here lives a caitiif wretch would sell it him. 
 O, this same thought did but fore-run my needj 
 And this same needy man must sell it me. 
 As I remember, this should be the house: 
 Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. — 
 What, ho ! apothecary ! 
 
;CENE 11. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 8?J 
 
 Enter Apothecary. 
 
 Ap. Who calls so loud ] 
 
 Rom. Come, hither, man. — I sec, that thou art 
 poor; 
 Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have 
 A dram of poison : such soon-speeding geer ' 
 As will disperse itself through all the veins, 
 That the life-weary taker ma)' fall dead ; 
 And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath 
 As violently, as hasty powder fired 
 Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 
 
 Ap. Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's 
 law 
 Is death, to any he that utters them. 
 
 Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness. 
 And fear'st to die] famine is in thy cheeks. 
 Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes. 
 Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, 
 The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law ; 
 The world aflords no law to make thee rich ; 
 Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 
 
 Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 
 
 Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 
 
 Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will. 
 And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 
 Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 
 
 Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to men's 
 souls. 
 Doing more murders in this loathsome world. 
 Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not 
 
 sell: 
 I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
 Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh. — 
 Come, cordial, and not poison ; go with me 
 To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 
 Enter FniAn John. 
 
 John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! 
 
 Enter Fhiati Laurence. 
 
 Ldu. This same should be the voice of Friar 
 John. — 
 Welcome from Mantua : What says Romeo ■* 
 Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 
 
 John. Going to find a barefoot brother out, 
 One of our order to associate me. 
 Here in this city visiting the sick. 
 And finding him, the searchers of the town. 
 Suspecting that we both were in a house 
 Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 
 Scal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; 
 So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 
 
 Lau. Who bare my letter then to Romeo ? 
 
 John. I could not send it, — here it is again, — 
 Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 
 So fearful were they of inieclion. 
 
 Lau. Unhappy fortune ! by my brotherhood, 
 The letter was not nice," but full of charge, 
 Of dear import; and the neglecting it 
 May do much danger: Friar John, go hence; 
 Get me an iron crow, and hring it straight 
 Unto my cell. 
 
 Jului. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. \_Exit. 
 
 Lau. Now must I to the monument alone ; 
 Within these three hours will fair Juliet wake ; 
 
 » Stuff 9 ». e. On a triviul or idle subject. 
 
 She will bcshrcw mt much that Romeo 
 Hath had no notice of these accidents: 
 But I will write again to Mantua, 
 And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; 
 Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb ! 
 
 lExii 
 
 SCENE III.— yl Church-Yard; in it, a Mmu 
 ment belonging to the Capulets. 
 
 Enter Pauis, and his Page, bearing Fhwers, ana 
 a Torch, 
 
 Per. Give me thy torch, boy : Hence, and siand 
 aloof; — 
 Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. 
 Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along, 
 Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
 So shall no loot upon the churchyard tread, 
 (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,) 
 But thou shall hear it: whistle then to me. 
 As signal that thou hear'st something approach. 
 Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 
 
 Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone 
 Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. 
 
 [Retires. 
 
 Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew ths 
 bridal bed: 
 Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain 
 The perfect model of eternity ; 
 Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain, 
 Accept this latest favor at my hands ; 
 That living honor'd thee, and, being dead, 
 With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb ! 
 
 [7'he Boy whistles 
 The boy gives warning, something cloth approach. 
 What cursed foot wanders this way to-night. 
 To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites'? 
 What, with a torch! — muffle me, night, a while. 
 
 [Rctii-es. 
 
 Enter Romeo and Balthazar, with a larch, 
 Mattock, iSfC. 
 
 Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching 
 iron. 
 Hold, take this letter; early in the morning 
 See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
 Give me the ligiit: Upon thy life, I charge thee, 
 Whate'er thou hear'st or see'st stand all aloof, 
 And do not interrupt me in my course. 
 Why I descend into this bed of death. 
 Is, partly, to behold my lady's face. 
 But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger 
 A precious ring; a ring that I must use 
 In dear employment:" therefore hence, begone : — 
 But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
 In what I further shall intend to do. 
 By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, 
 And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs 
 The time and my intents are savage-wild ; 
 More fierce, and more inexorable far. 
 Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 
 
 Bal. I v^'ill be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 
 Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. — Take 
 thou that: 
 Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. 
 
 Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout'. 
 His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires 
 
 Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death 
 
 ' i. e. A matter of importance. 
 
880 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 A'^T Y 
 
 Gorgec^ with the clearest morsel of the earth, 
 Thus I enforce tliy rotten jaws to open, 
 
 [Breaking open the Door of the Monument. 
 And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! 
 
 Pa7\ This is that banish'd haughty Montague, 
 That murder'd my love's cousin ; — with which grief, 
 It is supposed the fair creature died, — 
 And here is come to do some villanous shame 
 To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. — 
 
 [Advances. 
 Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ; 
 Can vengeance be pursued further than death I 
 Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
 Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 
 
 Rom, I must, indeed ; and therefore came I 
 hither. — 
 Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. 
 Fly hence, and leave me ; — think upon these gone ; 
 Let them affright thee. — I beseech thee, j'outh, 
 Heap not another sin upon my head. 
 By urging me to fury : — O, be gone ! 
 By heaven, I love thee better than myself: 
 For I come hither arm'd against myself: 
 Stpy not, be gone ; — live, and hereafter say — 
 A madman's mercy bade tliec run away. 
 
 Par. I do defy thy conjurations,' 
 And do attach thee as a felon here. 
 
 Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at thee, 
 boy. [They fight. 
 
 Page. O lord ! they fight, I will go call the 
 watch. [Exit Page. 
 
 Par. O, I am slain! [Falls.'] — If thou be merciful, 
 Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. 
 
 Rom. In faith, I will : — Let me peruse this 
 face ; — 
 Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris : — 
 What said my man, when my betossed soul 
 Did not attend him as we rode? I think. 
 He told me Paris should have married Juliet: 
 Said he not so 1 or did I dream it so ] 
 Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
 To think it was so 1 — 0, give me thy hand, 
 One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
 I'll bury Ihee in a triumphant grave, — 
 A grave ? O, no ; a lantern, slaughter'd youth, 
 For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
 This vault a feasting presence' full of light. 
 Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 
 
 [Laying Paris in the Monument. 
 How oft when men are at the point of death. 
 Have they been merry? which their keepers call 
 A lightning before death ; — O, how may I 
 Call this a lightning? — O, my love ! my wife ! 
 Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath. 
 Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : 
 Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
 [s crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, 
 And death's pale flag is not advanced there. — 
 Tybalt, licst thou there in thy bloody sheet ? 
 0, what more favor can I do to thee, 
 Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain. 
 To sunder his that was thine enemy ? 
 Forgive me, cousin ! — Ah, dear Juliet, 
 Why art thou yet so fair ? Shall I believe 
 That unsubstantial death is amorous ; 
 And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
 Thee here in dark to be his paramour ? 
 For fear of that, I will still stay with thee ; 
 
 • I refuse to do as thou conjurest me to do, i. e. to depart. 
 » Presence chamber. 
 
 And never from this palace of dim night 
 
 Depart xgam ; here, here will I remain 
 
 With worms that are thy chambermaids ; O, her* 
 
 Will I set up my everlasting rest; 
 
 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
 
 From this world-wearied flesh. — Eyes, look youj 
 
 last! 
 Arms take your last embrace ! and lips, you 
 The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
 A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! — 
 Come, bitter conduct,' come, unsavory guide ! 
 Tliou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
 The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 
 Here's to my love! — [Drinks.] 0,true apothecary! 
 Thy drugs are quick. — Thus with a kiss I die. 
 
 [Dies, 
 
 Enter, at the other End of the Churchyard, Fhiak 
 Laurence, with a Lantern, Crow, and Spade, 
 
 Fri. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to night 
 Have my old feet stumbled at graves ? — Who's 
 
 there ? 
 Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead? 
 
 Bat. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows 
 you well. 
 
 Fri. Bliss be upon you ? Tell mc, good my 
 friend, 
 What torch is yond', that vainly lend-s his light 
 To grubs and eyeless skulls ? as I discern, 
 It burneth in the Capcis' monument. 
 
 Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, 
 One that you love. 
 
 Fri. Who is it ? 
 
 Bal. Romeo. 
 
 Fri. How long hath he been there ? 
 
 Bal. Full half an hour. 
 
 Fri. Go with me to the vault. 
 
 Bal. I dare not, sir : 
 
 My master knows not, but I am gone hence ; 
 And fearfully did menace me with death, 
 If I did stay to look on his intents. 
 
 Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone: — Fear comes upon 
 me : 
 0, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 
 
 Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
 I dreamt my master and another fought, 
 And that my master slew him. 
 
 Fri. Romeo ! [Advarices. 
 
 Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 
 The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? — 
 What mean these masterless and gory swords 
 To lie discolor'd by this place of peace ? 
 
 [Enters the Monument. 
 Romeo ! O, pale ! — Who else ? what, Paris, too ? 
 And steep'd in blood ? — Ah, what an unkind hour 
 Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! — 
 The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes and stirs. 
 
 Jul. O, comfortable friar ! where is my lord ? 
 I do remember well where I should be. 
 And there I am : — Where is my Romeo ? 
 
 [Noise within. 
 
 Fri. I hear some noise. — Lady, come from that 
 nest 
 Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep; 
 A greater Power than we can contradict 
 Hath thwarted our intents ; come, come away ■ 
 Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 
 And Paris too: come, I'll dispose ot hee 
 Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : 
 « Conductor 
 
Scene III. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 881 
 
 Stay not to question, for the watch is coming ; 
 Come, go, good Juliet, — \_Noise again.'] I dare 
 stay no longer. \^Exit. 
 
 Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. — 
 What's here ? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand? 
 Poison, I see, hatli been his timeless end : — 
 O churl ! drink all; and leave no friendly drop, 
 To help me after? — I will kiss thy lips; 
 Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them. 
 To make me die with a restorative. \_Kisses him. 
 Thy lips are warm ! 
 
 1 Wufch. [TVY/A»?.] Lead, hoy : — Which way] 
 
 Ju/. Yea, noise ? — 'I'lien I'll be brief. — happy 
 
 dagger! [Siialching Romko's Dagger, 
 
 This is thy sheath ; [Slabs herself.^ there rust, and 
 
 let me die. 
 
 [Falls on Romeo's Body, and dies. 
 
 Enter Watch, luith the Page of Paiiip. 
 Page. This is the place ; there, where the torch 
 doth burn. 
 
 1 Watch. The ground is bloody ; Search about 
 
 the churchyard : 
 Go, some of you, whoe'er you find, attach. 
 
 [Exeunt some. 
 Pitiful sight ! here Hes the county slain ; — 
 And Juliet bleeding; warm, and newl}' dead, 
 Who here hath lain these two days buried. — 
 Go, tell the prince, — run to the Capulets, — 
 Raise up the Montagues, — some others search ; — 
 [Exeunt other Watchmen. 
 Wc see the ground whereon these woes do lie ; 
 But the true ground of all these piteous woes. 
 We cannot without circumstance descry. 
 
 Enter some of the Watch, ivith Baltiiazah. 
 
 2 Watch. Here's Romeo's man, we found him in 
 
 the churchyard. 
 1 Watch. Hold him in safety, till the prince come 
 hither. 
 
 Enter another Watchman, with Fui au Laurknce. 
 
 3 Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and 
 
 weeps : 
 We took this mattock and this spade from him, 
 As he was coming from this churchyard side. 
 1 Watch. A great suspicion : Stay the friar too. 
 
 Enter the Puince and Attendants. 
 
 Prince. What misadventure is so early up. 
 That calls our person from our morning's rest ] 
 
 Enter CArui.?;T, Lady Capulet, and others. 
 
 Cap. What should it be that they so shriek 
 
 abroad ? 
 La. Cap. The people in the street cry — Romeo, 
 Some — Juliet, and some — Paris ; and all run, 
 With open outcry toward our monument. 
 
 Prince. What fear is this, which startles in our 
 
 ears 1 
 1. Waich. Sovereign, here lies the county Paris 
 slain ; 
 And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before. 
 Warm and new kill'd. 
 
 Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul 
 
 murder comes. 
 1 Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's 
 man ; 
 Vith instruments upon them, fit to open 
 These dead men's tombs. 
 
 Cap. O, heavens ! — wife ! look how ou/ 
 daughter bleeds ! 
 This dagger hath mista'en, — for lo! his house* 
 Is empty on the back of Montague, — 
 And is mis-sheathed in my daugiiter's bosom. 
 
 La Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as a bell 
 That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 
 
 Enter Montague and others. 
 
 Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up, 
 Tc see thy son and heir more early down. 
 
 Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night 
 Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: 
 What further woe conspires again=t mine age 1 
 
 Prince. Look, and thou shall see. 
 
 Mun. O thou untaught ; what manne' 3 is in this, 
 To press before thy father to a grave 1 
 
 Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for awhilo, 
 Till we can clear these ambiguities. 
 And know their spring, their head, their true 
 
 descent ; 
 And then will I be general of your woes. 
 And lead you even to death : Meantime forbear, 
 And let mischance he slave to patience. — 
 Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 
 
 Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least, 
 Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
 Doth make against me, of this direful murder; 
 And here I stand, both to impeach and purge 
 Myself condemned and myself excus'd. 
 
 Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know 
 in thid. 
 
 Fri. I will be brief, for my short date of breath 
 Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 
 Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; 
 And she, there dcnd, that Romeo's faithful wife : 
 I married them ; and their stolen marriage-day 
 Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death 
 Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city 
 For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. 
 You — to remove that sirge^ of grief from her, — 
 Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce. 
 To county Paris : — Then comes she to me ; 
 And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means 
 To rid her from this second marriage, 
 Or, in my cell there would she kill herself. 
 Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, 
 A sleeping potion ; which so took effect 
 As I intended, for it wrought on her 
 The form of death : meantime I wiit to Romeo, 
 That he should hither come at this dire night. 
 To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, 
 Being the time the potion's force should cease. 
 But he which bore my letter, friar John, 
 Was staid by accident; and yesternight 
 Return'd my letter back : Then all alone, 
 At the prefixed hour of her waking. 
 Came I to take her from her kindred's vault: 
 Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, 
 Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: 
 But, when I came, (some minute ere the time 
 Of her awakening,) here untimely lay 
 The nol)le Paris, and true Romeo, dead. 
 She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, 
 And bear this work of heaven with patience : 
 But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; 
 And she, too desperate, would not go with me. 
 But (as it seems) did violence on herself 
 All this I know ; arid to the marriage, 
 
 » i. e. The scabbard. ' Seat 
 
882 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act V, 
 
 Her nurse is privy : And, if aught in this 
 Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 
 Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, 
 Unto the rigor of severest law. 
 
 Prince. We still have known thee f<jr a 
 
 holy 
 
 man.- 
 
 Where's Romeo's man 1 what can he say in this 1 
 
 Bal. I brought my master i^ews of Juliet's death ; 
 And then in post he came from Mantua, 
 To this same place, to this same monument. 
 Tiiis letter he early bid rne give his father; 
 And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault, 
 If I departed not, and left him there. 
 
 Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it. — 
 Where is the county's page thatrais'd the watch? — 
 Sirrah, what made your master in this place ? 
 
 Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's 
 grave ; 
 And bid me stand aloof, and so I did : 
 Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb; 
 And, by and by, my master drew on him ; 
 And tnen I ran away to call the watch. 
 
 Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's 
 words. 
 Their course of love, the tidings of her death: 
 ^id hero he writes — that he did buy a poiaon 
 
 Of a poor 'pothecar}--, and therewithal 
 
 Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. — 
 
 Where be these enemies? Capulct! Montague! 
 
 See what a scourge is laid upon your hate. 
 
 That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! 
 
 And I, for winking at your discords too. 
 
 Have lost a brace of kins'nen:' — All are punish'dj 
 
 Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand; 
 This is my daughter's jointure, for no mcTe 
 Can I demand. 
 
 Moil. But I can give thee more: 
 
 For I will raise her statue in pure gold ; 
 That, while Verona by that name is known, 
 There shall no figure at such rate be set, 
 As that of true and faitliful Juliet. 
 
 Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie; 
 Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! 
 
 Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it 
 brings : 
 The sun for soitow will not show his head: 
 Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things ; 
 
 Some shall be pardon'd, and sorne punished: 
 For never was a story of more woe, 
 Than this of Juliet and her Rcmeo. \^Exetint 
 «Mercutio and Teria. 
 
HAMLET, 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMAHK. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 CtAUDiua, Ki7}g o/* Denmark. 
 
 Hamlet, &m to the former, and Nephew to the 
 
 present King. 
 PoLONius, Lord Chamberlain. 
 Horatio, Friend to Hamlet. 
 Laertes, Son to Polonius. 
 
 VOLTIMAND, 
 
 Cornelius, 
 
 RoSENCRANTZ, 
 GUILDENSTERN, 
 
 OsRic, a Courtier. 
 Another Courtier. 
 4 Priest. 
 
 > Courtiers. 
 
 MaRCELLUS, } no: 
 -n > Officers. 
 
 Bernardo, ^ •" 
 
 Francisco, a Soldier. 
 
 Re^naldo, Servant to Polonies. 
 
 A Captain. 
 
 An Ambassador. 
 
 Ghost q/" Hamlet's Father. 
 
 FoRTiNBRAS, Prince 0/ Norway. 
 
 Gertrude, Queen of Denmark,, aiid Mother 9/ 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ophelia, Daughter o/" Polonius. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Gravedig< 
 
 gers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants 
 
 SCENE, Elsinore 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 BCENF I.— Elsinore. A Platform before the 
 Castle. 
 
 Fraxctsco 071 his Post. Enter to him Bekn-ahdo. 
 
 Ber. Who's there 1 
 
 Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold 
 
 VToursclf. 
 
 Ber. Long live tlie king ! 
 
 Fran. Bernardo 1 
 
 Ber. He. 
 
 Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 
 
 Her. "I'is now struck twelve; get thee to bed, 
 Francisco. 
 
 Fran, For this lelief, much thanks; 'tis bitter 
 cold, 
 ^nd I am sick at heart. 
 
 Ber. Have you had quiet guard ] 
 
 Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 
 
 Ber. Well, good-night. 
 If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
 riic rivals' of my watch, bid them make haste. 
 
 Enter Horatio and Mahcellus. 
 
 Fran. I think, I hear them. — Stand, ho ! Who 
 
 is there ? 
 Hor. Friends to this ground. 
 Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 
 
 Fran. Give you good-night. 
 Mar. 0, farewell, honest soldier: 
 
 Who hat: relic v'd you] 
 
 Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 
 
 ilive you good-night. [Exit Fuancisco. 
 
 Mar. Holla! Bernardo! 
 
 Ber. Say, 
 
 What, is Horatio there? 
 Hor. A piece of him. 
 
 Ber Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Mar- 
 cellus. 
 Hor What, has this thing appear'd again to- 
 night 1 
 
 • Partners. 
 
 Ber. I have seen nothing. 
 
 Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy, 
 And will not let belief take hold of him, 
 Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us. 
 Therefore I have entreated him, along 
 With us to watch the minutes of this night; 
 That, if again this appai-ition come, 
 He may approve^ our eyes, and speak to it. 
 
 Hor. Tush! tusli! 'twill not appear. 
 
 Ber. Sit down awhile; 
 
 And let us once again assail your ears. 
 That are so fortified against our story, 
 What we two nights have seen. 
 
 Hor. Well, sit we down, 
 
 And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 
 
 Ber. Last night of all. 
 When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, 
 Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
 Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself, 
 The bell then beating one, — 
 
 Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it 
 
 comes again ! 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Ber. 
 Mar. 
 Ber. 
 
 Hor. 
 
 Ber. 
 Mar. 
 Hor. 
 
 In the same figure, like the king that's deatT. 
 Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 
 Looks it not like the king? mark it, Ho- 
 ratio. 
 
 Most like: — it harrows me with fear, anc' 
 wonder. 
 It would be spoke to. 
 
 Speak to it, Horatio. 
 What art thou, that usurp'st this time o*" 
 night. 
 
 Together with that fair and warlike form 
 In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
 Did sometimes march? By heaven, I charge thee, 
 speak. 
 31ar. It is offended. 
 
 Ber. Sec! it stalks away 
 
 >Make good or establish. 
 
 883 
 
884 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Acr 1 
 
 Ho?: Stay, speak: speak I charge thee, speak. 
 
 lExit Ghost. 
 
 3Iar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 
 
 Ber. How now, Horatio] you tremble. and look 
 pale: 
 (s not this something more than fantasy 1 
 What think you of if? 
 
 Ho?: Before my God, I might not this believe. 
 Without the sensible and true avouch 
 ")f mine '>wn eyes. 
 
 Mm-. Is it not like the king"! 
 
 Hot: As thou art to thyself: 
 Such was the very armor he had on, 
 When he the ambitious Norway combated; 
 So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,' 
 He smote the sledded* Polack' on the ice. 
 'Tis strange. 
 
 Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump* at this dead 
 hour, 
 With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 
 
 Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know 
 not; 
 But in the gross and scope of mine opinion. 
 This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
 
 Mca: Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that 
 knows. 
 Why this same strict and most observant watch 
 So nightly toils the subject of the land; 
 And why such daily cast of brazen cannon. 
 And foreign mart for implements of war: 
 Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
 Does not divide the Sunday from the week: 
 What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
 Doth make the night joint-laborer with the day ; 
 Who is't, that can inform me? 
 
 Hor. That can I; 
 
 At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king. 
 Whose image even but now appear'd to us. 
 Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
 Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, 
 Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet 
 (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him) 
 Did slay this Fortinbras ; who, by a seal'd computet. 
 Well ratified by law and heraldry, 
 Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands. 
 Which he stood seis'd of, to the conqueror. 
 Against the which, a moiety competent 
 Was gaged by our king; which had return'd 
 To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
 Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same comart,' 
 And carriage of the article design'd,' 
 His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras, 
 Of unimproved mettle hot and full," 
 Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, 
 Shark'd ' up a list of landless resolutes. 
 For food and diet, to some enterprize 
 That hath a stomach'' in't ; which is no other, 
 (As it doth well appear unto our state,) 
 But to recover of us, by strong hand. 
 And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands 
 So by his father lost: And this, I take it. 
 Is the main motive of our preparations ; 
 The source of this our watch; and the chief head 
 Of this post-haste and romage' in the land. 
 Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so : 
 Well may it sort,' that this portentous figure 
 
 ^Diispute. < Sledded. 
 
 'Polandcr, an inhabitant of Poland. e Just. 
 ■• Joint bargain. « Tlie covenant to confirm that bargain, 
 "full of spirit without experience. 'Pick'd. 
 
 'llesolution. 'Search. 4 Suit. 
 
 Comes armed through our watch ; so like the king 
 That was, and is the question of these wars. 
 
 Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye. 
 In the most high and palmy ' state of Eome, 
 A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 
 The graves stood tenaiitless, and the sheeted dead 
 Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. 
 
 As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, 
 Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star* 
 Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, 
 Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. 
 And even the like precurse of fierce events,— 
 As harbingers preceding still the fates, 
 And prologues to the omen' coming on, — 
 Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
 Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 
 
 Re-enter Ghost. 
 
 But, soft; behold ! lo, where it comes again! 
 I'll cross it, though it bl.ast me. — Stay, illusion! 
 If thou hast any sound, or use of voice. 
 Speak to me ; 
 
 If there be any good thing to be done. 
 That may to thee do ease, and grace to me, 
 Speak to jne : 
 
 If thou art privy to thy country's fate. 
 Which, happily, foreknowing, may avoid, 
 O speak! 
 
 Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 
 Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, 
 For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 
 
 [^Cock crows. 
 Speak of it: — stay, and speak. — Stop it, Marcellus. 
 
 fliur. Shall I strike at it with my partizanl' 
 
 Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 
 
 Ber. 'Tis here ! 
 
 Hor. 'Tis here . 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone. [ExH Ghost. 
 
 We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
 To offer it the show of violence; 
 For it is, as the air, invulnerable, 
 And our vain blows malicious mockery. 
 
 Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. 
 
 Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
 Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 
 Tlie cock, that is the trumpet of the morn, 
 Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
 Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning. 
 Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
 The extravagant and erring' spirit hies 
 To hiscon'lne: and of the truth herein 
 This present object made prol)ation.' 
 
 Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
 Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comess 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated: 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long: 
 And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad; 
 The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, 
 No fiiry takes, nor witch hath power to charm, 
 So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 
 
 Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe jt 
 But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill: 
 Break we our watch up; and, by my advice, 
 Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
 Unto young Hamlet: for, upon my life, 
 This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him • 
 
 » Victorious. 
 • A sort of pike 
 
 « The moon. 
 s Wandering. 
 
 ' Event 
 »Proo£ 
 
CK 
 
 i\>, fl. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 88J 
 
 Do jou consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
 As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? 
 
 Mar. Let's do't, I pray ; and I this morning know 
 Where we shall find him most convenient. 
 
 [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room of Slafe in the same. 
 
 Enter the Kinr, Queen, Hamlet, Poloxius, 
 
 Lakrtes, VoLTiMANi), CoiiNELius, Lords, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Kb^g. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's 
 death 
 The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
 To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdorti 
 To be contracted in one brow of woe; 
 Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
 That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
 Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
 Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen. 
 The imperial jointress of this warlike state. 
 Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy, — 
 With one auspicious, and one drooping eye; 
 With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage. 
 In equal scale weighing delight and dole,' — 
 Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
 Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
 With this affair along: — For all, oiy thanks. 
 
 Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, 
 Holding a weak supposal of our worth; 
 Or thinking, bj^ our late dear brother's death, 
 Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
 Colleagued with this dream of his advantage. 
 He hath not fail'd to pester us with message. 
 Importing the surrender of those lands 
 Lost by his father, with all bands" of law. 
 To our most valiant brother. — So much for him. 
 Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting. 
 Thus much the business is: W^e have here writ 
 To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — 
 Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
 Of this his nephew's purpose. — to suppress 
 His further gait* herein; in that the levies, 
 The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
 Out of his subject: — and we here despatch 
 You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
 For bearers of this greeting to old Norway; 
 Giving to you no further personal power 
 To business with the king, more than the scope 
 Of these dilated articles allow. 
 Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty. 
 
 Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we show 
 our duty. 
 
 King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell. 
 [Exeunt Voltimaxd and Cornelius. 
 \nd now, liaertcs, what's the news with you] 
 fou told us of some suit: What is't, Laertes? 
 Vou cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
 And lose your voice : What wouldst thou beg, 
 
 Laertes, 
 That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? 
 The head is not more native to the heart, 
 The hand more instrumental to the mouth. 
 Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
 What wouldst thou have, Laertes? 
 
 Laer, My dread lord. 
 
 Your leave and favor to return to Fiaii'-e; 
 From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, 
 To show my duty in your coronation ; 
 Yet now I must confess, that duty done, 
 
 » Grief. ' Konds < Way, path. 
 
 My thoughts and wishes bend agam toward France, 
 And bow them to your gracious leave anu pardon 
 
 King. Have you your father's leave? Whatsaya 
 Polonius? 
 
 Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow 
 leave. 
 By laborsome petition; an<l, at last. 
 Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 
 I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
 
 King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time bo thine, 
 And thy best graces: spend it at thy will. — 
 But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, 
 
 Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. 
 
 [Aside, 
 
 King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? 
 
 Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun. 
 
 Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color ofl^ 
 And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark 
 Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids' 
 Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
 Thou know'st 'tis common; all, that live, must die 
 Passing through nature to eternity. 
 
 Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
 
 Quee7i. If it be, 
 
 Why seems it so particular with thee? 
 
 Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not 
 seems. 
 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
 Nor customary suits of solemn black. 
 Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, 
 No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
 Nor the dejected 'liavior of the visage. 
 Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, 
 That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem, 
 For they are actions that a man might play : 
 But I have that within, which passeth show; 
 These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
 
 King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your na 
 ture, Hamlet, 
 To give these mourning duties to your father: 
 But, you must know, your father lost a father; 
 That father lost his; and the survivor bound 
 In filial obligation, for some term 
 To do obsequious sorrow: But to persever 
 In obstinate condolement, is a course 
 Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief. 
 It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, 
 A heart unfortified, or mind impatient; 
 An understanding simple and unschool'd: 
 For what, we know, must be, and is as common 
 As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 
 Why should we, in our peevish opposition, 
 Take it to heart? Fyc! 'tis a fault to heaven, 
 A fault against the dead, a fault to nature. 
 To reason most absurd; whose common theme 
 Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried. 
 From the first corse, till he that died to-day. 
 This must be .so. We pray you, throw to eartl 
 This unprevailing woe; and think of us 
 As of a father: for let the world take note, 
 You arc the most immediate to our thr me; 
 And, with no less nobility of love, 
 Than that which dearest father bears his son. 
 Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
 In going back to school in Wittenberg 
 It is m^st retrograde' to our desire: 
 And, we beseech you, bend you to remain 
 Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
 Our chiefcst courtier, cousin, and our son. 
 • Lowering ej-es 'Coutrarv 
 
886 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act 1, 
 
 Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, 
 Hamlet, 
 I pray thee stay with us, gf not to Wittenberg. 
 
 Hum, I shall in all my test obey you, madam. 
 
 King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ; 
 Be as ourself in Denmark. — Madam, come; 
 This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet 
 Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, 
 No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day. 
 But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell; 
 And the king's rouse' the heaven shall bruit' again, 
 Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, 4"C, Poionius, 
 and Laertes. 
 
 Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, 
 Thaw, and resolve' itself into a dew ! 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fixed 
 His canon' 'gainst self-slaughter! OGod! OGod! 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
 Fye on't ! fye! 'tis an unweeded garden. 
 That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature. 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this! 
 B\it two months dead! — nay, not so much, not 
 
 two : 
 So excellent a king; that was, to this, 
 Hyperion^ to a satyr: so loving to mj' mother. 
 That he might not bcteern' the winds of heaven 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
 Must I remember? why, she would hang on him 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 By what it fed on : And yet, within a month, — 
 Let me not think on't ; — Frailty, thy name is 
 
 woman ! — 
 A little month; or ere those shoes were old. 
 With wliich she follow'd my poor father's body. 
 Like Niobe, all tears; — why she, even she, — 
 heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason. 
 Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my 
 
 uncle. 
 My father's brother; but no more like my father. 
 Than I to Hercules : Within a month ; 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 Had left the flushing in her galled eyes. 
 She married : — O most wicked speed, to post 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; 
 But break, my heart: for I must hold my tongue ! 
 
 Enter Horatio, Behxardo, and Marcellus. 
 
 Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 
 
 Ham. I am glad to see you well : 
 
 Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 
 
 Hur. The same, my lord, and your poor s<want 
 ever. 
 
 Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name 
 with ycu. 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? — 
 Marcellus? 
 
 Mar. My good lord, 
 
 Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, 
 
 sir. 
 
 Out what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? 
 
 Hur. A truant disposition, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so: 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence. 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against yourself: I knDW, y^u are no truant. 
 
 ' Dranght. 
 ' Law. 
 
 8 Report. 
 Apollo. 
 
 5 Dip?olve. 
 3 Suffer 
 
 But what is your affair in Elsinorel 
 
 We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 
 
 Hur. My lord, I came to see your ftithcr's funeral 
 
 Hum, I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow- 
 student; 
 I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. 
 
 Hor, Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 
 
 Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral baked 
 meats 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 'Would I had met my dearest' foe iw heaven 
 Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! — 
 My father, — Methinks, I see my father. 
 
 Hor. Where, 
 
 My lord? 
 
 Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 
 
 Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Hur. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
 
 Ham. Saw ! who? 
 
 Hor. My lord, the king your father. 
 
 Hum. The king my father! 
 
 Hur. Season your admiration for a while 
 With an attent' ear; till I may deliver. 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen. 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Hum. For God's love, let me hear. 
 
 Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
 Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch. 
 In the dead waist and middle of the night. 
 Been thus encountcr'd. A figure like your father, 
 Armed at point, exactly cap-a-pe, 
 Appears before them, and, with solemn march. 
 Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd, 
 By their oppresh'd and fear-surprised eyes, 
 Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distill'd 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear. 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
 And I with them, the third night kept the watch: 
 Where, as they had deliver'd, bo'-h in time. 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
 The apparition comes: I knew your father: 
 These hands are not more like. 
 
 Ham. But where was this? 
 
 Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 
 watch'd. 
 
 Ham. Did you not speak to it? 
 
 Hor. My lord, I did 
 
 But answer made it none : yet once, methought. 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak: 
 But, even then, the morning cock crew loud; 
 And at .he sound it shrunk in haste away. 
 And vanish'd from our sight. 
 
 Hum. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 Hor. As I do live, my honor'd lord, 'tis true; 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty, 
 To let you know of it. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
 Hold you the watch to-night? 
 
 All. We do, niy lord. 
 
 Ham. Arm'd, say you ? 
 
 All. Arm'd, m> 'ord. 
 
 Ham. From top to toe' 
 
 All. My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Ham, Then saw you nof 
 
 His face? 
 
 *Chicfest. s Attentive 
 
Scene III. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK 
 
 ^H-^ 
 
 Jlor. 0, yes, my lord ! he wore his beaver* up. 
 
 Ham. What, look'd he frownhigly 1 
 
 Hor A countenance more 
 
 In sorrow than in ange- 
 
 Ham. Pale, or redl 
 
 Hor. Nay, very pale. 
 
 Ham. And fix'd his eyes upc. you ? 
 
 Hnr. Most constantly. 
 
 Ham. I would, I had been there. 
 
 Hor. It vs^ould have much amaz'd you. 
 
 Ham. Very like, 
 
 Very like: Stay'd it long? 
 
 Hor. While one with moderate haste might tdl 
 a hundred. 
 
 Mar. Bcr. Longer, longer. 
 
 Hor. Not when I saw it. 
 
 Ham. His beard was grizzl'd 1 no ? 
 
 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable silver'd. 
 
 Ham. I will watch to-night; 
 
 Perchance, 'twill walk again. 
 
 Hor. I warrant, it will. 
 
 Ham.. If it assume my noble father's person, 
 I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 
 And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
 If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still: 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night. 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
 I will requite your loves: So, fare you well: 
 Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
 I'll visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honor. 
 
 Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. 
 [^Exeunt Hor., Mar., and Ber. 
 My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
 I doubt some foul play : 'would the night were 
 
 come ! 
 Till then sit still my soul : Foul deeds will rise, 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in Polonius's House. 
 
 Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 
 
 Laer. My necessaries are embark'd ; farewell : 
 And, sister, as the winds give benefit. 
 And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, 
 But let mc hear from you. 
 
 Oph. Do you doubt that 1 
 
 Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, 
 Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature, 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting. 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
 No more- 
 
 Oph. No more but so ' 
 
 Laer Think it no more : 
 
 For nature, crescent,^ docs not grow alone 
 In thews,' and bulk, but. as this temple waxes, 
 The inward service of tiic mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now; 
 And now no soil, nor cautel,' doth besmirch' 
 The vi.tue of his will : but, you must fear, 
 His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own; 
 For he himself is subject to his birth : 
 He may no!, as unvalued persons do, 
 '.'arve for himself; for on his choice iepends 
 
 « Tli.it p;irt of tlie helmet which protecV; the lower part 
 >f tlio fai-c, and may In; lifted np. ' Increasing. 
 
 «mew3 s Subtlety, deceit. 'Discolor 
 
 The safety and the health of the whole state ; 
 And therefore must his choice be circuinscrib'd 
 Unto the voice and yielding of that body. 
 Whereof he is the head : Then if he says he loves 
 
 you, 
 It fits your wisdom so fur to believe it, 
 As he in his [uuticular act and jjjacc 
 May give his saying deed ; which is no further 
 Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
 Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain. 
 If with too credent^ ear you list^ his songs: 
 Or lose your heart ; or your chaste treasure open 
 To his nnmaster'd' importunity. 
 Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; 
 And keep you in the rear of your aflection, 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough. 
 If she unmask her beauty to the moon: 
 Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes: 
 The canker galls the infants of the spring, 
 Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd ; 
 And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
 Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
 Be wary then : best safety lies in fear ; 
 Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 
 
 Opk. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep^ 
 As watchman to my heart : But, good my brother 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
 Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine. 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads. 
 And recks not his own read.* 
 
 Laer. O fear me not. 
 
 I stay loo long; — But here my father comes. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 A double blessing is a- double grace ; 
 Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
 
 Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shamflj 
 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail. 
 And you arc staid for : There, — my blessing with 
 you ; \_Lufjing his Handon Laeutes' Head, 
 And these few precepts in thy memory 
 Look thou character.'^ Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried. 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel • 
 But do not dull thy palm witli entertainment 
 Of each new-hatch'd, untledg'd comrade. Bewara 
 Of entrance to a quarrel : but, being in. 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: 
 Take each man's censure,'' but reserve thy judg^ 
 
 ment. 
 Costly thy habit, as thy purse can buy, 
 But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 And they in France of the best rank and station, 
 Are most select and generous,' chiefs in that. 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be : 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry 
 This above all, — To thine ownself be true 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 Farewell ; my blessing season ' this in thee ! 
 
 aBpIieving. ^ Listen to. ' I-icontioua 
 
 ' Ke^ards not his own lessons, ^ Write. 
 
 'Opinion 'Noble 'Chiefly 'Infix 
 
»«s 
 
 HAMLE I , 
 
 Act t 
 
 Laer. Most humWy do I take my leave, my lonl. 
 
 Pol. Tlio time invites you ; go, your servants 
 tend.' 
 
 Laer. rrtrovveli, Ophelia ; and remember well 
 What I have said to you. 
 
 Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd, 
 
 And you yourself shall keej) the key of it. 
 
 Liicr. Farewell! [y.','.c/7 IjAkutics. 
 
 l^ol. V\ hat is't, Ophelia, he hatii said to you '! 
 
 Oph. 80 f)lease you, soniclhing touching the 
 lord Hamlet. 
 
 l''.)L Marry, well bethought : i- 
 
 Tis told me, he hath very oft of late 
 Given })rivatc time on you : and you yourself 
 Havt; of your audicu'e been most free and boun- 
 teous: 
 If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me. 
 And that in way of caution,) I nnist (ell you. 
 You do not understand yourself so clearly, 
 As it behoves my dauuhler, and your honor: 
 What is between y<ju ! give me up the truth. 
 
 Oph. He halh my lord, of late, made many tenders 
 Of his ailection to nic. 
 
 Pol. Ailection ! Puh ! you speak like a green girl, 
 UnsiftctP in such perilous circumstance. 
 Do yoti believe his tenders, as you call them ? 
 
 Oi)h. 1 do not know, my lord, what 1 should think. 
 
 Vol. Marry, I'll teach you ; think yourself a 
 baby ; 
 That you have ta'en these tenders for true i)ay 
 "Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more 
 
 dearly ; 
 Or (^not to crack the wind of the poor jihrase. 
 Wronging it thus) you'll tender me a tool. 
 
 Oph. My lord, he hath impurtun'd mc with love. 
 In honorable fashion. 
 
 I'dI. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to. 
 
 Oph, And hath given countenance to his speech, 
 my lord. 
 With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 
 
 Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, 
 When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
 Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter, 
 Giving more light than heat, — extinct in both. 
 Even in their promise, as it is a maUinK, — 
 You must not take for lire. From this time, 
 Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; 
 Set your entreatments'' at a higher rate, 
 Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
 Beli-ne so much in him, That he is young; 
 And with a larger tether may he walk. 
 Than may be given you : In few, Ophelia, 
 I)o not believe his vows, for they are brokers, 
 Not of that die which their investments show, 
 IJut UK^e iin[)lorators' of unholy suits, 
 Breathing lik(^ sanctilled and pious bonds. 
 The bette..- to beguile. This is lor all, — 
 I would rot, in plain terms, from this time forth. 
 Have you so slander any moment's leisure. 
 At' to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. 
 Look to't, I charge you ; couie your vv:fvs. 
 
 Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— 77ie Plalform. 
 
 Enter Hamlkt, Hoiiatio, and Mauckllus. 
 
 j.iam. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 
 Hor. It is a nipping and an eager** air. 
 
 'Wait. » Uiitcinpted. 'Company. 
 
 « Iiuplorcrs. • Sharp. 
 
 Ham What hour now ? 
 
 Hor. I think, it lacks of twelva 
 
 Mar. No, it is struck. 
 
 Hor. Indeed 1 I heard it not; it then draws near 
 the season. 
 Wherein the spirit held liis wont to walk. 
 
 [/I Flourish of Trunipels, and Ordnance shot 
 ojf, tvilhin. 
 What does this mean, my lord? 
 
 Hunt, 'i'he king doth wake to-night, and takea 
 his rouse,'' 
 Keeps wassel,** and the swaggering up-spring" reels 
 And, as he drains his draughts of Khenish dowp 
 'i'he kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 'J'he triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Hor. Is it a custom ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, is't: 
 But to my mind, though I am native here, 
 And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
 More honor'd in the breach, than the observance 
 'I'his heavy-headed revel, east and west. 
 Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations: 
 They depe ' us drunkards, and with swinish phrasj 
 Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 
 From ourachievemeiits, though pcj formed atheight, 
 The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
 So oil it chances in particular men, 
 That for some vicious mode of nature in them, 
 As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin,) 
 By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,'^ 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; 
 Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
 'i'he form of plausive maimers; — that these men,— 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect; 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,— 
 'i'heir virtues else (be they as pure as grace. 
 As inlinite as man may undergo) 
 Shall in the general censure take corruption 
 Froui that particular fault: The dram of base 
 Uolh all the noble substance often dout,' 
 'i'o his own scandal. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Hor. Look, my lord, it comes! 
 
 Hani. Angels and ministers of grace defend usi — 
 Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, 
 15 ring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from 
 
 hell, 
 Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
 'J'hou com'st in such a questionable' shape, 
 'i'hat I will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Hamlet, 
 King, father, royal Dane : 0, answer me : 
 Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell, 
 Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death. 
 Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulflwc 
 Wherein we saw thee (luieliy in-urn'd, 
 Hath o])"d his ponderous ancl marble jaws, 
 To east thee up again ! What may this mean, 
 'l^hat thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel 
 lievisit'st thus the glimj)ses of the moon. 
 Making night hideous; and we fools of nature. 
 So horridly to shake our disposition. 
 With thcughts beyond the reaches of our souls? 
 Say, v\hy is this ? wherefore ? what should we do I 
 
 Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 
 As if it some impartment did desire 
 'J'o vou alone. 
 
 '.Jovial drauj;ht. 
 
 ' Cail. " Uumor. 
 
 •.Tollity. 
 > Do out. 
 
 •A danoe. 
 'ConversabJii 
 
ScEMi: V. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 889 
 
 Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
 
 It waves you to a more removed ground : 
 Kut do not go vvitli it. 
 
 Uiir. No, by no means. 
 
 Hiiitt. It will not speak; then I will ibllow it. 
 
 Hoi\ Do not, iny lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, what should he the fear 1 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee :' 
 And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 Being a thing immortal as itself? 
 It waves me forth again ;— I'll follow it. 
 
 Hor. What, il' it tempt you toward the flood, my 
 lord, 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the clifl". 
 That beetles* o'er his base into the sea! 
 And there assume some otiier horriiile form, 
 Wiiicii might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
 And draw you into madness 1 think of it: 
 The very place puts toys' of desperation. 
 Without more motive, into every brain, 
 That looks so many liithoms to the sea. 
 And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Ham. It waves me still : 
 
 Go on, I'll follow thee. 
 
 Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Hold oft' your hands. 
 
 Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 
 
 Ham. My fotc cries out, 
 
 And makes each i>etty artery in this body 
 As hard}' .as the Nemean lion's nerve. — 
 
 [Ghost beckons. 
 Still am I call'd ; — unhand me, gentlemen ; — 
 
 [lircakhig from them. 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets' 
 
 me : — 
 I say, away : — Go on, I'll follow thee. 
 
 \_Exeit,nt Ghost and Hamlkt. 
 
 Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 
 
 Mar. Let's follow ; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. 
 
 Hor. Have after: — To what issue will this come 1 
 
 Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. 
 
 Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let's follow him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A mure remote Purl of the Platform. 
 Re-enter Ghost and Hamlkt. 
 
 Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak, I'll go 
 
 Ghost. Mark me. [no further. 
 
 Ham. I will. 
 
 Ghost. My hour is almost eomc, 
 
 When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
 Must render up myself. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor ghost! 
 
 Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
 To what I shall unfold. 
 
 Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt 
 
 Ham. Whaf? [hear 
 
 Ghost. I am thy father's spirit; 
 Dooin'd for a certain term to walk the night; 
 \nd, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires. 
 Till uhe foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
 .\re burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid 
 To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
 [ could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
 Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood : 
 Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 
 riiy knotted and combined locks to part, [spheres; 
 
 "Value. 'Hangs. 'Whims. •Hinders. 
 
 And each particular hair to stand on end 
 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: 
 
 But this eternal blazon' must not be 
 
 To cars of flesh and blood .-—List, list, O list !— 
 
 If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 
 
 Ham. O heaven ! 
 
 Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnaturai 
 
 Ham. Murder? [murder. 
 
 Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; 
 But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
 
 Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wings 
 As meditation, or the thoughts of love, [as swift 
 May sweep to my revenge. 
 
 Ghost. I find thee apt; 
 
 And duller sliouldst thou be than the fat weed 
 That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
 Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Ilandot, Iiear: 
 'Tis given out, that, sleeping in mine orchard, 
 A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark 
 Is by a forged process of my death 
 Rankly abus'd ; Iiut know, thou noble youth, 
 The serpent that did sting thy father's life, 
 Now wears his crown. 
 
 Ham. O, my prophetic soul ! my uncle. 
 
 Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate bcas(^ 
 With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
 (O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power 
 So to seduce !) won to his shameful lust 
 The will of my most seeming-virtuous <]ueen : 
 0, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 
 From me, whose love was of that dignity. 
 That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
 I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
 Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
 'l"o those of mine! 
 
 But virtue, as it never will be mov'd. 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven ; 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd. 
 Will sate itself in a celestial bed, 
 And prey on garbage. 
 
 But, soft! mcthinks 1 scent the morning air; 
 Brief k't me be: — Sleeping within mine orchan'^ 
 My custom always of the afternoon, 
 Ui)on my secure hour thy uncle stole. 
 With juice of cursed hebenon' in a vial. 
 And in the porches of mine ears did [)our 
 The Icperous dislilinent : whos(! vWcvi 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man, 
 That, swit't as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
 And, with a sudden vigor, it duth [losset 
 And curd, like eager dropi)ings into milk. 
 The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine 
 And a most instant tetter bark'd about. 
 Most lazar-like,' with vile and loathsome crust, 
 All my smooth body. 
 
 Thus v.as I, slee])ing, by a brother's hand. 
 Of life, of crown, of (]uecn, at onc(! despatch'd . 
 Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 IJnhousel'd,' disa|)pointed,* unaneled ;' 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 With all my imi)ertin'tions on my head : 
 O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrihle ! 
 If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; 
 Let not the royal lied of Denmark be 
 A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
 But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, 
 
 » Display. • II('nl)!mi\ ' liCproua. ' liereft. 
 
 * Witliout liavinj; roccivi-J tlic sacramont. 
 
 » reappointed, uiiprrparcrl. • Without extrc^me unctioa 
 
«90 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act L 
 
 Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
 Against thy mother aught ; leave her to heaven, 
 And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
 To prick and sting her. Fare thee vrcll at once ! 
 The glow-worm shows the matin to be near. 
 And 'gins to pale his uneflectual fire : 
 Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me. [Exif. 
 
 Ham. O all you host ofheaven ! earth! What 
 
 else ? 
 And shall I couple hell? — fye !— Hold, hold, 
 
 my heart ; 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
 But bear me stiffly up ! —Remember thee ] 
 Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
 In this distracted globe.' Remember thee 1 
 Yea, from the table of my memoiy 
 I'll wipe away all trivial fond records. 
 All saws' of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
 That youth and observation copied there ; 
 And thy commandment all alone shall live 
 Within the book and volume of my brain, 
 Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven. 
 O most pernicious woman ! 
 
 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
 My tables,' — meet it is, I set it down, 
 
 That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain , 
 At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark : 
 
 [ Writing. 
 So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ; 
 It is. Adieu, adieu / remember me. 
 
 1 have sworn't. 
 
 Hor. l^Wilkin.'] My lord, my lord,^ 
 
 Mar. IWiildn^ Lord Hamlet, 
 
 Hor. [ VVV/Zu'/i.] Heaven secure him. 
 
 Ham. So be it. 
 
 Mar. [Within.'] Illo, ho, ho, my lord! 
 Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 
 
 Enter Horatio and Mabcellus. 
 
 Mar. How is't, my noble lord? 
 
 Hor. What news, my lord \ 
 
 Ham. O wonderful ! 
 
 Hor. Good, my lord, tell it. 
 
 Ham. No ; 
 
 You will reveal it. 
 
 Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. How say you then : would heart of man 
 once think it ? — 
 But you'll be secret, 
 
 Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 
 
 Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all 
 Denmark, 
 But he's an arrant knave. 
 
 Hur. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from 
 the grave, 
 I'o tell us this. 
 
 Ham. Why, right; you are in the right; 
 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 I hold it fit, that we shake hands, and part : 
 You, as your business, and desire, shall point you ; — 
 For every man hath business, and desire, 
 Such as it is; — and, lor my own poor part. 
 Look you, I will go pray. 
 
 Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, 
 
 my lord. 
 Ham I am sorry they offend you, heartily ; yes, 
 Faith, heartily. 
 
 Hor. There's no offence, my lord. 
 
 ' Bead. • Sayings, sentences. 'Memorandum book. 
 
 Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Hora" 
 tio. 
 And much oficnce too. Touching this vision her«> 
 It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you ; 
 For your desire to know what is between us, 
 O'er-mastcr it as you may. And now, good friends, 
 As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, 
 Give me one poor request. 
 
 Hor. What is't, my lord ? 
 
 We will. 
 
 Ham. Never make known what you have seen 
 
 to-night. 
 Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. 
 Ham. Nay, hut swear't. 
 
 Hor. In failh 
 
 My lord, not I. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 
 
 Ham. Upon my sword. 
 
 Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already 
 
 Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
 Ghost. [Beneath.'] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ? art thou 
 there, true-penny ? 
 Come on, — you hear this fellow in the cellarage, — 
 Consent to swear. 
 
 Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 Ham. Hie et ubique?' then we'll shift oui 
 ground : — 
 Come hither, gentlemen, 
 And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Never to speak of this that you have heard. 
 Ghost. [Be7ieath.] Swear by his sword. 
 Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' the 
 earth so fast ? 
 A worthy pioneer ! — Once more remove, good 
 friends. 
 Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! 
 Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosojjhy. 
 
 But come ; 
 
 Here, as before, never, so help you mercy ! 
 How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself. 
 As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
 To put an antic disposition on, — 
 That you, at such times seeing me, never shall. 
 With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake. 
 Or by pronouncing of some doubtful pnrase. 
 As, Well, well, we know ; — or. We could, an if we 
 would; — or. If we list to speak; — or, There be, an 
 if they might ; 
 
 Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
 That you know aught of me : — This do you swear, 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help you ! 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So gentlemen, 
 With all my love I do commend me to you : 
 And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
 May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
 God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in to- 
 gether ; 
 And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
 The time is out of joint ; — O cursed spite i 
 That ever I was born to set it right ! 
 Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeuni 
 
 « Here and every where. 
 
Act II Scene 1. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 891 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Polonius's House. 
 
 Enter PoLomtrs and Retxaldo. 
 
 Pol. Give him this money, and these notes, Rcy- 
 naldo. 
 
 jRei/, I will, my lord. 
 
 Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- 
 naldo, 
 Before you visit him, to make inquiry 
 Of his behavior. 
 
 Ret/. My lord, I did intend it. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well said : very well said. Look 
 you, sir, 
 Inquire me first what Danskers' are in Paris; 
 And how, and who, what means, and where they 
 
 keep. 
 What company, at what expense; and finding. 
 By this encompassment and drift of question. 
 That they do know my son, come you more nearer 
 Than your particular demands will touch it: 
 Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; 
 As thus, — I know his father, and his friends, 
 And, in part, him,- — Do you mark this, ReynaldoT 
 
 Reij. Ay, very well, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And, in part, hint; — but, you may say, not 
 well: 
 But, if 7 be he I mean, he's very wild; 
 Addicted so and so,- — and there put on him 
 What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank 
 As may dishonor him; take heed of that: 
 But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips. 
 As are companions noted and most known 
 To youth and liberty. 
 
 Ret/. As gaming, my lord. 
 
 Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quar- 
 Urabbing : — You may go so far. [relling, 
 
 Rey. My lord, that would dishonor hnn. 
 
 Pol. 'Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge. 
 You must not put another scandal on him. 
 That he is open to incontinency ; 
 That's not my meaning : but breathe his faults so 
 
 quaintly, 
 That they may seem the taints of liberty : 
 The flash and out-break of a fiery mind; 
 .\ savageness in unreclaimed blood. 
 Of general assault. 
 
 Rei/. But, my good lord, 
 
 I'ol. Wherefore should you do this ? 
 
 Ret/. Ay, my lord, 
 
 would know that. 
 
 Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift; 
 
 And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant: 
 You laying these slight sullies on my son, 
 \s 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 
 Mark you. 
 
 Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
 Haviiig ever seen in the prenominate^ crimes. 
 The youth you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd. 
 He closes with you in this conse(|uence; 
 Good sir, or so; or friend, or gentleman, — 
 According to the phrase, or the addition, 
 Of man, and country. 
 
 Rey. Very good, my lord. 
 
 9 Danes. » Already named. 
 
 Pol. And then, sir, does he this, — He does — 
 What vi'as I about to say]— By the mass, I wa« 
 about to say something: — Where did I leave? 
 
 Rey. At, closes in the consequence. 
 
 Pol. At, closes in the consequence, — Ay, marry ; 
 He closes with you thus : — I know the gentleman! 
 I saw him yesterday, or f other day, 
 Ur then, or then; with such, or such,- and, as you say. 
 There ivas he gaming,- there o'ertook in his roust; 
 Tfiere falling out at teirnis: or, perchance, 
 I saio him enter such a house of sale, 
 {Videlicet, a brothel,) or so forth. — 
 See you now ; 
 
 Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth : 
 And thus do we of wisdom and of reach. 
 With windlaccs, and with assays of bias, 
 By indirections find directions out ; 
 So, by former lecture and advice, 
 Shall you, my son : You have me, have you not 1 
 
 Rey. My lord, I have. 
 
 Pol. God be wi' you ; fare you well 
 
 Rey. Good, my lord, 
 
 Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself 
 
 Rey. I shall, my lord. 
 • Pol. And let him ply his music. 
 
 Rey. Well, my lord. [Exit, 
 
 Enter Ophelia. 
 
 Pol. Farewell ! — How now, Ophelia 1 what's the 
 matter 1 [frighted ' 
 
 Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so af- 
 
 Pol. With what, in the name of heaven ' 
 
 Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my clo'set 
 Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all unbraced: 
 No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'd, 
 Ungarter'd, and down-gyved' to his ankle; 
 Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other. 
 And with a look so piteous in purport, 
 As if he had been loosed out of hell. 
 To speak of horrors, — he comes before me. 
 
 Pol. Mad for thy level 
 
 Oph. My lord, I do not know 
 
 But, truly, I do fear it. 
 
 Pol. What said hel 
 
 Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard: 
 Then goes he to the length of all his arm: 
 And with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
 He falls to such perusal of my face. 
 As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so; 
 At last, — a little shaking of mine arm, 
 And thrice his head thus waving up and down 
 He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound, 
 As it did seem to shatter all his bulk. 
 And end his being: That done, he lets me go 
 And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 
 He sccni'd to find his way without his eyesj 
 For out of doors he went without their helps. 
 And, to the last, bended their light on me. 
 
 Pol. Come, go with me ; I will go seek the Idlig 
 This is the very ecstasy of love; 
 Whose violent property forsdocs ' itself, 
 And leads the will to desperate undertakings, 
 As oft as any passion under heaven. 
 That docs afflict our natures I am sorry, — 
 * Hanging down like fetters. » JJestroy 
 
892 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act U 
 
 What, have you given him any hard words of 
 late? 
 Oph. No, my good lord: but, as you did command, 
 
 I did repel his letters, and denied 
 
 His access to me. 
 
 Pol. That hath made him mad. 
 
 I am sorry, that with better heed and judgment, 
 
 I had not quoted^ him: I fear'd, he did but trifle, 
 
 And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jea- 
 lousy ! 
 
 It seems, it is as proper to our age 
 
 To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions, 
 
 As it is common for the younger sort 
 
 To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king; 
 
 This must be known; which, being kept close, 
 might move 
 
 More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. 
 
 Come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— yl Room in the Castle. 
 
 Eriter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guilbkn- 
 STEiiN, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guilden- 
 stern ! 
 Moreover that we much did long to sec you. 
 The need, we have to use you, did provoke 
 Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
 Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I cidl it, 
 Since not the exterior nor the inward man 
 Rese'/ibles that i'c was : What it should be, . 
 
 M've than his father's death, that thus hath put 
 
 him 
 So much from the understanding of himself, 
 I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, 
 That,- 'being of so young days brought up with 
 
 him : 
 krA, since, so neighbor'd to his youth and hu- 
 mor, — 
 That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
 Some little time: so by your companies 
 To draw him on to pleasures; and to gather. 
 So much as from occasion you may glean, 
 Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus. 
 That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 
 
 Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of 
 you; 
 And, sure I am, two men there are not living, 
 To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
 To show us so much gentry, and good will, 
 As to expend your lime with us awhile. 
 For the supply and profit of our hope, 
 Your visitation shall receive such thanks 
 As fits a king's remembrance. 
 
 Ros. Both your majesties 
 
 Might, by the sovereign power you have of us. 
 Put your dread pleasures more into command 
 Than to entreaty. 
 
 Guil. But we both obey ; 
 
 And here give up ourselves, in the full bent;' 
 To lay our service freely at your feet, 
 To be commanded. 
 
 King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guilden- 
 
 stern. 
 Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen- 
 crantz: 
 And I beseech you instantly to visit 
 My too much changed son. — Go, some of you. 
 And b;-ing these gentloTien where Hamlet is. 
 'Observed "> Utmost exertion. 
 
 Guil. Heavens make ourprcsencr,andourprao 
 tices. 
 Pleasant and helpful to hirn ! 
 
 Queen. Ay, amer . 
 
 [Exeunt Rosknchaivtz, Guil::jenstern 
 and sonic Attendants. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my good 
 lord, 
 Are joyfully return'd. 
 
 King. Thou still hast been the father of good 
 news. 
 
 Pol. Have I, my lord] Assure you, my good 
 liege, 
 I hold 7ny duty, as I hold my soul. 
 Both to my God, and to my gracious king* 
 And I do think, (or else this brain of mine 
 Hunts not the traiP of policy so sure 
 As it hath used to do,) that I have found 
 The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 
 
 King. O, speak of that: that do I long to hear 
 
 Pol. Give first admittance to the ambassadors; 
 My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 
 
 King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them 
 in. [Exit PoLONius 
 
 He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found 
 The head and source of all your son's distemper. 
 
 Queen. I doubt it is no otiier but the main; 
 His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. 
 
 Re-enter Polonius, with. Voltimand and 
 Cornelius. 
 
 King. Well, we shall sift him. — Welcome, my 
 good friends! 
 Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway! 
 
 Volt. Most fair return of greetings, and desires. 
 Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
 His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd 
 To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack;' 
 But, better look'd into, he truly found 
 It was against your highness: W'hereat griev'd,— 
 That so his sickness, age, and impotence. 
 Was falsely borne in hand,' — sends out arrests 
 On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys; 
 Receives rebuke from Norway ; and, in fine, 
 Makes vow before his uncle, never more 
 To give the assay of arms against your majesty 
 Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, 
 Gives him three thousand crowns in annual feo 
 And his commission to employ those soldiers, 
 So levied as before, against the Polack: 
 W th an entreaty, herein further shown, 
 
 [Gives a Paper 
 'J'hc t it might please you to give qtiiet pass 
 Through your dominions for this enterprize; 
 On such regards of safety, and allowance, 
 As therein are set down. 
 
 King. It likes us well: 
 
 And, at our more cor.sider'd time, we'll read, 
 Answer, and thiid'L upon this business. 
 Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labor' 
 Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together: 
 Most welcome home! 
 
 [Exeu7it Voltimand a7id Cornelitts. 
 
 Pol. This business is well ended 
 
 My liege, ^md madam, to expostulate'' 
 
 What majesty should be, what duty is, 
 
 Why day is day, night, night, and time is timt, 
 
 8 Scent. 9 Poland. 
 
 •Imyoeed on. sDiscugg 
 
iScENE II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 893 
 
 Were nothing but to waste night, clay, and time, 
 riierefore, — since brevity is the soul of wit, 
 And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, 
 I will be brief: your noble son is mad: 
 Mad call I it: for, to define true madness, 
 What is't, but to be nothing else but mad 1 
 But let that go. 
 
 Queen. More matter with less art. 
 
 Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 
 That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true, 'tis pity; 
 And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure; 
 But fiirowell it, for I will use no art. 
 Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, 
 That we find out the cause of this effect; 
 Or, rather say, the cause of this defect ; 
 For this effect, defective, comes by cause : 
 Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
 Perpend. 
 
 I have a daughter ; have, while she is mine ; 
 Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
 Hath given me this: Now gather and isuimise. 
 — To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most 
 
 beautified Ophelia, 
 
 That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; beautified is a 
 vile phrase; but you shall hear. — Thus: 
 
 la her excellent white bosom, these, ^c. 
 
 Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her! 
 
 Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be faith- 
 ful.— 
 
 Doubt thou, the stars are fire,- [Reads. 
 
 Doubt, that the sun doth move: 
 Doubt truth to be a liar,- 
 But never doubt, I love. 
 dear Ophelia, 1 am ill at these numbers,- I 
 have not art to reckon my groans,- but that I love 
 thee best, must best, believe it. Adieu. 
 
 Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst 
 this machine is to him, Hamlet. 
 
 This in obedience, hath my daughter shown me : 
 And more above, hath his solicidngs. 
 As they fell out by time, by means, and place, 
 All given to mine ear. 
 
 King. But how hath she 
 
 Receiv'd his love 7 
 
 Pol. What do you think of me ] 
 
 King. As of a man faithful and honorable. 
 
 Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might 
 you think, 
 When I had seen this hot love on the wing, 
 (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that. 
 Before my daughter told me,) what might you, 
 Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
 If I Ind flay'd the desk, or table-book; 
 Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb; 
 Or look'd upon this love with idle sight; 
 What might you think ] no, I went round'' to work, 
 And my young mistress thus did I bespeak : 
 Lord Hamlet is aprince out of thy sphcre,- 
 This must not be.- and then I {)recepts gave her. 
 That site should lock herself from his resort. 
 Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
 Which done, she took the fruits of my advice; 
 And he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,) 
 Fell into a sadness; then into a fast; 
 Thence to a watch; thence into weakness; 
 Thence to a lightness; and, by tiiis declension. 
 Into the madness wherein now he raves, 
 And all we mourn lor. 
 
 'Roun'Ily, without reserve. 
 
 King. Do ycu think, tis this ' 
 
 Queen. It may be, very likely. 
 
 Pol. Hath there been such a time, (I'd fain know 
 tliat,) 
 That I have positively said, 'Tis so, 
 When it proved otherwise'? 
 
 King. Not that I know. 
 
 Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise: 
 [^Pointing to his Head and Shoulder 
 If circumstances lead me, I will find 
 Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
 Within the centre. 
 
 King. How may we try it further! 
 
 Pol. You know sometimes he walks four hours 
 together. 
 Here in the lobby. 
 
 Queen. So he does, indeed. 
 
 Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to 
 him ; 
 Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
 Mark the encounter: if he love her not. 
 And be not from his reason fallen thereon. 
 Let me be no assistant for a state. 
 But keep a farm, and carters. 
 
 We will try it. 
 
 King. 
 
 Enter Hajilkt, reading. 
 
 Queen. But look, where sadly the poor wretch 
 comes reading. 
 
 Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away ; 
 I'll board him presently: — 0, give me leave. — 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queex, «7!c? Attendants. 
 How does my good lord Hamlet 1 
 
 Ham. Well, god-'a-mercy. 
 
 Pol. Do you know me, my lord? 
 
 Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. 
 
 Pol. Not I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. 
 
 Pol. Honest, my lord 1 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world goes, 
 is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. 
 
 Pol. That's very true, my lord. 
 
 Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, 
 being a god, kissing carrion, — Have you a daughterl 
 
 Pol. I have, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception* is 
 a blessing ; but not as your daughter may conceive' 
 — friend, look to't. 
 
 Pol. How say you by thaf! [Aside.'] Still harp- 
 ing on my daughter: — yet he knew me not at first; 
 he said, I was a fishmonger; He is far gone, far 
 gone: and, truly in my youth I suffered much ex- 
 tremity for love : very near this. I'll speak to him 
 again. — What do you read, my lord 1 
 
 Ham. Words, words, words ! 
 
 Pol. What is the matter, my lord 1 
 
 Ham. Between who 1 
 
 Pol. I mean the matter that you read, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says 
 here, that old men have grey beards ; that their faces 
 are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, and 
 plum-tree gum ; and that they have a plentiful 
 lack of wit, together with most weak hams : All of 
 which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently 
 believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus 
 set down ; for yourself, sir, shall be as old as I am, 
 if, like a crab, you could go backward. 
 
 Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method 
 •n li-^Aside.] Will you walk out of the air, my lord ^ 
 « UnderstauUinij. « Pregnant. 
 
!^91 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Ham. Into my grave? 
 
 Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. — How preg- 
 nant' sometimes his replies are ! a happiness thai 
 often madness hits on, which reason and sanity 
 could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave 
 him, and suddenly contrive the means of meeting 
 between him and my daughter. — 'My honorable 
 lord, T will most humbly take my leave of you. 
 
 Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing 
 that I will more willingly part withal ; except my 
 life, except my life, except my life. 
 
 Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 Ham. These tedious old fools . 
 
 Enter Rosencrantz and Goildenstern. 
 
 Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet ; there he is. 
 Ros. God save you, sir ! [To Polonios. 
 
 [Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 Guil. My honored lord ! — 
 
 Ros. My most dear lord ! — 
 
 Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost 
 thou, Guildensterni Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, 
 how do ye both 1 
 
 Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. 
 
 Guil. Happy, in that we arc not over happy ; 
 On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 
 
 Hum. Nor the soles of her shoe 1 
 
 Ros. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the 
 middle of her favors 1 
 
 Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. 
 
 Ham. In the secret parts of fortune 1 O, most 
 true ; she is a strumpet. What news ] 
 
 Ros. None, my lord : but that the world is 
 grown honest. 
 
 Ham. Then is doomsday near: But your news is 
 not true. Let me question more in particular : What 
 have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands 
 of fortune, that she sends you to prison liither ? 
 
 Guil. Prison, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Denmark's a prison. 
 
 Ros. Then is the world one. 
 
 Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many 
 confines, wards, and dungeons ; Denmark being 
 one of the worst. 
 
 Ros. We think not so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you ; for there is 
 nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it 
 BO : to me it is a prison. 
 
 Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one; 
 'tis too narrow for your mind. 
 
 Ham. O God! I could be bounded in a nut- 
 shell, and count myself a king of infinite space ; 
 were it not that I have bad dreams. 
 
 Quil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for 
 the very substance of the ambitious is merely the 
 shadow of a dream. 
 
 Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 
 
 Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and 
 light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. 
 
 Hum. Then are ourbeggars, bodies; and ourmon- 
 archs,and outstretched heroes,the beggars' shadows: 
 Shall we to the court? f( r, by my fay, I cannot reason. 
 
 Ros. Guil. We'll wait upon you. 
 
 Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with 
 the rest of my servants ; for, to speak to you like 
 an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. 
 But, in the beaten way of friendship, what make 
 tfou at Elsinore ? 
 
 * Eeady, apt. 
 
 Ros. To visit you, my lord; tio other occasion. 
 
 Ham. Beggar that I am, I arn even poor in 
 thanks; but I thank you: and sure, dear friends, 
 my thanks are too dear at a halfpenny. Were you 
 not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free 
 visitation? Come, come; deal justly with me: 
 come, come; nay speak. 
 
 Guil. What should we say, my lord? 
 
 Hani. Any thing — but to the purpose. You 
 were sent for, and there is a kind of confession in 
 your looks, which your modesties have not craft 
 enough to color: I know the good king and queen 
 have sent for you. 
 
 7iiOA. To what end, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. 'I'hat you must teach me. But let me 
 conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the 
 consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our 
 ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better 
 proposer could charge you withal, be even and di 
 rect with me, whether you were sent for, or no ? 
 
 Ros. What say you? [7'o Guildenstf.rst. 
 
 Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you ; [Aside.J 
 — if you love me, hold not off. 
 
 Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 
 
 Ham. I will tell }'ou why; so shall my anticipa- 
 tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to 
 the king and queen moult no feather. I have of 
 late, (but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my 
 mirth, forgone all custom of exercises : and, indeed 
 it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this 
 goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile pro- 
 montory : this most excellent canopy, the air, look 
 you, this brave o'crhanging firmament, this niajes- 
 tical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears 
 no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent 
 congregalion of vapors. What a piece of work 
 is man ! How noble in reason ! how infinite in 
 faculties! in form and moving, how express and 
 admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! in ap- 
 prehension, how like a god! the beauty of the 
 world ! the paragon of animals ! And yet, to me, 
 what is this quintessence of dust? man delights 
 not me, — nor woman neither; though by your 
 smiling you seem to say so. 
 
 Res. My lord, there is no such stuff in my 
 thoughts. 
 
 Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said, 
 Man delights not me? 
 
 Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in 
 man, what lentcn ' entertainment the players shall 
 receive from you: we cotcdHhenr on the way: 
 and hither are they coming, to offer you service. 
 
 Ham. He that plays the king, shall be welcome 
 his majesty shall have tribute of me; the adven- 
 turous knight shall use his foil and target: the 
 lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall 
 end his part in peace : the clown shall make those 
 laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the sere: and the 
 lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse 
 shall halt for't. — What players are they? 
 
 Ros. Even those you were wont to take such 
 delight in, the tragedians of the city. 
 
 Ham. How chances it they travel ? their resi- 
 dence, both in reputation and profit, was better both 
 ways. 
 
 Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the meani 
 of the late innovation. 
 
 Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they 
 did when I was in the city ? Are they so follovvedl 
 » Spare. * Overtook. 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENxMARK. 
 
 895 
 
 Rjs. No, indeed, they are not. 
 
 Ha?7i. How comes hi Do they grow rusty] 
 
 Rus. Nay, their endeavor keeps in the wonted 
 pace: But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little 
 eyases,'' that cry out on the top of question,' 
 and arc most tyrannically clapp'd for't; these are 
 now the fashion; and so hcrattle the common 
 stages, (so they call them,) that many, wearing 
 rapiers, are afraid of goose quills, and dare scarce 
 come thither. 
 
 Han. What, are they children ] who maintains 
 thcrn] how are they escoted]' Will they pursue 
 the quality ' no longer than they can sing ] will 
 they not say afterwards, if they should grow them- 
 selves to common players, (as it is most like, if 
 their means are no better,) theiv writers do them 
 wrong, to make them exclaim against their own 
 succession ] 
 
 Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both 
 sides; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre' them 
 on to controversy : there was, for a while, no money 
 bid for argument, unless the poet and the player 
 went to cufl's in the question. 
 
 Ham. Is it possible ! 
 
 Gail. 0, there has been much throwing about 
 of brains. 
 
 Hani. Do the boys carry it away 1 
 
 Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and 
 his load, too.^ 
 
 Ham. It is not very strange: for my uncle is 
 king of Denmark, and those, that would make 
 mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty, 
 forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece, for his pic- 
 ture in little. 'Sblood, there is something in this 
 more than natural, if philosophy could hiid it out. 
 \_Flourisli of Truutpets within. 
 
 Guil. There are the players. 
 
 Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. 
 Your hands. Gome then: the appurtenance of 
 welcome is fashion and ceremony: let mc comply ' 
 with you in this garb ; lest my extent to the players, 
 which, I tell you, must show i'airly outward, should 
 more appear like entertainment than yours. You 
 are welcome ; but my uncle-father, and aunt- 
 mother, are deceived. 
 
 Guil. In what, my dear lord ? 
 
 Ham. I am but mad north-north west: when 
 ihe wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand- 
 saw. 
 
 Enter Poloxius. 
 
 Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern ; — and you too: 
 — at each car a hearer: that great baby, you see 
 there, is not yet out of his swaddling-clouts. 
 
 Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them; 
 for thej'say an old man is twice a child. 
 
 Ham. I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of 
 the players; mark it. — You say right, sir: o' Mon- 
 ilay morning; 'twas then, indeed. 
 
 Vol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
 
 Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you: When 
 Roscius was an actor in Rome, 
 
 Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Buz, bur, ! 
 
 Pol. Upon my honor, 
 
 Ham. Then ca ne each actor on his ass, 
 
 ' Young nestlings. >Dialo;4Uc. 'Paid. 
 
 'Profession. ^Provoko. 
 
 ' i. e. The glob'i, the gign of Shakspeare's theatre. 
 • Comv^uucut. 
 
 Pol. The best actors in the world, either fot 
 tragedy, comedy, history, jiastoral, pastoral-comi> 
 cal, historical-pastoral, [tragical-historical, tragical 
 comical-historical-pastoral,] scene individable, oi 
 poem unlimited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, not 
 Plautus too light. For the ''iw of writ 'and the 
 liberty, these are the only men. 
 
 Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, — what a 
 treasure hadst thou ! 
 
 Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord 1 
 
 Ham. Why — One fair daughter, and no more, 
 
 The which he loved passing loell. 
 Pol. Still on my daughter. [Aside 
 
 Ham. Am I not in the right, old Jephthah 1 
 Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have 
 a daughter, that I love passing well. 
 Hum. Nay, that follows not. 
 Pol. What follows then, my lord 1 
 Ham. Why, As by lot, God wot, and then you 
 know. It came to pass, As most like it was, — The 
 first row of the pious chanson ° will show you 
 more : for look, my abridgment comes. 
 
 Enter four or five Players. 
 
 You are welcome, masters : welcome all ; — I am 
 glad to see thee well: — wekoine, good friends: — 
 0, old friend ! Why, thy face is valanced^ since I 
 saw thee last ; Com'st thou to beard me in Den- 
 mark? — What! my young lady and mistress! 
 By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than 
 when I saw you hst by the altitude of a chopine.' 
 Piay God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent 
 gold, be not cracked within the ring. — Masters, 
 you are all welcome. We'll e'en to't like French 
 falconers, fly at any thing we see : We'll have a 
 speech straight: Come, give us a taste of your 
 quality ; come, a passionate speech. 
 
 1 Play. What speech, my lord? 
 
 Hum. I heard thee speak me a speech once, — 
 but it was never acted ; — or, if it was, not above 
 once : for the play, I remember, pleased not the 
 million; 'twas a caviare' to the general:' but it 
 was (as I received it and others, whose judgments, 
 in such matters, cried in the top' of mine) an ex- 
 cellent play; well digested in the scenes, set down 
 with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, 
 one said, there were no salads in the lines, to make 
 the matter savory ; nor no matter in the phrase, 
 that might indite Mho author of affection:* but 
 called it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, 
 and by very much more handsome than fine. One 
 speech in it I chiefly loved: 'twas ^-Eneas' tale to 
 Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where he 
 speaks of Priam's slaughter; If it live in your me- 
 mory, begin at this line: let mc sec, let me see; — 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanianbeast,— 
 'tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus. 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, — he, whose sable arms, 
 Black as his purpose, did the night resemble 
 When he lay couched in the ominous horse. 
 Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd 
 With heraldry more dismal,- head to foot 
 Now is he total gules,-'' horridly triclfd^ 
 With blood, of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons; 
 Baked, and impasted with the parching streets. 
 That lend a tyrannous and a damned light 
 
 'Writing. 6C]iristma.s caroLs. 'Fringed. 'Clog. 
 'An Italian dish made of the rocs of fishe."!. » Multitude 
 'Above. 'Convict. * Affectation. 
 
 • Red, a term in heraldr.y. 6 Blazoned 
 
896 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act n 
 
 To their lord's murder: Roasted in wrath, andjire, 
 And thus d'er-siz'd with coagulate gore, 
 With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
 Old grandsire Priam seeks,- — So proceed you. 
 
 Pol. Tore God my lord, well spoken ; with good 
 neeent, and good discretion. 
 
 1 Play. Anon he finds him, 
 
 Striking too short at Greeks,- his antique sword, 
 Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, 
 Repugnant to command: Unequal match\I, 
 Pyrrhus at Priam drives,- in rage, strikes ivide,- 
 But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword 
 The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, 
 Seeming to feel this blow, ivith flaming top 
 Stoops to his base,- and with a hideous crash 
 Takes prisoner Pyrrhus'' ear,- for, lo! his sword 
 Which was declining on the milky head 
 Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick: 
 So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrlius stiiod,- 
 And, like a neutral to his will and matter, 
 Did nothing. 
 
 But, as we often see, against some storm, 
 A silence in the heavens, the rack'^ standstill. 
 The bold winds speechless, and the orb below 
 As hash as death: anon the dreadful thunder 
 Doth rend the region: so, after Pyri-hus' pause, 
 A roused vengeance sets him new a-work,- 
 And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
 On Mars's armrr, forged for proof eterne,' 
 With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword 
 Now falls on Priam. — 
 
 Out, out, thou strumpet. Fortune.' All you gods, 
 In general synod, take away her power,- 
 Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, 
 And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven. 
 As low as to the fiends! 
 
 Pol. This is too long. 
 
 Ham. It shall to the barber's with your beard. — 
 Pr'y thee, say on : — He's for a jig, or a tale of baw- 
 dry, or he sleeps : — say on : come to Hecuba. 
 
 1 Play. But who, ah tvoc! had seen the mobled" 
 queen 
 
 Ham. The mobled queen ? 
 
 Pol. That's good ; mobled queen is good- 
 
 I Play. Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning 
 the fiames 
 With bisson ' rheum; a clout upon that head, 
 Where late the diadem stood; and, for a robe. 
 About her lank and all o'erteemed loins, 
 A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; 
 Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep' d, 
 Gainst fortune's state ivould treason have pro- 
 nounced : 
 But if the gods themselves did see her then. 
 When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport 
 In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs; 
 The instant burst of clamor that she made, 
 {Unless things mortal move them not at all,) 
 Would have made milch^ the burning eye of heaven. 
 And passion in the gods. 
 
 Pol. Look whether he has not turn'd his color, 
 and has tears in's eyes,- -Pr'y thee, no more. 
 
 Ham. 'Tiswell: I'll have thee speak out the 
 rest of this soon. Good my lord, will you see the 
 players well bestowed 1 Do you hear, let them he 
 well used ; for they are the abstract, and brief 
 chronicles, of the time: After your death you were 
 better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while 
 you live. 
 'Light clouds. "Eternal. sJIuffled. 'Eliiitl. ajiilky. 
 
 Pol. My lord, I will use them according to then 
 desert. 
 
 Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better, man: 
 Use every man after his desert, and who shall 'scapa 
 whipping? Use them after your own honor and 
 dignity : The less they deserve, the more merit i« 
 your bounty. Take them in. 
 
 Pol. Come, sirs. 
 
 [Exit PoLOMus, with some of the Players. 
 
 Ham. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a play to- 
 morrow. — Dost thou hear me, old friend ; can you 
 play the murder of Gonzago ? 
 
 1 Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, 
 for a need, study a speech of some dozen or six- 
 teen lines, which I would set down, and insert in't: 
 could you not "! 
 
 1 Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Very well. — Follow that lord ; and look 
 you mock him not. \_E.vit Player.] My good friends, 
 [7oRos. and Guil.] I'll leaveyou till night: you 
 are welcome to Elsinore. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord ! 
 [Exeunt Rosescuantz a/ic? Guildenstern. 
 
 Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you : — Now I am alone 
 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am 1 1 
 Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit. 
 That from her working all his visage wann'd; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 With forms to his conceit] And all for nothing ! 
 For Hecuba! 
 
 What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
 That he should weep for her? What would he do, 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passion, 
 That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears, 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; 
 Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, 
 Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed, 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. 
 Like John-a-dreams, unprcgnant of my cause, 
 And can say nothing; no, not for a king. 
 Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
 A vile defeat^ was made. Am I a coward? 
 Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? 
 Plucks otf my beard, and blows it in my face? 
 Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i' the throali 
 As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? 
 Ha! 
 
 Why, I should take it : for it cannot be. 
 But I am pigcon-liver'd, and lack gall 
 To make oppression bitter ; or, ere this, 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 With this slave's offal : Bloody, bawdy villain ! 
 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless,* vil* 
 
 lain! 
 Why, what an ass am I ? This is most brave; 
 That I, the son of a dear father murder'd. 
 Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. 
 Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, 
 And fall a cursing, like a very drab, 
 A scullion I 
 
 Fyeupon't! foh! About my brains! Humph! I have 
 That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, [heard. 
 Have by the very cunning of the scene 
 
 3 Destruction. « Ut aaturaL 
 
A.ir III. Scene I. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 89? 
 
 Dpcn struck so to the soul, that presently 
 
 They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 
 
 For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
 
 With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players 
 
 Play something like the murder of my father, 
 
 Before mine uncle : I'll observe his looks ; 
 
 I'll tent him' to the quick; if he do blench,' 
 
 I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen, 
 
 May be a devil : and the devil hath power 
 To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps 
 Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 
 (As he is very potent with such spirits,) 
 Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds 
 More relative than this : The play's the thing, 
 Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in the Castle. 
 
 jE?i/er Kijf G, QuEEX, Polonius, Ophelia, RosEif- 
 CRANTZ, and GuiLUENSTEnx. 
 
 J^ing. And can you, by no drift, of conference. 
 Get from him, why he puts on this confusion ; 
 Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
 With turbulent and dangerous lunacy 1 
 
 Ros. He does confess, he feels himself distracted; 
 But from what cause he will by no means speak. 
 
 Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded; 
 But with a crafty madness, keeps aloof. 
 When we would bring him on to some confession 
 Of his true state. 
 
 Queen. Did he receive you well ? 
 
 Ros. Most like a gentleman. 
 
 Gail. But with much forcing of his disposition. 
 
 Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands, 
 Most free in his reply. 
 
 Queen. Did you assay him 
 
 To any pastime 1 
 
 Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
 We -^'er-raught' on the way : of these we told him ; 
 And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
 'i'o hear of it: They are about the court; 
 And, as I think, they have already order 
 This night to play before him. 
 
 Po!. 'Tis most true : 
 
 And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties. 
 To hear and see the matter. 
 
 King. With all my heart; and it doth much 
 content me 
 To hear him so inclin'd. 
 Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, 
 And drive his purpose on to these delights. 
 
 Ros. Wo shall, my lord. 
 [^Exeunt Rosencuantz and Gcildensterx. 
 
 King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too : 
 
 For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ; 
 That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 
 Affront' Ophelia : 
 
 Her father, and myself, (lawful espials,") 
 Will so bestow ourselves, that seeing, unseen, 
 We may of their encounter frankly judge ; 
 And gather by him, as he is behaved. 
 If 'the the afllictioii of his love or no. 
 That thus he suffers for. 
 
 Queen. I shall obey you : 
 
 nd for your part, Ophelia, I do wish. 
 That your good beauties be the happy cause 
 Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope, your virtues 
 Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
 To both your honors. 
 
 Oj)/i. Madam, I wish it may. 
 
 [Exit Queen. 
 
 nearch his wounds. 
 • Overtook. ' Meet. 
 
 » Slirink or start 
 • Spies. 
 
 Pol. Ophelia, walk you here : — Gracious,^ s« 
 please you. 
 We will bestow ourselves: — Read on this book; 
 
 [To Ophelia, 
 That show of such an exercise may color 
 Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this, — 
 'Tis too much prov'd,' — that, with devotion's visage, 
 And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
 The devil himself. 
 
 King. O, 'tis too true ! how smart 
 
 A lash that speech doth give m>' conscience ! 
 The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art, 
 Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it. 
 Than is my deed to my most painted word : 
 O heavy burden ! [Aside, 
 
 Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord, 
 [Exeunt Kino and Poloniits 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question : — 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
 And, by opposing, end them? — To die, — to 
 
 sleep, — 
 No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ; — to sleep : — 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the 
 
 rub ; 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil," 
 Must give us pause : There's the respect," 
 That makes calamity of so long life ; 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,' 
 The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 When he himself might his quietus' make 
 With a bare bodkin ? ^ Who would fardels' beat 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 
 But that the dread of something after death, — 
 The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn'' 
 No traveller leturns, — puzzles the will; 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have. 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 Thus conscience docs make cowards of us all 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 And cntcrprizes of great [)ith and moment, 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 
 9 Too frequent. ' Stir, bustle. » ConsideratioJi 
 
 3 Rudeness. • Quiet. 
 
 ' The ancient term for a small dagger. 
 
 « I'ai-k, l)urdcn. ' Boundary, limits 
 
898 
 
 HAMLEl' 
 
 Act III 
 
 And lose the name of action. —Soft you, now ! 
 The fair Ophelia: — Nymph, in thy orisons' 
 Be all my sins remcmber'd. 
 
 Oph. Good my lord, 
 
 How does your honor for this many a day 1 
 
 Ham. I humlily thank you ; well. 
 Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours, 
 That I have longed long to re-deliver ; 
 I pray you, now receive them. 
 
 Ham. No, not I: 
 
 I never gave you aught. 
 
 Oph. My honor'd lord, you know right well, 
 you did ; 
 And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos'd 
 As made the things more rich : their perfume lost. 
 Take these again ; for to the noble mind. 
 Rich gifts \\a.x poor, when givers prove unkind. 
 There, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honesl 1 
 
 Oph. My lord 1 
 
 Ham. Are you fair ? 
 
 Oph. What means your lordship ? 
 
 Ham. That if you he honest and fair, you should 
 admit no discourse to your beauty. 
 
 Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better com- 
 merce than with honesty 1 
 
 Ham. Ay, truly ; for the power of beauty will 
 sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, 
 than the force of honesty can translate beauty into 
 his likeness; this was some time a paradox, but 
 now the time gives it proof. I did love you once. 
 
 Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 
 
 Ham. You should not have believed me : for 
 virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we 
 shall relish of it: I lov'd you not. 
 
 Oph. I was the more deceived. 
 
 Ham. Get thee to a nunnery ; Why wouldst thou 
 be a breeder of sinners ] I am myself inditFerent 
 honest ; but yet I could accuse me of such things, 
 that it were better my mother had not borne me: I 
 am very proud, revengeful, ambitious ; with more 
 offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put 
 them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to 
 act them in: What should such fellows as I do 
 crawling between earth and heaven ! We are arrant 
 knaves, all; believe none of us: Go thy ways to a 
 nunnery. Where's your father 1 
 
 Oph. At home, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him ; that he 
 may play the fool no where but in 's own house. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Oph. 0, help him, you sweet heavens ! 
 
 Ham. If *hou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague 
 for thy do\^ y ; Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as 
 linow, thou jhalt not escape calumny. Get thee to 
 a nunnery; farewell: Or, if thou wilt needs marry, 
 marry a fool; for wise men know well enough, 
 what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, 
 go; and quickly too. Farewell. 
 
 Oph. Heavenly powers, restore him ! 
 
 Hail. I have heard of your paintings too, well 
 enough ; God hath given you one face, and you 
 make yourselves another : you jig, you amble, and 
 you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make 
 your wantonness your ignorance : Go to ; I'll no 
 more oft ; it hath made me mad. I say, we will 
 have no more marriages ; those that are married 
 already, all but one, shall live ; the rest shall keep 
 as they are. To a nui ,n"!ry, go. [Exit Haml-t. 
 » Prayers 
 
 Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown 
 The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue 
 
 sword : 
 The expectancy and rose of the fair state. 
 The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
 The observed of all observers ! quite, quite down 
 And I, of ladies most deject and wretched. 
 That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 
 Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; 
 That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youtl^ 
 Blasted with ecstasy;" O, woe is ine ! 
 To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 
 
 Re-enter King and Polonius. 
 
 King. Love ! his affections do not that way tend 
 Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, 
 Was not like madness. There's something in his 
 
 soul. 
 O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
 And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, 
 Will be some danger : Which for to prevent, 
 I have, in quick determination. 
 Thus set it down ; He shall with speed to England, 
 For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
 Haply, the seas, and countries different. 
 With variable objects, shall expel 
 This something-settled matter in his heart ; 
 Whereon his brains, still beating, puts him thus 
 From fashion of himself. What think you on't? 
 
 Fol. It shall do well : but yet I do believe. 
 The origin and commencement of his grief 
 Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia! 
 You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said ; 
 We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please ; 
 But, if you hold it fit, after the play, 
 Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
 To show his grief; let her be round' with him ; 
 And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear 
 Of all their conference: If she find him not. 
 To England send him : or confine him, where 
 Your wisdom best shall think. 
 
 King. It shall be so : 
 
 Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Hall in the same. 
 Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 
 
 Ham. Speak the speech, I pray 3'ou, as I pro- 
 nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but 
 if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had 
 as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not 
 saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but 
 use all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, 
 and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you 
 must acquire and beget a temperance, that may 
 give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to 
 hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion 
 to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the 
 groundlings;' who, for the most part, are capable 
 of nothing but inexplicabli dumb shows and noise 
 I would have such a felloe' whipt for o'er-doing 
 Termagant; it out-herods Herod :^ Pray you. 
 avoid it. 
 
 1 Play. I warrant your honor. 
 
 Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own 
 
 discretion be your tutor : suit the action to th« 
 
 9 Alienation of mind. 
 
 ' Reprimand him with freedom. 
 
 ' The meaner people then seem to have sat in the pit 
 
 3 Herod's character was always violent. 
 
b'CENE n. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 899 
 
 word, the woni ti the action; with this special oh- 
 scrvanccthityou j'crstepnotthcmodesty of nature: 
 for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of 
 playin:?, whose end, both at tlie first, and now, was, 
 and is, to hold, as 'twere, tlie mirror up to nature; 
 to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own 
 image, and the very age and body of the time, his 
 form and pressure.* Now this, overdone, or come 
 tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, can- 
 not but make the judicious grieve; the censure of 
 which one, must, in your allowance,* o'er-weigh a 
 whole theatre of others. O, there be players, that 
 I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and 
 that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither 
 having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of 
 Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and 
 bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's 
 journeymen had made men, and not made them 
 well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 
 
 1 Play. I hope, we have reformed that indif- 
 ferently with us. 
 
 Ilam. O, reform it altogether. And let those, 
 that play your clowns, speak no more than is set 
 down for them : for there be of them, that will 
 themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren 
 spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, 
 some necessary question of the play be then to be 
 considered : that's villanous ; and shows a most 
 pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make 
 vou ready. [^Exeunt Players. 
 
 Enter Polonius, Rosenckantz, and Guil- 
 
 DEXSTERN. 
 
 fTow now, my lord 1 will the king hear this piece 
 of work 1 
 rol. And the queen too, and that presently. 
 Ham. Bid the players make haste. — • 
 
 [Exit POLONIUS. 
 Will you two help to hasten them 1 
 Both. Ay, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 Ham. What, ho ; Horatio ! 
 
 Enter Horatio. 
 
 Hnr. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 
 
 Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 
 
 Hor. O, my dear lord, 
 
 Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter : 
 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
 That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, [flatter'd] 
 To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be 
 No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ; 
 And crook the pregnant* hinges of the knee, 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hearl 
 i^ince my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 And could of men distinguish her election. 
 She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been 
 \s one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; 
 A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 
 H:ist ta'en with equal thanks: and bless'd are those 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled. 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 To sound what stop she please: Give me that man 
 Tliat is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
 As I do thee. — Something too much of this. — 
 There is a play to-night before the king ; 
 '*ne scene of it cones near the circumstance, 
 
 * Impression, resemblance. 
 
 • Qui ;k, r( nA:j. 
 
 » Approbation. 
 
 Which I have told thee of my father's death. 
 I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that act afoot, 
 Even with the very comment of thy soul 
 Observe my uncle : if his occulted' guilt 
 Doth not itself unkennel in one speech, 
 It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 
 And my imaginations are as foul 
 As Vulcan's stithy.' Give him heedful note : 
 For I mine eyes will rivet to his face : 
 And, after, we will both our judgments join 
 In censure' of his seeming. 
 
 Hor. Well, my lord : 
 
 If he steal aught, the whilst this play is playing, 
 And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 
 
 Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must b« 
 Get you a place. [idle ■ 
 
 Danish March. A Flourish. Enter King, 
 
 Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, 
 
 Guildenstern, and others. 
 
 King. How fares our cousin Hamlet 1 
 
 Ham. Excellent, i'faith ; of the camelion's dish : 
 I eat the air, promise-crammed : You cannot feed 
 capons so. 
 
 King. I have nothing with this answer, Ham- 
 let ; these words are not mine. 
 
 Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, — you played 
 once in the university, you say 1 [To Polonius. 
 
 Pol. That did I, my lord : and was accounted a 
 good actor. 
 
 Ham. And what did you enact 1 
 
 Pol. I did enact Julius Ctesar; I was killed i'the 
 Capitol ; Brutus killed me. 
 
 Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capi- 
 tal a calf there. — Be the players ready 7 
 
 Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your patience. 
 
 Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. 
 
 Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more at- 
 tractive. 
 
 Pol. O ho ! do you mark that ? [To the King. 
 
 Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap 1 
 
 [Lying down at Ophelia's Feet. 
 
 Oph. No, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap 1 
 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Do you think, I meant country matters'? 
 
 Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 
 
 Ham. That's a fair thought to He oetween 
 maids' legs. 
 
 Oph. What is, my lord 1 
 
 Ham. Nothing. 
 
 Oph. You are merry, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Who, I ? 
 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Hum. O ! your only jig-maker. What should a 
 man do, but be merry] for look j'ou, how cheer- 
 fully my mother looks, and my father died within 
 these two hours. 
 
 Oph. Nav, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 
 
 Ham. So long ] Nay, then let the dcvii wear 
 black, for I'll have a suit of sables.' O heavens ' 
 die two months ago, and not forgotten yet ] Then 
 there's hope, a great man's memory may outlive 
 his life half a year: But, by'r lady, he must build 
 churches then : or else shall he sulTer not thinking 
 on, with the hobby-horse ; whose epitaph is, For 
 0,for, 0, the hobby-horse is forgot. 
 
 Trumpets sound. The dumb Show follow?. 
 
 1 Secret. 
 Opinion. 
 
 * A Btitliy is a smith's shop. 
 
 * The richest dress. 
 
900 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 ACT 111. 
 
 Enter a King and a Queen, very lovinrjlij; the Queen 
 embraciitrf him, (titd he her. She Icneels and makes 
 sJiow of protestation unto him. He talces her vp, 
 and declines his head tipon her necJc; lays him 
 down ujyon a bank of/lowers; she, seeing him asleep, 
 leaves him. Anon comes in aj\lloio, takes off his 
 crown, kisses it, and pours pioison in the King's cars, 
 and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, 
 and maizes passionate action. The Poisoner, loith 
 some tioo or three 3Iutes, comes in again, seeming 
 to lament with her. The dead body is carried 
 away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen loith gifts; 
 she seems loath and unwilling awhile, but, in the 
 end, accepts his love. [Exeunt. 
 
 Oph. What means this, my lord? 
 
 Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho ;' it 
 means miscliief. 
 
 Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument of 
 the play. 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 
 Ham. We shall know by this fellow: the players 
 cannot keep counsel ; they'll tell all. 
 
 Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him , 
 Be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to 
 tell you what it means. 
 
 Oph. You are naught, you are naught; I'll mark 
 the play. 
 
 Pro. For us, and for our tragedy. 
 Here stoopmg to your clemency, 
 We Leg your hearing patiently. 
 
 Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring 1 
 
 Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 
 
 Ham. As woman's love. 
 
 Enter a King and a Queen. 
 
 P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart 
 gone round 
 Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus'^ orbed ground ; 
 And thirty dozen moons, with borrowed sheen,* 
 About the world have times twelve thirties been ; 
 Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands, 
 Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 
 
 P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and 
 Make us again count o'er, ere love be done ! [moon 
 But, woe is me, you are so sick of late. 
 So far from cheer, and from your former state, 
 That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, 
 Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must : 
 For women fear too much, even as they love ; 
 And women's fear and love hold quantity ; 
 In neither aught, or in extremity. 
 Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know ; 
 kndi as my love is siz'd,^ my fear is so. 
 Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear ; 
 Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. 
 
 P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and 
 shortly too ; 
 My operant' powers their functions leave to do : 
 And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
 Honor'd, belov'd ; and, haply, one as kind 
 For husband shalt thou 
 
 P. Queen. O, confound the rest ! 
 
 Such love must needs be treason in my breast : 
 In second husband let me be accurst ! 
 None wed the second, but who kill'd the first. 
 
 Ham. That's wormwood. 
 
 P. Queen. The instances,' that second marriage 
 Vre base respects of thrift, but none of love ; [move 
 
 5 Secret wickedness. « The earth. * Shining, lustro. 
 ' In proportion to the extent of my love. 
 Active. 1 Motives. 
 
 A second time I kill my husband dead, 
 When second husband kisses me in bed. 
 
 P. King. I do believe, you think what now you 
 But, what we do determine, oft we break, [speak; 
 Purpose is but the slave to memory : 
 Of violent birth, but poor validity: 
 Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree " 
 But fall, un.shaken, when they mellow be. 
 Most necessary 'tis, that we forget 
 To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt : 
 What to ourselves in passion we propose, 
 The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
 The violence of either grief or joy 
 Their own enactures' with themselves destroy: 
 Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; 
 Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
 This world is not for aye ; nor 'tis not strange, 
 That even our loves should with our fortunes change; 
 For 'tis a question left us yet to prove. 
 Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. 
 The great man down, you mark, his favorite flies', 
 The poor advanced makes friends of enemies. 
 And hitherto doth love on fortune tend : 
 For who not needs, shall never lack a friend ; 
 And who in want a hollow friend doth try, 
 Directly seasons him his enemy. 
 But, orderly to end where I begun, — 
 Our wills, and fates, do so contrary run. 
 That our devices still are overthrown ; 
 Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own ; 
 So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
 But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. 
 
 P. Queen. Nor earth to give me food, nor 
 heaven light! 
 Sport and repose lock from me, day and night! 
 To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
 An anchor's' cheer in prison be my scope ! 
 Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy, 
 Meet what I would have well, and it destroy ! 
 Both here, and hence, pursue me, lasting strife, 
 If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
 
 Ham. If she should break it now, 
 
 [To Ophelia. 
 
 P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me 
 here awhile ; 
 My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
 The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 
 
 P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain ; 
 
 And never come mischance between us twain![jE'a77 
 
 Ham. Madam, how like you this play 1 
 
 Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 
 
 Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 
 
 King. Have you heard the argument 1 Is there 
 no offence in't ? 
 
 Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in ject- 
 no offence i' the world. 
 
 King. What do you call the play ! 
 
 Ham. The Mouse-trap.' Marry, howl Tropi 
 cally. This play is the image of a murder done 
 in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, 
 Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece 
 of work: But what of that? your majesty, and we 
 that have free souls, it touches us not : Let the 
 galled jade wince, our withers are unwTung. — 
 
 Enter Lccianus. 
 This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
 Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. 
 
 8 Determinations. 
 
 ' Anchoret. 
 ■ the thing 
 
 In which he'll catch the conscience of the king. 
 
OCHNE II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 901 
 
 Ham. I could interpret between you and your 
 K)ve, if I could see the puppets dallying. 
 
 Oph. You arc keen, my lord, you are keen. 
 Ham. It would take you a groaning, to take off 
 my edge. 
 
 Oph. Still better, and worse. 
 Ham. So you mistake your husbands. — Begin, 
 murderer ; — leave thy damnable faces, and begin. 
 
 Come ; 
 
 The croaking raven 
 
 Doth bellow for revenge. 
 
 Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and 
 time agreeing ; 
 Confederate season, else no creature seeing; 
 Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected. 
 With Hecate's ban' thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
 Thy natural magic and dire property. 
 On wholesome life usurp immediately. 
 
 [^Pours the Poison into the Sleeper's Ears. 
 Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. 
 His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ- 
 ten in very choice Italian : You shall see anon, how 
 the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
 Oph. The king rises. 
 Ham. What! frighted with false fire ' 
 Queen. How fares my lord 1 
 Pol. Give o'er the play. 
 King. Give me some light : — away ! 
 Pol. Lights, lights, lights ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio. 
 Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, 
 The hart ungalled play : 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep; 
 Thus runs the world away. — 
 Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the 
 rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with two 
 Provencial roses on my razed^ shoes, get me a fel- 
 lowship in a cry' of players, sir 1 
 Hor. Haifa share. 
 Ham. A whole one, I. 
 For thou dost know, Damon dear. 
 
 This realm dismantled was 
 Of Jove himself; and now reigns here 
 A very, very — peacock. 
 Hor. You might have rhymed. 
 Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word 
 for a thousand pound. Didst perceive 1 
 Hor. Very well, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning, 
 
 JTor. I did very well note him. 
 Ham. Ah, ah! — Come, some music; come, the 
 recorders.' — 
 
 For if the king like not the comedy. 
 
 Why then, belike, — he likes it not, perdy.' — 
 
 Enter Rosejtcrantz and Guildenstern. 
 
 Come, some music. 
 
 Guil. G ood my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. 
 
 Ham. Sir, a whole history. 
 
 Gtiil. The king, sir, 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, what of him t [pered. 
 
 Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distem- 
 
 Ham. With drink, sir? 
 
 Gnil, No, my lord, with choler. 
 
 Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more 
 richer, to signify this to the doctor ; for, for me to 
 put him to his purgation, woui,i, perhaps, plunge 
 iiiin into more choler. 
 
 ' Curse. 
 
 « A kind of flute. 
 
 'SlashiKl. 
 68 
 
 • Pack, company. 
 
 • JV JHeu. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into soin« 
 frame, and start not so wildly from my affair. 
 
 Ham. I am tame, sir; — pronounce. 
 
 Guil. The queen, your mother, in most grca 
 affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 
 
 Ham. You are welcome. 
 
 Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of 
 the right breed. If it shall please you to make me 
 a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's com- 
 mandment : if not, your pardon, and my return, 
 shall be the end of my business. 
 Ham. Sir, I cannot. 
 Guil. What, my lord ? 
 
 iTizw .Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's dis- 
 eased: But, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall 
 command: or,rather,as you say, my mother: therefore 
 no more, but to the matter : My mother, you say, 
 
 Ros. Then thus she says ; Your behavior hath 
 struck her into amazement and admiration. 
 
 Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a 
 mother ! — But is there no sequel at the heels uf 
 this mother's admiration 1 impart. 
 
 Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, 
 ere you go to bed. 
 
 Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times oui 
 mother. Have you any further trade with us 1 
 
 Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 
 
 Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealrrs. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of dis- 
 temper? you do, surely, but bar the door upon your 
 own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend 
 
 Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 
 
 Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice 
 of the king himself for your succession in Denmark t 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, but. While the grass groivs, — the 
 proverb is something musty. 
 
 Enter the Players, with Recorders. 
 O, the recorders: — let me see one. — To withdi-aw 
 with you: — Why do you go about to recover th'j 
 wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil ? 
 
 Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my 
 love is too unmannerly. 
 
 Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you 
 play upon this pipe 1 
 
 Guil. My lord, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I pray you. 
 
 Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I do beseech you. 
 
 Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 
 
 Ham, 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these vent 
 ages" with your fingers and thumb, give it breath 
 with yourmouth,and itwill discourse most eloquent 
 music. Jjook you, these are the stops. 
 
 Guil. But these cannot I command to any utter- 
 ance of harmony ; I have not the skill. 
 
 /Ta/n.Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing 
 you make of me ! You would play upon me ; you 
 would seem to know my stops ; you would pluck 
 out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me 
 from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and 
 there is much music, excellent voice, in this little 
 organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do 
 you think, I am easier to be played on than a pipe? 
 Call me what instrument you will, though you c.in 
 fret me, you cannot play upon me. 
 
 Enter Polomus. 
 God bless you, sir ! 
 
 Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, 
 and presently. 
 
 • Holes. 
 
902 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act in 
 
 Han,. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in 
 shape of a camel? 
 
 Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. 
 
 Ham. Metiiinks, it is like a weasel. 
 
 Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Ham. Or, like a whale 1 
 
 Pol. Very like a whale. 
 
 Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and 
 by. — They fool me to the top of my bent.'' — I will 
 come by and by. 
 
 Pol. I will say so. [^Exit Polonius. 
 
 Ham. By and by is easily said. — Leave me, 
 
 friends. \Exeunt Ros., Guil., Hon., S{C. 
 
 'Tis now the very witching time of night; 
 
 When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
 
 Contagion to this world : Now could I drink hot 
 
 blood, 
 And do such bitter business as the bitter day 
 Would quake to look on. Soft : now to my 
 
 mother. — 
 O, heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever 
 The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
 Let me be cruel, not unnatural: 
 I will speak daggers to her, but use none; 
 My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites: 
 How in my words soever she be shent,' 
 To give them seals ' never, my soul, consent ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in the same. 
 
 Enter King, Rosf.nciiantz, and Guilhensteiix. 
 
 King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with us, 
 To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you; 
 I your commission will forthwith despatch. 
 And he to England shall along vv'ith you: 
 The terms of our estate may not endure 
 Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow 
 Out of his lunes.' 
 
 Guil. We will ourselves provide : 
 
 Most holy and religious fear it is, 
 To keep those many many bodies safe. 
 That live, and feed, upon your majesty. 
 
 Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound. 
 With all the strength and armor of the mind. 
 To keep itself from 'noyance; but much more 
 That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest 
 The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
 Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
 What's near it, with it: it is a massy wheel, 
 Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount. 
 To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
 Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls. 
 Each small annexmeiit, petty consequence. 
 Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone 
 Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 
 
 King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; 
 For we will fetters put upon this fear. 
 Which now goes too free-footed. 
 
 Ros. Qui We \vill haste us. 
 
 [Exeun: Rosenckantz and Guii.DKNSTiaiN. 
 
 Enter Polosius. 
 
 Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: 
 behind the arras I'll convey myself. 
 To hear the process ; I'll warrant, she'll tax him 
 
 home: 
 And. as you said, and wisely was it said, 
 Tis meet that some more audience, than a mother, 
 
 j Since nature makes them partial, should o'erheai 
 ; The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege 
 
 I'll call upon you ere you go to bed, 
 
 And tell you what I know. 
 
 King. Thanks, dear my loni 
 
 [Exit PoLONlUS 
 
 0, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
 It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, 
 
 A brother's murder ! — Pray can I not. 
 Though inclination be as sharp as wih, 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent 
 And, like a man to double business bound, 
 I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
 And both neglect. What if this cursed l.and 
 Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ? 
 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens. 
 To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy 
 But to confront the visage of offence? 
 And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, — 
 To be forestalled, ere we come to fall. 
 Or pardon 'd, being down? Then I'll look up; 
 My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 
 Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder! — 
 That cannot be; since I am still possess'd 
 Of those effects for which I did the murder. 
 My ci-ovvn, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
 May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence? 
 In the corrupted currents of this world. 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; 
 And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
 Buys out the law: But 'tis not so above: 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature ; and we ourselves compell'd, 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 'J"o give in evidence. What then? What rests'" 
 Try what repentance can: What can it not? 
 Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? 
 O wretched state ! O bosom, black as death ! 
 O limed' soul; that struggling to be free, 
 Art more engaged! Help, angels, make assay! 
 Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart, with strings of 
 Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ; [steel, 
 All may be well ! [Retires and kneels. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying , 
 And now I'll do't ; — and so he goes to heaven : 
 And so am I revenged ? That would be scann'd :' 
 A villain kills my father ; and, for that, 
 
 1, his sole son, do this same villain send 
 To heaven. 
 
 Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
 
 He took my father grossly, full of bread ; 
 
 With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May, 
 
 And, how his audit stands,who knows, save Heaven'' 
 
 But in our circumstance and course of thought, 
 
 'Tis heavy with him : And am I then revenged. 
 
 To take him in the purging of his soul. 
 
 When he is fit and season'd for his passage ? 
 
 No. 
 
 Up, sword ; and know thou a more horrid hent 
 
 When he is drunk, asleep : or in his rage ; 
 
 Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed ; 
 
 At gaming, sweai-ing ; — or about some act 
 
 That has no reUsh of salvation in't. — 
 
 Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven. 
 
 And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black, 
 
 As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 
 
 This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit 
 
 ' Utmost stretch. 
 Authority to put them in execution. 
 
 ' I!c proved. 
 ' Lunacies. 
 
 1 Cauglit as witli bird-lime. 
 ' Hold, i. e. purpose. 
 
 » Should be ccnsidered. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 903 
 
 The KiN(J rises unj advances. 
 
 King. My word:) fly up, my thoughts remain 
 below ; 
 Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go.[-Exi7, 
 
 SCENE IV. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Queen and Polonius. 
 
 Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home 
 to him : [with ; 
 
 Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear 
 And thatyomgrace hath screen'd and stood between 
 Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. 
 Pray you, be round with him. 
 
 Queen. I'll warrant you ; 
 
 Fear me not : — withdraw, I hear him coming. 
 
 [PoLONius hides himself. 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 flam. Now mother ; what's the matter 1 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much of- 
 fended. 
 
 Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 
 
 Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 
 tongue. 
 
 Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 
 
 Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet 1 
 
 Ham. What's the matter now ] 
 
 Queen. Have you forgot me ? 
 
 Ham. No, by the rood,' not so : 
 
 You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
 And, — would it were not so! — you are my mother. 
 
 Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can 
 speak. 
 
 Ham. Come, come and sit you down ; you shall 
 You go not, till I set you up a glass [not budge ; 
 Where you may see the inmost part of you. 
 
 <J«eeH. What wilt thou dol thou wilt not murder 
 Help, help, ho ! [mel 
 
 Pol. [Behind.'] What, ho! help! 
 
 Ham. How now 1 a rat 1 [Draws, 
 
 t)ead, for a ducat, dead. 
 
 [Hamlet makes a pass through the Arras. 
 
 Pol. [Behind.'] O, I am slain. 
 
 [Falls, and dies. 
 
 Queen. me, what hast thou done 1 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not : 
 
 fs it the king "? 
 
 [Lifts up the A7-ras, and draws forth Polonius. 
 
 Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! 
 
 Ham. A bloody deed ! — almost as bad, good mo- 
 As kill a king, and marry with his brother, [ther. 
 
 Queen. As kill a king ! 
 
 Ham. Ah, lady, 'twas my word. — 
 
 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
 
 [To Polonius. 
 I took thee for thy better : take thy fortune ; 
 1'hou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger. — 
 Leave wringing of your hands: Peace; sit you down, 
 And let me wring your heart : for so I shall, 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff; 
 If damned custom have not braz'd it so, 
 That it be proof and bulwark against sense. 
 
 Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'stwag 
 thy tongue 
 In noise so rude against me ? 
 
 Hum. Such an act. 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
 trails virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
 • Cross. 
 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
 
 As false as dicers' oatlis : O, such a deed 
 
 As from the body of contraction" plucks 
 
 The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
 
 A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow ; 
 
 Yea, this solidity and compound mass. 
 
 With tristfuF visage, as against the doom, 
 
 Is thought-sick at the act. 
 
 Queen. Ah me, what act. 
 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ''' 
 
 Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on tbjf ; 
 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
 See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
 Hyperion's' curls; the front of Jove himseF; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and commani ; 
 A station' like the herald Mercury, 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 A combination, and a form, indeed. 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal. 
 To give the world assurance of a man : 
 This was your husband. — Look you now, what 
 
 follows : 
 Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear. 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes 1 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
 And batten' on this moor] Ha! have you eyes" 
 You cannot call it, love : for, at your age. 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
 And waits upon the judgment ; And what judgment 
 Would step from this to this 1 Sense,' sure, you have, 
 Else, could you not have motion : But, sure, that 
 Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err ; [sense 
 Nor sense to ecstasy* was ne'er so thrall'd, 
 But it reserv'd some quantity of choice. 
 To serve in such a diflerencc. What devil was't 
 That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blindl' 
 Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 
 Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans" all. 
 Or but a sickly part of one true sense 
 Could not so mope.' 
 
 O shame ! where is thy blush 1 Rebellious hell, 
 If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones. 
 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax. 
 And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame. 
 When the compulsive ardor gives the charge 
 Since frost itself as actively doth burn. 
 And reason panders will. 
 
 Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 And there I see such black and grained spots, 
 As will not leave their tinct.' 
 
 Ham. Nay, but to live 
 
 In the rank sweat of an enseamed' bed ; 
 Stew'd in corruption ; honeying and making love 
 Over the nasty sty ; ■ 
 
 Queen. O, speak to me no more, 
 
 These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears : 
 No more, sweet Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. » A murderer, and a villaii.- 
 
 A slave, that is not twentieth part the t3'the 
 Of your precedent lord : — a vice' of kings ■ 
 A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ; 
 That from a shelf the precious diadem stole 
 And put it in his pocket ! 
 
 Queen. No more. 
 
 • Marriage contract. ' Sorrowful. 
 •Index of contents prefixed to a hook. 
 
 • Apollo's. • The act of standing. 
 'Grow fat. » Sensation. < Frenzy. 
 
 » Bliudman's buff. • AVithout. ■> He so stup?'' 
 
 ' Color. » Greasy. ' Mimic 
 
304 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act III 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Ham, A king 
 
 Of shreds and patches: 
 
 Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
 Yon heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious 
 figure 7 
 Queen. Alas, he's mad. 
 
 Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
 That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
 The important acting of your dread command] 
 O, say ! 
 
 Ghost. Do not forget : This visitation 
 Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
 But, look! amazement on thy mother sits: 
 O step between her and her fighting soul : 
 Conceit' in weakest bodies strongest works ; 
 Speak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. How is it with you, lady ? 
 
 Queen. Alas, how is't with you 1 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy. 
 And with the incorporal air do hold discourse T 
 Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
 And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm. 
 Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,'' 
 Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son, 
 Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
 Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look 1 
 Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how pale 
 he glares ! 
 His form and cau.se conjoin'd, preaching to stones, 
 Would make them capable.' — Do not look upon me; 
 Lest with this piteous action, you convert 
 My stern effects :* then what have I to do 
 Will want true color; tears, perchance, for blood. 
 Queen. To whom do you speak this 7 
 Ham. Do you see nothing there 7 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see. 
 Ham. Nor did you nothing hear 7 
 Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you there ! look, how it steals 
 My flither, in his habit as he liv'd ! [away ! 
 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 
 
 [Exit Ghost. 
 Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy' 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Ham. Ecstasy! 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 And makes as healthful music: It is not madness, 
 That I have utter'd : bring me to the test. 
 And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
 "Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace. 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
 That not your trespass but my madness speaks: 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place; 
 V\'hile.s rank coiTuption, mining all within. 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
 Repent what's past: avoid what is to come; 
 And do not spread the compost* on the weeds, 
 To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue : 
 For in the fatness of these pursy times, 
 Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg : 
 ■Vea, curb' and woo, for leave to do him good. 
 Queen. O Hamlet ! thou hast cleft my heart in 
 twain. 
 
 •Imnginiition. 
 
 »Tlie l)air of animals is excrementitious, that is, without 
 fife or pensation. 
 "Intelligent. « Actions. t Frenzy. 
 
 « Manure. i Bend. 
 
 Ham. O, throw away the wc rser part of it, 
 And live the purer with the )ther half. 
 Good night: but go not to my uncle's bed ; 
 Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
 That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat 
 Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this ; 
 That to the use of actions fair and good 
 He likewise gives a frock, or livery. 
 That aptly is put on : Refrain to-night ; 
 And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
 To the next abstinence : the next more easy : 
 For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
 And either curb the devil, or throw him out 
 With wondrous potency. Once more good night • 
 And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
 I'll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 
 
 [Pointing to Polonius 
 I do repent: But heaven hath pleas'd it so, — 
 To punish me with this, and this with me. 
 That I must be their scourge and minister. 
 I will bestow him, and will answer well 
 The death I gave him. So again good night! — 
 I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
 Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. — 
 But one word more, good lady. 
 
 Queen. What shall I do 1 
 
 Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do 
 Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
 Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you, his mouse 
 And let him, for a pair of recchy ki.sses, 
 Or paddling in your neck with his damned fingers 
 Make you to ravel all this matter out. 
 That I essentially am not in madness. 
 But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know 
 For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, 
 Would from a paddock,' from a bat, a gib,' 
 Such dear concernings hide 7 who would do so 7 
 No, in despite of sense, and secrecy. 
 Unpeg the basket on the house's top. 
 Let the birds fly : and, like the famous ape, 
 To try conclusions,' in the basket creep, 
 And break your own neck down. 
 
 Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made ol 
 breath, 
 And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
 What thou hast said to me. 
 
 Ham. I must to England ; you know that 7 
 Queen. Alack 
 
 I had forgot ; 'tis so concluded on. 
 
 Ham. There's letters seal'd : and my two school- 
 fellows, — 
 Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd,'' — 
 They bear the mandate : they must sweep my way, 
 And marshal me to knavery: Let it work: 
 For 'tis the sport to have the engineer 
 Hoist with his own petar :' and it shall go hard. 
 But I will delve one yard below their mines. 
 And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet. 
 When in one line two crafts directly meet. — 
 This man shall set me packing. 
 I'll lug the guts to the neighbor room : — 
 Mother, good night. — Indeed, this counsellor 
 Is now most still, most secret, and most grave. 
 Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
 Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you : 
 Mother, good night. 
 
 [Exeunt severally ,- Hamlkt draggins; in 
 
 POLONIUS. 
 
 • Toad. 
 
 » Having their teeth. 
 
 » Cat. • Experiments. 
 
 * Blown up with his own boml> 
 
%cr 1 V^ Scene I. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 90y 
 
 ACT IV, 
 
 SCEHjl"! I. — A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter King, QbKEir, RosEifcnANTZ, and Guil- 
 
 DENSTF.nX. 
 
 King. Theie'tf matter in these sighs; these pro- 
 found hea«£s; 
 You must translate -• 'tis fit we unJerstanJ them : 
 Where is your son? 
 
 Queen, Bestow this place on us a little while. — 
 [To RosENcicANTZ and Guildenstkrx, 
 ivho go out 
 Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night ! 
 
 King. What, Gertrude ] How does Hamlet? 
 
 Queen. Mad as the s^a, and wind, when both 
 contend 
 Which is the mightier; In his lawless fit, 
 Behind the arras hearing something stir, 
 Whips out his rapier, cries, A rat! a rut.' 
 And, in this brainish apprehension, kills 
 The unseen good old man. 
 
 King. heavy deed ! 
 
 It had been so with us, had we been there : 
 His liberty is full of threats to all ; 
 To you yourself, to us, to every one. 
 Alas ! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd ] 
 It will be laid to us, whose providence 
 Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of 
 
 haunt,^ 
 This mad young man: but, so much was our love. 
 We would not understand what was most fit; 
 But, like the owner of a foul disease, 
 To keep it from divulging, let it feed 
 Even on the pith of life. Where is he gonel 
 
 Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd; 
 O'er whom his very madness, like some ore. 
 Among a mineral'' of metals base, 
 Shows itself pure; he weeps for what is done. 
 
 King. O, Gertrude, come away! 
 The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
 But we will ship him hence : and this vile deed 
 Wc must, with all our majesty and skill. 
 Both countenance and excuse. — Ho! Guildenstern! 
 
 Enter Rosencuantz and Gvildenstern. 
 
 Friends both, go join you with some further aid : 
 Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain. 
 And from his mother's closet hath he dragged him: 
 Go seek him out: speak fair, and bring the body 
 Into the chapel. I pray you haste in this. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. 
 IJome, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends: 
 \nd let them luiow both what we mean to do, 
 \nd what's untimely done: so, hapl}', slander, — ■ 
 Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, 
 \s level as the cannon to his blank,' 
 Transports his poison'd shot, — may miss our name. 
 And hit the woundless air. — come away ! 
 My soul is full of discord, and dismay. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Hani. Safely stowed, — [Ros. S(C. within. 
 
 Hanlct! lord Hamlet!] But soft! — what noise? 
 vho calls on Hamlet? O, here they come. 
 •Companj'. « Mine. -alark 
 
 Enter RosEircnANTZ and Gdi»: ensterw. 
 
 Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the 
 dead body? 
 
 Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. 
 
 Ros. Tell us where 'tis; that we maj' take it 
 thence, 
 And bear it to the chapel. 
 
 Ham. Do not believe it. 
 
 Ros. Believe what? 
 
 Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and nol 
 mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge — • 
 what replication should be made by the son of a 
 king ? 
 
 Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? 
 
 Ham. Ay, i^ir; that soaks up the king's counte- 
 nance, his rewards, his authorities. Butsuch officers 
 do the king best service in the end : He keeps them, 
 like an ape, in the corner of his jaw ; first mouthed, 
 to be last swallowed: When he needs what you 
 have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, 
 you shall be dry again. 
 
 Ros. I understand you not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps 
 in a foolish ear. 
 
 Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body 
 is, and go with us to the king. 
 
 Ham. The body is with the king, but the king 
 is not with the body. The king is a thing 
 
 Guil. A thing, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide 
 fox, and all after.^ [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter King, attended. 
 
 King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the 
 body. 
 Hov,' dangerous is it, that this man goes loose ! 
 Yet must not we put the strong law on him: 
 He's lov'd of the distracted multitude. 
 Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; 
 And, where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is weigh'd, 
 But never the offence. To bear all smooth and 
 
 even. 
 This sudden sending him away must seem 
 Deliberate pause: Diseases, desperate grown, 
 By desperate appliance are reliev'd, 
 
 Enter Rosencrantz. 
 
 Or not at all. — How now ? what hath befallen ? 
 
 Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord. 
 We cannot get from him. 
 
 King. But where is he? 
 
 Ros. Without, my lord ; guarded, to know youi 
 pleasure. 
 
 King. Bring him before us. 
 
 Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ? bring in my lord. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and GuitnEXSTEttJi. 
 
 King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius' 
 Ham. At supper. 
 King. At supper? Where? 
 Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eat«u 
 « A sijort arnc nir cUildren. 
 
i)06 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at 
 him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: 
 we fat all creatures else, to fat us: and we fat our- 
 selves for maggots: Your fat king, and your lean 
 beggar, is but variable service; two dishes, but to 
 one table ; that's the end. 
 
 King. Alas, alas ! 
 
 Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath 
 eat of a king; and eat of tlie fish that hath fed of 
 that worm. 
 
 King. What dost thou mean by this'? 
 
 Hani. Nothing, but to show you how a king 
 may go a progress through the body of a beggar. 
 
 King. Where is Polonius 1 
 
 Ham. In heaven ; send thither to see : if your 
 messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other 
 place yourself But, indeed, if you find him not 
 within this month, you shall nose him as you go 
 up the stairs into the lobby. 
 
 King. Go seek him there. \To some Attendants. 
 
 Ham. He will stay till you come. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 King. Hamlel this deed, for thine especial 
 safety, — 
 Which we do tend ^r, as we dearly grieve 
 For that which thou hast done, — must send thee 
 
 hence 
 With fiery quickness: Therefore, prepare thyself; 
 The bark is ready, and the wind at help. 
 The associates tend, and every thing is bent 
 For England. 
 
 Ham. For England ] 
 
 Kins:. Ay, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. 
 
 Good. 
 
 King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 
 
 Ham. I see a cherub, that sees them. — But, 
 uome, for England ! — Farewell, dear mother. 
 
 King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. My mother: Father and mother is man and 
 wife ; man and wife is one flesh ; and so, my mother. 
 Come, for England ! — [Exit. 
 
 King. Follow him at foot : tempt him with speed 
 aboard ; 
 Delay it not, I'll have him hence to-night: 
 Away; for every thing is seal'd and don^e 
 That else leans on the affair : Pray you, make haste. 
 [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. 
 And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught, 
 (As my great power thereof may give thee sense; 
 Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
 After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
 Pays homage to us,) thou mayst not coldly set' 
 Our sovereign process; which imports at full, 
 By letters conjuring to that effect, 
 The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England ; 
 For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 
 And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done, 
 Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Plain in Denmark. 
 
 Enter FoRxiNsnAs, and Forces, marching. 
 
 For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; 
 Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras 
 Craves the conveyance of a promised march 
 Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
 If that his majesty would aught with us, 
 We shall express our duty in his eye,' 
 .\nd let him know so, 
 
 Value, estimate. • Presence. 
 
 Cap. I will do't, my lord. 
 
 For. Go softly on. 
 
 [Exeunt Fortinbras and Forces 
 
 Enter Hami.et, RosENcnANTz, Guilden- 
 
 STERN, t^C. 
 
 Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these 1 
 
 Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 
 
 Ham. How purpos'd, sir 
 
 I pray you 1 
 
 Cap. Against some part of Poland. 
 
 Ham. W hw 
 
 Commands them, sir] 
 
 Cap. The nephew to old Norway Fortinbras, 
 
 Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, 
 Or for some frontier ] 
 
 Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no additiany 
 We go to gain a little patch of ground. 
 That hath in it no profit but the name. 
 To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; 
 Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole, 
 A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. 
 
 Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it 
 
 Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd. 
 
 Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thou- 
 sand ducats, 
 Will not debate the question of this straw: 
 This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace ; 
 That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 
 Why the man dies. — I humbly thank you, sir. 
 
 Cap. God be wi' you, sir. [Exit Captain. 
 
 Ros. Will't please you go, my lord ] 
 
 Hain. I will be with you straight. Go a little 
 before. [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. 
 
 How all occasions do inform against me, 
 And spur my dull revenge ! What is a man, 
 If his chief good, and market of his time. 
 Be but to sleep, and feed? a beast, no more. 
 Sure, He, that made us with such large discourse, 
 Looking before, and after, gave us not 
 That capability and godlike reason 
 To fust ' in us unused. Now, whether it be 
 Bestial oblivion, or some craven* scruple 
 Of thinking too precisely on the event, — 
 A thought, which quarter'd, hath but one pari 
 
 wisdom, 
 And, ever, three parts coward, — I do not know 
 Why yet I live to say. This thing's to do; 
 Sith' I have cause, and will, and strength, and means 
 To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me: 
 Witness, this army of such mass, and charge, 
 Led by a delicate and tender prince : 
 Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd. 
 Makes mouths at the invisible event; 
 Exposing what is mortal, and unsure, 
 To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare, 
 Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great, 
 Is not to stir without great argument; 
 But greatly to find quarrel in a straw. 
 When honor's at the stake. How stand I then, 
 That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, 
 Excitements of my reason, and my blood. 
 And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see 
 The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 
 That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame. 
 Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot 
 Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, 
 Which is not tomb enough, and continent 
 
 ' Power of comprehension. 
 "Cowardly. 
 
 " Grow m luldy 
 » Since. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 PEINCE OF DENMARK 
 
 90» 
 
 To bido the slaiu ? — 0, from this time forth 
 
 My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. — Elsinorc. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Queen and HonATio. 
 
 Queen. 1 will not speak with her. 
 
 Jlor. She is importunate ; indeed, distract; 
 Her mood will needs be pitied. 
 
 Queen. What would she have ? 
 
 Hor. She speaks much of her father; says, she 
 hears, [heart; 
 
 There's tricks i' the world : and hems, and beats her 
 Spurns enviously at straws : speaks things in doubt, 
 That carry but half sense : her speech is nothing, 
 Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
 The hearers to collection : they aim at it, 
 And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; 
 V/hich, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield 
 
 them, 
 Indeed would make one think, there might be 
 
 thought. 
 Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 
 
 Queen. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for 
 she may strew 
 Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds : 
 Let her come in. [Exit Horatio. 
 
 To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is. 
 Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
 Bo full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
 It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 
 
 Re-enter Horatio, toith Ophelia. 
 Ojjft. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? 
 Queen. How now, Ophelia? 
 Oph. How should I your true love knoio 
 From another one f 
 By his cockle hat and staff, 
 
 And his sandle shoon.* [Singing. 
 
 Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song ? 
 0/j/j. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. 
 
 He is dead and gone, lady, [Sings. 
 
 He is dead and gone : 
 At his head a grass-green turf, 
 At his heels a stone. 
 0, ho! 
 
 Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, 
 
 Oj)h. Pray you, mark. 
 
 White his shroud as the mountain snoxo. 
 
 [Sings. 
 Enter King. 
 Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 
 
 Oph. Larded all toith sweet Jloioers ; 
 
 Which bewept to the grave did go, 
 With true-love showers. 
 Kirg. How do you, pretty lady ? 
 Oph. AVcll, God 'ield' you ! They saw the owl was 
 a baker's daughter. Lord, we know that we are, but 
 Know not what we may be. God be at your table. 
 King. Conceit upon her father. 
 Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this ; but 
 when they ask you, what it means, say you this : 
 Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day. 
 
 All in the morning betime. 
 And I a maid at your window. 
 
 To be your Valentine, 
 Then np> he rose, and donn'd his clothes. 
 
 And dujjji'd' the chamber door ; 
 Let in the maid, that out a maid 
 Never departed more. 
 
 King. Pretty Ophelia ! 
 
 Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end 
 cn't : 
 
 By Gia,'' and by Saint Charity,^ 
 Alaclc, and Jie for shame! 
 * Shoes. I Reward. 
 
 ' Do vp. 1 Saints in the Boman-catholic caleudar. 
 
 Young men loill do't, if they come to't ; 
 By code, they are to blame. 
 
 Quoth she. Before you tumbled me. 
 You promis'd me to iced: 
 
 [He answers.] 
 So would J ha' done, by yonder sun. 
 An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
 
 King. How long hath she been thus ? 
 
 Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be pa. 
 tient: but I cannot choose but weep, to thii.k, thej 
 should lay him i' the cold ground: My brother shall 
 know of it, and so I thank you for your good counsel, 
 Come, my coach ! Good night, ladies ; good night, 
 sweet ladies : good night, good night. [Exit. 
 
 King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, I 
 pray you. [Exit Horatio. 
 
 this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
 All from her father's death : And now behold, 
 Gertrude, Gertrude, 
 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
 But in battalions ! First, her father slain ; 
 Next, your son gone ; and he most violent author 
 Of his own just remove : The people muddied. 
 Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whis- 
 pers, 
 For good Polonius' death ; and we have done but 
 
 greenly, 
 In hugger-mugger to inter him : Poor Ophelia 
 Divided from herself, and her fair judgment; 
 Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts- 
 Last, and as much containing as all these. 
 Her brother is in secret come from France : 
 Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, 
 And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 
 With pestilent speeches of his father's death ; 
 Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd. 
 Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
 In ear and ear. my dear Gertrude, this. 
 Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
 Gives mo superfluous death ! [^4. Noise within. 
 
 Queen. Alack ! what news is this 7 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. Attend. 
 Where are my Switzers? Let them guard tha 
 
 door : 
 What is the matter ? 
 
 Gent. Save yourself, my lord; 
 
 The ocean, overpeering of his list,' 
 Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste. 
 Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
 O'erbears your officers ! The rabble call him lord; 
 And, as the world were now but to begin, 
 Antiquity forgot, custom not known, 
 The ratitiers and props of every word. 
 They cry, Choose toe: Laertes shall be Icing ! 
 Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, 
 Laertes shall be king, Laertes king! 
 
 Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail* thej 
 cry! 
 0, this is counter,' you false Danish dogs. 
 
 King. The doors are broke. [Noise within. 
 
 Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following. 
 
 Lacr. Where is this king? — Sirs, stand you all 
 
 without. 
 Dan. No, let's come in. 
 
 Laer. I pray you, give me loavo. 
 
 Dan. We will, we will. 
 
 [They retire without the door 
 Laer. I thank you : — keep the door. thou vU« 
 
 king, 
 Give me my father. 
 
 Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 
 
 • Bounds. * Scent. 
 
 « Uoundd run counter when they trace the scent t ickwarda 
 
908 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act \V 
 
 Laer. I'hat drop of bl ood, that's calm, proclaims 
 me bastard ; 
 Cries, Cuckold, to my father ; brands the harlot 
 Even here, between the chaste unsmircli'd' brow 
 Of my true mother. 
 
 King. What is the cause, Laertes, 
 
 That thy rebellion looks so giant-like 1 — 
 liCt him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person ; 
 There's such divinity doth hedge a king. 
 That treason can but peep to what it would. 
 Acts little of his will. — Tell me, Laertes, 
 Why thou art thus inccns'd ; — Let him go, Ger- 
 Speak, man. [trade ; — 
 
 Laer. Where is my father 7 
 
 King. Dead. 
 
 Queen. But not by him. 
 
 King. Let him demand his fill. 
 
 Laer. How came he dead 1 I'll not be jugglea 
 with: 
 To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil ! 
 Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
 I dare damnation : To this point I stand, — 
 That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
 Let come what comes ; only I'll be revenged 
 Most thoroughly for my father. 
 
 King. Who shall stay you 1 
 
 Laer. My will ; not all the world's : 
 And, for my means, I'll husband them so well, 
 They shall go far with little. 
 
 King. Good Laertes, 
 
 If you desire to know the certainty 
 Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge. 
 That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe. 
 Winner and loser 1 
 
 Laer. None but his enemies. 
 
 King. Will you know them then 1 
 
 Laer. To his good liiends thus wide I'll ope my 
 arms ; 
 And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, 
 Repast them with my blood. 
 
 King. Why, now you speak 
 
 Like a good child and a true gentleman, 
 'i'hat I am guiltless of your father's death, 
 And am most sensibly in grief for it. 
 It shall as level to your judgment 'pear. 
 As day does to your eye. 
 
 Danes. [Wi'Mtn.] Let her come in. 
 
 Laer. How now ! what ftiise is that ] 
 
 Enter Ophui.ia, fanfas/ical/if dressed with Straws 
 and FluivC' >■. 
 
 heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times salt, 
 Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! — 
 By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight. 
 Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May ! 
 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia ! 
 heavens ! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
 Should be as mortal as an old man's life T 
 Nature is line' in love: and, where 'tis fine. 
 It sends some precious instance of itself 
 After the thing it loves. 
 
 Oph. T/iey bore him barefaced oti the bier ,- 
 Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny .• 
 And in his grave rain'd many a tear ,• — 
 
 Fare you well, my dove ! 
 
 Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade 
 revenge. 
 It could not move thus. 
 
 ' Clean, undefilcd. » Artful. 
 
 Oph. You must sing, Doum-a-down, an you call 
 him a-down-a. O, how the wheel' becomes it ! Il 
 is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. 
 
 Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 
 
 Oph. There's rosemary, that's lor remembrance; 
 pray you, love, remember ; and there is pansies, 
 that's for thoughts. 
 I Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and 
 remembrance fitted. 
 
 Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines : — 
 there's rue for you ; and here's some for me : — 
 we may call it, herb of grace o' Sundays — you 
 may wear your rue with a difference.' — There's a 
 daisy : — I would give you some violets ; but they 
 withered all, when my father died : — They say, he 
 made a good end, 
 
 For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy, — 
 
 [Sings 
 Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself 
 She turns to favor, and to prettiness. 
 
 Oph. And will he not come again ? [SingSi 
 A7id u'ill he not come again ? 
 
 No, no, he is dead. 
 
 Go to thy death-bed. 
 He never will come again. 
 
 His beard was as ivhite as siww, 
 
 AllJJaxen was his poll : 
 He is gone, he is gone. 
 And ive cast away moan ; 
 
 Oramercy on his soul ! 
 
 And of all Christian souls ! I pray God. God bi 
 wi' you ! \Exit Ophelia 
 
 Laser. Do you see this, O God ? 
 
 King. Laertes, I must commune with j'our grief, 
 Or you deny me right. Go but apart. 
 Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 
 And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me: 
 If by direct or by collateral hand 
 They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom givp 
 Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours. 
 To you in satisfaction ; but, if not, 
 Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
 And we shall jointly labor with your soul 
 To give it due content. 
 
 Laer. Let this bf so ; 
 
 His means of death, his obscure funeral, — 
 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, 
 No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, — 
 Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 
 That I must call't in question. 
 
 King. So you &hall, 
 
 And where the offence is, let the great axe fall. 
 I pray you, go with me. \Exeuni 
 
 SCENE VI. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Knter HonATio, and a Servant. 
 
 Hot. What are they, that would speak wuii mel 
 Scrv. Sailors, sir; 
 
 They say, they have letters for you. 
 
 Hot. Let them come in:— 
 
 \_Exit Servan* 
 I do not know from what part of the world 
 I should be greeted, if n(^ from lord Hamlet 
 
 » The burthen. 
 
 ' i. e. By its Sunday name, " herb of grace," mine ia 
 merely rue, t. s. sorrow. 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 90^ 
 
 Enter Sailors. 
 
 1 Sail. God bless you, sir. 
 
 Hor. Let him bless thee too. 
 
 1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's 
 k letter for you, sir ; it comes from the ambassador 
 that was bound for England ; if your name be Ho- 
 ratio, as I am let to know it is. 
 
 Hor. [jReac?s.] Horatio, wlten thou shall have 
 werlooked this, give these fellows some means to the 
 ffing; they have letters fin- him. Ere we were two 
 days old at sea, apirate of very tvarlike appointment 
 gave us chase: finding ourselves too slow of sail, we 
 put on compelled valor,- and in the grapple, I 
 boarded them: on the instant they got clear of our 
 ship; so I alone became their prisoner. They 
 have dealt luiih me like thieves of mercy,- but they 
 knew what they did,- I am to do a good turn for 
 them. Let the king have the letters I have sent,- 
 and repair thou to me with as much haste as thou 
 woulJst fly death. I have words to speak in thine 
 ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too 
 light for the bore of the matter. These good fel- 
 lows will bring thee where lam. Txo&cncra.niz and 
 Guildenstern hold their course for England,- of 
 them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. 
 
 He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet. 
 
 Come, I will give you way for these your letters ; 
 And do't the speedier, that you may direct me 
 To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Vn. — AnotJier Room in the same. 
 
 Enter King and Laertes. 
 
 King. Now must your conscience my acquittance 
 seal, 
 And you must put me in your heart for friend ; 
 Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, 
 That he, which hath your noble father slain. 
 Pursued my life. 
 
 Laer. It well appears : — but tell me, 
 
 Why you proceeded not against these feats, 
 So criracful and so capital in nature, 
 As by your safety, greatness, wisdom,-aIl things else, 
 YoM mainly were stirr'd up. 
 
 King. O, for two special reasons : 
 
 Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd. 
 But yet to me they are strong. The queen his 
 
 mother. 
 Lives almost by his looks ; and for myself, 
 (My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,) 
 iShe is so conjunctive to my life and soul. 
 That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, 
 I could not but by her. The other motive. 
 Why to a public count I might not go 
 Is, the great love the general gender' bear him ; 
 Who, dipping all his faults in their allection. 
 Work like the spring that turneth wood to stone, 
 (convert his gyves' to graces ; so that my arrows, 
 Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, 
 Would have reverted to my bow again. 
 And not where I had aimVi them. 
 
 Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; 
 A sister driven into desperate terms; 
 Whose worth, if praises may go back again. 
 Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
 For her perfections: — But my revenge will come. 
 
 King. Break not yi ur !■" cps for that: you must 
 not think, 
 J Common people. » Chains. 
 
 That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, 
 That we can let our beard be shook with danger, 
 And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more; 
 I loved your father, and we love ourself; 
 And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, — 
 How now] what news] 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. liCttcrs, my lord, from Hamlet: 
 
 This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 
 
 King. From Hamlet? who brought them] 
 
 Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say : I saw them 
 not; 
 They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them 
 Of him that brought them. 
 
 King. Laertes, you shall hear them : — 
 
 Leave us. [Exit Messenger 
 
 [Reads.] High and mighty, you shall know, lam 
 set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow, shall I beg 
 leave to see your kingly eyes,- when I sJiall.first ask' 
 ing your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of 
 my sudden and more strange return. Hamlet 
 
 What should this mean ] Are all the rest como 
 
 back ] 
 Or is it some abuse, and no such thing] 
 
 Laer. Know you the hand] 
 
 King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. Naked. 
 And, in a postscript here, he says, alotie: 
 Can you advise me ] 
 
 Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let hiim 
 come ; 
 It warms the very sickness in my heart. 
 That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
 Thus diddest thou. 
 
 King. If it be so, Laertes, 
 
 As how should it be so] how otherwise'' — 
 Will you be rul'd by me ] 
 
 Laer. Ay, my lord ; 
 
 So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace. 
 
 King. To thine own peace. If he be now re- 
 turn'd, — 
 As checking' at his voyage, and that he means 
 No more to undertake it, — I will work him 
 To an exploit, now ripe in my device. 
 Under the which he shall not choose but fall : 
 And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe , 
 But even his mother shall uncharge the practice, 
 And call it, accident. 
 
 Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd ; 
 
 The rather, if you could devise it so. 
 That I might be the organ. 
 
 King. It falls right. 
 
 You have been talk'd of since your travel much. 
 And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality. 
 Wherein, they say, you shine : your sum of parts 
 Did not together pluck such envy from him, 
 As did that one; and that, in my regard, 
 Of the uiivvorthiest siege.' 
 
 Laer. What part is that, my lord] 
 
 King. A very riband in the cap of youth, 
 Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
 The light and careless livery that it wears. 
 Than settled age his sables, and his weeds. 
 Importing health and graveness. — Two months 
 
 since, 
 Here was a gentleman of Normandy, — 
 I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, 
 And they can well on horseback : but this gallant 
 Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat; 
 * OyectinK to. » Scat, placo. 
 
910 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 And lo such wond'rous doing brought his horse, 
 A.= he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd 
 With the brave beast : so far he topp'd my thought, 
 That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, 
 Come short of what he did. 
 
 Laer. A Norman, was't? 
 
 King A Norman. 
 * Laer. Upon my hfe, Lamord, 
 
 King. The very same. 
 
 Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch^ indeed. 
 And gem of all the nation. 
 
 King. He made confession of you ; 
 And gave you such a masterly report. 
 For art and exercise in your defence. 
 And for your rapier most especial, 
 That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed. 
 If one could match you: the scrimers' of their 
 
 nation. 
 He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, 
 If you oppos'd them : Sir, this report of his 
 Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy. 
 That he could nothing do, but wish and beg 
 Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you. 
 Now, out of this, 
 
 Laer. What out of this, my lord ? 
 
 King. Laertes, was j'our father dear to you T 
 Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
 A face without a heart ? 
 
 Laer. Why ask you this 1 
 
 King. Not that I think, you did not love your 
 father ; 
 But that I know, love is begun by time; 
 And that I see, in passages of proof,' 
 Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
 There lives within the very flame of love 
 A kind of wick, or snufF, that will abate it; 
 And nothing is at a like goodness still ; 
 For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, 
 Dies in his own too-much : That we would do. 
 We should do when we vifould ; for this would 
 
 changes. 
 And hath abatements and delays as many. 
 As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; 
 And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh, 
 That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o'the ulcer: 
 Hamlet comes back ; What would you undertake. 
 To show yourself in deed your father's son 
 More than in words 1 
 
 Laer. To cut his throat i' the church. 
 
 King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctu- 
 arize ; 
 Revenge should have no bounds. But, good 
 
 Laertes, 
 Will you do this: keep close within your chamber? 
 Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home: 
 We'll put on those shall praise your excellence, 
 And set a double varnish on the fame 
 The Frenchman gave you ; bring you, in fine, 
 
 together, 
 And wager o'er your heads : he, being remiss, 
 Most generous, and free from all contriving. 
 Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease, 
 Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
 A sword unbated," and, in a pass of practice, 
 Requite him for your father. 
 
 « Ornament. 
 
 • Daily experience. 
 
 ' Fencers. 
 
 • Not blunted as foils are. 
 
 Laer. I will do't: 
 
 And, for the purpose. . '11 anoint mj sword. 
 I bought an unction ci a mountebank. 
 So mortal, that but dip a knife in it. 
 Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare. 
 Collected from all simples that have virtue 
 Under the moon, can save the thing from death. 
 That is but Scratch'd withal : I'll touch my poim 
 With this contagion; that, if I gall him sli^^h'dj, 
 It may be death. 
 
 King. Let's further think of thio; 
 
 Weigh, what convenience, both of time and meajis 
 May fit cs to our shape : if this should fail. 
 And that our drift look through our bad perform 
 
 ance, 
 'Twcrc belter not essay 'd : therefore this project 
 Should have a back, or second, that might hold. 
 If this should blast in proof Soft; — let mc 
 
 see: 
 We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings," — 
 I ha't : 
 
 When in your motion you are hot and dry, 
 (As make your bouts more violent to that end,) 
 And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him 
 A chalice for the nonce;' whereon but sipping, 
 If he by chance escape your vcnom'd stuck,' 
 Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise'' 
 
 Enter Queex. 
 
 How now, sweet queen T 
 
 Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
 So fast they follow: — Your sister's .bown'd, Laertes. 
 
 Laer. Drown'd ! O, where 1 [brook, 
 
 Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
 Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
 Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, 
 That liberal' shepherds give a grosser name. 
 But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: 
 There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
 When down her weedy trophies, and herself, 
 Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; 
 And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up : 
 Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes 
 As one incapable' of her own distress, 
 Or like a creature native and indu'd 
 Unto that element: but long it could not be. 
 Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
 Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
 To muddy death. 
 
 Laer. Alas, then, she is drown'd 1 
 
 Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 
 
 Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 
 And therefore I forbid my tears : But yet 
 It is our trick ; nature her custom holds. 
 Let shame say what it will : when these are gone, 
 The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord ! 
 I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze. 
 But that this folly drowns it. [^Exit 
 
 King. Let's follow, Gertrude 
 
 How much I had to do to calm his rage ! 
 Now fear I, this will give it start again ; 
 Therefore, let's follow. [^Exeunt 
 
 • As fire-arms sometimes burst in provin<; their strength 
 'Skill. 3 A cup for the purpose. 
 
 < Thrust. » Licentious. • Insensible 
 
Act V. Scene I 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 911 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Church Yard. 
 Enter two Clowns, with Spades, <^c. 
 
 1 C/o. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, 
 that wilfully seeks her own salvation 1 
 
 2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; therefore make her 
 grave straight:" the crowner hath set on her, and 
 finds it Christian burial. 
 
 1 C'lo. How can that be, unless she drowned her- 
 self in her own defence? 
 
 2 C'/u. Why, 'tis found so. 
 
 1 C/o. It musi be .se ojfendendo; it cannot be else. 
 For here lies the point: If I drown myself wit- 
 tingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three 
 branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform: Argal, 
 Bhe drowned herself wittingly. 
 
 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 
 
 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water ; good : 
 here stands the man ; good : If the man go to this 
 water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he 
 goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, 
 and drown him, he drowns not iiimself: Argal, he, 
 that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not 
 nis own life. 
 
 2 Clo. But is this law? 
 
 1 C/o. Ay, marry is't; crowner's quest law. 
 
 2 C/o. Will you ha' the truth on'tl If this had 
 not been a gentlewoman, she should have been 
 buried out of Christian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st: And the more 
 pity; that great folks shall have countenance in this 
 world to drown or hang themselves, more than their 
 even^ Christian. Come, my spade. There is no 
 ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and 
 grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession. 
 
 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman 1 
 
 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 
 
 2 Clo. Why, he had none. 
 
 1 Clo. What, art a heathen] How dost thou un- 
 derstand the Scripture! The Scripture says, Adam 
 digged: Could he dig without arms? I'll put 
 another question to thee : if thou answcrest me not 
 to the purpose, confess thyself^ 
 
 2 C/o. Go to. 
 
 1 C/o. What is he, that builds stronger than either 
 ihe mason, the shipwright, or tlie carpenter? 
 
 2 C/o. The gallows-maker; for that frame out- 
 lives a thousand tenants. 
 
 1 C/o. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the 
 gallows does well : but how does it well ? it does 
 well to those that do ill : now thou dost ill, to say, 
 the gallows is built stronger than the church; 
 argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again ; 
 come. 
 
 2 C/o. Who builds stronger than a jnason. a 
 ihipwright, or a carpenter? 
 
 1 C/(i. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.' 
 
 2 C/o. Marry, now I can tell. 
 
 1 C/u. To't. 
 
 2 C/o. Mass, I cannot tell. 
 
 Ente- Hamlet and Houatio, at a distance, 
 
 ^ Cu Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for 
 • Immediately ' Fellow. ■ Give over. 
 
 your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating! 
 and, when you are asked this question next, say, a 
 grave-maker; the houses that he malces, last till 
 doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaug lan and fetch me 
 a stoup of liquor. [^Exil 2 Clown 
 
 1 Clown digs, and sings. 
 
 In youth, when I did /ovc, did /ove,^ 
 
 MetJioug/it, it was very sweet, 
 To contract, 0, t/ie time, for, ah, my leliove, 
 
 0, met/ioug/it, t/iere was nothing meet. 
 
 Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business? 
 he sings at grave-making. 
 
 Hor. Custom hath made it in him a proj^rty of 
 easiness. 
 
 Hum. 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employ* 
 ment hath the daintier sense. 
 
 ] Clo. But age, loith his steu/ing steps, 
 Hat/i c/aw^d me in his c/utch. 
 And hat/i s/iipped me into tlie /and. 
 As if 1 had never been such. 
 
 [Throws up a Skull 
 
 Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could 
 sing once: How the knave jowls it to the ground, 
 as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first mux- 
 der! I'his might be tlic pate of a politician, which 
 this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would circum- 
 vent God, might it not? 
 
 Hor. It might, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say, Good 
 morrow, sweet turd .' How dost t/wu, good /ord? 
 This might be my lord Such-a-one, that praised my 
 lord Such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; 
 might it not? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, e'en so : and now my lady Worm's ; 
 chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a 
 sexton's spade: Here's fine revolution, an we had 
 the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more 
 the breeding, but to play at loggats' with them? 
 mine ache to think on't. 
 
 1 Clo. A pic/c-axe, and a spade, a spade, [Sings. 
 For — and a s/irouding slieet: 
 0, a pit of c/ay fur to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 [Throws up a Skiiii. 
 
 Ham. There's another: Why may not that be 
 the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits' now, 
 his quillets,^ his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? 
 why docs he suffer this rude knave now to knock 
 him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will 
 not tell him of his action of battery? Humph! 
 This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, 
 with his statutes, his recognizances, his fmes, his 
 double vouchers, his recoveries: Is this the fine of 
 his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have 
 his fine pate full of line dirt 1 will his vouchers vouch 
 him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, 
 
 » The song entire is printed in Percy's Keliques of an 
 ticnt Enslish Poetry, vol i. : it was written by Lord Vaux 
 • An ancient game played as (ptnits are at present, 
 » Subtilties. ' Privolous distinctions 
 
S12 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act V 
 
 than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? 
 The very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie 
 in this box ; and must the inheritor himself have no 
 more] ha? 
 
 Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? 
 
 Hur, Ay, my lord, and of calves' skins too. 
 
 Ham. They are sheep, and calves, which seek 
 out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow : — 
 Whose grave's this, sirrah? 
 
 I Clo. Mine, sir. — 
 
 0, a pit of day for to be made [Sings. 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 Ham. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou liest 
 in't. 
 
 1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not 
 yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine 
 
 Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is 
 thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore 
 thou liest. 
 
 1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again 
 from me to you. 
 
 Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? 
 
 1 Clo. For no man, sir. 
 
 Ham. What woman then? 
 
 1 Clo. For none neither. 
 
 Ham. Who is to be buried in't? 
 
 1 Clo. One, that was a woman, sir; but, rest 
 her soul, she's dead. 
 
 Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak 
 by the card," or equivocation will undo us. By 
 the lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken 
 note of it; the age is grown so picked,-' that the toe 
 of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, 
 he galls his kibe. — How long hast thou been a 
 grave-maker? 
 
 1 Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that 
 day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. 
 
 Ham. How long's that since? 
 
 1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell 
 that: It was that very day that young Hamlet was 
 born: he that is mad, and sent into England. 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall re- 
 cover his wits there ; or, if he do not, 'tis no great 
 matter there. 
 
 Ham. Why? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there; there 
 the men are as mad as he. 
 
 Ham. How came he mad? 
 
 1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. 
 
 Ham. How strangely? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 
 
 Ham. Upon what ground ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark; I have been sex- 
 ton here, man, and boy, thirty years. 
 
 Ham. Plow long will a man lie i' the earth ere 
 he rot? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die,(as we 
 have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce 
 hold the laying in,) he will last you some eight year 
 or nine year : a tanner will last you nine year. 
 
 Ham. W!iy he more than another ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his 
 trade, that he will keep out water a great while ; 
 and water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead 
 body. Here's a skull now hath lain you i' the 
 earth three-and-twenty years. 
 
 *By the compass. » Spruce, affected. 
 
 Ham. Whose was it T 
 
 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was ; Whose 
 do you think it was ? 
 
 Ham. j\ay, I know not. 
 
 i Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 
 he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. 
 This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's 
 jester. 
 
 Ham. This ? [Takes the skull 
 
 I Clo. E'en that. 
 
 Ham. Alas ! poor Yorick ! — I knew him, Horatio ; 
 a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he 
 hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and 
 now how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my 
 gorge rises at it. Here jumg those lips, that I have 
 kissed I know not how oft. Where be-your gibes 
 now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of 
 merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? 
 not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite 
 chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, 
 and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this fa- 
 vor^ she must come: make her laugh at that. — 
 Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 
 
 Hor. What's that, my lord? 
 
 Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' this 
 fashion i' the earth? 
 
 Hor. E'en so. 
 
 Ham. And smelt so? pah! 
 
 [Throws down the Skull. 
 
 Hor. E'en so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! 
 Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of 
 Alexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole? 
 
 Hor, 'Twere to consider too curiously, to con- 
 sider so. 
 
 Ham. No, faith, not a jot : but to follow him 
 thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead 
 it: As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, 
 Alexander returneth to dust; the dust is earth; of 
 earth we make loam : And why of that loam, where- 
 to he was converted, might they not stop a beer- 
 barrel ? 
 
 Imperious'' CfEsar, dead, and turn'd to clay, -^ 
 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: 
 
 O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe, 
 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw !' 
 But soft! but soft! aside: — Here comes the king. 
 
 Enter Priests, 6fC., in Procession; the Cwpse of 
 Ophelia, Laertes, ff«fZ Mourners following; 
 King, Queen, their Trains, SfC. 
 
 The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow? 
 And with such maimed rites! This doth betoken. 
 The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand 
 Fordo' its own life. 'Twas of some estate; 
 Couch we a while, and mark. 
 
 [Retiring with IIohatio. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else? 
 
 Ham. That is Laertes, 
 
 A very noble youth : Mark. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else? 
 
 1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarged 
 As we have warranty: Her death was doubtful; 
 And, but that great command o'ersways the order, 
 She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
 Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers. 
 Shards,' flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on 
 her; 
 
 6 Countenance, complexion. 
 8 Blast. » Undo, destroy. 
 
 'Imperial. 
 
 • Brok<!n pots or tiloj" 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 913 
 
 Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,' 
 
 Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
 
 Of bell and burial. 
 
 Lner. Must there no more be done? 
 1 Priest. No more be done! 
 
 We should profane the service of the dead, 
 To sing a requiem^ and such rest to her 
 As to peace-paited souls. 
 
 Laer. Lay her i' the earth ; — 
 
 And from her fair and unpolluted flesh, 
 May violets spring ! — I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 A minist'ring angel shall my sister be. 
 When thou liest howling. 
 
 Ham. What, the fair Ophelia! 
 
 Queen. Sweets to the sweet : Farewell ! 
 
 [Scattering Flowers, 
 I hoped, thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; 
 I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid. 
 And not have strew'd thy grave. 
 
 Laer. 0, treble woe 
 
 Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
 Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
 Depriv'd thee of! — Hold off the earth a while. 
 Till I have caught her once more in mine arms: 
 
 [Leaps into the Grave. 
 IVow pile your dust upon the quick' and dead; 
 Till of this flat a mountain you have made 
 To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 
 Of blue Olympus. 
 
 Ilaiii. [Advancing.il What is he, whose grief 
 Bears such an emphasis'! whose phrase of sorrow 
 Conjures the vvand'ring stars, and makes them stand 
 Like wonder-wounded hearers] this is I, 
 Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the Grave. 
 
 Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 
 
 [Grappling with him. 
 
 Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
 I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat; 
 For, though I am not splenetive and rash. 
 Yet have I in me something dangerous. 
 Which, let thy wisdom fear: hold ofl" thy hand. 
 
 King. Pluck them asunder. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet ! 
 
 All. Gentlemen, 
 
 Hor. Good my lord, bo quiet. 
 
 [The Attendants part them, and they come 
 out of the Grave. 
 
 Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme, 
 Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 
 
 Queen, my son! what theme? 
 
 Ham. I lov'd Ophelia: forty thousand brothers 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love. 
 Make up my sum. — What wilt thou do for her? 
 
 King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 
 
 Queen. For love of (rod, forbear him. 
 
 Ham. 'Zounds, show me what thou'it do: 
 Woul'tweepT woul't fight? woul't fasti woul't 
 
 tear thyself? 
 Woul't drink up Esil? ' eat a crocodile ? 
 I'll do't. — Dost thou come hero to whine? 
 To outface me with leaping in her grave? 
 Be buried quick with her, and so will I: 
 And, if thou prate of mountains, lot them throw 
 Millions of acres on us; till our ground, 
 Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
 Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'it mouth, 
 I'll rant as well as thou. 
 
 ^Garlands. ' A mass for tho deatl. « Living. 
 
 * Eisf.l is vinosar; but Mr. Stcevons conjectures the word 
 thouM bi» Wcisd, a river whieli falls into the Baltic ocean. 
 
 Queen. This is mere madness 
 
 And thus a while the fit wdl work on him ; 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,' 
 His silence will sit drooping. 
 
 Ham. Hear you, sir, 
 
 What is the reason that you use me thus? 
 I lov'd you ever : But it is no matter; 
 Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
 The cat will mew, and dog will have his day [Exit 
 
 King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon 
 
 him. — [Exit Honvno. 
 
 Strengthen your patience in our last night's sffech 
 
 [To LAEIlTKa. 
 
 We'll put the matter to the present push. — 
 Good Gertrude, set some watch over your f'n. — 
 This grave shall have a living monument: 
 An hour of quiet shortly .-shall we see; 
 Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Hall in the Castle 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 
 
 Ham. So much for this, sir: now, shall you sea 
 the other; — 
 You do remember all the circumstance ? 
 
 Hor. Remember it, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, 
 That would not let me sleep: methought, I lay 
 W^orse than the mutines'' in the bilboes.' Rashly 
 And prais'd be rashness for it, — Let us know, 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, 
 When our deep plots do pall;° and that should 
 
 teach us, 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 
 
 Hor. That is most certain. 
 
 Hatn. Up from my cabin. 
 My sea-gown scarf 'd about me, in the dark 
 Grop'd I to find out them: had my desire; 
 Finger'd their packet: and, in fine, withdrew 
 To mine own room again: making so bold. 
 My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
 Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio 
 A royal knavery; an exact command, — 
 Larded with many several sorts of reasons. 
 Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, 
 With, ho! such bugs' and gcblins in my life, 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated. 
 No, not to stay the grinding of the axe. 
 My head should be struck off. 
 
 Hor. Is't possible ? 
 
 Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more 
 leisure. 
 But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, 'beseech you. 
 
 Ham. Being thus bcnetted round with villanis«i 
 Or' I could make a prologue to my brains. 
 They had begun the i)lay; — I sat me down; 
 Devis'd a new commi.«ision; wrote it fair: 
 I once did hold it, as our statists' do, 
 A baseness to write fair, and labor'd much 
 How to forget that learning; but, sir, now 
 It did me yeoman's service: Wilt thou know 
 The effect of what I wrote? 
 
 Hor. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king,— 
 
 As England was his faithful tributary; 
 
 Hatched. ' Mutineers. 
 
 e Fetters and handcuffs brci'^ht from IJilboa in Spain 
 
 » Fail. ' BuRbears. -'efore. • Statesm >i- 
 
914 
 
 HAMLET 
 
 A.CT V 
 
 As lo e 1)6. ween them like the palm might flourish; 
 As peace should still her wheaten garland wear, 
 And stand a comma' 'tween their amities; 
 And many such like as's of great charge, — 
 That, on the view and knowing of these contents, 
 Without debatement further, more, or less, 
 He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
 ■Vot shriving' time allowed. 
 
 Hor. How was this seal'd? 
 
 Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant ; 
 I had my father's signet in my purse. 
 Which was the model of that Danish seal : 
 Folded the writ up in form of the other; 
 Subscrib'd it; gave't the impression; placed it 
 
 safely, 
 The changeling never known : Now the next day 
 Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent, 
 Thou know'st already. 
 
 Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. 
 
 Ham. Why man, they did make love to this 
 employment; 
 They are not near my conscience; their defeat 
 Does by their own insinuation grow : 
 'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites. 
 
 Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 
 
 Ham. Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon] 
 He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother; 
 Popp'd in between the election and my hopes : 
 Thrown out his angle for my proper life. 
 And with such cozenage ; is't not perfect con- 
 science. 
 To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be 
 To let this canker of our nature come [damn'd, 
 fn further evil 1 
 
 Hor. It must be shortly known to him from 
 England, 
 What is tlie issue of the business there. 
 
 Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine; 
 And a man's life no more than to say, one. 
 But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
 That to Laertes I forgot myself; 
 For by the image of my cause, I see 
 The portraiture of his: I'll count" his favors: 
 But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
 Into a towering passion. 
 
 Hor. Peace ; who comes here 1 
 
 Enter Osric. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship is right Vv-elcome back to 
 Denmark. 
 
 Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. — Dost know this 
 waterfly 1 
 
 Hor. No, my good lord. 
 
 Ham. Thy state is the more gracious ; for 'tis a 
 fice to know him : He hath much land, and fertile : 
 let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand 
 at the king's mess: 'Tis a chough;^ but, as I say, 
 spacious in the possession of dirt. 
 
 Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, 
 I should impart a thing to you from his majesty. 
 
 Ham. I will receive it, with all diligence of 
 ipirit : Your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the head. 
 
 Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. 
 
 Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind 
 is northerly. 
 
 Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 
 
 * A note of connection. » Confessing. 
 
 •Jtake account of ^alue. ' A bird like a jackdaw. 
 
 Ham. But yet, methinks it is very sultry anil 
 hot; or my complexion 
 
 Osr. Exceedingly, my lord : it is very sultry — 
 as 'twere, — I cannot tell how. — My lord, his ma^ 
 jesty bade me signify to you, that he has laid a 
 great wager on your head : Sir, this :s the matter,— 
 
 Ham. I beseech you, remember 
 
 [Hamlet moves him to put on his Hat. 
 
 Osr. Nay, good my lord; for my ease, in good 
 faith.' Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes: 
 believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most ex- 
 cellent diflerences,' of very soft society, and great 
 showing: Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is 
 the card ' or calendar of gentry, for you shall find 
 in him the continent^ of what part a gentleman 
 would see. 
 
 Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in 
 you ; — though, I know, to divide him inventorially, 
 would dizzy the arithmetic of memory ; and yet 
 but raw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, 
 in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul 
 of great article; and his infusion of such dearth 
 and rareness, as, to make true diction of him, his 
 semblable is his mirror; and, who else would trac«' 
 him, his umbrage, nothing more.' 
 
 Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. 
 
 Ham. The concernancy, sir ] why do we warp 
 the gentleman in our more rawer breath? 
 
 Osr. Sir? 
 
 Hor. Is't not possible to understand in another 
 tongue? You will do't, sir, really. 
 
 Ham. What imports the nomination of this gen- 
 tleman? 
 
 Osr. Of Laertes? 
 
 Hor. His purse is empty already ; all his golden 
 words are spent. 
 
 Ham. Of him, sir. 
 
 Osr. I know, you are not ignorant 
 
 Ham. I would, you did, sir; yet, in failh, if you 
 did, it would not much approve' me ; — Well, sir. 
 
 Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
 Laertes is 
 
 Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should com- 
 pare with him in excellence ; but, to know a man 
 well, were to know himself. 
 
 Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon ; but in the im- 
 putation laid on him by them, in his meed ' he's 
 unfellowed. 
 
 Ham. What's his weapon? 
 
 Osr. Rapier and dagger. 
 
 Ham. That's two of his weapons : but, well. 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him six 
 Barbary horses: against the which he has im- 
 pawned," as I take it, six French rapiers and 
 poniards, with their assigns, as g rdle, hangers,'' 
 and so; Three of the carriages, in faith, are very 
 dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most 
 delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit. 
 
 Ham. What call you the carriages? 
 
 Hor. I knew you must be edified by the mar- 
 gent,' ere you had done. 
 
 Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 
 
 Ham. The phrase would be more german' to the 
 
 'The affected phrase of the time. 
 
 ' Distinguishing excellencies. • Compass or chart 
 
 2 The country and pattern for imitation. 
 
 3 Tliis speecli is a ridicule of the court jargon of that time. 
 *Rocommentl 'Praise. •Staked. 
 
 ' That part of the belt by which the sword was suspended 
 8 Margin of a book which contains explanatory not<»s 
 » Akin. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 &15 
 
 matter, if wc coulJ carry a cannon by our sides; 
 I would, it might be hangers till then. But, on: 
 Six Barbary horses against six French swords, 
 their assigns, and three liberal conceited carriages; 
 that's the French bet against the Danish: Why, is 
 this impawned, as you call itT 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen 
 passes between yourself and him, he shall not ex- 
 ceed you three hits; he hath laid, on twelve for 
 nine; and it would come to immediate trial, if your 
 lordship would vouchsafe the answer. 
 
 Hani. How, if I answer, no? 
 
 Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your 
 person in trial. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall : If it 
 please his majesty, it is the breathing time of day 
 with me: let the foils be brought, the gentleman 
 willing, and the king hold his purpose, I will win 
 for him, if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but 
 my shame, and the odd hits. 
 
 Osr. Shall I deliver you so? 
 
 Hum. To this effect, sir; after what flourish 
 your nature will. 
 
 Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. [^Exit. 
 
 Ham. Yours, yours. — He docs well to com- 
 mend it himself; there arc no tongues else for 's turn. 
 
 Hor. This lapwing ' runs away with the shell 
 on his head. 
 
 Ham. He did comply' with his dug, before he 
 sucked it. Thus has he (and many more of the 
 same breed, that, I know, the drossy^ age dotes on) 
 only got the tune of the time, and outward habit 
 of encounter; a kind of ycsty collection, which 
 carries them through and through the most fond' 
 and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to 
 their trial, the bubbles are out. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to 
 you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that 
 you attend him in the hall : He sends to know, if 
 your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you 
 will take longer time. 
 
 Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they fol- 
 low the king's pleasure : if his fitness speaks, mine 
 is ready; nov\', or whensoever, provided I be so able 
 as now. 
 
 Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming 
 down. 
 
 Ham. In happy time. 
 
 Lord. The queen desires you to use some gen- 
 tlaenteitainment to Laertes, before you fall to play. 
 
 Ham. Slie well instructs me. [Exit Lord. 
 
 Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 
 
 Hum. I do not think so; since he went into 
 France, I have been in continual practice; I shall 
 win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think, how 
 ill all's here about my heart: but it is no matter. 
 
 Hor. Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Him. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of 
 gain-giving,^ as would perhaps, trouble a woman. 
 
 ///)/•. If yi^ur mind dislike any thing, obey it: I 
 will forestall their repair hither, and say, you are 
 Uol fit. 
 
 Ham. No*, a whit, we defy augury ; there is a 
 special provi lence in the fall of a sparrow. If it 
 Se now, 'tis iiot to come; if it be not to come, it will 
 
 • A bird which runs about iminediatoly it it hatched. 
 ■•Complirai'ut. ' Wortliles.s. 
 
 For fonJ ""ia/l fann'd. » Miegiving. 
 
 be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the 
 readiness is all: Since no man, of aught he leaves 
 knows, what is't to leave betimes ? Let be. 
 
 Enter Kixg, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Oseic, 
 and Attendants, with Foils, (SfC. 
 
 King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand 
 from me. 
 [T/te King puts the Hand of Laertes irita 
 that of Hamlet. 
 Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I have done 
 you wrong; 
 But pardon it, as you are a gentleman. 
 This presence'^ knows, and you must needs h»T« 
 
 heard. 
 How I am punish'd with a sore distraction. 
 What I have done, 
 
 That might your nature, honor, and exception, 
 Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
 Was't Hamlet wronged Laertes? Never Hamlet 
 If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, 
 And, when he's not himself, does wrong Laertes, 
 Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
 Who does it then ? His madness : If 't be so, 
 Hamlet is of the faction that is wronged; 
 His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
 Sir, in this audience. 
 Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
 Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, 
 That I have shot my arrow o'er the house. 
 And hurt my brother. 
 
 Laer. I am satisfied in nature. 
 
 Whose motive, in this case, should siir me most 
 To niy revenge : but in my terms of honor, 
 I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement. 
 Till by some elder masters of known honor 
 I have a voice and precedent of peace. 
 To keep my name ungor'd:'' But till that time, 
 I do receive your offer'd love like love. 
 And will not wrong it. 
 
 Ham. I embrace it freely; 
 
 And will this brother's wager frankly play. — 
 Give us the foils; come on. 
 
 Laer. Come, one for me 
 
 Hum. I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine igino 
 ranee 
 Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, 
 Stick fiery off indeed. 
 
 Laer. You mock me, sir. 
 
 Ham. No, by this hand. 
 
 King. Give them the foils, young Osric. — Cou 
 sin Hamlet, 
 You know the wager ? 
 
 Ham. Very well, my lord; 
 
 Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker sid€. 
 
 King. I do not fear it: — I have seen you both: — 
 But since he's bettcr'd, we have therefore odds. 
 
 Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 
 
 Ham. This likes me well: These foils have all 
 a length? [^Thet/ prepare to piny. 
 
 Osr. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Set me the stoups ' of wine upon that 
 table : — 
 If Hamlet give the first or second hit. 
 Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
 Let all the battlements their ordnance lire. 
 The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; 
 And in the cup an union' shall he throw, 
 
 •Till? kinn and queen's presence. 
 8 Large Jags. 
 
 ■I Unwounded. 
 • A priK-ious pearl 
 
916 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act V 
 
 Richer than tliat which four successive kings 
 
 In Denmark's crown have worn; Give me the cups; 
 
 And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
 
 'I'he trumpet to tlic cannoneer witliout, 
 
 Tlic cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, 
 
 Now the King drinks to Hamlet. — Come, begin; — 
 
 And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 
 
 Hum. Come on, sir. 
 
 iMer. Come, my 'ord. [They play. 
 
 Ham. One. 
 
 Laer. No. 
 
 Ham. Judgment. 
 
 Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 
 
 Laer. Well, — again. 
 
 Ki7ig. Stay, give me drink: Hjmlet, this pearl 
 is thine; 
 Here's to thy health. — Give him the cup. 
 iTriim/jel.s fi'jiiiul; and Cannon shot off within. 
 
 Hani. I'll play this bout first, set it by a while. 
 Jome. — Another hit; What say you ? [They play. 
 
 Laer A touch, a touch, I do confess. 
 
 King, Our son shall win. 
 
 Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. — 
 
 Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows: 
 The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Good madam, 
 
 King. Gertrude, do not drink. 
 
 Queen. I v/ill, my lord; — I pray you, pardon me. 
 
 King. It is the [loison'd cup ; it is too late. [Aside. 
 
 Hum. I dare not drink yet, madam ; by and by. 
 
 Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 
 
 Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. 
 
 King. I do not think it. 
 
 Laer. And yetitisalmostagainst my conscience. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes : You do but 
 dally; 
 1 pray you, pass with your best violence; 
 I am afeard, you make a wanton ' of me. 
 
 Laer. Say you so? come on. [They play. 
 
 Osr. Nothing neither way. 
 
 Laer. Have at you now. 
 
 [Lakktks wounds Hamiet; then, in scuf- 
 fdng, they change Rapiers, and Hajm- 
 LKT wounds Lakrtks. 
 
 King. Part them, they are incens'd. 
 
 Ham. Nay, come again. [The Qijkkx falls. 
 
 Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 
 
 Hor. They bleed on both sides; — How is it, my 
 lord] 
 
 Osr. How is't, Laertes? 
 
 Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, 
 Osric; 
 I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery 
 
 Ham. How does the queen ? 
 
 King. She swoons to see them bleed. 
 
 Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my 
 dear Hamlet ! 
 The drink, tiie drink ; — lam poison'd ! [Dies. 
 
 Hum. O viljany ! — Ho ! let the door be lock'd : 
 Ticachery! seek it out. [Laeutks falls. 
 
 Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art slain ; 
 No medicine in the world can do thee good, 
 III thee there is not half an hour's life; 
 The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
 Unbated,^ and envenom'd : the foul practice 
 Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I lie. 
 Never to rise again : Thy mother's poison'd ; 
 I can no more; the king, the king's to blame. 
 'Hoy. uNot blunted, without a button. 
 
 Ham. The point 
 Envenom'd too ! — then, venom, to thy work. 
 
 [Stabs the Kino 
 
 Osr. Sf Lords. Treason ! treason ! 
 
 King. O, yet defend me friends, I am but hurt, 
 
 Ham. Here thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned 
 Dane, 
 Drink off this potion: — Is thy union here? 
 Follow my mother. [Kino diis- 
 
 Laer. He is justly serv'd- 
 
 It is a poison tem|)er'd ' by himself. — 
 Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet; 
 Mine and my father's death come not upon thee; 
 Nor thine on me ! [Dies, 
 
 Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. 
 I am dead, Horatio: — Wretched queen, adieu! — 
 You that look pale and tremble at this chance, 
 That are but mutes or audience to this act. 
 Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant,' death, 
 Is strict in his arrest,) 0, I could tell you, — 
 But let it be: — Horatio, I am dead; 
 Thou liv'.st; report me and my cause aright 
 To the unsatisfied. 
 
 Hor. Never believe it; 
 
 I am more an antique Roman than a Dane, 
 Here's yet some liquor left. 
 
 Ham. As thou'rt a man, — 
 
 Give me the cup; let go; by heaven I'll have it. — 
 
 God! — Horatio, what a wounded name, 
 Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind 
 
 me? 
 If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 
 Absent thee from fclic'ity awhile. 
 And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
 'l"o tell my story. — 
 
 [March afar off, and Shot witldn. 
 What warlike noise is this? 
 Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from 
 Poland, 
 To the ambassadors of England gives 
 This warlike volley. 
 
 Ham. O, I die, Horatio; 
 
 The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit; 
 
 1 cannot live to hear the news from England: 
 But I do prophesy the election lights 
 
 On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice; 
 So tell him, with the occurrents,is more or less. 
 Which have solicited,'^ — the rest is silence. [Dies 
 Hor. Now cracks a noble heart; — Good-night, 
 sweet prince ; 
 And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! 
 Why does the drum come hither? [March within 
 
 Enter FoiiTiNnnAS, the English Ambassadors, 
 and others. 
 
 Fort. Where is this sight ? 
 
 Hor. What is it you would see 1 
 
 If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. 
 
 Fort. This quarry^ cries on havoc!' — O proud 
 death ! 
 What feast is toward in thine eternal cell. 
 That thou so many princes, at a shot. 
 So bloodily hast struck? 
 
 1 Amb. The sight is dismal; 
 
 And our affairs from England come too late: 
 The ears are senseless, that should give us hearing, 
 
 ' Mixed. * A sergeant is a sheriff's officer. 
 
 • Occurrences. 'Incited. 
 I Heap of dead game. 
 
 » A word of censure when more game was destroyed 
 than was reasonable. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK 
 
 91? 
 
 To tell him, hit' commaiulmcnt is fulfill'd, 
 That Roscncrajtz and Guildcnstprn arc dead: 
 Where should we have our thanks'? 
 
 Hor. Not from his mouth, 
 
 Had it the anility of life to thank you; 
 Ho never gave commandment for their death. 
 But since, so jump" upon this bloody (juostion, 
 ifou from the Polack' wars, and you from England, 
 Are here arriv'd; gFve order, that these bodies 
 High on a stage be placed to the view; 
 And let me speak, to tire yet uidcnowing world, 
 How these things come about: .So shall you hear 
 Of carnal, blooily, and unnatural acts; 
 Of accide.ital judgments, casual slaughters; 
 Of deaths put on by cunning, and tbrccd cause; 
 And in this u[)shot, purposes mistook 
 f'all'n on the inventors' heads: all this can I 
 Truly deliver. 
 
 Fart. Let us haste to hear it, 
 
 \nd call the noblest to the audience. 
 
 * ilo exactly at i>te time < PoUalL 
 
 For me, with sorrow 1 en (brace my fortune; 
 I have some rights of nicmory in this kingdom, 
 Which now to clainj my vantage doth invite me. 
 
 Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, 
 And from his mouth whose voice will draw on 
 
 more : 
 But let this same be ])rescntly perform'd, 
 Even while men's minds are wild; lest more mis- 
 chance, 
 On plots and errors, happen. 
 
 Fort. Let four captains 
 
 Hear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage; 
 For he was likely, had he been put on. 
 To have j)rov'd most royally: and, for his passage, 
 The soldier's music, and the rites of war. 
 Speak loudly for him. — 
 Take up the bodies: — Such a sight as this 
 Becomes the field, but here shows much ainiss. 
 Go, bid the soldiers shoot. \^A Dead Murcli, 
 
 \_Exeunt., bearin<r off the dead Bodies; after 
 which, a I'eal of Ordnance i,» s/V'/ off 
 
OTHELLO, 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Ddke of Venice. 
 Brabantio, a Senatot. 
 Two other Senators. 
 Gratiano, Brother to Brabantio. 
 LoDovico, Kinsman to Brabantio. 
 Othello, the Moor. 
 Cassio, his Lieutenant. 
 Iago, his Ancient. 
 RoDERiGO, a Venetian Gentleman. 
 McNTANO, Othello's Predecessor in the Govern 
 ment of Cyprus. 
 
 SCENE, for the first Act, in Venice ; during the rest of the Play, at a Sea-port in Cyprus, 
 
 Clown, Servant to Othello. 
 Herald. 
 
 Desdemona, Daughter to E rabantio, a7id Wife to 
 
 Othello. 
 Emilia, Wife to Iago. 
 BiANCA, a Courtezan, Mist? ess to Cassio. 
 
 Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, 
 Sailors, Attendnnts, ^e. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 
 
 Enter Roderigo and Iago . 
 
 Rod. Tush, never tell me, I take it niuch un- 
 kindly, 
 That thou, Iago,— who hast had my purse. 
 As if the strings were thine, — shouldst know of 
 this. 
 
 Jago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: — 
 If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
 Abhor me. 
 
 Rod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in 
 thy hate. 
 
 Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones 
 of the city. 
 In personal suit to make me his lieutenant. 
 Oft capp'd' to him ; — and, by the faith of man, 
 I know my price, I am worth no worse a place : 
 But he, as loving his own pride and purposes. 
 Evades them, with a bombast circumstance,' 
 Horribly stuft''d with epithets of war ; 
 And, in conclusion, nonsuits 
 My mediators ; for certes," says he, 
 I have already chose my officer. 
 And what was he 1 
 Forsooth, a great arithmetician. 
 One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, _ 
 A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife ; 
 That never set a squadron in the field, 
 Nor the division of a battle knows 
 More than a spinster ; unless the bookish theoric. 
 Wherein the toged consuls can propose 
 \s masterly as he : mere prattle, without practice. 
 Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: 
 And I, — of whom his eyes had seen the proof, 
 At Rhodes, at Cyprus ; and on other grounds 
 Christian and heathen, — must be be-lee'd and 
 calm'd 
 
 'Saluted. s Circumlocution. a Certainly. 
 
 918 
 
 By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster;* 
 He, in good time, must his lieutenant be. 
 And I, (God bless the mark !) his Moorship's an- 
 cient. 
 
 Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his 
 hangman. 
 
 Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of 
 service ; 
 Preferment goes by letter, and affection. 
 Not by the old gradation, where each second 
 Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, 
 Whether I in any just term am affin'd' 
 To love the Moor. 
 
 Rod. I would not follow him then. 
 
 logo. 0, sir, content you ; 
 I follow him to ser\'e my turn upon him : 
 We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
 Cannot be truly foUow'd. You shall mark 
 Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave. 
 That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, 
 Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, 
 For nought but provender ; and, when he's old, 
 
 cashier'd ; 
 Whip me such honest knaves : Others there aro 
 Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty. 
 Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves , 
 And, throwing but shows of service on the*/ 
 
 lords. 
 Do well thrive by them, and when they have lined 
 
 their coats, 
 Do themselves homage : these fellows have soma 
 
 soul; 
 And such a one do I profess myself 
 For, sir, 
 
 It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
 Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago : 
 In following him, I follow but myself; 
 
 * It was anciently the practice to reckon up sums wit> 
 counters. ' Kelated. 
 
AoT I. Scene I. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OP VENICE. 
 
 919 
 
 Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, 
 
 But seeming so, for my peculiar end : 
 
 For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 
 In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 
 For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. 
 
 Rod. What a full fortune docs the thick-lips owe" 
 If he can carry 't thus ! 
 
 lago. Call up her father, 
 
 Rouue him : make after him, poison his delight, 
 Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kinsmen. 
 And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 
 Plague him with flies : though that his joy be 
 
 Joy. 
 
 Yet throw such clianges of vexation on't. 
 As it may lose some color. 
 
 Rod. Here is her father's house ; I'll call aloud. 
 
 lago. Do ; with like timorous accent, and dire 
 
 yell. 
 
 As when, by night and negligence, the fire 
 [s spied in populous cities. 
 
 Ziof/.What, ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantio,ho! 
 
 lago. Aw\ke ! what ho ! Brabantio! thieves! 
 thieves \ thieves ! 
 Look to your horse, your daughter, and your bags ! 
 Thieves ! thieves ' 
 
 Brabant;'), above, at a window. 
 
 Bra. What is the reason of this terrible sum- 
 mons? 
 What is- the motter there 1 
 
 Rod. Signior, vs all your family within 1 
 
 lego. Aro y(jvx doors lock'd 1 
 
 Bra. Why ] wherefore ask you this ? 
 
 lago. Zor.nd'i, sir, you are robb'd ; for shame, 
 put o'l your gown ; 
 Your heart i& burst, you have lost half your soul ; 
 Even nuv/, very now, an old black rarn 
 Is tupping, your white ewe. Arise, arise ; 
 Awake the snorting citizens with the bell. 
 Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you : 
 Arise, I say. 
 
 Bra. What, have you lost your wits 1 
 
 Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my 
 voice ? 
 
 Bra. Not I : what are you ? 
 
 Rod. My name is — Roderigo. 
 
 Bra. The worse welcome ; 
 
 I have charged thee, not to haunt about my doors : 
 In honest plainness thou hast heard nie say. 
 My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in madness. 
 Being full o' supper, and distempering draughts. 
 Upon niali'ji'jus bravery, dost thou come 
 To start my quiet. 
 
 Rod. Sir, sir, sir, sir, ■ 
 
 Bra. But thou must needs be sure, 
 
 My spirit, and my place, have in them power 
 To make this bitter to thee. 
 
 Rod. Patience, good sir. 
 
 Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing 1 this is 
 Venice ! 
 My house is not a grange.' 
 
 Rod. Most brave Brabantio, 
 
 In simple and pure soul I come to you. 
 
 Icigo. Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that will 
 
 not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we 
 
 some to do you service, you think we arc ruffians: 
 
 You'll have your daughter covered with aBarbary 
 
 • Own, possess. ' A lone farm-house. | 
 
 horse ; you'll have your nephews neigh to you 
 you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets foi 
 germans.' 
 
 Bra. What profane wretch art thou 1 
 
 lago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your 
 daughter and the Moor are now making the beast 
 with two backs. 
 
 Bra. Thou art a villain. 
 
 lago. You are — a senator. 
 
 Bra. This thou shalt answer: I know thee, Ro- 
 derigo. 
 
 Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I b«- 
 sccch you, 
 If 't be your pleasure, and most wise consent, 
 (As partly, I find, it is,) that your fair daughter, 
 At this odd-even' and dull wutch o' the night. 
 Transported — with no worse nor belter guard, 
 But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier — 
 To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,--- 
 If this be known to you, and your allowance,' 
 We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs ; 
 But, if you know not this, my manners tell me, 
 We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe. 
 That, from the sense of all civility, 
 I thus would play and trifle with your reverence 
 Your daughter, — if you have not given her leave,— 
 I say again, hath made a gross revolt; 
 Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes, 
 In an extravagant'' and wheeling stranger. 
 Of here and every where: Straight satisfy youi 
 
 self: 
 If she be in her chamber, or your house. 
 Let loose on me the justice of the state 
 For thus deluding you. 
 
 Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho ! 
 
 Give me a taper; — call up all my people: — 
 This accident is not unlike my dream. 
 Belief of it oppresses me already : — 
 Light, I say ! light ! [^Exit from above. 
 
 lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you : 
 
 It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, 
 To be produced (as, if I stay, I shall) 
 Against the Moor: For, I do know, the state, — 
 However this may gall him with some check, — 
 Cannot with safety catch him ; for he's embark'd 
 With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars, 
 (Which even now stand in act,) that, for theii 
 
 souls. 
 Another of his fathom they have not. 
 To lead their business : in which regard, 
 Though I do hate him as I do hell pains. 
 Yet, for necessity of present life, 
 I must show out a flag and sign of love. 
 Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely 
 
 find him, 
 Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd search ; 
 And there will I be with him. So farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Enter below, Brabantio, and Servants, ivith 
 Torches. 
 
 Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ; 
 And what's to come of my despised time,' 
 Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 
 Where didst thou see her? — O, unhappy girl !- — 
 With the Moor, say'st thou ? — Who would be a 
 
 flither ? 
 How didst thou know 'twas she ? O, thou deceiv'sl 
 
 me 
 
 s Relations. 
 » ^Vande^ing. 
 
 s Midnight. 
 ' Old uge. 
 
 'Approbation, 
 
&20 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act 1 
 
 -Get 
 
 Past thought!- -What said she to yiu 
 
 more tapers : 
 Raise all my kindred. — Are they niarriud, think 
 you? 
 Rod. Truly, I think, they are. 
 Bra. heaven! — howgotshe out?— O treason 
 of the blood ! — 
 Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds 
 By what you see them act. — Are there not charms, 
 By which the jiroperty of youth and maidhood 
 May be abus'd ? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
 Of some such thing ? 
 
 Hod. Yes, sir ; I have indeed. 
 
 Bra. Call up my brother. — O, that you had had 
 her !— 
 Some one way, some another. — Do you know 
 Where we may apprehend her and tiie Moor ? 
 
 Rod. I think, I can discover him : if you please 
 To get good guard, and go along with me. 
 
 Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call ; 
 I may command at most; — Get weapons, ho ! 
 And raise some special officers of night. — 
 On, good Roderigo : — I'll deserve your pains. 
 
 [^Exeiuit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Street. 
 Enter Othblio, Iago, and Attendants. 
 
 Tago. Though in the trade of war I have slaui 
 men, 
 5f et do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience. 
 To do no contriv'd murder ; I lack iniquity 
 Sometimes to do me service : Nine or ten times 
 I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the 
 ribs. 
 
 0th. 'Tis better as it is. 
 
 Jago. Nay, but he prated. 
 
 And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
 Against your honor, 
 That with the little godliness I have, 
 I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir, 
 Are you fast married? for, be sure of this, — 
 That the magnifico' is much belov'd ; 
 And hath, in his effect, a voice potential 
 As double as the duke's ; he will divorce you ; 
 Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
 The law (with all his might, to enforce it on) 
 Will give him cable. 
 
 0th. Let him do his spnte : 
 
 My services, which I have done the sigaiory. 
 Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know, 
 (Which when I know that boasting is an honor, 
 I siiall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being 
 From men of royal siege;* and my demerits' 
 Vlay speak, unbonneted, to as proud a fortune 
 iVs this that I have reach'd : For know, Iago, 
 J]ut that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
 I would not my unhoused free condition 
 Put into circumscription and confine 
 For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights come 
 yonder ? 
 
 Enter Cassio, at a distance, and ceiiain Ofhcers 
 with Torches. 
 
 Jago. These are the raised father, and his friends : 
 Vou were best go in. 
 
 0th. Not I : I must be found ; 
 
 Ptrabantio, magniflco is his title as a senator. 
 
 Seat or throne. 
 
 Demerits has the same meaning in Shakspeare as merits 
 
 My parts, my title, and my perfect soul. 
 Shall manifest me rightly. \s it they ? 
 
 Iago. By Janus, I think nJ. 
 
 Otli. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant 
 The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! 
 What is the news ■* 
 
 Cas. The duke does greet you, general 
 
 And he requires your haste — post-haste appearance^ 
 Even on the instant. 
 
 0th. What is the matter, think you 1 
 
 Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine , 
 It is- a business of some heat : the gallies 
 Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
 This very night at one another's heels ; 
 And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met, 
 Are at the duke's already: You have been hotiv 
 
 call'd for ; 
 When, being not at your lodging to be found, 
 The senate hath sent about three several quests, 
 To search you out. 
 
 0th. 'Tis well I am found by you. 
 
 I will but spend a word here in the house, 
 And go with you. [_Exit, 
 
 Cas. Ancient, what makes he here '' 
 
 Iago. He hath to-night boarded a land carack ;" 
 If it prove lawful prize, he's made forever. 
 
 Cas. I do not understand. 
 
 Iago. He's mamed. 
 
 Cas. To who! 
 
 Re-Enter Othello. 
 
 Iago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ? 
 0th. Have with you. 
 
 Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 
 
 Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers of 
 night, with Torches and Weapons. 
 
 Iago. It is Brabantio: — general, be advis'd; 
 He comes to bad intent. 
 
 0th. Kola ! stand there ! 
 
 Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 
 
 Bra. DowTi with him, thief! 
 
 [They draw on both sides. 
 
 Iago. You, Roderigo ! come sir, I am for you. 
 
 0th. Keep up your bright swords, for the dev? 
 will rust them. — 
 Good signior, you shall more command with years, 
 Than with your weapons. 
 
 Bra. thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd 
 my daughter'! 
 Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her : 
 For I'll refer me to all things of sense, 
 If she in chains of magic were not bound, 
 Whether a maid — so tender, fair, and happy; 
 So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd 
 The wealthy curled darlings of our nation. 
 Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
 Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 
 Of such a thing as thou : to fear, not to delight. 
 Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense, 
 That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms 
 Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals 
 That waken motion : — I'll have it disputed on ; 
 'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. 
 I therefore apprehend and do attach thee, 
 For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
 Of arts inhibited and out of warrant : — 
 Lay hold upon him ; if he do resist, 
 Subdue him at his peril. 
 
 0th. Hold your hands, 
 
 • A rich vessel. 
 
 f-U*^ » J IW« IWJ,I. - 
 
BCBNR 111. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 921 
 
 Both you of my inclining, and the rest: 
 Were it my cue to liglit, I should have known it 
 Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go 
 To answer this your cli-irge T 
 
 Bra. To prison : till fit time 
 
 Ol' law, and course of direct session. 
 Call thee to answer. 
 
 OIL WMiat if I do obey 1 
 
 How may the duke he therewith satisfied; 
 W^liose messengers arc here about my side, 
 Upon some present business of the state, 
 To bring mc to him 1 
 
 Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior, 
 
 The duke's in council; and your noble self, 
 I am sure, is sent for. 
 
 Bra. How! the duke in council ! 
 
 In this time o'" the night! — Bring him away : 
 Mine's not an idle cause: the duke hiuiself, 
 Or any of my brothers of the state, 
 Cannot l)Ut feel this wrong, as 'twere their own; 
 For if such actions may have passage free. 
 Bond-slaves, and pagans, shall our statesmen be. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE HI.— ^ Council Chamber. 
 
 The Ddke, and Senators, sitting at a Table,- Offi- 
 cers attending. 
 
 Duke. There is no composition ■" in these news, 
 That gives them credit. 
 
 1 Sen. Indeed, they arc disproportion'd; 
 My letters say, a hundred and seven gallics. 
 
 Duke. And mine a hundred and forty. 
 
 2 Sen. And mine, two hundred; 
 But though they jump not on a just account, 
 (As in these cases, where the aim" reports, 
 
 'Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm 
 A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 
 
 Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment. 
 I do not so secure me in the error, 
 But the main article I do approve 
 In fearful sense. 
 
 Sailor. [^Wiihin.^ What ho! what ho! what hoi 
 
 Enter an Officer, with a. Sailor. 
 
 Off. A messenger from the gallies. 
 
 Duke. Now 1 the business ? 
 
 Sailor. The Turkish preparation makes for 
 Rhodes: 
 So was I bid report here to the state, 
 By signior Angelo. 
 
 Duke. How say you by this change? 
 
 1 Sen. This cannot be, 
 
 By no assay of reason; 'tis a pageant, 
 'To keep us in false gaze : When we consider 
 The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk ; 
 And let ourselves again but understand. 
 That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
 So may he with more flicile question' bear it. 
 For that it stands not in such warlike brace,' 
 But altogether lacks tbe abilities 
 That Rhodes is dress'd in: — if we make thought 
 
 of this. 
 We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful, 
 To leave that latest which concerns him first; 
 Neglecting an attempt of ease, and gain, 
 To wake and wage^ a danger profitless. 
 
 Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. 
 
 Off. Here is more news. 
 
 • Consistency. » Conjecture. » Kasy dispute. 
 
 ' State of defence. » Combat. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
 Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, 
 Have there injointcd them with an after fleet. 
 I Sen. Ay, so I thought : — How many, as you 
 
 guess? 
 Mess. Of thirty sail: and how do they re-stem 
 Their backward course, bearing with frank appear- 
 ance 
 Their purposes toward Cyprus. — Signior Montano, 
 Your trusty and most valiant servitor. 
 With his free duty recommends you thus, 
 And i)rays you to believe him. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus. — 
 Marcus Lucchese, is he not in town? 
 1 Sen. He's now in Florence. 
 Duke. Write from us ; wish him post post-haste • 
 
 despatch. 
 1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant 
 Moor. 
 
 Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Rodehigo, 
 
 and Officers. 
 
 Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ 
 you 
 Against the general enemy Ottoman. 
 I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; 
 
 [To Brabantio. 
 We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 
 
 Bra. So did I yours: Good your grace, pardon 
 me; 
 Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, 
 Hathrais'd me from my bed; nor doth the genera! 
 
 care 
 Take hold on mc; for my particular grief 
 Is of so flood-gate and o'erbcaring nature, 
 That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
 And it is still it.self. 
 
 Duke. Why, what's the matter'' 
 
 Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
 
 Sen. Dead? 
 
 Bra. Ay, to me, 
 
 She is abus'd, stol'n from mc, and corrupted 
 By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks: 
 For nature so preposterously to err. 
 Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
 Sans' witchcraft could not 
 
 Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding, 
 Hath thus bcguil'd your daughter of herself. 
 And you of her, the bloody book of law 
 You shall yourself read in the bitter letter. 
 After your own sense; yea, though our proper son 
 Stood in your action.^ 
 
 Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 
 
 Here is the man, this Moor; whom now, it seems, 
 Your special mandate, for the state affairs, 
 Hath hither brought. 
 
 Duke cV Sen. We arc very sorry for it. 
 
 Duke. What, in your own part, can you say t« 
 this? [To Othello 
 
 Bra. Nothing but this is so. 
 
 0th. Most potent, grave, and reverend sigiiiora, 
 My very noble and aj)prov'd good masters. 
 That I have ta'cn away this old man's daughter, 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 
 The very head and front of my oflimding 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech 
 And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace, 
 
 » Without. * Accusation. 
 
022 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act 1 
 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 
 Till now FOiiie nine moons wasted, they have used 
 Their dearest action' in the tented field : 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause, 
 In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious pa- 
 tience, 
 I will a round unvarnished tale deliver 
 Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what 
 
 charms. 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 (For such proceeding I am charged withal,) 
 I wor his daughter with. 
 
 Bra. A maiden never bold ; 
 
 Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Blush'd at herself; and she, — in spite of nature, 
 Ofyears, of country, credit, every thing, — 
 To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on? 
 It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 
 That will confess — perfection so could err 
 Against all rules of nature, and must be driven 
 To find out practices of cunning hell. 
 Why this should be. I therefore vouch again. 
 That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
 Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect. 
 He wrought upon her. 
 
 Duke. To vouch this is no prool ; 
 
 Without more certain and more overt test,*^ 
 Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods 
 Of modern seeming,'' do prefer against him. 
 
 1 Sen. But, Othello, speak; — 
 Did you by indirect and Ibrccd courses 
 Subdue and poison this young maid's affections 1 
 Or came it by request, or such fair question 
 As soul to soul affordeth 1 
 
 0th. I do beseech you, 
 
 Send for the lady to the Sagittary.' 
 And let her speak of me before her father : 
 If you do find me foul in her report, 
 The trust, the office, I do hold of you. 
 Not only take away, but let your sentence 
 Even fall upon my life. 
 
 Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 
 
 0th. Ancient, conduct them ; you best know the 
 place. — [^Exeuni Iago, and Attendants. 
 And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
 I do confess the vices of my blood. 
 So justly to your grave years I'll present 
 How I did thrive in this fair lady's love. 
 And she in mine. 
 
 Duke. Say it, Othello. 
 Ofh. Her lather lov'd me, oft invited me ; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life. 
 From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes. 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days. 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
 Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances. 
 Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 
 Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminentdeadly breach 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe. 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence. 
 And portance' in my travel's history: 
 Wherein of antres' vast, and deserts idle. 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch 
 heaven, 
 
 » Best exertion. • Open proof. ■■ Weak show. 
 
 ' The sign of tho fictitious creature so called. 
 » My behavior. « Caves and dens. 
 
 It was my hint to speak such was the process : 
 And of the C umibals that each other eat. 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline : [hear, 
 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thenfo; 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up my discourse : Which I observing, 
 Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard 
 But not intentively :* I did consent; 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke. 
 That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
 She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing 
 
 strange ; 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 
 She wish'd, she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
 That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd 
 
 me ; 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that Lv'd hsr, 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story. 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake; 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 
 This only is the witchcraft I have used ; 
 Here comes the lady, let her witness it. 
 
 Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. I think, this tale would win my daughter 
 Good Brabantio, [too. — 
 
 Take up this mangled matter at the best : 
 Men do their broken weapons rather use, 
 Than their bare hands. 
 
 B7-a. I pray you, hear her speak; 
 
 If she confess, that she was half the wooer. 
 Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
 Light on the man ! — Come hither, gentle mistress ; 
 Do you perceive in all this noble comp.iny. 
 Where most you owe obedience 1 
 
 Des. My noble father, 
 
 I do perceive here a divided duty : 
 To you I am bound for life and education ; 
 My life, and education, both do learn me 
 How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, 
 I am hitherto your daughter: But here's my hus- 
 And so much duty as my mother show'd [band ; 
 To j^ou, preferring you before her father. 
 So much I challenge that I may profess 
 Due to the Moor, my lord. 
 
 Bra. God be with you !. — I have done,— 
 
 Please it your grace, on to the state affairs : 
 I had rather to adopt a child, than get it. — 
 Come hither. Moor : 
 
 I here do give thee that with all my heart. 
 Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
 I would keep from thee. — For your sake, jewel, 
 I am glad at soul I have no other child ; 
 For thy escape would teach me tyranny. 
 To hang clogs on them. — I have done, my lord. 
 
 Duke. liCt me speak like yourself, and lay a 
 sentence. 
 Which, as a grise,* or step, may help these lover* 
 Into your favor. 
 
 « Intention and attention were once synonymous. 
 3 Orise from degrees. 
 
Pprnk TTT. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 923 
 
 When remedies are past, the griefs are ended, 
 
 B)' seeing the worst, wluch late on hopes depended, 
 
 To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, 
 
 Is the next way to draw new miscliief on. 
 
 Whit cannot be prescrv'd when fortune talves, 
 
 Patience her injury a mockery malces. 
 
 The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the 
 
 thief; 
 He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 
 
 Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 
 We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
 He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears 
 But the free comfort which from thence he hears: 
 But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow. 
 That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
 These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, 
 Being strong on both sides are equivocal : 
 But words are words; I never yet did hear. 
 That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear. 
 I humbly beseech you, proceed to the aflairs of state. 
 Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation 
 makes for Cyprus: — Othello, the fortitude of the 
 place is best known to you : And though we have 
 there a substitute of most allowed suflicieney, yet 
 opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a 
 more safer voice on you : you must therefore be 
 content to slubber* the gloss of your new fortunes 
 with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. 
 
 0th. The tyrant custom, most grave senators. 
 Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
 My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize' 
 A natural and prompt alacrity, 
 I find in hardness, and do undertake 
 These present wars against the Ottomites. 
 Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
 I crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
 Due reference of place, and exhibition,' 
 With sr.ch accommodation, and besort, 
 As levels with her breeding. 
 
 Duke. If you please, 
 
 Be't at her father's. 
 
 Bra. I'll not have it so. 
 
 0th. Nor I. 
 
 Des. Noi I ; I would not there reside. 
 
 To put my father in impatient thoughts, 
 By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
 To my unfolding lend a gracious ear ; 
 And let me find a' charter in your voice, 
 To assist my simpleness. 
 
 Duke. What would you, Desdemona? 
 Des, That I did love the Moor to live with him. 
 My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
 May irumpet to the world ; my heart's subdued 
 Evci. to the very quality of my lord : 
 I sav Othello's visage in his mind ; 
 And to his honors, and his valiant parts. 
 Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
 So that, dear lords, if 1 be left behind, 
 A moth of peace, and he go to the wa r. 
 The rites, for which I love him, are bereft me. 
 And I a heavy interim shall support 
 By his dear absence : Let me go with him. 
 
 0th. Your voices, lords: — 'beseech you, let her 
 Have a free way. [will 
 
 Vouch with me, heaven ; I therefore beg it not. 
 To please the palate of my appetite ; 
 Nor to comply with heat, the young cflects,' 
 Vn niy distinct and proper satisfaction ; 
 
 But to be free and bounteous to her mind: 
 
 And heaven defend^ your good souls, that you think 
 
 I will your serious and great business scant. 
 
 For* she is with me: No, when light-w'mg'd toy? 
 
 Of feather'd Cupid sceP with wanton dulnes.s 
 
 My speculative and active instruments. 
 
 That my disports corrupt and taint my business, 
 
 Let housewives make a skillet' of my helm,'^ 
 
 And all indign and base adversities 
 
 Make head against my estimation! 
 
 Du\e. Be it as you shall privately determine. 
 Either for her stay, or going : the alTair cries — hasta, 
 And speed must answer it; you mu6 ';€nce tO" 
 night. 
 Des. To-niglit, my lord ? 
 Duke. This night. 
 
 0th. With all my heart. 
 
 Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet 
 again. 
 Othello, leave some officer behind, 
 And he shall our commission bring to you; 
 With such things else of quality and respect, 
 As doth import you. 
 
 0th. Please your grace, my ancient, 
 
 A man he is of honesty and trust: 
 To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
 With what else needful your good grace shall think 
 To be sent after me. 
 
 Duke. Let it be so. — 
 
 Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, 
 
 [7b Brabantio. 
 If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
 Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 
 
 1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor! use Desdemona weH. 
 Bra. Look to her. Moor ; have a quick eye to see , 
 She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 
 
 [^Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, S(C. 
 0th. My life upon her faith. — Honest lago, 
 My Desdemona must I leave to thee; 
 I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her; 
 And bring them after in the best advantage. — 
 Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour 
 Of love, of worldly matters and direction. 
 To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 
 
 [^Exeunt Othello and DESDEJioif a 
 Rod. lago. 
 
 iff^o. What say'st thou, noble heart] 
 Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou] 
 lago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 
 Rod. I will incontinently' drown myself. 
 lago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thea 
 after it. Why, thou silly gentleman! 
 
 Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a tor- 
 ment: and then have we a prescription to di«,when 
 death is our physician. 
 
 lago. villanous! I have looked upon the -world 
 for four times seven years ! and since I could dis- 
 tinguish between a benefit and an injury, I nevei 
 found a man that knew how to love himself Era 
 I would say, I would drown myself for the love of 
 a Guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with 
 a baboon. 
 
 Rod. What should I do] I confess it is m? 
 
 ' Forbid. 
 
 * A small kettle. 
 
 » Because. 
 » Helmet. 
 
 9 Blind. 
 
 3 Immediate] T 
 
 * Ohscurc. 
 « Allowanc* 
 
 » Acknowledge. 
 ' Affections. 
 
B24 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act 11 
 
 shame ;o be so fond, but it is not in my virtue to 
 amend it. 
 
 lago. Virtue 1 a fig ! 'tis in ourselves, that we 
 are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to 
 the which, our wills are gardeners: so that if we 
 will plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; set hyssop, and 
 weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, 
 or distract it with many ; either to hare it steril 
 with idleness, or manured with industry; why, the 
 power and corrigible authority of this lies in oui 
 wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale 
 of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood 
 and baseness of our natures would conduct us to 
 most preposterous conclusions : But we have reason 
 to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our 
 unbitted* lust; whereof I take this, that you call — 
 love, to be a sect,' or scion. 
 
 Rod. It cannot be. 
 
 lago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a per- 
 .Tiission of the will. Come, be a man : Drown thy- 
 self? drown cats, and blind puppies. I have pro- 
 fessed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy 
 deserving with cables of perdurable toughness ; I 
 could never better stead thee than now. Put 
 money in thy purse ; follow these wars ; defeat thy 
 favor with an usurped beard !° I say, put money in 
 thy purse. It cannot be, that Desdemona should 
 long continue her love to the Moor, — put money in 
 thy purse ; — nor he his to her : it was a violent com- 
 mencement, and thou shalt see an answerable se- 
 questration ; — put but money in thy purse. — These 
 Moors are changeable in their wills ; — fill thy purse 
 with money: the food that to him now is as lus- 
 cious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as 
 coloquintida. She must change for youth : when 
 she is sated with his body, she will find the error 
 of her choice. — She must have change, she must : 
 therefore put money in thy purse. — If thou wilt 
 needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than 
 drowning. Make all the money thou canst: If 
 sanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring bar- 
 barian and a supersubtle Venetian, be not too hard 
 for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt en- 
 joy her ; therefore make money. A pox of drown- 
 ing thjself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou 
 
 rather to bs hanged in compassing thy joy, than ta 
 be drowned and go without her. 
 
 Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend 
 on the issue 1 
 
 lago. Thou art sure of me; — Go, make money: 
 — I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again 
 and again, I hate the Moor : My cause is hearted: 
 thine hath no less reason: Let us be conjunctive in 
 our revenge against him : if thou canst cuckold hira, 
 thou dost thyself a pleasure, and me a sport. There 
 are many events in the womb of time, which will 
 be delivered. Traverse ;' go ; provide thy morioy. 
 We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. 
 
 Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning 1 
 
 lago. At my lodging. 
 
 Rod. I'll be with thee betimes. 
 
 lago. Go to; farewell. Do you hear, liodergo? 
 
 Rod. What say you ] 
 
 lago. No more of drowning, do you hear 1 
 
 Rod. I am changed. I'll sell all my land. 
 
 lago. Go to ; farewell ; put money enough in 
 your purse. \^Exii Roderigo 
 
 Thus do I ever make my fool my purse : 
 For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, 
 If I would time expend with such a snipe, 
 But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor; 
 And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets 
 He has done my office : I know not if 't be true : 
 But I, for mere suspicion in that kind. 
 Will do, as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
 The better shall my purpose work on him. 
 Cassio's a proper man : Let me see now ; 
 To get his place, and to plume up my will ; 
 A double knavery, — How? howl — Let me see: — ■ 
 After some time, to abuse Othello's ear, 
 That he is too familiar with his wife : — 
 He hath a person, and a smooth dispose. 
 To be suspected ; framed to make women false. 
 The Moor is of a free and open nature. 
 That thinks men honest that but seem 'o be so ; 
 And will as tenderly be led by the nose. 
 As asses are. 
 
 I have't ; — it is engender'd : — Hell and night 
 Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Sea-port Town in Cyprus. A 
 Platform. 
 
 Enter Montano atid two Gentlemen. 
 
 Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea ? 
 
 1 Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high-wrought 
 
 flood ; 
 I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main. 
 Descry a sail. 
 
 Mon. Methinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at 
 
 land : 
 \ fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements : 
 If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea. 
 What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them. 
 Can hold the mortise? what shall we hear of this? 
 
 2 Gent A segregation' of the Turkish fleet : 
 For do bu .itaiid upon the foaming shore, 
 The chiding billow seems to pelt the clouds ; 
 
 * Unbridled. 
 
 » A sect is what the gar Jeners call a cutting. 
 « Change your countenance with a false beard. 
 ' Separation, 
 
 The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous 
 
 main. 
 Seems to cast water on the ourning bear,' 
 And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : 
 I never did like molestation view 
 On th' enchafed flood. 
 
 Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 
 
 Be not inshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd-* 
 It is impossible they bear it out. 
 
 Enter a third Gentleman. 
 
 3 Gent. News, lords ! our wars aie done ; 
 The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, 
 That their designment halts : A noble ship of Venics 
 Hath seen a grievous wreck and suflferance 
 On most part of their fleet. 
 
 Mon. How ! is this true 1 
 
 3 Gent. The ship is here put in, 
 A Veronese ; Michael Cassio, 
 Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello, 
 
 » An ancient military word of command. 
 * The constellation near the polar star 
 
8CENE I. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VP^NICB. 
 
 929 
 
 Ts come on si .ore: The Moor himself 's at sea, 
 Anil is in full commission here for Cyprus. 
 
 Mon. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. 
 
 J Genf. But this same Cassio, — though he speaks 
 of comfort, 
 Touching the Turkish loss, — ^yet he looks sadly, 
 And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted 
 With foul and violent tempest. 
 
 Won. 'Pray heaven he be ; 
 
 For I have serv'd him, and the man commands 
 Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, ho! 
 As well to see the vessel that's come in. 
 As throv? out our eyes for brave Othello ; 
 Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue, 
 An indistinct regard. 
 
 3 Gent. Come, let's do so ; 
 For every minute is expectancy 
 
 Of more arrivance. 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 
 Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle, 
 That so approve the Moor ; 0, let the heavens 
 Give him defence against the elements, 
 For I have lost him on a dangerous sea 1 
 
 Mon. Is he well shipp'd 1 
 
 Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
 Of very expert and approv'd allowance:' 
 Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 
 Stand in bold cure. 
 
 \^Within.'\ A sail, a sail, a sail! 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Cas. What noise 1 
 
 4 Gent. The town is empty ; on the brow o' the 
 
 sea 
 stand ranks of people, and they cry — a sail. 
 
 Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 
 
 2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of cour- 
 tesy: [Guns heard. 
 Our friends, at least. 
 
 Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, 
 
 And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. 
 
 2 Gent. I shall. [Exit. 
 
 Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wivedl 
 
 Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid 
 That paragons description, and wild fame ; 
 One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 
 And in the essential vesture of creation, 
 Does bear all excellency. — How now? who has 
 put in 1 
 
 Re-enter second Gentleman. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. 
 
 Cas. He has had most favorable and happy speed: 
 Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds. 
 The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, — 
 Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, 
 As hcving sense of beauty, do omit 
 Their mortal* natures, letting go safely by 
 The divine Desdcmona. 
 
 Mon. What is she? 
 
 Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's 
 captain. 
 Left in the conduct of the bold Ligo; 
 Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, 
 A se'nnight's speed.— Groat .love, Othello guard, 
 And swell his sail with thine own ])owrrful breath; 
 Tliiit he may bless this bay with his tall ship. 
 Make love's quick pants in Dcsdcmona's arms, 
 
 ' Allowed and approved expertncsa. 
 » Deadly, destructive. 
 
 Give renew'd fire to our extinctcd spirits, 
 And bring all Cyprus comfort ! — O, behold, 
 
 Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Rodeuigo, ana 
 Attendants. 
 
 The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
 Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees ; — 
 Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
 Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
 Env/heel thee round ! 
 
 Des. I thank you, valiant Cassis 
 
 What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 
 
 Cas. He is not yet arrived ; nor know I aught 
 But that he's well, and will be shortly here. 
 
 Des. O, but I fear; — How lost you company? 
 
 Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
 Parted our fellowship : But, hark I a sail ! 
 
 [Cry within, A sail, a sail ! Then Guns heard. 
 
 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel ; 
 This likewise is a friend. 
 
 Cas. See for the news. — 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 Good ancient, you are welcome ; — Welcome, mis- 
 tress: — [To Emilia 
 Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, 
 That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
 That gives me this bold show of courtesy. 
 
 [Kissing her 
 
 Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, 
 As of her tongue she oft bestows on me. 
 You'd have enough. 
 
 Des. Alas, she has no speech. 
 
 Iago. In faith, too much : 
 I find it still, when I have list' to sleep. 
 Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
 She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
 And chides with thinking. 
 
 Emit. You have little cause to say so. 
 
 Iago. Come on, come on ; you are pictures out 
 of doors. 
 Bells in your parlors, wild cats in your kitchens, 
 Saints in j'our injuries, devils being oflended, 
 Players in your housewifery, and housewives in 
 your beds. 
 
 Des. O, fye on thee, slanderer ! 
 
 Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk ; 
 You rise to play, and go to bed to work. 
 
 Emit. You shall not write my praise. 
 
 Iago. No, let me not. 
 
 Des. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou 
 shouldst praise me ? 
 
 Iago. O, gentle lady, do not put me to't ; 
 For I am nothing, if not critical. 
 
 Des. Come on, assay : — There's one gone to the 
 
 Iago. Ay, madam. [harbor? 
 
 Des. I am not merry : but I do beguile 
 The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. — 
 Come, how wouldst thou praise me ? 
 
 Iago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention 
 Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize; 
 It plucks out brains and all: But my muse labors, 
 And thus she is delivered. 
 If she be fair and wise, — f\iirness, and wit. 
 The one's for use, the other uscth it. [witty? 
 
 Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and 
 
 Idgo. If she be black, and thereto have a wit. 
 She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit 
 
 Des. Worse and worse. 
 
 Emit. How, if fair and foolish ? 
 
 ' Desire 
 
026 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act ,11 
 
 lugo. Ohe never yet was foolish that was fair ; 
 For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 
 
 Des. These are old fond* paradoxes, to make 
 fools langh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise 
 nast thou for her that's foul and fiolish 1 
 
 lago. There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, 
 But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. 
 
 Des. O heavy ignorance ! — thou praisest the 
 worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow 
 on a deserving woman indeed 1 one, that, in the 
 authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch 
 of very malice itself? 
 
 lago. She that was ever fair, and never proud ; 
 Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud ; 
 Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay; 
 Fled from her wish, and yet said, — noiv I may ,■ 
 She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
 Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly ; 
 She, that in wisdom never was so frail, 
 To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail ; 
 She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind, 
 See suitors following, and not look behind ; 
 She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, — 
 
 Des. To do what 1 
 
 lago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. 
 
 Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! — 
 Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy 
 husband. — How say you, Cassio ! is he not a most 
 profane and liberal counsellor ? 
 
 Cas. He speaks home, madam ; you may relish 
 him more in the soldier, than in the scholar. 
 
 lago. \^Aside.'] He takes her by the palm : Ay, 
 well said, whisper: with as little a web as this will 
 I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon 
 her, do. I will gyve' thee in thine own courtship. 
 You say true ; 'tis so, indeed : if such tricks as 
 lliese strip you out of your licutenantry, it had been 
 better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, 
 which now again you are most apt to play the sir 
 in." Very good ; well kissed ! an excellent cour- 
 tesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again, your fingers to 
 your lips] would they were clyster-pipes, for your 
 
 sake. [^Trumpet.'] The Moor, I know his 
 
 ♦rumpet. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis truly so. 
 
 Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. 
 
 Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 
 
 Ente7 Othello, and Attendants. 
 
 0th. O my fair warrior ! 
 
 Des. My dear Othello! 
 
 0th. It gives me wonder great as my content, 
 . To see you here before me. ■ O my soul's joy ! 
 If after every tempest come such calms, 
 May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ! 
 And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas 
 Oiympus-high ; and duck again as low 
 As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, 
 'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear. 
 My soul hath her content so absolute. 
 That not another comfort like to this j 
 
 ■Succeeds in unknown fate. 
 
 Des. The heavens forbid. 
 
 But that our loves and comforts should increase, 
 Even as our days do grow ! 
 
 0th. Amen to that, sweet powers ! — 
 
 I cannot speak enough of this content. 
 It stops me here ; it is too much of joy : 
 
 « Foolish. » Shackle, fetter. 
 
 • Your good-breeding and gallantry. 
 
 And this, and this, the greatest discords he, 
 
 [Kissing her 
 That e'er our hearts shall make ! 
 
 lago. O you are well tuned now ! 
 
 But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, 
 As honest as I am. \_Aside. 
 
 0th. Come, let's to the castle. — 
 
 News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are 
 
 drown 'd. 
 How do our old acquaintance of this isle ] — 
 Honey, you shall be well desir'd' in Cypnis, 
 I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, 
 I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
 In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee, good lago, 
 Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers : 
 Bring thou the master to the citadel ; 
 He is a good one, and his worthiness 
 Docs challenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona, 
 Once more well met at Cyprus. 
 
 \_Exeiint Othello, Desdemona, and 
 Attendants. 
 lago. Do thou meet me presently at the harbor. 
 Come hither. If thou be'st valiant as (they say) 
 base men, being in love, have then a nobility in 
 their natures more than is native to them, — list 
 me.' The lieutenant to-night watches on the court 
 of guard: — First, I must tell thee this — Desdemo 
 na is directly in love with him. 
 
 Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible. 
 lago. Lay thy finger — thus, and let thy soul be 
 instructed. Tilark me with what violence she firGi 
 loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her 
 fantastical lies : And will she love him still for 
 prating 1 let not thy discreet heart think it. Her 
 eye must be fed ; and what delight shall she have 
 to look on the devil ? When the blood is made 
 dull with the act of sport, there should be, — again 
 to inflame it, and to give satiety a fresh appetite, — 
 loveliness in favor; sympathy in years, manners, 
 and beauties ; all which the Moor is defective in : 
 Now, for want of these required conveniences, her 
 delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to 
 heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor ; very 
 nature will instruct her in it, and compel her to 
 some second choice. Now, sir, this granted, (as it 
 is a most pregnant and unforced position,) who 
 stands so eminently in the degree of this fortune, 
 as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further 
 conscionable, than in putting on the mere form of 
 civil and humane seeming, for the better compass- 
 ing of his salt and more hidden loose affection ? 
 why, none ; why, none : A slippery and subtle 
 knave : a finder out of occasions ; that has an eye 
 can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true 
 advantage never present itself: A devilish knave 5 
 besides, the knave is handsome, young ; and hath 
 all those requisites in him, that folly and green 
 minds look after: A pestilent complete knave ; and 
 the woman hath found him already. 
 
 Rod. I cannot believe that in her; she is full of 
 most blessed condition.' 
 
 lago. Blessed fig's end ! the wine she drinks is 
 made of grapes: if she Lad been blessed, she would 
 never have loved the Moor: Blessed pudding! 
 Didst thou rot see her paddle with the palm of his 
 hand? didst not mark that? 
 
 Rod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but cour- 
 tesy 
 
 1 JIuch solicited by invitation. • Listen to me. 
 
 stiualities, disposition of the mind. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 927 
 
 Trt^o. T.cchery, liy thi;' han.l, an index and ob- 
 srure prologue to the history of lust and foul 
 thoughts. They met so near with their lips, that 
 theirbreathiscmbi-aoed together. Villanous thoughts, 
 I^oderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the 
 way, hard at hand comes the master and main ex- 
 ercise, the incorporate conclusion: — Pish! — But, 
 sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from 
 Venice. Watch you to-night ; for the command, 
 I'll lay't upon you : Cassio knows you not; — I'll 
 not be far fi-om you : Do you find some occasion 
 to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or 
 tamting his discipline ; or from what other course 
 you please, whicli the time shall more favorably 
 minister 
 
 Rod. Well. 
 
 logo. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler; 
 and, haply, with his truncheon may strike at you : 
 Provoke him, that he may : for, even out of that, 
 will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qua- 
 lification shall come into no true taste again, but 
 by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a 
 shorter journey to your desires, by the means I 
 shall then have to prefer them; and the impediment 
 most profitably removed, without the which there 
 were no expectation of our prosperity. 
 
 Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any op- 
 jjortunity. 
 
 logo. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at 
 he citadel : I must fetch his necessaries ashore. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Rod. Adieu. [Exit. 
 
 Iiigo. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; 
 That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit : 
 The Moor — howbeit that I endure hmi not — ■ 
 Is of a constant, loving, noble nature ; 
 And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona 
 A most dear husliand. Now I do love her too ; 
 Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure, 
 I stand accountant for as great a sin,) 
 But partly led to diet my revenge. 
 For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
 Hath Icap'd into my seat : the thought whereof 
 Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; 
 And nothing can or shall content my soul, 
 Till I am even with him, wife for wife ; 
 Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor 
 At least into a jealousy so strong 
 That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, — 
 If this poor trash' of Venice, whom I trace* 
 For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
 I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip ; 
 Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb,' — 
 For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too ; 
 Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me, 
 For making him egregiously an ass. 
 And practising upon his peace and quiet 
 Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confus'd ; 
 Knavery's plain fiice is never seen, till used. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— J Street. 
 
 Enter a Herald, ivith a Proclamation, People 
 
 fullowing. 
 
 Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and 
 raliant general, that, upon certain tidings now ar- 
 rived, importing the mere* perdition of the Turkish 
 
 ' Worthless hound. 
 
 ^'J'lio term for a clog put on a hound, so hinder his 
 
 «ln the ;;rossest manner. « Entire. 
 
 fleet, every man put himself into triur/iph; some 
 to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what 
 sport and revels his addiction leads him ; for, be- 
 sides these beneficial news, it is the celcbra tion of hia 
 nuptials: So much was his pleasure should be pro- 
 claimed. All oflices* are open ; and there is full 
 liberty of feasting, from this present hour of five, 
 till the bell hath told eleven. Heaven bless the isle 
 of Cyprus, and our noble general, Othello. 
 
 [Exeutit. 
 
 SCENE HI.— ^ Hall in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- 
 night : 
 Let's teach ourselves that honorable stop, 
 Not to out-sport discretion. 
 
 Cas. lago hath direction what to do ; 
 But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
 Will I look to't. 
 
 Ofh. lago is most honest. 
 
 Michael, good night: To-morrow, with our earliest, 
 Let me have speech with you. — Come, my dear 
 
 love, 
 The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ; 
 
 [To Desdemona. 
 That profit's yet to couic 'twixt me and you.- — 
 Good night. 
 
 [Exeunt Oth., Des., and Attendants. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 Cas. Welcome, lago: We must to the watch. 
 
 Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not yet ten 
 o'clock: Our general cast* us thus early, for the 
 love of his Desdemona; whom let us not therefore 
 blame ; he hath not yet made wanton the night 
 with her : and she is sport for Jove. 
 
 Cas. She's a most exquisite lady. 
 
 logo. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. 
 
 Cas. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate 
 creat\ire. 
 
 Iago. What an eye she has ! methinks it sounds 
 a parley of provocation. 
 
 Cas. An inviting eye ; and yet methinks right 
 modest. 
 
 Iago. And, when she speaks, is it not an alarm 
 to love 7 
 
 Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. 
 
 Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, 
 lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine ; and here with- 
 out are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain 
 have a measure to the health of the black Othello, 
 
 Cas. Not to-night, good Iago; I have very poor 
 and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish 
 courtesy would invent some other custom of enter 
 tainment. 
 
 Iago. O, they are our friends; but one cup; I'll 
 drink for you. 
 
 Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that 
 was craftily qualified' too, and behold, what inno- 
 vation it makes here : I am unfortunate in the in- 
 firmity, and dare not task my weakness with any 
 more. 
 
 Iago. What, man ! 'tis a night of rovcls ; th« 
 gallants desire it. 
 
 » Roomf!, or places in the cnrtle. 
 
 • Dismissed. ' Slily mixed with water. 
 
928 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Cos. Where are they? 
 
 fago. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. 
 
 Cas. I'll (io"t; but it dislikes me. [^Exit Cassio. 
 
 logo. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 
 With that which he hath drunk to-night already. 
 He'll be as full of quarrel and offence 
 As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sici fool, 
 
 Roderigo, 
 M horn love has turn'd almost the wrong side out- 
 ward. 
 To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
 Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch: 
 Three lads of Cyprus, — noble swelling spirits, 
 That hold their honors in a wary distance 
 The very elements of this warlike isle, — 
 Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, 
 And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 
 
 drunkards. 
 Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
 That may offend the isle: — But here they come: 
 If consequence do but approve my dream, 
 My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. 
 
 Re-enter Cassio, with him Montano, and 
 Gentlemen. 
 
 Vas, 'Fore heaven, they have given me arouse' 
 already. 
 
 Mo?i. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, 
 as I am a soldier. 
 
 ^ago. Some wine, ho! 
 
 And let me the canakin clink, clink; [Sings. 
 And let me the caiiakin clink: 
 
 A soldicr\'! a man,- 
 
 A life's but a span,- 
 Why then, let a soldier drink. 
 
 Some wine, boys ! [ Wi7ie brought in. 
 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. 
 
 lago. I learned it in England, where (indeed) 
 they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your 
 German, and your swag-bellied Hollander, — Drink, 
 ho ! — are nothing to your English. 
 
 Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drink - 
 ingl 
 
 logo. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your 
 Dane dead drunk ; he sweats not to overthrow 
 your Almain ; he gives your Hollander a vomit, 
 ere the next pottle can be filled. 
 
 Cas. To the health of our general. [justice.* 
 
 Mon. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I'll do you 
 
 lago. O sweet England ! 
 
 King Stephen ivas a ivorthy peer,'' 
 
 His breeches cost him but a crown; 
 
 He held them sixpence nil too dear, 
 
 With that he caWd the tailor — lown.^ 
 
 He was a wight of high renown, 
 
 And thou art but of low degree: 
 
 ^Tis pride that pulls the country down, 
 
 Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
 
 Some wine, ho! 
 
 Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the 
 other. 
 
 lago. Will you hear it again ? 
 
 Cas. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his 
 
 place, that does those things. — Well, — Heaven's 
 
 above all; and there be souls that must be saved, 
 
 and there be souls must not be saved. 
 
 ' A little more than enough. * Drink as much as you do. 
 ' 4 worthy fellow. « Clown. 
 
 lago. It's true, good lieutenant. 
 
 Cas. For mine own part,- — no offence to th« 
 general, or any man of quality, — I hope to bo 
 saved. 
 
 logo. And so do I too, lieutenant. 
 
 Cas. Ay. but, by your leave, not before me ; the 
 lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's 
 have no more of this; let's to our affairs. — Forgive 
 us our sins! — Gentlemen, let's look to our busi- 
 ness. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk; this 
 is my ancient; — this is my right hand, and this is 
 my left hand: — I am not drunk now; I can stand 
 well enough, and speak well enough. 
 
 All. Excellent well. 
 
 Cas. Why, very well, then : you must not think 
 then that I am drunk. [Exit. 
 
 Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let's set 
 the watch. 
 
 lago. You see this fellow that is gone before; — 
 He is a soldier, fit to stand by Caesar 
 And give direction; and do but see his vice; . 
 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox. 
 The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him, 
 I fear, the trust Othello puts him in. 
 On some odd time of his infirmity 
 Will shake this island. 
 
 Mon. But is he often thusT 
 
 lago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep; 
 He'll watch the horologe a double set,' 
 If drink rock not his cradle. 
 
 Mon. It were well, 
 
 The generalwere put in mind of it. 
 Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature 
 Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
 And looks not on his evils: Is not this true? 
 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 
 [Aside, 
 
 lago. How now, Roderigo? 
 I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. 
 
 [Exit Ronr.RiGO. 
 
 Mon. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor 
 Should hazard such a place, as his own second, 
 With one of an ingi-aft' infirmity: 
 It were an honest action, to say 
 So to the Moor. 
 
 lago. Not I, for this fair island : 
 
 I do love Cassio well; and would do much 
 To cure him of this evil. But hark! what noise? 
 [Cry luithin. — Help! help! 
 
 Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. 
 
 Cas. You rogue ! you rascal ! 
 
 Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant? 
 
 Cas. A knave ! — teach me my duty ! 
 I'll beat the knave into a twiggen' bottle. 
 
 Rod. Beat me ! 
 
 Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue? 
 
 [Striking Roderigo. 
 
 Mon. Nay, good lieutenant; [Staying him. 
 I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 
 
 Cas. Let me go, sir, 
 
 Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. 
 
 Mon. Come, come, you're drunk. 
 
 Cas. Drunk! [They fgkt. 
 
 lago. Away, I say! go out, and cry — a mutiny 
 [Aside to Rod., who goes out 
 Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen, — 
 Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — sir,— 
 
 ' 'While th J clocl. strikes two rounds, or four-and-twentj 
 hours. ' Rooted, settled. * A wicker'd N)ttle 
 
Scene III. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 9*29 
 
 Help, masters ! — Here's a gooJIy watch, indeed ! 
 
 \^Bell rings. 
 Who's that that rings the bell 1— Diablo, ho ! 
 The town will rise; God's will, lieutenant, hold ! 
 You will be shamed for ever. 
 
 Enter Othello, and Attendanta. 
 
 0th. What is the matter here 1 
 
 Mo7i I bleed still, I am hurt to the death; — he 
 
 0th. Hold, for your liveq. £dics. 
 
 lago. Hold, hold, lieutenant, sir, Montano, — 
 gentlemen, — 
 Have you forgot all sense of place and duty 1 
 Hold, hold ! the general speaks to you ; hold, for 
 shame! [this] 
 
 0th. Why, how new, ho ! from whence ariseth 
 Are we turn'd Turks ; and to ourselves do thai. 
 Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 
 For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: 
 He that stirs next to carve for his own rage. 
 Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. — 
 Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle 
 From her propriety. — What is the matter, masters ? 
 Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving. 
 Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. 
 
 lago. I do not know ; — friends all but now, even 
 now, 
 In quarter, and in terms hke bride and groom 
 Devesting them for bed : and then, but now, 
 (As if some planet had unvvitted men,) 
 Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, 
 In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
 Any beginning to this peevish odds; 
 And 'would in action glorious I had lost 
 These legs, that brought me to a part of it ! 
 
 Ofh. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot ? 
 
 Gas. I pray you pardon me, I cannot speak. 
 
 Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; 
 The gravity and stillness of your youth 
 The world hath noted, and your name is great 
 In mouths of wisest censure ; What's the matter, 
 That you unlace your reputation thus, 
 And spend your rich opinion, for the name 
 Of a night brawler 1 give me answer to it. 
 
 Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger; 
 Your officer, lago, can inform you — 
 While I spare speech, which something now offends 
 
 me — 
 Of all that I do know : nor know I aught 
 By me that's said or done amiss this night; 
 Unless self-charity be sometime a vice ; 
 And to defend ourselves it be a sin. 
 When violence assails us. 
 
 Oth. Now, by heaven. 
 
 My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
 And passion, having my best judgment collied,' 
 Assays to lead the way : If once I stir, 
 Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
 Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
 How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 
 And he that is approv'd^ in this offence, 
 Tiiough he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth. 
 Shall lose nic. — What! in a town of war, 
 Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, 
 To manage private and domestic quarrel, 
 (n night, and on the court and guard of safety ! 
 Tis monstrous. — lago, who began it ] 
 
 \Ion. If partially alHn'd,^ or leagu'd in office, 
 
 « Darkened. ' Convicted by proof 
 
 • I? elated by nearness of otfioi!. 
 
 Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
 I'hou art no soldier. 
 
 logo. Touch me not so near : 
 
 I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouthi 
 Than it should do oflence to Michael Cassio; 
 Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
 Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general. 
 Montano and myself being in speech, 
 There comes a fellow, crying out for help ; 
 And Cassio following him with determin'd sward. 
 To execute upon him : Sir, this gentleman 
 Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause; 
 Myself the crying fellow did pursue. 
 Lest, by his clamor, (as it so fell out,) 
 The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, 
 Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
 For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, 
 And Cassio high in oath; which, till to night, 
 I ne'er might say before : when I came back, 
 (For this was brief) I found them close together, 
 At blow, and thrust; even as again they were. 
 When you yourself did part them. 
 More of th-s matter can I not report : — 
 But men are men; the best sometimes forget: — 
 'i'hough Cassio did some little wrong to him, — 
 As men in rage strike those that wish them best;— 
 Yet, surely, Cassio, I believe, rcceiv'd, 
 From him that fled, some strange indignity, 
 Which patience could not pass. 
 
 Oth. I know, lago, 
 
 Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
 Making it light to Cassio: — Cassio, I love thee: 
 But never more be officer of min-e. — 
 
 Eater Desoemosa, attended. 
 
 Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up; — 
 I'll make thee an example. 
 
 Des. What's the matter, dear 1 
 
 Oth. All's well now, sweeting ; Come away to bed. 
 Sir, for your hurts. 
 Myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. 
 
 [7b MoNTAJfo, who is led off, 
 lago, look with care about the town ; 
 A nd silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. — ■ 
 Come, Desdemona ; 'tis the soldier's life. 
 To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. 
 \_Exeunt all hut Iago and Cassio. 
 
 lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? 
 
 Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 
 
 Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 
 
 Cus. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I 
 have lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal 
 part, sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. — 
 My reputation, Iago, my reputation. 
 
 Iago. As r am an honest man, I thought you had 
 received some bodily wound ; tiicre is more offence 
 in that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle 
 and most false imposition ; oft got without merit, 
 and lost without deserving : You have lost no repu 
 tation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser 
 What, man ! there are ways to recover the generaJ 
 again : You are but now cast in his mood,' a 
 punishment more in policy than in malice ; even 
 so as one would beat his offenceless dog, to alfright 
 an imperious lion : sue to him again, and he's yours 
 
 Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to 
 
 deceive so good a commander, with so slight, so 
 
 drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk] and 
 
 speak parrot ! ' and squal)lile ] swagger ? sweai '' an«? 
 
 ' Dismissed in his anger. » Talk idly 
 
930 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act in 
 
 discourse fustian with one's own shadow? — Othou 
 invisible spirit of wine, if thou ha.st no name to be 
 known by, let us call thee — devil ! 
 
 lago. What was he that you followed with your 
 sword 1 What had he done to you ? 
 
 Cas. I know not. 
 
 lago. Is it possible ? 
 
 Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing dis- 
 tinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. — O, that 
 men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal 
 awaytheirbrains! that weshould,with joy, rcvel,p!ea- 
 Bure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! 
 
 lago. Why, but you are now well enough : How 
 came you thus recovered ] 
 
 Cas. It hath pleased the devil, drunkenness, to 
 give place to the devil, wrath : one unperfectness 
 showsmeanother,tomakemefranklydespisehimself. 
 
 lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler: As 
 the time, the place, and the condition of this country 
 stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen ; 
 but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. 
 
 Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall 
 tell me, I am a drunkard ! Had I as many mouths 
 as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To 
 be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and pre- 
 sently a beast ! strange ! — Every inordinate cup 
 is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. 
 ia^o.Come,come, good wine is a good familiar crea- 
 ture, if it be well used ; exclaim no more against it. 
 And, good lieutenant, I think, you think I love you. 
 
 Cas. I have well approved it, sir. — I drunk 1 
 
 lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at 
 some time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. 
 Our general's wife is now the general : — I may say 
 BO in this respect, for that he hath devoted and 
 given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and 
 denotement of her parts and graces : — confess 
 yourself freely to her ; importune her ; she'll help to 
 put you in your place again: she is of so free, so 
 kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, that she holds 
 it a vice in her goodness, not to do more than she 
 is requested : This broken joint, between you and 
 her husband, entreat her to splinter; and, my for- 
 tunes against any lay' worth naming, this crack 
 of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. 
 
 Cas. You advise me well. 
 
 lago. I protest in the sincerity of love, and honest 
 kindness. 
 
 Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morn- 
 ing, I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to un- 
 dertake for me : I am desperate of my fortunes, 
 if they check me here. 
 
 lago. You are in the right. Good night, lieu- 
 tenant ; I must to the watch. 
 
 Cas. Good night, honest lago. [Exit Cassio. 
 
 lago. And what's he then, that says, — I play tha 
 W hen this advice is free, I give, and honest, [villain 
 Probal to thinking, and (indeed) the course 
 To win the Moor again ] For, 'tis most easy 
 The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
 In any honest suit : she's framed as fruitful' 
 As the free elements. And then for her 
 To win the Moor, were't to renounce his baptisra 
 All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,— 
 His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, 
 That she may make, unmake, do what she list, 
 Even as her appetite shall play the god 
 With his weak function. How am I then a villain, 
 To counsel Cassio to this parallel* course. 
 Directly to his good 1 Divinity of hell ! 
 When devils with their blackest sins put on, 
 They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, 
 As I do now : For while this honest fool 
 Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes. 
 And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
 I'll pour this pestilence into liis ear, — 
 That she repeals" him for her love of him ; 
 And, by how much she strives to do him good. 
 She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
 So will I turn her virtue into pitch; 
 And out of her own goodness make the net. 
 That shall enmesh them all. — How now, Roderigo ? 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 
 Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a 
 hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My 
 money is almost spent ; I have been to-night ex- 
 ceedingly well cudgelled ; and, I think, the issue 
 will be — I shall have so much experience for my 
 pains : and so, with no money at all, and a little 
 more wit, return to Venice. [tience! — 
 
 lago. How poor are they, that have no pa- 
 What wound did ever heal, but by degrees 1 
 Thou know'st we work by wit,and not by witchcraft- 
 And wit depends on dilatory time. 
 Docs't not go well 1 Cassio hath beaten thee. 
 And thou, by that small hurt, hath cashier'd Cassio , 
 Though other things grow fair against the sun. 
 Yet fruits that blossom first, will first be ripe : 
 Content thyself a while. — By the mass,'tis morning; 
 Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short. — 
 Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
 Away, I say ; thou shalt know more hereafter : 
 Nay, get thee gone. \_Exit. Rod.] Two things are 
 
 to be done, — 
 My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
 I'll set her on ; 
 
 Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart, 
 And bring him jump' when he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife : — Ay, that's the way : 
 Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE \.— Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter Cassio, and some Musicians. 
 
 Cas. Masterg,play here.I will content your pains. 
 Something that's brief; and bid — good-morrow, 
 general. [Music. 
 
 Enter Clown 
 
 Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been 
 at Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus 1 
 1 Mas. How, sir, how 1 
 
 " Bet or -wager. 
 
 Clo. Are these, I pray you, calltd wind instru- 
 ments ? 
 
 1 Mas. Ay, marry, are they, sir, 
 
 Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail. 
 
 1 Mas. Whereby hangs a tale, sir 1 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument thai 
 I know. But, masters, here's money for you: and 
 the general so likes your music, that he desires you 
 of all loves, to make no more noise with it. 
 
 1 Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 
 
 1 Liberal, bountiful. 
 » Recalls. 
 
 • Even. 
 
 * Just at the time. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 931 
 
 CIo. If you have any music that may not be 
 heard, to't again : but, as they say, to hear music, 
 the general does not greatly care. 
 
 1 Mus. Wc have none such, sir. 
 
 Clc. Then put up j'our pipes in your bag, for 
 I'll away : Go ; vanish into air ; away. 
 
 \^Exeunt Musicians. 
 
 Ccts. Dost thou hear, my honest friend ] 
 
 Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. 
 
 Cos. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets.' There's a 
 poor piece of gold for thee : if the gentlewoman 
 that attcndc ti.e general's wife be stirring, tell her 
 there's one Cassio entreats her a little favor of 
 speech: Wilt thou do this? 
 
 Clo. She is stirring, sir ; if she will stir hither, I 
 shall seem to notify unto her. \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 Cas. Do, good my friend. — In happy time, Iago. 
 
 Iago. You have not been a-bed then ] 
 
 Cas. Why, no; the day had broke 
 Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, 
 To send in to your wife : My suit to her 
 Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
 Procure me some access. 
 
 Iago. I'll send her to you presently ; 
 
 And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor 
 Out of the way, that your converse and business 
 May be more free. \_Exif. 
 
 Cos. I humbly thank you for't. I never knew 
 A Florentine more kind and honest. 
 
 Enter E.-milia. 
 Emil. Good-morrow, good lieutenant: I am sorry 
 For your displeasure ; but all will soon be well. 
 The general, and his wife, are talking of it ; 
 And she speaks for you stoutly : The Moor replies. 
 That he, you hurt, is of great fame in Cyprus, 
 And great affinity; and that, ia wholesome wisdom. 
 He might not but refuse you : but, he protests, he 
 
 loves you ; 
 And needs no other suitor, but his likings, 
 To take the saf 'st occasion by the front, 
 To bring you in again. 
 
 Cas. Yet, I beseech you, — 
 
 If you think fit, or that it may be done, 
 Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
 With Desdemona alone. 
 
 Emil. Pray you, come in ; 
 
 I will bestow you where you shall have time 
 To speak your boson) freely. 
 
 Cas. I am much bound to you. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE II — 4 Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. 
 
 0;A. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; 
 And, by him, do my duties to the state : 
 That done, I will be walking on the works. 
 Repair there to me. 
 
 Iago, Well, my good lord, I'll do't. 
 
 0th. This fortification, gentlemen, — shall wc 
 see'tl 
 
 Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeuni. 
 
 SCENE III.— Before ike Castle. 
 Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 
 
 l)es. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
 Ml my abilities in thy behalf. 
 
 > Nice distinctions. 
 
 Madam, here comoa 
 
 Emil. Good madam, do; I know it grieves mf 
 husband. 
 As if the case were his. 
 
 Des. 0, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt 
 Cassio, 
 But I will have my lord and you again 
 As friendly as you were. 
 
 Cas. Bounteous madam, 
 
 Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
 He's never any thing but your true servant. 
 
 Des. O, sir, I thank you: You do love my lord; 
 You have known him long ; and be you wjll 
 
 assur'd. 
 He shall in strangeness stand no further cfT 
 Than in a politic distance. 
 
 Cas. Ay, but, lady, 
 
 That policy may either last so long. 
 Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
 Or breed itself so out of circumstance. 
 That, I being absent, and my place supplied, 
 My general will forget my love and service. 
 
 Des. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here, 
 I give thee warrant of thy place ; assure thee, 
 If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it 
 To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; 
 I'll watch him tame,' and talk him out of patience; 
 His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; 
 I'll intermingle every thing he does 
 With Cassio's suit: Therefore be merry, Cassio; 
 For thy solicitor shall rather die. 
 Than give thy cause away. 
 
 Enter Othello, andlA.Go, at a distance. 
 
 Emil. 
 My lord. 
 
 Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. 
 
 Des. Why, stay, 
 
 And hear me speak. 
 
 Cos. Madam, not now; I am very ill at ease, 
 Unfit for mine own purposes. 
 
 Des. Well, well. 
 
 Do your discretion. [^Exit Cassio. 
 
 Iago. Ha ! I like not that. 
 
 0th. What dost thou say 1 
 
 Iago. Nothing, my lord : or if — I know not 
 what. 
 
 0th. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife ! 
 
 Iago. Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot thinkit, 
 That he would steal away so guilty-like. 
 Seeing you coming. 
 
 Olh. I do believe 'twas he. 
 
 Des. How now, my lord ] 
 I have been talking with a suitor here, 
 A man that languishes in your displeasure. 
 
 0th. Who is'i, you mean 1 
 
 Des. Why, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my 
 lord. 
 If I have any grace, or power to move you, 
 His present reconciliation take : 
 For, if he be not one that truly loves you, 
 That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
 I have no judgment in an honest face : 
 I pr'ythee, call him back. 
 
 0th. Went he hence now 1 
 
 Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled, 
 That he hath left part of his grief with me ; 
 I suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 
 
 0th. Not now, sweet Desdemona ; some othe} 
 
 time. 
 ' Hawks are tamed by keeping them from slec^p. 
 
932 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act III 
 
 Des. But shall', tt; shortly 7 
 
 0th. The sooner, sweet, for you. 
 
 Des. Shall't be to-night at supper 1 
 
 0th. No, not to-night. 
 
 Des. To-morrow dinner then ? 
 
 Olh. 1 shall not dine at home ; 
 
 I meet the captains at the citadel. 
 
 Des. Why then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday 
 morn ; 
 Or Tuesday noon, or night; or Wednesday morn ; — 
 I pray thee, name the time ; but let it not 
 Exceed three days : in faith he's penitent ; 
 And yet his trespass, in our common reason, 
 (Save that, they say, the wars must make examples 
 Out of their best,^) is not almost a fault 
 To incur a private check : When shall he come 1 
 Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul. 
 What you could ask me, that I should deny. 
 Or stand so mammering' on. What ! Michael 
 
 Cassio, 
 That came a wooing with you ; and many a time, 
 When I have spoke of you dispraisingly. 
 Hath ta'cn your part; to have so much to do 
 To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much — 
 
 0th. Pr'ythee, no more: let him come when he 
 will; 
 I will deny thee nothing'. 
 
 Des. Why this is not a boon; 
 
 'Tis as 1 should entreat you wear your gloves. 
 Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm ; 
 Or sue to you to do peculiar profit 
 To your own person : Nay, when I have a suit, 
 Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed. 
 It shall be full of poise^ and difficulty. 
 And fearful to be granted. 
 
 0th. I will deny thee nothing : 
 
 Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
 To leave me but a little to myself. 
 
 Des. Shall I deny you 1 no : Farewell, my lord. 
 
 0th. Farewell, my Desdemona : I will come to 
 thee straight. 
 
 Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach 
 you; 
 Whate'er you be, I am obedient. 
 
 [Exit, with Emilia. 
 
 0th. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul. 
 But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, 
 Chaos is come again. 
 
 lago. My noble lord, 
 
 0th. What dost thou say, lago? 
 
 lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my 
 lady. 
 Know of your love ] 
 
 0th. He did, from first to last: Why dost thou 
 ask? 
 
 lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought; 
 No further harm. 
 
 0th. Why of thy thought, lago] 
 
 lago. I did not think he had been acquainted 
 with her. 
 
 0th. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. 
 
 Togo. Indeed 1 
 
 0th. Indeed ! ay, indeed: — Discern'st thou aught 
 in that ? 
 !s he not honest 1 
 
 Ias:o. Honest, my lord 1 
 
 Think, my lord ': 
 Think, my lord 
 
 0th. 
 
 lago. My lord, for aught I know. 
 
 Oih. What dost thou think ? 
 
 * Best men. 
 
 ' Hesitatintr. 
 
 Ay, honest. 
 
 Weight. 
 
 Jago. 
 
 0th. 
 By heaven, he echoes me, 
 As if (here were some monster in his thought 
 Too hideous to be shown.- -Thou dost mean some- 
 thing : 
 I heard thee say but now, — Thou lik'dst not that, 
 When Cassio left my wife : What didst not like 1 
 And, when I told thee — he was of my counsel 
 In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst, In 
 
 deed? 
 And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 
 As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
 Some horrible conceit : If thou dost love me, 
 Show me thy thought. 
 
 lago. My lord, you know I love you. 
 
 0th. I think thon dosl ; 
 
 And, — for I know thou art full of love and honestj, 
 And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them 
 
 breath, — 
 Therefore these stops of thine fright me the mon^: 
 For such things, in a false disloyal knave. 
 Are tricks of custom ; but, in a man that's just, 
 They are close denotements, working from the heart, 
 That passion cannot rule. 
 
 lago. For Michael Cassio, — 
 
 I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 
 
 0th. I think so too. 
 
 lago. Men should be what they seem ; 
 
 Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none 
 
 0th. Certain, men should be what they seem. 
 
 lago. Why then, 
 
 I think that Cassio is an honest man. 
 
 0th. Nay, yet there's more in this: 
 I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
 As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of 
 
 thoughts 
 The worst of words. 
 
 lago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 
 
 Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
 I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
 Utter my thoughts 1 Why, say, they are vile and 
 
 false, — 
 As where's that palace, whereinto foul things 
 Sometimes intrude not ] Who has a breast so pure, 
 But some uncleanly apprehensions 
 Keep leets,'' and law-days, and in session sit 
 With meditations lawful 1 
 
 0th Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago, 
 If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his 
 
 ear 
 A stranger to thy thoughts. 
 
 lago. I do beseech you, — 
 
 Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess, 
 As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
 To spy into abuses ; and, oft, my jealousy 
 Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then. 
 From one that so imperfectly conjects,' 
 You take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble 
 Out of his scattering and unsure observance: 
 It were not for youi quiet, nor your good. 
 Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom. 
 To let you know my thoughts. 
 
 0th. What dost thou meah 1 
 
 lago. Good name, in man, and woman, dearmj 
 lord. 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls: 
 iWho steals my purse, steals trash: 'tis something 
 / nothing ; 
 
 ) ' Courts of enquiry. • Conjecturna. 
 
 
Scene III. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 933 
 
 f 
 
 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thou- 
 sands ; ( 
 But he that filches from me my good name, j 
 Robs me of that, which not enriches him, 
 And makes me poor indeed. 
 
 Olh. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. 
 
 lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand ; 
 Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 
 
 0th. Ha! 
 
 lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; 
 
 ft is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock 
 The meat it feeds on: That cuckold lives in bliss, 
 Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
 But, O, what dreadful minutes tells he o'er, 
 Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves ! 
 
 0th. O misery ! 
 
 lago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough. 
 But riches, fineless.'^is as poor as winter, 
 To him that ever fears he shall be poor : — 
 Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
 From jealousy. 
 
 Olh. Why, why is thisi 
 
 Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy, 
 To follow still the changes of the moon 
 With fresh suspicions ? No: to be once in doubt, 
 Is — once to be resolved: Exchange me for a goat. 
 When I shall turn the business of my soul 
 To such exsufflicate and blown surmises. 
 Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jeal- 
 ous. 
 To say.— »my wife is fair, feeds well, loves com- 
 pany. 
 Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; 
 Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: 
 Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
 The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt ; 
 For she had eyes, and chose me: No, lago; 
 I'll see, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; 
 And, on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
 Avvay at once with love, or jealousy. 
 
 lago. I am glad of this, for now I shall have 
 reason 
 To show the love and duty that I bear you 
 With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound. 
 Receive it from me — I speak not yet of proof. 
 Look to your wife: observe her well with Cassio; 
 Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure : 
 I would not have your free and noble nature, 
 Out of self-bounty, be abused ; look to't : 
 I know our country disposition well: 
 In Venice, they do let heaven see the pranks 
 They dare not show their husbands ; their best con- 
 science 
 Is — not to leave undone, but keep unknown. 
 
 0th. Dost thou say so? 
 
 lago. She did deceive her father, marrying you ; 
 And when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks. 
 She lov'd them most. 
 
 Olh. And so she did. 
 
 lugo. - Why, go to, then; 
 
 She that, so young, could give out such a seeming, 
 To seel ' her father's eyes up close as oak, — 
 He thought 'twas witchcraft: — But I am much to 
 
 blame; 
 I humbly du beseech you of your pardon, 
 For too much loving you. 
 
 Olh. I am bound to thee for ever. 
 
 'Endless, unbounded. 
 
 « An expression from falconry : to seel a hawk is to sew 
 ap his eye-lida. 
 
 60 
 
 lago. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 
 
 Olh. Not a jot, not a jot. 
 
 lago. Trust me, I fear it has 
 
 I hope, you will consider what is spoke 
 Comes from my love; — But, I do see, you are 
 
 mov'd : — 
 I am to pray you, not to strain my speech 
 To grosser issues,' nor to larger reach. 
 Than to suspicion. 
 
 0th. I will not. 
 
 lago. Should you do so, my lord, 
 
 My speech should fall into such vile succjCJS 
 As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my Wiorthy 
 
 friend : 
 My lord, I see you are mov'd. 
 
 Olh. No, not much mov'd :-— 
 
 I do not think but Desdemona's honest. 
 
 lago. Long live she so! and long live you to 
 think so ! 
 
 Olh. And yet, how nature, cv«Ing from itself,— 
 
 lago. Ay, there's the point: — As, — to be bold with 
 Not to affect many proposed matches, [ycU-— 
 Of her own clime, complexion, and degree ; 
 Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends : 
 Foh ! one may smell, in such, a will most rank. 
 Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
 But, pardon me : I do not, in position. 
 Distinctly speak of her : though I may fear, 
 Her will, recoiling to her better judgment. 
 May fall to match you with her couiicry fonn». 
 And (happily) repent. 
 
 Olh. Farewell, farewell : 
 
 If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; 
 Set on thy wife to observe : Leave me, lago. 
 
 lago. My lord, I take my leave. \Going, 
 
 0th. Why did I marry 1 — This honest creature, 
 doubtless. 
 Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 
 
 lago. My lord, I would, I might entreat your honor 
 To scan this thing no further; leave it to time: 
 And though it be fit that Cassio have his place, 
 (For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) 
 Yet if you please to hold him off a while. 
 You shall by that perceive him and his means : 
 Note, if your lady strain his entertainment' 
 With any strong or vehement importunity ; 
 Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, 
 Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
 (As worthy cause I have, to fear — I am,) 
 And hold her free, I do beseech your honor. 
 
 Olh. Fear not my government. 
 
 lago. I once more take my leave. [Exit 
 
 Olh. This fellow's of exceeding honesty. 
 And knows ail qualities, with a learned spirit. 
 Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard,* 
 Though that her jesses ' were my dear heart-stringa^ 
 I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind. 
 To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black; 
 And have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chambcrers have: — Or, for I am declin'd 
 Into the vale of years; — yet that's not much; 
 She's gone; I am abused ; and my relief 
 Must be — to loath her. O curse of marriage, 
 That we can call these delicate creatures ours, / 
 And not their appetites!' I iiad rather be a toadi 
 And live upon the vapor of a dungeon, ' 
 
 a Conclusions. 
 
 ' Press liard his re-admission to his office. 
 
 * A species of hawk, also a term of reproach applied t* 
 a wanton. 
 
 • Straps of leather by which a hawX is held on the fist 
 
934 
 
 OIHELLO, 
 
 Act 111. 
 
 Than keep a cornei in the thing I love, 
 
 For others' uses. Ytt, 'tis the plague of great ones; 
 
 Prerogativ d are they, less than the base ; 
 
 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death ; 
 
 Even then this forked plague is fated to us, 
 
 When we do quicken.' Desdemona comes : 
 
 Enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
 
 If she be false, 0, then heaven mocks itself! — 
 I'll not believe it. 
 
 Des. How now, my dear Othello 1 
 Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
 By you invited, do attend your presence. 
 
 0th. I am to blame. [well ] 
 
 Des. Why is your speech so faint 1 are you not 
 
 0th. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 
 
 Des. 'Faith, that's with watching ; 'twill away 
 Let me but bind it hard, within this hour [again. 
 It will be well. 
 
 0th. Your napkin is too little ; 
 
 \_Hepiifs the Handlcerchief from him, and 
 it drops. 
 Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. 
 
 Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 
 
 [Exeunt 0th. and Des. 
 
 Emit. I am glad I have found this napkin ; 
 This was her first remembrance from the Moor: 
 My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
 Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token, 
 (For he conjur'd her, she would ever keep it,) 
 That she reserves it evermore about her, 
 To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out, 
 And give it lago: 
 
 What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I; 
 I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 logo. How now ! what do you here alone ] 
 Emit. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for you. 
 Iago. A thing for me ? — it is a common thing. 
 Emit. Ha ! 
 
 Iago. To have a foolish wife. 
 Emit. O, is that all? What will you give me now 
 For that same handkerchief? 
 
 Iago. What handkerchief] 
 
 Emit. What handkerchief? 
 Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ; 
 That which so often you did bid me steal. 
 Iago. Hast stolen it from her? 
 Emit. No, taith ; she let it drop by negligence ; 
 And to the advantage, I, being here, took't up. 
 Look, here it is. 
 
 Iago, A good wcnrh ; give it me. 
 
 i?ffii7. What will you do with it,that you have been 
 To have me filch it ; [so earnest 
 
 Iago. Why, what's that to you ? 
 
 [Snatching it. 
 Emii. If it be not for some purposes of import. 
 Give i; me again : Poor lady ! she'll run mad, 
 When she shall lack it. 
 
 Iago. Be not you known oft; I have use for it. 
 Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 
 
 I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
 And let him find it : Trifles, light as air. 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
 \s proofs of holy writ. This may do something. 
 The Moor already changes with my poison : — ■ 
 Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons. 
 Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste ; 
 ' \yhen we begin to live. 
 
 But, with a little act upon the blood, 
 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. — I did say so: — 
 
 Enter Otiikllo. 
 
 Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandra- 
 
 gora,'' 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ow'dst^ yesterday. 
 
 Otii. Ha! ha! falst to me? 
 
 Tome? 
 
 lago^ Why, how now, general? no more of that 
 
 Otii. Avaunt! be gone ! thou hast set me on the 
 I swear, 'tis better to be much abused, [rack : 
 
 Than but to know't a little. 
 
 Iago. How now, my lord ? 
 
 0th. What sense had I of her stolen hours of 
 lust? 
 I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
 I slept ttae next night v/ell, vs'as free and merry ; 
 I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
 He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen, 
 Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all. 
 
 Iago. I am sorry to hear this. 
 
 0th. I had been happy, if the general camp, 
 Pioneers' and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
 So I had nothing known : O now, forever. 
 Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars. 
 That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
 Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
 The spirit-stirring drum, the car-piercing fife. 
 The royal banner; and all quality, 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! 
 And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
 The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, 
 Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone! 
 
 Iago. Is it possible? — My lord, 
 
 Olh. Villain, be sure you prove my love a whore: 
 Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof; 
 
 [Tatting him bytlie Throat. 
 Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul. 
 Thou hadst been better have been born a dog, 
 Than answer my waked wrath. 
 
 Iago. Is it come to thisl 
 
 Otfi. Make me to see it; or (at the least) so 
 prove it. 
 That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop. 
 To hang a doubt on : or, woe upon thy life ! 
 
 Iago. My noble lord, 
 
 0th. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, 
 Never pray more: abandon all remorse; 
 On horror's head horrors accumulate : 
 Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd, 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add. 
 Greater than that. 
 
 Iago. O grace ! O heaven defend me 1 
 
 Are you a man ? have you a soul, or sense ! — 
 God be wi' you ; take mine oflftce. — O wretched fool, 
 That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice ! — 
 
 monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O world, 
 To be direct and honest, is not safe. — 
 
 1 thank you for this profit ; and, from hence, 
 I'll love no friend, since love breeds such oflfencei. 
 
 0th. Nay, stay : — Thou shouldst be honest. 
 Iago. I should be wise, for honesty's a foOi, 
 And loses that it works for. 
 
 • The mandrake has a soporific quality. ' Possessedfl^ 
 
 • The vilest o' the camp. Pioneers were generalJv ds* 
 graded soldiers. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 TIIP] MOOR OP VENICE. 
 
 935 
 
 Oih. By the world, 
 
 I think my wife be honest, and think she is not. 
 f think that thou art just, and think thou art not; 
 I'll have some proof; Her name that was as fresh 
 As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
 As mine own face. — If there be cords, or knives, 
 Poison, or lire, or suffocating streams, 
 I'll not endure it. — 'Would, I were satisfied ! 
 
 Ias;o. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
 I do repent me, that I put it to you. 
 You v;ould be satisfied 1 
 
 Olh. Would ! nay, I will. 
 
 Icujo. And may: But, how? how satisficd,iny loi i? 
 Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on] 
 Behold her tupp'd 1 
 
 0/h. Death and damnation ! ! 
 
 Icigo. It were a tedious difficulty, I think. 
 To bring them to that prospect : Damn them thei , 
 If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster. 
 More than their own ! What then ] How then ? 
 What shall I say 1 Where's satisfaction ■? 
 It is impossible you should see this, — 
 Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, 
 .\s salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
 As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, 
 If imputation, and strong circumstances, 
 Which lead directly to the door of truth, 
 Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. 
 
 Of/i. Give me a living' reason she's disloyal. 
 
 lago. I do not like the office : 
 But, sith I am cnter'd in this cause so far, — 
 Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love, — 
 I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately ; 
 And, being troubled with a raging tooth, 
 I could not sleep. 
 
 There arc a kind of men so loose of soul, 
 That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs ; 
 One of this kind is Cassio : 
 In sleep I heard him say, — Sweet Desdcmoria, 
 Let lis be wary, let us hide our loves ,- 
 And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand. 
 Cry, — 0, sweet creature .' and then kiss me hard. 
 As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots. 
 That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg 
 Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and then 
 Cried, — Cursed fate .' that gave thee to the Moor.' 
 
 0th. O monstrous ! monstrous ! 
 
 Jago. Nay, this was but his dream. 
 
 0th. But this denoted a foregone conclusion. 
 'Tis a shrewd doul)t, though it be but a dream. 
 
 lago. And this may help to thicken other proofs. 
 That do demonstrate thinly. 
 
 0th. I'll tear her all to pieces. 
 
 /«^o. Nay, but be wise: yet we see nothing done; 
 She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, — 
 Have you not sometimes seen a Iiandkerchicf, 
 Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand 7 
 
 Olh. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my fii-st gift. 
 
 lago. I know not that : but such a handkerchief, 
 (I am sure it was j'our wife's,) did I to-day 
 See Cassio wipe his beard with. 
 
 Olh. If it be that,- - 
 
 logo. If it be that, or any that was hers, 
 [t speaks against her with the other proofs. 
 
 0th. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives; 
 One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
 N'ow do I sec 'tis true. — Look here, lago ; 
 All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven: 
 Tis gone. — 
 
 • Speaking, manifest. 
 
 Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
 Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne,' 
 To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught/ 
 For 'tis of aspic's tongues ! 
 
 lago. Pray, be content, 
 
 0th, O, blood, lago, blood! 
 
 lago. Patience, I say ; your mind, perhaps, may 
 change. 
 
 0th. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea 
 Whose icy current and compulsive course 
 Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
 To the Propontic, and the Hellespont; 
 Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace« 
 Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
 Till that a capable" and wide revenge 
 Swallow them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven. 
 In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels, 
 I here engage my words. 
 
 lago. Do not rise yet --[KneeA 
 
 Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
 You elements that clip' us round about ! 
 Witness, that here lago .doth give up 
 The execution of his wit, hands, heart. 
 To wrong'd Othello's service ! let him command. 
 And to obey shall be in me remorse,* 
 What bloody work soever. 
 
 0th. I greet thy love. 
 
 Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance boun- 
 And will upon the instant put thee to't: [teous, 
 Within these three days let me hear thee say, 
 That Cassio's not alive. 
 
 logo. My friend is dead ; 'tis done at your re- 
 But let her live. [quest; 
 
 0th. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her! 
 Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw, 
 To furnish me with some swift means of death 
 For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 
 
 lago. I am your own forever. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE lY .— The samt. 
 Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 
 
 Des. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant 
 Cassio lies ? 
 
 Clo. I dare not say, he lies any where. 
 
 Des. Why, man ] 
 
 Clo. He is a soldier ; and for me to say a soldier 
 lies, is stabbing. 
 
 Des. Go to; where lodges hel 
 
 Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you 
 where I lie. 
 
 Des. Can any thing be made of this ? 
 
 Clo. I know not where he lodges ; and for me 
 to devise a lodging, and say — he lies here, or he 
 lies there, were to lie in my own throat. 
 
 Des. Can you enquire him out, and be edified 
 by report 1 
 
 Clo. I will catechise the world for him ; that is, 
 make questions, and by them answer. 
 
 Des. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him I have 
 moved ir y lord in his behalf,and hope, all will be well. 
 
 Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's 
 wit; and therefore I will attempt the doing it. [Exit. 
 
 Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, 
 
 Eniil. I know not, madam. 
 
 [Emilia 
 
 Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
 Full of cruzadoes.' And, but my noble Moo"- 
 
 'The licart on which thou ^T;ist cutlironed. 
 
 ' Frc'i;j;ht, lond. 
 
 ^Capacious. 'Embrace. 
 
 * Not of malice to others, but of tcDtlcruess ior Jvm 
 
 ' A Portuguese coin. 
 
y36 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act IIj 
 
 Is tru( of min-1, and made of no such baseness 
 As jeal )us creatures are, it were enough 
 To pat him to ill-thinking. 
 
 Emit. Is he not jealous ? 
 
 Des. Who, he? I think, the sun, where he was born, 
 Orew all such humors from him. 
 
 Emil. Look, where he comes. 
 
 Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio 
 Be call'd to him. — How is't with you, my lord ? 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 
 0th. Well, my good lady : — [Aside.'\ 0, hardness 
 to dissemble ! — 
 How do you, Desdemona ? 
 
 Bc8. Well, my good lord. 
 
 Olh. Give me your hand : This hand is moist, my 
 lady. 
 
 Dea. It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow. 
 
 0th. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart; — 
 Hot, hot, and moist: This hand of yours requires 
 A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer. 
 Much castigation, exercise devout ; 
 For here's a young and sweating devil here, 
 That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, 
 A frank one. 
 
 Des. You may indeed say so; 
 For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. 
 
 0th. A liberal hand : The hearts, of old, gave hands; 
 But our now heraldry is — hands, not hearts. 
 
 Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your 
 promise. 
 
 0th. AVhat promise, chuck ? 
 
 Z>(?8. Ihavesent to bid Cassio come speak with you. 
 
 Olh. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me : 
 Lend me thy handkerchief. 
 
 Des. Here, my lord. 
 
 0th. That which I gave you. 
 
 Des. I have it not about me. 
 
 0th. Not? 
 
 Dea. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 0th. That is a fault. 
 
 That handkerchief 
 
 Did an Egyptian to my mother give ; 
 She was a charmer,' and could almost read 
 The thoughts of people: she toldher, while she kept it, 
 'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father 
 Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it, 
 Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
 Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt 
 After new fancies : She, dying, gave it me ; 
 And bid me, when my fate would have me wive. 
 To give it her. I did so : and take heed oft. 
 Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
 To lose or giv't away, were such perdition. 
 As nothing else could match. 
 
 Des. Is it possible ? 
 
 0th. 'Tis true : there's magic in the web of it : 
 A sibyl, that had number'd in the world 
 The sun to make two hundred compasses. 
 In her prophetic fury sew'd the work : 
 The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk ; 
 4nd it was dyed in mummy, which the skilful 
 Conserv'd of maiden's hearts. 
 
 Des. Indeed ! is't true ? 
 
 0th. Most veritable ; therefore look to't well. 
 
 Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had never seen it. 
 
 0th. Ha ! wherefore ? 
 
 Des. AVhy do you speak so startingly and rash?' 
 
 0//i. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out of the way? 
 
 Dea. Heaven bless us ! 
 
 0th. Say you? 
 
 Des. It is not lost; But what an if were? 
 
 0th. Ha! 
 
 Des. I say, it is not lost. 
 
 0th. Fetch't, let mc see it. 
 
 Ves. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now ; 
 ' Encbantresa. ' Vehemently, violently. 
 
 This is a trick, to put me from my suit; 
 I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 
 
 0th. Fetch me that handkerchief: my mind mis 
 
 Des. Come, come; [gives 
 
 You'll never meet a more sufEcient man. 
 
 0th. The handkerchief, 
 
 Des. I pray, tell me of Cassio. 
 
 0th. The handkerchief, 
 
 Des. A man that, all his time. 
 Hath founded his good fortune on your love ; 
 Shared dangers with you; 
 
 0th. The handkerchief, — ■— 
 
 Des. In sooth. 
 You are to blame. 
 
 0th. Away ! [Exit OthellOi 
 
 Emil. Is not this man jealous ? 
 
 Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
 Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief; 
 I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 
 
 Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man ; 
 They are all but stomachs, and we all but food ; 
 They eat us hungerly, and when they are full. 
 They belch us. Look you ! Cassjio, and my husband. 
 
 Enter Iago and Cassio. 
 
 lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must do't; 
 And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her. 
 
 Des. How now, good Cassio? what's the news with 
 you? 
 
 Cas. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech you. 
 That, by your virtuous means, I may again 
 Exist, and be a member of his love. 
 Whom I, with all the duty of my heart, 
 Entirely honor; I would not be delay'd: 
 If my offence be of such mortal kind. 
 That neither service past, nor present sorrcws. 
 Nor purpos'd merit in futurity. 
 Can ransom me into his love again, 
 But to know so must be my benefit; 
 So shall I clothe me in a forced content. 
 And shut myself up in some other course, 
 To fortune's alms. 
 
 Des. Alas ! thrice gentle Cassio, 
 
 My advocation is not now in tune; 
 My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
 Were he in favor* as in humor alter'd. 
 So help me, every spirit sanctified. 
 As I have spoken for you all my best; 
 And stood within the blank of his displeasuic. 
 For my free speech ! You must awhile be patient ; 
 What I can do, I will ; and more I will. 
 Than for mj'self I dare ; let that suffice you. 
 
 lafjo. Is my lord angry ? 
 
 Emil. He went hence but now, 
 
 And, certainly, in strange un quietness. 
 
 Iago. Can he be angry ? I have seen the cannon. 
 When it hath blovrn his ranks into the air; 
 And, like the devil, from his very arm 
 Puff'd his own brother; — And can he be angry ? 
 Something of moment, then : I will go meet him; 
 There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. 
 
 Des. I pr'y thee do so. — Something, sure of state,— 
 
 [Exit lAGa 
 Either from Venice ; or some unhatch'd practice' 
 Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, — 
 Hath puddled his clear spirit : and, in such cases, 
 Men's natures wrangle with inferior things. 
 Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so; 
 For let our finger ache, and it endues 
 Our other healthful members even to that sense 
 Of pain : Nay, we must think, men are not gods ; 
 Nor of them look for such observances 
 As fit the bridal.' — Beshrew me much, Emilia, 
 I was (unhandsome warrior as I am) 
 Arraigning his unkindness with my soul; 
 
 » In countenance. 
 » Treason. 
 
 • "Within the shot of his angar. 
 « The nuptial feast. 
 
A.CT IV. Scene I. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 937 
 
 Hut Tiow I find, I had siiborn'd the witness, 
 
 And he's indioted falsely. [think ; 
 
 Emil. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you 
 And no eoncoption, nor no jealous toy, 
 Cwncerning you. 
 
 Dei. Alas, the day ! I never gave him cause. 
 
 £mil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so; 
 They are not ever jealous for the cause. 
 But jealous for they are jealous : 'tis a monster. 
 Begot upon itself, born on itself. 
 
 I)es. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's 
 
 Emil. Lady, amen [mind ! 
 
 Bes. I will go seek him. — Crssio, walk hereabout: 
 If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit. 
 And seek to effect it to my uttermost. 
 
 Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt Desdejiona and Emilia. 
 
 Eitter BlANCA. 
 
 Bian. Save j'ou, friend Cassio ! 
 
 Cas. What make you from home ? 
 
 How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? 
 I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to j'our house. 
 
 Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
 What ! keep a week away ! seven days and nights ? 
 Kght score eight hours 1 and lovers' absent hours, 
 More tedious than the dial eight score times ? 
 
 weary reckoning 1 
 
 Cas. Pardon me, Bianca; 
 
 1 have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd; 
 But I shall, in a more continuate time* 
 
 Strike oflf this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, 
 
 \_Givin<i her Desdemona's Handkerchief, 
 Take me this work out.' 
 
 Bian. 0, Cassio, whence came this? 
 
 This is some token from a newer friend. 
 To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
 Is it come to this ? Well, well. 
 
 Cas. Woman, go to ! 
 
 Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth. 
 From whence you have them. You are jealous now,. 
 That this is from some mistress, some remembrance . 
 No, in good troth, Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Why, whose is it? 
 
 Cas. I know not, sweet : I found it in my chamtti . 
 I like the work well; ere it be demanded, 
 (As like enough, it will,) I'd have it copied : 
 Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time. 
 
 Bian. Leave you ! wherefore? 
 
 Cas. I do attend here on the general ; 
 And think it no addition, nor my wish, 
 To have him see me woman'd. 
 
 Bian, Why, I pray you ? 
 
 Cas. Not that I love you not. 
 
 Bian. But that you do not love me. 
 
 I pray you, bring me on the way a little; 
 And say, if I shall see you soon again. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis but a little way, that I can bring you. 
 For I attend here : but I'll see you soon. 
 
 Bian. 'Tis very good; I must be circumstanced. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE l.—The same. 
 Enter Othello and Iago. 
 
 Taf/o. Will you think so ? 
 
 Oih. Think so, Iago ? 
 
 Iago. What, 
 
 To kiss in private ? 
 
 0th. An unauthoriz'd kiss. 
 
 Iago. Or to be naked with her friend abed. 
 An hour, or more, not meaning any harm ? 
 
 0th. Naked, abed, Iago, and not mean harm? 
 It is hypocrisy against the devil : 
 They that mean virtuously, and yet do so. 
 The devil their virtue tempts, and they temptheaven. 
 
 Ligo. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip: 
 But if I give my wife a handkerchief, 
 
 0th. AVhat then ? 
 
 Iago. Why then 'tis hers, my lord ; and, being hers. 
 She may, I think, bestow't on any man. 
 
 0th. She is protectress of her honor too ; 
 May she give that ? 
 
 Iago. Her honor is an essence that's not seen ; 
 They have it very oft, and have it not : 
 But, for the handkerchief, [it: — 
 
 0th. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot 
 Thou said'st, — 0, it comes o'er my memory. 
 As doth the raven o'er the infected house. 
 Boding to all,' — he had my handkerchief. 
 
 Iago. Ay, what of that ? 
 
 0th. That's not so good, now. 
 
 Iago. What, if I had said, I had seen him do you 
 wrong ? 
 Or hoard him say, — As knaves be such abroad, 
 Who having, by their own importunate suit, 
 Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, 
 Convinced or supplied* them, cannot choose 
 But they must blab ' 
 
 0th. Hath he said any thing ? 
 
 Iago. He hath, my lord; but be you well assur'd, 
 Ko more than he'll unswear. 
 
 ' The time loss interrupted. 
 
 » Tlie ravon wa.s thought to be a constant attendant on 
 a house inficted with the plague. 
 ' Old spelling of suppled, t. e eoftei'^d. 
 
 0th. AVhat hath he said ? 
 
 Iago. 'Faith, that he did, — I know not what he did. 
 
 0th. What ? wha. ' 
 
 Iago. Lie 
 
 0th. With her? 
 
 Iago. With her, on her ; what yon will. 
 
 0th. Lie with her ! lie on her ! — We say, lie on 
 her, when they belie her : Lie with her ! — that's 
 fulsome. — Handkerchief, — confessions, — handker- 
 chief. — To confess, and be hanged for his labor. — 
 First to be hanged, and then to confess: — I tremble 
 at it. Nature would not invest herself in such 
 shadowing passion, without some instruction. It is 
 not words that shake me thus ; — Pish ! — Noses, 
 ears, and lips : — Is it possible ? — Confess ! — Hand- 
 kerchief! — 0, devil! — ■ [Falls in a Trance, 
 
 Iago. Work on, [caught; 
 
 My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are 
 And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus, 
 All guiltless meet reproach. — What, ho ! my lord ? 
 
 Enter CasSIO. 
 My lord, I say ! Othello ! — How now, Cassio ? 
 
 Cas. '\Vhat is the matter? 
 
 Iago. My lord is fallen in an epilepsy ; 
 This is his second fit ; he had one yesterday. 
 
 Cas. Rub him about the temples. 
 
 Iago. No, forbear. 
 
 The lethargy must have his quiet course : 
 If not, he foams at mouth ; and, by and by. 
 Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs. 
 Do you withdraw yourself a little while. 
 He will recover straight ; when he is gone, 
 I would on great occasion speak with you. — 
 
 [Exit Cassio. 
 How is it, general ? have you not hurt your head ? 
 
 0th. Dost thou mock me ? 
 
 Iago. I mock you ! no, by heaven. 
 
 'Would you would bear your fortunes like a man. 
 
 0th. A horned man's a monster, and a beast. 
 
 Iago. There's many a beast then in a populous city, 
 And many a civil monster. 
 
 0th. Did he confess it ? 
 
 ' The meaning is, not pick out the work, hut copy tbif 
 work in another handkerchiet 
 
938 
 
 OTHELLO; 
 
 Act I^ 
 
 lai^o. Good sir, be a man. 
 
 Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yoked, 
 May draw with you : there's millions now alive, 
 That nightly lie in those unproper beds. 
 Which they dare swear peculiar; your case is better ; 
 O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock, 
 To lip a wanton in a secure couch, 
 And to suppose her chasie ! No, let me know; 
 And, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. 
 
 Oth. O, thou art wise, 'tis certain. 
 
 lago. Stand you awhile apa.-t ; 
 
 Confine yourself but in a patient list.' 
 "Whilst you were here, crewhile mad with your grief, 
 (A passion most unsuiting such a man,) 
 Carsiocame hither: I shifted him away, 
 And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy; 
 Bade him anon return, and here speak with me ; 
 The which he promis'd. Do but encave' yourself. 
 And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns. 
 That dwell in every region of his face ; 
 For I will make him tell the tale anew, — 
 Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
 He hath, and is again to cope your wife ; 
 I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience ; 
 Or I shall say, you are all in all in spleen, 
 And nothing of a man. 
 
 Oth. Dost thou hear, lago 1 
 
 I will be found most cunning in my patience; 
 But (dost thou heal ' > most bloody. 
 
 lago. That's not amiss; 
 
 But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw 1 
 
 [Othello withdraws. 
 Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 
 A housewife, that, by selling her desires, 
 Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature. 
 That dotes on Cassio, — as 'tis the strumpet's plague. 
 To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one ; 
 He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 
 From the excess of laughter : — Here he comes : — 
 
 Re-Enter Cassio. 
 
 As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad ; 
 And his unbookish' jealousy must construe 
 Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behavior 
 Quite in the wrong. — How do you now, lieutenant 1 
 
 Cas. The worser, that you give me the addition,* 
 Whose want even kills me. 
 
 lagn. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure oft. 
 Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power, 
 
 [Speaking lower. 
 How quickly should you speed ! 
 
 Cas. Alas, poor caitiff! 
 
 Oth. Look, how he laughs already ! \_Aside. 
 
 lago. I never knew a woman love man so. 
 
 Cas. Alas,poorrogue! I think indeed she loves me. 
 
 Oth. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 lago. Do you hear, Cassio 1 
 
 Oth. Now he importunes him 
 
 To tell it o'er: Go to: well said, well said. [Aside. 
 
 lago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her : 
 Do you intend it 1 
 
 Cas. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Oth. Do you triumph, Roman 1 do you triumph? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cas. I marry her ! -whati a customer!' I 
 
 pr'y thee, bear some charity to my wit ; do not think 
 it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 * Within the bounds of patience. s Hide. 
 
 ' iBnoiaut. » Title of lieutenant. » A common woman. 
 
 Oth. So, SO, so, so: Theylaugh that win. [Asidk 
 
 lago. Why, the cry goes, that you shall marrj 
 her. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, say true. 
 
 lago. I am a very villain else. 
 
 Oth. Have you scored me 1 Well. {Aside. 
 
 Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out: she 
 is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love 
 and flattery, not out of my promise. 
 
 Oth. lago beckons me ; now he begins the story. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cas. She was here even now : she haunts me in 
 every place. I was, the other day, talking on tlie 
 sea-liank with certain Venetians ; and thither comes 
 this bauble ; by this hand, she falls thus about my 
 neck : 
 
 Oth. Crying, dear Cassio ! as it were : his 
 gesture imports it. [Aside. 
 
 Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me ; 
 so hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Oth. Now he tells, how she pluek'd him to my 
 chamber: O, I see that nose of yours, but not that 
 dog I shall throw it to. [Aside. 
 
 Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 
 
 lago. Before me ! look where she comes. 
 
 Enter Bianca. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis such another fitche !* many, a pet- 
 fumed one. — What do you mean 'oy this haunting 
 of me 1 
 
 Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you ? 
 What did you mean by that same handkerchief, 
 you gave me even nowl I was a fine fool to take 
 it. I must take out the whole work 1 — A likely 
 piece of work, that you should find it in your 
 chamber, and not know who left it there ! This 
 is some minx's token, and I must take out the 
 work "? There, — give it your hobby-horse : where- 
 soever you had it, I'll take out no work on't. 
 
 Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca '' how now 1 
 how now 1 
 
 Oth. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night, you 
 may : an you will not, come when you are next 
 prepared for. [Exit. 
 
 lago. After her, after her. 
 
 Cas. 'Faith, I must, she'll rail in the street else. 
 
 lago. Will you sup there 1 
 
 Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 
 
 lago. Well, I may chance to see you ; for I would 
 very fain speak with you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, come ; will you 1 
 
 lago. Go to : say no more. [Exit Cassio 
 
 Oth. How shall I murder him, lago ] 
 
 lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at hia 
 vice? 
 
 Oth. O, lago ! 
 
 lago. And did you see the handkerchief? 
 
 Oth. Was that mine ? 
 
 lago. Yours, by this hand : and to see how he 
 prizes the foolish woman, your wife ! she gave it 
 him, and he hath given it his whore. 
 
 Oth. I would have him nine years a killing : — ■ 
 A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 
 
 lago. Nay, you must forget that. 
 
 Oth. Ay, let her rot and perish, and be damii'd 
 to-night ; for she shall not live : No, my heart a 
 
 *A polecat. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 939 
 
 turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, 
 f.hc world hath not a sweeter creature : she might lie 
 by an emperor's side, and command him tasks. 
 
 lago. Nay, that's not your way. 
 
 Otii. Hang her ! I do but say what she is: — So 
 delicate with her needle! — An admirable musician ! 
 O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear ! — 
 Of so high and plenteous wit and invention ! — 
 
 lago. She's the worse for all this. 
 
 0th. O, a thousand, a thousand times : — And 
 thcr.; of so gentle a condition !* 
 
 Tago. Ay, too gentle. 
 
 Otk. Nay, that's certain : But yet the pity of it, 
 lago ! — O, lago, the pity of it, lago ! 
 
 lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give 
 her patent to offend ; for, if it touch not you, it 
 comes near nobody. 
 
 0th. I will chop her into messes: — cuckold me' 
 
 lago. O, 'tis foul in her. 
 
 0th. With mine officer ! 
 
 logo. That's fouler. 
 
 0th. Get me some poison, lago; this night: — 
 I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and 
 beauty unprovide my mind again: — this night, lago. 
 
 lago. Do it not v;/ll). poison, strangle her in her 
 bed, even the bed ?h'} hath contaminated. 
 
 0th. Good, good; Ihe justice of it pleases; very 
 good. 
 
 Tago. And, for Cassio, — let me be his under- 
 taker: 
 You shall hear moio by midnight. 
 
 [yl Trumpet within. 
 
 0th. Excellent jjood. — What trumpet is that 
 same? 
 
 lago. Somethi/.i^ from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lo- 
 dovico, 
 Come from the Jvke : and, see, your wife is with 
 him. 
 
 Enter Lodotico, Desdemona, and Attendants. 
 
 Lod. 'Save you, worthy general! 
 
 0th. With all my heart, sir. 
 
 Lod. The duks and senators of Venice greet you. 
 
 \^Gives him a Packet. 
 
 0th. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 
 
 [^Opens ihe Packet and reads, 
 
 Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico 1 
 
 lago. lam very glad to see you, signior; 
 Welcor.ie to Cyprus. 
 
 Lod. I thank you; HowdoesHeutenant Cassio 1 
 
 lago. Lives, sir. 
 
 Des. Cousin, there's fallen between him and my 
 lord 
 An unkind breach; but you shall make all well. 
 
 01 h. Are you sure of that? 
 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 0th. This fail you riot to do, as you will — 
 
 \^Reads. 
 
 Lod. He did not call ; he's busy in the paper. 
 Is thert division 'twixt my lord and Cassio 1 
 
 Des. A most unhappy one; I would do much 
 To atone' them, for tiie love I bear to Cassio. 
 
 Olh. Fire and brimstone! 
 
 Des. My lord 1 
 
 0th. Are you wisel 
 
 Des. What, is he angry 1 
 
 Led. 'May be, the letter mov'd him ; 
 
 For, as I think, they do command him home, 
 Deputing Cassio in his government. 
 
 * Of 80 sweet a disposition. » Reconcile. 
 
 Des. By my troth, I am glad on't. 
 
 0th. Indeed 1 
 
 Des. My lord ' 
 
 0th. I am glad to see you mad. 
 
 Des. How, sweet Othello 
 
 0th. Devil ! [Striking her 
 
 Des. I have not deserv'd this. 
 
 Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in 
 Venice, 
 Though I should swear I saw it : 'Tis very much; 
 Make her amends, she weeps. 
 
 0th. O devil, devil ! 
 
 If that the eai-th could teem with woman's tears, 
 Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile : — 
 Out of my sight ! 
 
 Des. I will not stay to offend yoj. 
 
 Lod. Truly, an obedient lady : — 
 I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 
 
 0th. Mistress, 
 
 Des. My lord 1 
 
 0th. What would you with her, sir' 
 
 Lod. Who, I, my lord 1 
 
 O/^. Ay; you did wish that I would make her turn; 
 Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, 
 And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep: 
 And she's obedient, as you say, — obedient, — 
 Very obedient; — Proceed you in your tears. — 
 Concerning this, sir, — O well-painted passion! 
 I am commanded home: Get you away; 
 I'll send for you anon. — Sir, I obey the mandate, 
 And will return to Venice; — Hence, avaunt! 
 
 l^Exit DESDEMOIfA, 
 
 Cassio shall have my place. And, — sir, to-night, 
 I do entreat that we may sup together. 
 You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. — Goats and 
 monkies ! \^Exit. 
 
 Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate 
 Call — all-in-all sufficient 1 — This the noble nature 
 Whom passion could not .shake 1 whose solid virtue 
 The shot of accident, nor dart of chance. 
 Could neither graze, nor pierce 1 
 
 lago. He is much changed. 
 
 Lod. Are his wits safe 1 is he not light of brain? 
 
 lago. He is that he is; I may not breathe my 
 censure. 
 What he might be, — if, what he might, he is not, — 
 I would to heaven he were. 
 
 Lod. What, strike his wife ! 
 
 lago. 'Faith, that was not so well ; Yet 'would 
 I knew. 
 That stroke would prove the worst. 
 
 Lod. Is it his :ise1 
 
 Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
 And new-create this fault ? 
 
 lago. Alas, alas 
 
 It is not honesty in me, to speak 
 What I have seen and known. You shall observe 
 
 him; 
 And his own courses will denote him so. 
 That I may save my speech ; Do but go after. 
 And mark how he continues. 
 
 Lod. I am sorry, that I am decciv'd in him. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE U.—A Room in ihe Castle. 
 
 Enter Othello and Emilia. 
 
 0th. You have seen nothing then ? 
 
 Emit. Nor ever heard ; nor ever did suspect. 
 
 0th. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she togethci 
 
940 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Emil. But then I s iw no harm : and then I heard 
 Each syllabic, that breath made up between them. 
 
 0th. What, did they never whisper 1 
 
 Emil. Never, my lord. 
 
 0th. Nor send you out of the way 1 
 
 Emil. Never. 
 
 0th. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor 
 
 Emil. Never, my lord. [nothing ? 
 
 0th. That's strange. 
 
 Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest. 
 Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other, 
 Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom. 
 If any wretch hath put this in your head. 
 Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse ! 
 For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true, 
 There's no man happy : the purest of their wives 
 Is foul as slander. 
 
 0th. Bid her come hither: — go. — 
 
 \^Exit Emilia. 
 She says enough: — yet she's a simple bawd. 
 That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, 
 A closet-lock-and-key of villanous secrets : 
 And yet she'll kneel, and pray ; I have seen herdo't. 
 
 Re-enter Emilia, with Desdemona. 
 
 Des. My lord, what is your will ? 
 
 0th. Pray, chuck, come hither. 
 
 Des. What is your pleasure 1 
 
 0th. Let me see your eyes. 
 
 T-ook in my face. 
 
 Des. What hon-ible fancy's this T 
 
 0th. Some of your function, mistress; [ To Emilia. 
 Leave procreants alone, and shut the door : 
 Cough, or cry — hem, if any body come: 
 Your mystery, your mystery ; — nay, despatch. 
 
 [Exit Emilia. 
 
 Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech 
 import ? 
 I understand a fury in your words. 
 But not the words. 
 
 0th. Why, what art thou? 
 
 Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 
 
 And loyal wife. 
 
 0th. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 
 
 Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves 
 Should fear to seize thee : therefore, be double- 
 Swear — thou art honest. [damn'd, 
 
 Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 
 
 0th. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as 
 hell. 
 
 Des. To whom, my lord ] with whom 1 How am 
 I false 1 
 
 0th. O Desdemona ! — away ! away ! away ! 
 
 Des. Alas, the heavy day ! — Why do you weep 1 
 Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord 1 
 If, haply, you my father do suspect. 
 An instrument of this your calling back, 
 )jay not your blame on me ; if you have lost him, 
 Why, I have lost him too. 
 
 0th. Had it pleas'd heaven 
 
 To try me with affliction ; had he rain'd 
 \\\ kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head; 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; 
 (liven to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; 
 [ should have found in some part of my soul 
 A drop of patience: but (alas!) to make me 
 A fixed figure, for the time of scorn 
 To point his slow and moving finger at, — 
 0! O! 
 Vpt rould I I) !ar that too ; well, very well : 
 
 But there, where I have garner'd' up my hn.irt , 
 
 Where either I must live, or bear no life; 
 
 The fountain from the which my current runs. 
 
 Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! 
 
 Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads 
 
 To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion 
 
 there ! 
 Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin , 
 Ay, there, look grim as hell ! 
 
 Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest, 
 
 0th. O, ay: as summer flies are in the shambles. 
 That quicken even with blowing. O, thou weed, 
 Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet. 
 That the sense aches at thee. — 'Would thou hadst 
 ne'er been born ! 
 
 Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed 1 
 
 0th. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, 
 Made to write whore upon! What committed! 
 Committed ! — thou public commoner ! 
 I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
 That would to cinders burn up modesty. 
 Did I but speak thy deeds — What committed ! 
 Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks ; 
 The bawdy wind that kisses all it meets. 
 Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
 And will not hear it : What committed ! — 
 Impudent strumpet ! 
 
 Des. By heaven, you do me wrong, 
 
 0th. Are not you a strumpet 1 
 
 Des. No, as I am a Christian* 
 
 If to preserve this vessel for my lord, 
 From any other foul unlawful touch, 
 Be, — not to be a strumpet, I am none. 
 
 0th. What, not a whore 1 
 
 Des. No, as I shall be savec. 
 
 0th. Is it possible 7 
 
 Des. O, heaven forgive us ! 
 
 0th. I cry you mercy, then 
 
 I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, 
 That married with Othello. — You, mistress, 
 
 Re-enter Emilia. 
 
 That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, 
 And keep the gate of hell ; You ! you ! ay, you : 
 We have done our course : there's money for youi 
 
 pains ; 
 I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Emil. Alas,what does this gentleman conceive? — 
 How do you, madam ? how do you, my good lady ? 
 
 Des. 'Faith, half asleep. 
 
 Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with my 
 
 Des. With who ? [lord ? 
 
 Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. 
 
 Des. Who is thy lord ? 
 
 Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady. 
 
 Des. I have none : Do not talk to me, Emilia: 
 I cannot weep ; nor answer I have none, 
 But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to-night 
 Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, — remember ;- 
 And call thy husband hither. 
 
 Emil. Here is a change, indeed ! [Exit 
 
 Des. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet 
 How have I been behaved, that he might stick 
 The small'st opinion on my great'st abuse ? 
 
 Re-enter Emilia, ivith Iago. 
 
 lago. What is your pleasure, madam "^ How iy i 
 with you ' 
 
 c Treasured uo. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 941 
 
 Des. I can not tell. Those that do teach young 
 babes, 
 Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks : 
 He might have chid me so: for, in good faith, 
 I am a child to chiding. 
 
 lago. What's the matter, ladyl 
 
 Emii Alas, lago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her, 
 Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her. 
 As true hearts cannot bear. 
 
 Des. Am I that name, lago? 
 
 logo. What name, fair lady ? 
 
 Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was. 
 
 iswaV. Hecall'dher,whore; a beggar, in his drink, 
 Ujuld not have laid such terms upon his callet.' 
 
 Icigo. Why did he so 1 
 
 Des. I do not know ; I am sure, I am none such 
 
 lago. Do not weep, do not weep ; Alas the day ! 
 
 Eniil. Has she forsook so many noble matches. 
 Her father, and her country, and her friends. 
 To be call'd — whore 1 would it not make one weep ' 
 
 Des. It is my wretched fortune. 
 
 Id go. Beshrew him for it ! 
 
 Kow comes this trick upon him T 
 
 Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 
 
 Einil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain. 
 Some busy and insinuating rogue, 
 Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office, 
 Have not devis'd this slander ; I'll be hang'd else. 
 
 lago. Fie, there's no such man ; it is impossible. 
 
 Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him ! 
 
 Eniil. A halter pardon him ! and hell knaw his 
 bones ! [company 1 
 
 Why should he call her, whore 1 who keeps her 
 What place] what time ] what form ? what like- 
 lihood 1 
 The Moor's abused by some most villanous knave, 
 Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow : — 
 O, heaven, that such companions' thou'dst unfold ; 
 And put in every honest hand a whip. 
 To lash the rascal naked through the world, 
 Even from the east to the west! 
 
 Itigo. Speak within door. 
 
 Eniil. O, fye upon him ! some such squire he was, 
 That turn'd your wit the seamy side' without. 
 And made you to suspect n.e with the Moor. 
 
 lago. You are a fool ; go to. 
 
 Des. 0, good lago. 
 
 What shall I do to win my lord again 1 
 Good friend, go to him ; for by this light of heaven, 
 I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel : — 
 If e'ei my will did trespass 'gainst his love, 
 Either in discor/ss of thought, or actual deed ; 
 Or that mine cy^s, mine ears, or any sense, 
 Delighted theiri in any other form ; 
 Or that I do net yet, and ever did, 
 And evei v. ill, — though he do shake me off 
 To beggp.ly divorcement, — love him dearly, 
 Co:nfbrt forswear me ! Unkindncss may do much ; 
 And his unkindncss may defeat my life. 
 But /icvcr taint my love. I can't say, whore; 
 .1 does abhor me, now I speak the word; 
 To do tlic act that might the addition' earn, 
 Not tlie world's mass of vanity could make me. 
 
 lago. I pray you be content ; 'tis but his humor; 
 The luisiness of the state does him offence, 
 And he does chide with you. 
 
 Des. If 'twere no other, — 
 
 lago. It is but so, I warrant you. [Trumpets. 
 Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 
 'liUdrab •Fellows. > Inside out. 'Title. 
 
 And the great messengers of Venice stay : 
 Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well. 
 
 [Exeunt Desdemona and Emilias 
 
 Enter Rodeiiigo. 
 
 How now, Rodcrigo? 
 
 Rod. I do not find that thou deal'st justly with me, 
 
 lago. What in the contrary 1 
 
 Rod. Every day thou doff'st* me with some 
 device, lago ; and rather (as it seems to me now) 
 kecp'st from me all convcniency, than suppliest mo 
 with the least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, 
 no longer endure it : Noram I yet persuaded, to put 
 up in peace what already I have foolishly suffered. 
 
 lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo] 
 
 Rod. I have heard too much ; for your words 
 and performances, are no kin together. 
 
 lago. You charge me most unjustly. 
 
 Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted 
 myself out of my means. The jewels you have had 
 from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have 
 corrupted a votarist: You have told me — she has 
 received them, and returned me expectations and 
 comforts of sudden respect and acquittance; 'but J 
 find none. 
 
 lago. Well ; go to ; very well. 
 
 Rod. Very well ! go to ! I caniiot go to, man ; 
 nor 'tis not very well : By this hand, I say, it is 
 very scurvy ; and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 
 
 lago. Very well. 
 
 Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make 
 myself known to Desdemona: If she will return 
 me my jewels, I will give ove"- my suit, and repent 
 my unlawful solicitation : if not, assure yourself, I 
 will seek satisfaction of you. 
 
 lago. You have said now. 
 
 Rod. Ay, and I have said nothing, bul what I 
 protest intendment of doing. 
 
 lago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; and 
 even, from this instant, do build on thee a better 
 opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Ro- 
 derigo: Thou hast taken against me a most just 
 exception ; but yet, I protest, I have dealt most di- 
 rectly in thy affair. 
 
 Rod. It hath not appeared. 
 
 lago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared; and 
 your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. 
 But, Roderigo, if thou hast that within thee in- 
 deed, which I have greater reason to believe now 
 than ever, — I mean, purpose, courage, and valor, 
 — this night show it: if thou the next night follow- 
 ing enjoyest not Desdemona, take me from this 
 world with treachery, and devise engines for my life 
 
 Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason, and 
 compass ? 
 
 lago. Sir, there is especial commission come 
 from Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 
 
 Rod. Is that true 1 why, then Othello and Des- 
 demona return again to Venice. 
 
 lago. O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes 
 avi'ay with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode 
 be lingered here by some accident; wherein none 
 can be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio. 
 
 Rod. How do you mean — removing of himi 
 
 lago. Why, l>y making him uncapableof Othel' 
 lo's place; knocking out his l)rains. 
 
 Rod. And that you would have me do? 
 
 lago. Ay ; if you dare do yourself a profit and a 
 right. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thither 
 iPut'stmeoff. 'Requital. 
 
y42 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 will I go to him ,' — he knows not yet of his ho- 
 norable fortune: if you will watch his going 
 thence, (which I will fashion to fall out between 
 twelve and one,) you may take him at your plea- i 
 sure ; I will be near to second your attempt, and 
 he shall fall between us. Come, stand not amazed 
 at it, but go along with me ; I will show you such a 
 necessity in his death, that you shall think your- 
 self bound to put it on him. It is now high sup- 
 per-time, and the night grows to waste : about it. 
 
 Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 
 
 lago. And you shall, be satisfied. [^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE lll.^Another Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Lad. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no 
 furtlier. 
 
 0th. O, pardon me ; 'twill do me good to walk. 
 
 Lod. Madam, good-night; I humbly thank your 
 
 Des. Your honor is most welcome. [ladyship. 
 
 Oik. Will you walk, sir 1 
 
 0, — Desdemona, 
 
 Des. My lord 1 
 
 0th. Get you to bed on the instant, I will be re- 
 turned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there; 
 look, it be done. 
 
 Des. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Exeu7it Oth., Lod., and Attendants. 
 
 Emit. How goes it now 1 he looks gentler than 
 
 Des. He says he will return incontinent ;* [he did. 
 He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
 And bade me to dismiss you. 
 
 Emil, Dismiss me ! 
 
 Des. It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
 Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
 We must not now displease him. 
 
 Emil. I would you had never seen him ! 
 
 Des. So would not I; my love doth so approve him, 
 That even his stubbornness, his checks, and 
 
 frowns, — 
 Pr'ythee, unpin me, — have grace and favor in them. 
 
 Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on 
 the bed. 
 
 Des. All's one : — Good father! how foolish are our 
 If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me [minds ! 
 In one of those same sheets. 
 
 Emil. Come, come, you talk. 
 
 Des. My mother had a maid call'd — Barbara ; 
 She was in love ; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad,' 
 And did forsake her : she had a song of — willow. 
 An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, 
 And she died singing it: That song, to-night. 
 Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do 
 But to go hang my head all at one side. 
 And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatch. 
 
 Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown 1 
 
 Des. No, unpin me here. — 
 
 This Lodovico is a proper man. 
 
 Emil. A veiy handsome man. 
 
 Des. And he speaks well. 
 
 Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have 
 walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his 
 nether lip. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ties.The poor soul sat sighins;hy a sycamore tree, 
 Sing all a green willow .• [Singing. 
 ffer hand on her bosom, her head on her knee. 
 Sing willow, willow, willow: 
 * Immediately. » Wild, inconstant. 
 
 The fresh streams rxn by her, and murmured /ic* 
 Sing luillow, 4"C. [jnoans , 
 
 Her salt tears fell fromher, and softened the stones 
 Lay by these : 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow; 
 Pr'ythee, hie thee ; he'll come anon. — 
 
 Sing all a green willow, must be my garland, 
 JI. 
 
 Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve, — 
 Nay, that's not next. — Hark ! vi'ho is it that knocks ! 
 
 Emil. It is the wind. 
 
 Des. Icaird my love, false love,- but what said he 
 Sing willow, S^c. [then ? 
 
 If I court mo^ women, youUl couch ivith mo men. 
 So, get thee gone; good-night. Mine eyes do itch; 
 Doth that bode weeping ? 
 
 Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there 
 
 Des. I have heard it said so. — 0, these men 
 these men ! — 
 Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia,- 
 That there be women do abuse their husbands 
 In such gross kind ? 
 
 Emil. There be some such, no question. 
 
 Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 
 
 Emil. Why, would not you ? [world 1 
 
 Des. No, by this heavenly light ! 
 
 Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light ; 
 I might do't as well i' the dark. [world 1 
 
 Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 
 
 Emil. The world is a huge thing : 'tis a great price 
 For a small vice. 
 
 Des. Good troth, I think thou wouldst not. 
 
 Emil. By my troth, I think I should ; and undo't, 
 when I had done. Man-y, I would not do such a 
 thing for a joint ring; nor for measures of lawn ; 
 nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty 
 exhibition : but for the whole world, — Why, who 
 would not make her husband a cuckold, to make 
 him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for't. 
 
 Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong 
 for the whole world. 
 
 Emil.Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the world : 
 and, having the world for your labor, 'tis a wrong in 
 your own world, and you may quickly make it right. 
 
 Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 
 
 Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many [for. 
 
 To the vantage, as would store the world they play 'd 
 But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults, 
 If wives do fall : Say, that they slack their duties, 
 And pour our treasures into foreign laps ; 
 Or else break out in peevish jealousies. 
 Throwing restraint upon us; or, say they strike us, 
 Or scant our former having'' in despite ; [grace, 
 Why, we have galls ; and, though we have some 
 Yet we have some revenge. Let husbands know 
 Their wives have sense' like them : they see, and 
 
 smell. 
 And have their palates both for sweet and sour. 
 As husbands have. What is it that they do. 
 When they change us for others 1 Is it sport'' 
 I think it is ; And doth affection breed it 1 
 I think it doth ; Is't frailty, that thus errs 1 
 It is so too • And have not we affections 1 
 Desires for sport 1 and frailty, as men have 1 
 Then, let them use us well : else let them know. 
 The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. [usage send, 
 
 Des. Good-night, good-night: Heaven me such 
 Not to pick bad from bad; but, by bad, mend! [jEar'n^. 
 
 • Mo for more. 'Our former allowance of expensa. 
 
 • Sensation. 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 943 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street. 
 Enter Iago and Rodehigo. 
 
 Ingo. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight will 
 he come : 
 \Vear thy good rapier bare,' and put it home ; 
 Quick, quick; fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow: 
 it makes us, or it mors us; think on that, 
 And fix most firm thy resolution. 
 
 Rod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in't. 
 
 Iago. Here, at thy hand ; be bold, and take thy 
 sword. [^Retires to a little distance. 
 
 Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
 And yet he has given me satisfying reasons : — 
 'Tis but a man gone : — forth, my sword ; he dies. 
 
 [Goes to his stand. 
 
 Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to 
 the sense,' 
 And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio, 
 Dr Cassio him, or each do kill the other, 
 Every way makes my gain: Live Roderigo, 
 He calls me to a restitution large 
 Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd' from him. 
 As gifts to Desdemona ; 
 It must not be : if Cassio do remain, 
 He hath a daily beauty in his life. 
 That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor 
 May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much peril: 
 No, he must die : — But so, I hear him coming. 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 
 Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he ; — Villain, thou diest. 
 [Rushes from his post, and makes a pass 
 at Cassio. 
 Cos. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, 
 But that my coat is better than thou think'st ; 
 I will make proof of thine. 
 
 [Draws, and wounds Rodkhigo. 
 Rod. O, I am slain ! 
 
 [Iago rushes from his post, cnts Cassio be- 
 hind in the Leg, and Exit. 
 Cos. I am maim'd for ever: — Help, ho ! murder ! 
 murder ! [Falls. 
 
 Enter Othello, at a distance. 
 
 Olh. The voice of Cassio : — Iago keeps his word. 
 
 Rod. O, villain that I am ! 
 
 Olh. Hark ! 'tis even so. 
 
 Cas. O, help ! ho ! light ! a surgeon ! 
 
 0th. 'Tis he ; — O brave Iago, honest, and just. 
 That hath such noble sense of thy friend's wrong ! 
 Thou teachest me, — Minion, your dear lies dead, 
 And your fate hies apace: — Strumpet, I come: 
 Forth- of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are 
 
 blotted ; 
 Thy bt^tl) lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be 
 spotted. [Exit Othei.lo. 
 
 Enter Lonovico and Guatiano, at a distance. 
 
 Cas. What, ho! no watch? no passage]' mur- 
 der! mu'der! 
 Gra. 'Tis soma nischance ; the cry is very direful. 
 
 « Fished. 
 
 ' Unsheathed. 
 »Out. 
 
 9 To the quick. 
 ' No passengers. 
 
 Cas. 0, help ! 
 
 Lod. Hark ! 
 
 Rod. wi-etched villain'. 
 
 Lod. Two or three groans ; — it is a heavy 
 night : 
 These may be counterfeits ; let's think't unsafe 
 To come in to the cry, without more help. 
 
 Rod, Nobody come ] then shall I bleed to death. 
 
 Enter Iago, with a Light. 
 
 Lod. Hark! 
 
 Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, v/ith light 
 
 and weapons. 
 Iago. Who's there ? whose noise is this, that 
 
 cries on murder 1 
 Lod. We do not know. 
 
 Iago. Did you not hear a cry 1 
 
 Cas. Here, here ; for heaven's sake, help me. 
 Iago. What's the matter ■? 
 
 G?-a. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 
 Lod. The same, indeed ; a very valiant fellow. 
 Iago. What are you here that cry so grievously 1 
 Cos. Iago! O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains! 
 Give me some help. 
 
 Iago. me, lieutenant ! what villains have done 
 
 this? 
 Cas. I think, that one of them is hereabout, 
 And cannot make away. 
 
 lugo. O treacherous villains ! — 
 
 What, are you there ] come in, and give some help. 
 [To Lonovico and Gkatiano. 
 Rod. O, help me here ! 
 Cas. That's one of them. 
 
 Iago. murderous slave ! O villain ! 
 
 [Iago stabs Rodeiugo. 
 Rod. damn'd Iago! O inhuman dog! — 
 O! O! O! 
 
 Iago. Kill men i'the dark ! — Where be these 
 bloody thieves 1 
 How silent is this town ! — Ho! murder! murder! 
 What may you be? are you of good, or cvill 
 Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 
 Iago. Signior Lodovico 1 
 
 Lod. He, sir. 
 
 Iago. I cry you mercy ; Here's Cassio huit 
 
 By villains. 
 
 G)-a. Cassio 1 
 
 Iago. How is it, brother 1 
 
 Cas. My leg is cut in two. 
 Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! — 
 
 Light, gentlemen ; I'll bind it with my shirt. 
 
 Enter Bianca. 
 
 Bian. What is the matter, ho] who is't that cry 'd? 
 Iago. \\'ho is't that cry'd ] 
 Bian. O my dear Cassio! my sweet Cassio! 
 O Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio ! 
 
 Iago. O notable strujupet! — Cassio, may you 
 suspect 
 Who they should be, that have thus mangled you ! 
 Cas. No. 
 
 Gra. I am sorry to find you thus I have been 
 to seek you. 
 
 * Thick, cloudy. 
 
914 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 So. — O, for a chair, 
 -0 Cassio ! Cassio ! 
 
 Act V 
 
 ay- 
 
 lagj- Lend me a garter 
 To bear him easily hence ! 
 
 Bian. Alas, he faints: 
 Cassio ! 
 
 lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 
 To be a party in this injury. — 
 Patience a while, good Cassio. — Come, come ; 
 Lend me a light. — Know we this face, or no 7 
 Alas ! my friend, and my dear countryman, 
 Roderigo \ no : — Yes, sure ; 'tis Rodcrigo. 
 
 Gra. What, of Venice ? 
 
 lago. Even he, sir; did you know him 1 
 
 Gra. Know him 1 
 
 lago. Signior Gratiano ? I cry you gentle par- 
 don ; 
 These bloody accidents must excuse my manners. 
 That so neglected you. 
 
 Gra. I am glad to see you. 
 
 lago. How do you, Cassio] — O, a chair, a chair! 
 
 Gra. Roderigo! 
 
 lago. He, he, 'tis he : — O, that's well said ; — 
 the chair : — [^ Chair brought in. 
 
 Rome good man bear him carefully from hence ; 
 I'll fetch the general's surgeon. — For you, mistress, 
 
 [To BlANCA. 
 
 Save you your labor. He that lies slain here, 
 Cassio, 
 
 Was my dear friend : What malice was between 
 you? 
 Cas. None in the world; nor do I know the 
 
 man. 
 lago. [To Bian.] What, look you pale? — 0, 
 bear him out o' the air. — 
 
 [Cassio aiid Rod. are borne off. 
 
 Stay you, good gentlemen : — Look you pale, mis- 
 tress ? 
 
 Do you perceive the ghastness of her eye ? 
 
 Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon: — 
 
 Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her ; 
 
 Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak, 
 
 Though tongues were out of use. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Emil. 'Las, what's the matter; what's the mat- 
 ter, husband ? 
 lago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark. 
 By Roderigo, and fellows that are 'scap'd ; 
 He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
 
 Emil. Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio! 
 lago. This is the fruit of whoring. — Pr'ythee, 
 Emilia, 
 Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night : — 
 What, do you shake at that ? 
 Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but I therefore 
 
 shake not. 
 lago. 0, did he so ? I charge you go with me. 
 Emil. Fye, fye upon thee, strumpet ! 
 Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest. 
 As you that thus abuse me. 
 Emil. As I ? foh ! fye upon thee ! 
 
 lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio 
 dress'd : — 
 Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale.— 
 Emilia, run you to the citadel. 
 And tell my lord and lady what has happ'd. — 
 Will you go on, I pray ? — This is the night, 
 
 [Aside. 
 That either makes me, or fordoes' me quite. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 ' Undoes. 
 
 SCENE n. — A Bed-chamber: Deshemowa in 
 
 Bed asleep. A Light burning. 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 
 0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,— 
 Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars !— 
 It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood ; 
 Nor scar that v\'hitcr skin of her's than snow, 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
 
 [Takes off his Swoxd 
 Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
 Put out the light, and then put out the Hght:' 
 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again thy former light restore. 
 Should I repent me : — but once put out thine. 
 Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, 
 I know not where is that Promethean heat, 
 That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, [thy rose. 
 It needs must wither : — I'll smell it on the tree. — 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice to break her sword! — One more, one more.— 
 Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, 
 And love thee after: — One more, and this the last; 
 So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. 
 
 But they are cruel tears: This sorrow's heavenly; 
 It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes — ■ 
 
 Des. Who's there ? Othello ? 
 
 Ofh. Ay, Desdemona, 
 
 Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ? 
 
 0th. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? 
 
 T>es. Ay, my lord. 
 
 0th. If you bethink yourself of any crime, 
 Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace. 
 Solicit for it straight. 
 
 Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that ? 
 
 0th. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by 
 
 1 would not kill thy unprepared spirit; 
 
 No, — Heaven forfend ! ' — I would not kill thy soul. 
 
 Des. Talk you of killing ? 
 
 0th. Ay, I do. 
 
 Des. Then, heaven 
 
 Have mercy on me ! 
 
 0th. Amen, with all my heart ! 
 
 Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me, 
 
 0th. Humph! 
 
 Des. And yet I fear you : for you are fatal then, 
 When your eyes roll so: Why I should fear, I know 
 
 not. 
 Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet, I feel, I fear. 
 
 0th. Think on thy sins. 
 
 Des. They are loves I bear to you. 
 
 0th. Ay, and for that thou diest. 
 
 Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving- — 
 Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? 
 Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : 
 These are portents ; but yet, I hope, I hope, 
 They do not point on me. 
 
 0th. Peace, and be still ! 
 
 Des. I will so : What's the matter ? 
 
 0th. That handkerchief v\'hich I so lov'd and 
 gave thee, 
 Thou gav'st to Cassio. 
 
 Des. No, by my life and soulj 
 
 Send for the man and ask him. 
 
 'i. e. The light of life. 
 
 This is the punctuation of the folio of 1623, and of Pop<^ 
 Steevens, &e., but some editors point it thus : — 
 
 Put out the light, and then : Put out the Hcht: 
 
 ' Forbid 
 
Scene II 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 915 
 
 0th Sweet soul, take heetl, 
 
 Take heed of perjury; thou art on thy death-bed. 
 
 Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 
 
 0th. Yes, presently : 
 
 Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
 For tc deny each article with oath, 
 Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception, 
 That I do e^roan withal. Thou art to die. 
 
 Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me ! 
 
 0th. I say, amen. 
 
 Des. And have you mercy too ! — I never did 
 OlTend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio, 
 But with such general warranty of heaven 
 As I might love: I never gave him token. 
 
 0th. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his 
 hand. 
 
 perjur'd woman ! thou dost stone my heart, 
 And mak'st me call what I intend to do, — 
 
 A murder, which I thought a sacrifice: 
 
 1 saw the handkerchief. 
 
 Des. He found it then; 
 
 I never gave it him : — Send for him hither, 
 Let him confess a truth. 
 
 Olh. He hath confess'd. 
 
 Des. What, my lord '! 
 
 Olh. That he hath — used thee. 
 
 Des. Howl unlawfully? 
 
 0th. Ay. 
 
 Des. He'll not say so. 
 
 0th. No, his mouth is stopp'd ; 
 
 Honest lago hath ta'en order for't. 
 
 Des. My fear interprets then, — What, is he dead] 
 
 0th. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
 Had stomach for them all. 
 
 Des. Alas ! he is betray'd, and I undone. 
 
 0th. Out, strumpet! Weep'st thou for him to 
 my face? 
 
 Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 
 
 0th. Down, strumpet ! 
 
 Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. 
 
 0th. Nay, if you strive, 
 
 Des. But half an hour. 
 
 0th, Being done, 
 
 There is no pause. 
 
 Des. But while I say one prayer. 
 
 0th. It is too late. [//e smothers her. 
 
 Emit. [Within.'] My lord, my lord! what ho! 
 my lord ! my lord ! 
 
 0th. What noise is this? — Not dead! not yet 
 quite dead? 
 I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ; 
 I would not have thee linger in thy pain. — 
 So, so. 
 
 Emil. [ Within.'] What ho ! my lord, my lord ! 
 
 0th. Who's there? 
 
 Endl. [ Within!] 0, good my lord, I would speak 
 a word with you. 
 
 0th. Yes ; — 'tis Emilia : — by and by. — She's 
 dead. 
 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death : 
 The noise was high. — Ila! no more moving? 
 Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Wcre't 
 
 good ? 
 I think, she stirs again:— No. — What's the best? 
 U she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife: 
 My wife! my wife! what wife? — I have no wife: 
 0, insupportiihle! O heavy hour! 
 Metliinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
 Of sun and moon ; and that the affrighted globe 
 ejbjuld yawn at alteration. 
 
 Emil. [Within.] I do beseech you I may speak 
 with you. 
 O, good my lord ! 
 
 0th. I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia: — 
 Soft, — by and by : — Let me t\>e curtains draw. — 
 Where art thou ? What's the matter with thee now? 
 
 [Unloclcs the Door. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Emil. 0, good my lord, vender's foul murder done. 
 
 0th. What? now? 
 
 Emit. But now, my lord! 
 
 Otli. It is the very error of the moon ; 
 She conies more near the earth than she was wont 
 And makes men mad. 
 
 Emit. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Vene* 
 tian, 
 Call'd— Roderigo. 
 
 0th. Roderigo kill'a! 
 
 And Cassio kill'd! 
 
 Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 
 
 0th, Not Cassio kill'd? then murder's out of tunc. 
 And sweet revenge grows harsh. 
 
 Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 
 
 Emit. Alas! what cry is that? 
 
 Olli. That! what? 
 
 Emit. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice. — 
 Help ! help, ho ! help ! — lady, speak again ! 
 Sweet Desdemona! O, sweet mistress, speak! 
 
 Des. A guiltless death I die. 
 
 Emil. O, who hath done 
 
 This deed? 
 
 Des. Nobody; I myself; farewell: 
 
 Commend me to my kind lord; O^farevk^eJl. [Dies, 
 
 Olh. Why, how should she be murder'd? 
 
 Emil. Alas, who knows' 
 
 Olh. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 
 
 Emil. She said so, I must needs report the truth 
 
 0th. She's like a liar, gone to burning hell ; 
 'Twas I that kill'd her. 
 
 Emil. O, the more angel she, / 
 
 And you the blacker devil ! 
 
 0th. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore, 
 
 Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil ' 
 
 0th. She was false as water. 
 
 Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 
 
 Tliat she was false; O, she was heavenly true! 
 
 0th. Cassio did tap her; ask thy husband else, 
 O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, 
 But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
 To this extremity; Thy husband knew it all. 
 
 Emil. My husband? 
 
 0th. Thy husband. 
 
 Emil. That she was false to wedlock ? 
 
 0th. Ay, with Cassio. 
 
 Nay, had she been true. 
 
 If heaven would make me such another world 
 Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,' 
 I'd not have sold her for it. 
 
 Emil. My husband? 
 
 0th. Ay, 'twas he that told me first; 
 
 An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
 That sticks on filthy deeds. 
 
 Emil. My husband? 
 
 0th. What needs this iterance,' woman ? I say, 
 thy husband. 
 
 Emil. O mistress, villany hath made mocks witb 
 love ! — 
 My husband say, that she was false? 
 
 •A precious stone. 'Repetition 
 
946 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act V 
 
 0th. He, woman; 
 
 I say, thy husband; Dcs'. understand the word] 
 My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 
 
 Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
 Rot half a grain a day! he lies to tlie heart; 
 She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 
 
 0th. Ha! 
 
 Emil. Do thy worst: 
 
 This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, 
 Than thou wast worthy her. 
 
 Olh. Peace, you were best. 
 
 Emil. Thou hast not half the power to do me 
 harm, 
 As I have to be hurt." O gull ! O dolt ! 
 As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed, — 
 l care not for thy sword ; I'll make thee knovi^n. 
 Though I lost twenty hves: — Help! help, ho! help! 
 The Moor has kill'd my mistress ; Murder ! murder ! 
 
 Enter Montano, Guatiano, and Iago. 
 
 Mon. What is the matter ? — How now^, general 1 
 
 Endl. O, are you come.IagoT you have done well. 
 That men must lay their murders on your neck. 
 
 Ora. What is the matter] 
 
 Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man. 
 He says, thou told'st him, that his wife was false: 
 I know, thou did'st not, thou art not such a villain; 
 Speak, for my heart is full. 
 
 lago. I told him what I thought; and told no 
 more 
 Than what he found himself was apt and true. 
 
 Emil. But did you ever tell him she was false] 
 
 lago. I did. 
 
 Emil. You toid a lie; an odious, damned lie; 
 Upon my soul, a lie: a wicked lie : — 
 She false with Cassio!— Did you say with Cassio] 
 
 lago. With Cassio, mistress; Go to, charm your 
 tongue. 
 
 Emil, I will not charm my tongue; 1 am bound 
 to speak; 
 My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed. 
 
 All. O heavens forfend ! ^ 
 
 Emil. And your reports have set the murder on. 
 
 Olh. Nay, stare not, masters; it is true, indeed. 
 
 Gi-a. 'Tis a strange truth. 
 
 Mon. O monstrous act ! 
 
 Emil. Villany, villany, villany ! — 
 
 I think upon't, — I think, — I smell't; — O villany ! 
 I thought so then ; — I'll kill myself for grief. — 
 
 villany, villany! 
 
 lago. What, are you mad] I charge you, get 
 
 you home. 
 Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to 
 speak : 
 Tis proper I obey him, but not now : — 
 Perchance, lago, I will ne'er go home. 
 
 Olh. O ! O ! O ! [Hanging over his Wife. 
 
 Emil. Nay, lay thee down, and roar; 
 
 For thou hast killed the sweetest innocent, 
 That e'er did lift up eye. 
 
 Oth. O, she was foul ! — 
 
 [Rising. 
 
 1 scarce did know you, uncle : There lies your niece. 
 Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly 
 
 stopp'd : 
 knjw, this act shows horrible and grim. 
 Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's 
 dead; 
 Vhy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
 • " ifare can I hear titan you dare execute." " Forbid. 
 
 Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now, 
 This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
 Vea, curse his better angel from his side, 
 And fall to reprobation. 
 
 Oth. 'Tis pitiful: but yet lago knows, 
 That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
 A thousand times committed ; Cassio confess'd it, 
 And she did gratify his amorous vows 
 With that recognizance and pledge of love 
 Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand ; 
 It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
 My father gave my mother. 
 
 Emil. O heaven ! O heavenly powers ! 
 
 Iago. Come, hold your pesce. 
 
 Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out; — I hold my peace, 
 sir ] no ; 
 No, I will speak as liberal' as the air ; 
 Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all, 
 All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. 
 
 Iago. Be wise, and get you home. 
 
 Emil. I will not. [Iago offers to stab his Wife 
 
 Gra. Fye ! 
 
 Your sword upon a woman ! [speak'st of, 
 
 Emil. thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou 
 I found by fortune, and did give my husband ; 
 For often, with a solemn earnestness, 
 (More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,) 
 He begg'd of me to steal it. 
 
 Iago. Villanous whore ! 
 
 Emil. She give it Cassio ! no, alas ; I found it, 
 And I did giv't to my husband. 
 
 Iago. Filth, thou liest. 
 
 Emil. By heaven, I do not : I do not, gentlemen . 
 O murd'rous coxcomb ! what should such a fool 
 Do with so good a wife "^ 
 
 [Iago stahs Emilia, then runs out. 
 
 Oth. Are there no stones in heaven, 
 
 But what sei-ve for the thunder] — Precious villain! 
 
 Gra. The woman falls ! sure, he has kill'd his wife. 
 
 Emil. Ay, ay; O, lay me by my mistress* side! 
 
 Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd. [pon, 
 
 Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Takeyou thiswea- 
 Which I have here recovcr'd from the Moor : 
 Come, guard the door without ; let him not pass, 
 But kill him rather; I'll after that same villain, 
 Fcr 'tis a damned slave. 
 
 [Exeunt Montano and Gratiano. 
 
 Oth. I am not valiant neither. 
 But every puny whipster gets my sword: — 
 But why should honor outlive honesty] 
 Let it go all. 
 
 Emil. What did thy song bode, lady] 
 
 Hark, canst thou hear me] I will play the swan, 
 And die in music; — Willow, tvilloiv, ivillow. — 
 Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor, 
 So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; 
 So speaking as I think, I die, — I die. [Dies, 
 
 Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber, 
 It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper;* — • 
 O, here it is: — Uncle, I must come forth. 
 
 Gra. [ Within.'] If thou attempt it, it will cost 
 thee dear; 
 Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 
 
 Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with m& 
 Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 
 
 Re-enter Ghatiauo. 
 
 Cm. What is the matter '^ 
 
 'Free. 
 
 * Steel is hardened by being put r^d-hot into VPry co!4 
 water. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 947 
 
 0th. Behold ! I have a weapon ; 
 
 A better never did itself sustain 
 Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day, 
 That, with this little arm, and this good sword, 
 I have made my way through more impediments 
 Than twenty times your stop: — But, O vain boast! 
 Who can control his fata ? 'tis not so now. — 
 Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd; 
 Here is my journey's end, here is my butt. 
 And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
 Do you go back dismay'd 1 'tis a lost fear; 
 Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 
 And he retires; — Where should Othello gol — 
 Now, how dost thou look now ? O ill-starr'd 
 
 wench ! 
 Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt' 
 This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven. 
 And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl! 
 Even like thy chastity. — 
 O cursed, cursed slave! — Whip me, ye devils, 
 From the possession of this heavenly sight! 
 Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur! 
 Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! — 
 O Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead 1 
 Dead 1 ! O ! ! 
 
 Enter Lodotico, Montano, Cassio carried in a 
 Chair, and Officers, with Iago, prisoiier. 
 
 hod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate 
 man T 
 
 Olh. That's he, that was Othello; here I am. 
 
 hod. Where is that viper? bring the villain forth. 
 
 Olh. I look down towards his feet;^ — but that's 
 a fable : 
 il that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 
 
 [Othello wounds Iago. 
 
 hod. Wrench his sword from him. 
 
 iago. I bleed, sir; but not kill'd. 
 
 Otii. I am not sorry neither; I'd have thee live; 
 For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 
 
 hod. thou Othello, that was once so good, 
 Fall'n in the practice'' of a cursed slave. 
 What shall be said to thee ? 
 
 0th. Why, any thing ; 
 
 An honorable murderer, if you will ; 
 For nought I did in hate, but all in honor. 
 
 hod. This wretch hath part confess'd his villany : 
 Did you and he consent in Cassio's death? 
 
 Olh. Ay. 
 
 Cas. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 
 
 Olh. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 
 Will you, I pray,^ demi.nd that demi-devil. 
 Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body? 
 
 Iago. Demand me nothing: What you know 
 you know: 
 From this time forth I never will speak word. 
 
 hod. What? not to pray? 
 
 ^ra. Torments will ope your lips. 
 
 0th. Well, thou dost best. 
 
 Lorf.Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n, 
 Whiclx, as I think, you know not : Here is a letter, 
 Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo; 
 And horc, another: the one of them imports 
 The death of Cassio to be undertook 
 By Roderigo. 
 
 Olh. villain ! 
 
 • Account. 
 Stratagem. 
 
 • To see if his feet be cloven. 
 
 Cas. Most heathenishj ind most gross . 
 
 hod. Now here's another discontented paper. 
 Found in his pocket too : and this it seems, 
 Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain, 
 But that, belike, Iago in the interim 
 Came in and satisfied him. 
 
 0th. O the pernicious caitiff! — 
 
 How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
 That was my wife's? 
 
 Cas. I found it in my chamber: 
 
 And he himself confess'd, but even now, 
 That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose, 
 Which wrought to his desire. 
 
 Olh. O fool ! fool ! fool 
 
 Cas. There is besides, in Roderigo's letter, — 
 How he upbraids Iago, that he made him 
 Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came 
 That I was cast: And even but now he spake, 
 After long seeming dead, — Iago hurt hnn, 
 Iago set him on. 
 
 hod. You must forsake this room and go with us; 
 Your power and your command is taken off, 
 And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, — 
 If there be any cunning cruelty. 
 That can torment him much, and hold him long. 
 It shall be his: You shall close prisoner rest. 
 Till that the nature of your fault be known 
 To the Venetian state ; — Come, bring away. 
 
 Olh. Soft you ; a word or two before you go. 
 I have done the state some service, and they know it; 
 No more of that:— I pray you, in your letters. 
 When you shall these unlucky deeds relate. 
 Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, 
 ]N or set down aught in malice: then must you speak 
 Of one, that lov'd not wisely, but too well ; 
 Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought, 
 Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, who.se hand. 
 Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away. 
 Richer than all his tribe ; of one, whose subdued 
 
 eyes, 
 Albeit unused to the melting mood. 
 Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
 Their medicinal gum : Set you down this ; 
 And say, besides, — that in Aleppo once. 
 Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
 Beat a Venetian, and traduced the state, 
 I took by the throat the circi..ncised dog, 
 And smote him — thus. [Stabs himself, 
 
 hod. bloody period ! 
 
 Gra. All, that's spoke, is marr'd. 
 
 Oth. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd thee ; — No way 
 
 but this, [Fulling upon Desdemona. 
 
 Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies. 
 
 Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no 
 
 weapon : 
 
 For he was great cf heart. 
 
 hod. O Spartan dog, 
 
 More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea! 
 Look on the tragic loading of this bed; [To Iago. 
 This is thy work: the object poisons sight; — 
 Let it be hid. — Gratiano, keep the house, 
 And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
 For they succeed to you. — To you, lord governor. 
 Remains the censure of this hellish villain; 
 The lime, the place, the torture, — O enforce it! 
 Myself will straight aboard; and, to the state, 
 This heavy act with heavy heai t relate. 
 
 [Exntni 
 
/ 
 
Vilia mirelur Tulgua mihi flavui Apollo 
 Poculo Castalia plena, minlstrat aqua — Otnd, 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY. 
 
 Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Titchjield. 
 Right Honourable, 
 
 I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your Lordship, nor how 
 the world will censure nie for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen : only if 
 your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all 
 idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention 
 prove deformed, 1 shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, 
 for Jear it yield ine still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour 
 to your heart's content ; which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful 
 expectation. Your Honour's in all duty, 
 
 William Shakspeare. 
 
 Even as the^un with purple-colour'd face 
 Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, 
 Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase ; 
 Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn ; 
 Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, 
 And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him. 
 
 Thrice fairer than myself, (thus she began,) 
 The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, 
 Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, 
 More white and red than doves or roses are ; 
 Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, 
 Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 
 
 Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
 And reign his proud head to the saddle-bow ; 
 If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed, 
 A thousand boney-secrets shalt thou know: 
 Here come and sit, where serpent never hisses, 
 And, being set, I'll smother thee with kisses. 
 
 And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, 
 But rather famish them amid their plentjr. 
 Making them red and pale Avith fresh variety, 
 Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty : 
 A summer's day will seem an hour but short. 
 Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport. 
 
 With this, she seizeth on his sweating palm, 
 The precedent of pith and livelihood. 
 And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm. 
 Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good : 
 Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force. 
 Courageously to pluck him from his horse. 
 
 Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, 
 Under the other was the tender boy. 
 Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain, 
 With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ; 
 She red and hot, as coals of glowing fire, 
 He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 
 
 The studded bridle on a ragged bough 
 Nimbly she fastens (0 how quick is love !) 
 The steed is stalled up, and even now 
 To tie the rider she begins to prove : 
 
 Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust. 
 And govern'd him in strength though not in lust, 
 
 So soon was she along, as he was down. 
 Each leaning on their elbows and their hips : 
 Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he 
 
 frown. 
 And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips ; 
 And kissing speaks with lustful language broken, 
 If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open. 
 
 He burns with bashful shame ; she with her 
 
 tears 
 Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks ; 
 Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs, 
 To fan and blow them dry again she seeks : 
 He says, she is immodest, blames her 'miss ; 
 What follows more, she smothers with a kiss. 
 
 Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast. 
 Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 
 Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, 
 Till either gorge be stufTd, or prey be gone ; 
 Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chia 
 And where she ends, she doth anew begin. 
 
 Forc'd to content, but never to obey. 
 Panting he lies, and breathing in her face; 
 She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey. 
 And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace. 
 Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers 
 So they were dew'd with such distilling showers 
 
 Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, 
 
 So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies ; 
 
 Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fre^ 
 
 Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes : 
 
 Rain added to a river that is rank. 
 
 Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 
 
 Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 
 For *.o a pretty ear she tunes her tde ; 
 Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets, 
 'Twixt crimson shame and anger, ashy pale ; 
 Being red, she loves him best ; and being white. 
 Her best is better'd with a more delight. 
 
d'o2 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 \ 
 
 Look how he can, she cannot choose but love ; 
 And by her fair immortal hand she swears 
 From his soft bosom never to remove, 
 Till he take truce with her contending tears, 
 Which long have raiu'd, making her cheeks all 
 
 wet ; 
 And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. 
 
 Upon this promise did he raise his chin, 
 Like a di-dapper peering through a wave. 
 Who being look'd on, ducks as quickly in; 
 So oifers he to give what she did crave ; 
 Rut when her lips were ready for his pay, 
 He winks, and turns his lips another way. 
 
 Never did passenger in summer's heat 
 
 More thirst for drink, than she for this good turn. 
 
 Her help she sees, but help she cannDt get ; 
 
 She bathes in water, yet in fire must burn : 
 
 Oh pity, 'gan she cry, flint-hearted boy ; 
 
 'Tis but a kiss I beg ; why art thou coy ? 
 
 I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, 
 Even by the stern and direful god of war. 
 Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, 
 Who conquers where he comes, in every jar ; 
 Yet hath he been my captive and my slave. 
 And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt 
 have. 
 
 Over my altars hath he hung his lance, 
 His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest, 
 And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance. 
 To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; 
 Scornmg his churlish drum, and ensign red, 
 Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 
 
 Thus him that over-rul'd, I oversway'd, 
 Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : 
 Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength 
 
 obey'd, 
 Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 
 be not proud, nor brag not of thy might. 
 For mast'ring her that foil'd the god of fight. 
 
 Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, 
 (Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,) 
 The kiss shall be thine own as well as mme : — 
 What see'st thou in the ground ? hold up thy 
 
 head ; 
 Look in mine eye-balls where thy beauty lies : 
 Then why not lips on lips, since eyes on eyes ? 
 
 Art thou asham'd to kiss ? then wink again, 
 And I will wink, so shall the day seem night ; 
 Love keeps his revels where there be but twain, 
 Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight : 
 These blue-vem'd violets whereon we lean, 
 Never can blab, nor know they what we mean. 
 
 The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 
 Shews thee unripe ; yet may'st thou well be tasted ; 
 Make use of time, let not advantage slip ; 
 Beauty within itself should not be wasted : 
 Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime. 
 Rot and consume themselves in little time. 
 
 Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, 
 lU-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
 O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic and cold. 
 Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice. 
 Then might'st thou pause, for then I were not 
 
 for thee ; 
 But having no defects, why dost abhor me ? 
 
 Thou canst net see one wTinkle in my brow; 
 Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick is 
 
 turning ; 
 IMy beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, 
 My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning; 
 My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt 
 Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt 
 
 Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 
 
 Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green. 
 
 Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair, 
 
 Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen; 
 
 Love is a spirit all compact of fire. 
 
 Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 
 
 Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie ; 
 These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support 
 
 me; 
 Two strengthless doves will draw me through 
 
 the sky, 
 From morn till' night, even where I list, to sport 
 
 me: 
 Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
 That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee ? 
 
 Is thine own heart to thine own face affected 
 Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left ? 
 Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected. 
 Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theftj 
 Narcissus so, himself himself forsook, 
 And dy'd to kiss his shadow in the brook. 
 
 Torches are made to light, jewels to wear. 
 Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 
 Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear ; 
 Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse 5 
 Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth 
 
 beauty. 
 Thou wert begot — to get it is thy duty. 
 
 Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed, 
 Unless the earth ^vith thy increase be fed ? 
 By law of Nature thou art bound to breed, 
 That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead 5 
 And so in spite of death thou dost survive, 
 In that thy likeness still is left alive. 
 
 By this, the love-sick queen began to sweat. 
 For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them, 
 And Titan, tired m the mid-day heat. 
 With burning eye did hotly overlook them ; 
 Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, 
 So he were like him, and by Venus' side 
 
 And now Adonis, v>'ith a lazy spright, 
 
 And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, 
 
 His low'ring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight. 
 
 Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky, 
 
 Souring his cheeks, cries, "Fie ! no more of loTej 
 
 The sun doth burn my face ; I must remove. 
 
 Ah me, (quoth Venus) young, and so unkind! 
 What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone ? 
 I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind 
 Shall cool the heat of this descending sun ; 
 I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs : 
 If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears 
 
 The sun that shines from heaven, shines but warm 
 And lo, I lie between that sun and thee ; 
 The heat I have from thence doth Ifttle haim, 
 Thine eye darts forth the fire that bumeth me : 
 And were I not immortal, life were done, 
 Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS 
 
 953 
 
 Art thou obduratf-, flint)', hard as stcol, 
 
 Nav more Ihan flint, for stone at rain relenteth ? 
 
 Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 
 
 What 'tis to love ? how want of love tormenteth ? 
 
 had thy mother borne so bad a mind, 
 
 She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 
 
 What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this ? 
 Or what great danger dwells upooi my suit ? 
 What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss ? 
 Speak, fair ; but speak fair words, or else be mute ; 
 Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again. 
 And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 
 
 Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, 
 Well painted idol, image dull and dead, 
 Statue, contenting but the eye alone, 
 Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ; 
 Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion. 
 For men will kiss even by their own direction." 
 
 This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue. 
 And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ; 
 Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong ; 
 Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause ; 
 And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, 
 \.nd now her sobs do her intendments break. 
 
 Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his 
 
 hand. 
 Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground ; 
 Sometimes her arms infold him like a band : 
 She would, he will not in her arms be bound ; 
 And when from thence he struggles to begone, 
 She locks her lily fingers, one in one. 
 
 Fondling, she saith, since I have hemm'd thee 
 
 here. 
 Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 
 I'll be the park and thou shalt be my deer ; 
 Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale ; 
 Graze on my lips ; and if those hills be dry, 
 Stray lower where the pleasant fountains lie. 
 
 Within this limit is relief enough. 
 Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain. 
 Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, 
 To shelter thee from tempest and from rain ; 
 Then be my deer, since I am such a park ; 
 No dog sliall rouse thee, though a thousand 
 bark. 
 
 At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain. 
 That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple : 
 Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
 He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; _ 
 Fore-knowing well, if there he came to lie. 
 Why there love liv'd, and there he could not die. 
 
 These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits, 
 Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking : 
 Being mad before, how doth she now for wits ? 
 Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking ? 
 Poor queen of love, in tliine own law forlorn. 
 To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn 1 
 
 Now which way shall she turn ! what shall she say ; 
 Her words are done, her woes the more increasing. 
 The time is spent, her object will away, 
 ^nd from her twining arms doth urge releasing : 
 Pity — (she cries) some favour — some remorse — 
 Away he springs, and hasteth tn his horse. 
 
 But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by, 
 A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 
 Adonis' trampling courser doth espy, 
 And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud. 
 The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, 
 Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 
 
 Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, 
 And now his woven girts he breaks asunder. 
 The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounda, 
 Whose hollow womb resounds like heavca a 
 
 thunder. 
 The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth. 
 Controlling what he was controlled with. 
 
 His ears up prick'd ; his braided hanging mane 
 Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end ; 
 His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, 
 As from a furnace, vapours doth he send 
 His eye, which glisters scornfully like fire, 
 Shews his hot courage and his high desire. 
 
 Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps. 
 With gentle majesty, and modest pride ; 
 Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps. 
 As who would says, lo ! thus my strength is try'd, 
 And thus I do to captivate the eye 
 Of the fair breeder that is standing by. 
 
 What recketh he his rider's angry stir. 
 His flattering holla, or his Sta7id, I say ? 
 What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur i 
 For rich caparisons, or trappings gay ? 
 He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, 
 For nothing else with his proud sight agrees 
 
 Look, when a painter would surpass the life, 
 In limning out a wcU-proportion'd steed, 
 His art with Nature's workmanship at strife, 
 As if the dead the living should exceed ; 
 So did this horse excel a common one. 
 In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. 
 
 Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and 
 
 long. 
 Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril 
 
 wide. 
 High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing 
 
 strong, 
 Thin mane, "thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide : 
 Look what a horse should have, he did not lack ; 
 Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 
 
 Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares, 
 
 Anon he starts at stirrnlg of a feather ; 
 
 To bid tlie wind a- base he now prepares. 
 
 And wher he run, or fly, they knew not whether ; 
 
 For through his mane and .ail the high wind 
 
 sings, 
 Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd winga 
 
 He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her ; 
 She answers him, as if she knew his mind : 
 Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her 
 She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind 
 Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels. 
 Beating his kind embracement with her heels. 
 
 Then, like a melancholy male-content. 
 He vails his tail, tliat like a falling plume, 
 Cool shadow to liis melting buttocks lent ; 
 He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume ; 
 His love perceiving how he is enrag'd, 
 Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd. 
 
954 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 His testy master goeth about to take him ; 
 When lO; the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 
 Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him ; 
 With her the horse, and left Adonis there : 
 As they were mad, unto the wood they hie then., 
 Outstripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 
 
 All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits, 
 Banning his boisterous and unruly beast ; 
 And now the happy season once more fits. 
 That love-sick Love, by pleading may be blest ; 
 For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong, 
 When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 
 
 A.n oven that is stopped, or river stay'd, 
 Burnetii more hotly, swelleth with more rage ; 
 So of concealed sorrow may be said ; 
 Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ; 
 But when the heart's attorney once is mute, 
 The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 
 
 He sees her coming, and begins to glow, 
 (Even as a dying coal revives with wind,) 
 And with his bonnet hides his angry brow ; 
 Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind ; 
 Taking no notice that she is so nigh, 
 For all askaunce he holds her in his eye. 
 
 what a sight it was, wistly to xievr 
 How she came stealing to the wayward boy ! 
 To note the fighting conflict of her hue ! 
 How whita and red each other did destroy ! 
 But now, her cheek was pale, and by and by 
 It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 
 
 Now was she just before him as he sat. 
 And like a lowly lover down she kneels ; 
 With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, 
 Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels : 
 His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print. 
 As apt as new fallen snow takes any dint. 
 
 what a war of looks was then between them ! 
 
 Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing; 
 
 His eyes saw her eyes as tlicy had not seen 
 them ; 
 
 Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the woo- 
 ing: 
 
 And all this dumb play had his acts made plain 
 
 With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. 
 
 Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 
 
 A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow. 
 
 Or ivory in an alabaster band ; 
 
 So white a friend engirts so white a foe : 
 
 This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
 
 Show'd like to silver doves that sit a billing. 
 
 Once more the engine of her thoughts began : 
 
 O fairest mover on this mortal round. 
 
 Would thou wert as I am, and I a man. 
 
 My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound ; 
 
 For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, 
 
 Tho' nothing but my body's bane would cure thee. 
 
 Give me my hand, saith he, why dost thou feel it ? 
 Give me my heart, saith she, and thou shalt have 
 
 it; 
 give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it. 
 And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it : 
 Then love s deep groans I never shall regard, 
 Because Alonis' heart bath made mine hard. 
 
 For shame, he cries, let go, and let me go< 
 My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 
 And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so ; 
 I pray you hence, and leave me here alone : 
 For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, 
 Is how to get my palfrey from the mare. 
 
 Thus she replies : " Thy palfrey, as he should, 
 Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire. 
 Aff"ection is a coal that must be cool'd ; 
 Else, sufTer'd, it will set the heart on fire : 
 The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath nontt 
 Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. 
 
 How like a jade he stood tied to a tree. 
 Servilely master'd with a leathern rein ! 
 But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee, 
 He held such petty bondage in disdain ; 
 Throwing the base thong from his bending crest. 
 Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 
 
 Who sees his true love in her naked bed. 
 Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white. 
 But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed, 
 His other agents aim at like delight ? 
 Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold. 
 To touch the fire, the weather being cold ? 
 
 Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy ; 
 And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee. 
 To take advantage on presented joy ; 
 Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach 
 thee. 
 
 learn to love ; the lesson is but plain, 
 And, once made perfect, never lost again. 
 
 1 know not love (quoth he), nor will I know it, 
 Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it ; 
 
 'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it ; 
 My love to love is love but to disgrace it ; 
 For I have heard it is a life in death. 
 That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breatl 
 
 Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd < 
 Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth ? 
 If springing things be any jot diminish'd. 
 They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth 
 The colt that's back'd and burthen'd being 
 
 young, 
 Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 
 
 You hurt my hand with wringing ; let us part. 
 And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat : 
 Remove your siege from my unyielding heart ; 
 To love's alarm it will not ope ttie gate. 
 Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flat- 
 tery ; 
 For where a heart is hard, they make no battery. 
 
 What ! canst thou talk (quoth she), hast thou a 
 tongue ? 
 
 would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing ! 
 Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong; 
 
 1 had my load before, now press'd with bearing ; 
 Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding, 
 Earth's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sor« 
 
 wounding. 
 
 Had I no eyes, but cau, my ears would love 
 That inward beauty and invisible ; 
 Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 
 Each part in me that were but sensible : 
 Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, 
 Yet should I be in love, by touching thee 
 
VENUS AND A"OONIS, 
 
 3ay, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, 
 And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 
 And nothing but the very smell were left me, 
 Yet would my love to thee be still as much ; 
 For from the still'tory of thy face excelling 
 Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love by 
 smelling. 
 
 But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, 
 Being nurse and feeder of the other four ! 
 Would they not wish the feast should ever last. 
 And bid suspicion double-lock the door ? 
 Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest. 
 Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast." 
 
 Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd, 
 Which to his speech did honey passage yield ; 
 Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd 
 Wreck to the sea-man, tempest to the field, 
 Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, 
 Gust and foul flaw to herdsmen and to herds. 
 
 This ill presage advisedly she marketh : 
 Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth. 
 Or as the wolf doth grin before it barketh, 
 Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, 
 Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, 
 Jiis meaning struck her ere his words begun : 
 
 And at his look she flatly falleth down, 
 
 For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth. 
 
 A smile recures the wounding of a frown. 
 
 But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth ! 
 
 The silly boy believing she is dead. 
 
 Claps her pale check, till clapping makes it red ; 
 
 And in amaze break off his late intent. 
 For sharply he did think to reprehend her. 
 Which cunning love did wittily prevent : 
 Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her! 
 For on the grass she lies as she were slain. 
 Till his breath breathed life in her again. 
 
 He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the 
 
 cheeks, 
 He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard ; 
 He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks 
 To mend the hurt that his unkiudness marr'd ; 
 He kisses her ; and she, by her good will. 
 Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 
 
 The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day : 
 Her two blue windows faintly she up-hcaveth. 
 Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array 
 He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: 
 And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, 
 So is her face illumin'd with her eye. 
 
 Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd. 
 As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine- 
 Were never four such lamps together mix'd. 
 Had not his clouded with liis brow's repine ; 
 But hers, which through the crystal tears ga\e 
 
 light, 
 8houe like the moon, in water seen by night. 
 
 where am I, quoth she ? in earth or heaven, 
 Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire ? 
 Wbat hour is this ? or morn or weary even ? 
 Do I delight to die, or life desire ? 
 Sut now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy ; 
 But now I dy'd, and death was lively joy. 
 
 O thou didst kill me ;— kill me once again ; 
 Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 
 Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such dis 
 
 dain. 
 That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine ; 
 And these mine eyes, true leaders to their qucen^ 
 But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 
 
 Long may they kiss each other, for this c\ire ! 
 Oh never let their crimson liveries wear ! 
 And as they last, their verdure still endure, 
 To drive infection from the dangerous year ! 
 That the star-gazers, having writ on death. 
 May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath 
 
 Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, 
 What bargains may I make, still to be sealing ? 
 To sell myself I can be well contented. 
 So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing ; 
 \Vhich purchase if thou make, for fear of sbps. 
 Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. 
 
 A thousand kisses buys my heart from me ; 
 And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. 
 What is ten hundred kisses unto thee ? 
 Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone ! 
 Say, for non-payment that the debt should double, 
 Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ? 
 
 Fair queen, quoth he, if any love you owe me, 
 Measure my strangeness with my unripe years ; 
 Before I know myself, seek not to know me ; 
 No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears : 
 The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, 
 Or being early pluck'd, is sour to taste. 
 
 Look, the world's comforter, but weary gait, 
 His day's hot task hath ended in the West: 
 The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis very late; 
 The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest ; 
 The cold black clouds that shadow heaven's light, 
 Do summon us to part, and bid good night. 
 
 Now let me say good night, and so say you ; 
 If you will say so, )'ou shall have a kiss. 
 Good night, quoth she ; and, ere he says adieu. 
 The honey fee of parting tender'd is : 
 Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace ; 
 Incorporate then they seem ; face grows to face. 
 
 Till, breathless, he disjoin'd and backward drew 
 The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth. 
 Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew. 
 Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drought 
 He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, 
 (Their lips together glew'd,) fall to the earth 
 
 Now quick Desire hath caught her yielding prey, 
 And glutton-like she feeds, yet never fiUcth ; 
 Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey. 
 Paying what ransom the insulter willcth ; 
 Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so 
 
 high. 
 That she will draw his lips' rich treasure Iry. 
 
 And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, 
 With blind-fold fury she begins to forage ; 
 Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil. 
 And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage ; 
 Planting oblivion, beating reason back. 
 Forgetting shame's pure blush, and houour'i 
 wrack. 
 
95e 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS 
 
 Hot, faint, and weary, vrith her hard embracing, 
 Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much hand- 
 ling, 
 Or as the fleet-fnot roe, that's tir'd with chasing. 
 Or like the froward infant, still'd with dandling, 
 He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, 
 While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 
 
 What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp'ring. 
 And yields at last to every light impression ? 
 Things out of hope are compass'd oft with ven- 
 
 t'ring. 
 Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commis- 
 sion : 
 Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward, 
 But then woos best, when most his choice is 
 froward. 
 
 When he did frown, O had she then gave over, 
 Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. 
 Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover ; 
 What though the nose have pricks ? yet is it 
 
 plurk'd: 
 Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast. 
 Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at 
 
 last. 
 
 For pity now she can no more detain him ; 
 The poor fool prays her that he may depart ; 
 She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him ; 
 Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 
 The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, 
 He carries thence incaged in his breast. 
 
 Sweet boy, she says, this night I'll waste in sor- 
 row, 
 
 For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 
 
 Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-mor- 
 row ? 
 
 Say, shall we ? shall we ? wilt thou make the 
 match ? 
 
 He tells her, no ; to-morrow he intends 
 
 To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 
 
 The boar ! (quoth she) whereat a sudden pale. 
 Like la^vn being spread upon the blushing rose. 
 Usurps her cheeks ; she trembles at his tale, 
 And on his neck her yoking arms she throws : 
 She sinketh down, still hanging on his neck. 
 He on her belly falls, she on her back. 
 
 Now is she in the very lists of love, 
 
 Her champion mounted for the hot encounter : 
 
 All is imaginary she doth prove. 
 
 He will not manage her, although he mount 
 
 her; 
 That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, 
 To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy. 
 
 Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes, 
 Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw. 
 Even so she languisheth in her mishaps. 
 As those poor birds that helpless berries saw : 
 The warm effects which she in him finds missing, 
 She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. 
 
 But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be : 
 She hath assay'd as much as may be proved ; 
 Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee ; 
 She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd. 
 Fie, fie, he says, you crush me ; let me go ; 
 Vou have no reason to withhold me so. 
 
 Thou hadst teen gone, quoth she, sweet bof , er« 
 
 this. 
 But that thou told'st me, thou would'st hunt thi 
 
 boar. 
 
 be advis'd ; thou know'st not what it is 
 With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, 
 Whose tushes never-shnath'd he whetteth stiJ], 
 Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. 
 
 On his bow-back he hath a battle set 
 
 Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; 
 
 His eyes, like glow-worms shine when he dotb 
 
 fret; 
 
 His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goea ; 
 Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way, 
 And whom he strikes, his crooked tushes slay. 
 
 His brawny side, with hairy bristles armed. 
 Are better proof than thy spear's point can 
 
 enter ; 
 His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed ; 
 Being u'eful, on the lion he will venture : 
 The thorny brambles and embracing bushes. 
 As fearful of him, part; through whom he 
 
 rushes. 
 
 Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, 
 To which Love's eye pays tributary gazes ; 
 Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, 
 Whose full perfection all the world amazes ; 
 But having thee at vantage (wond'rous dread !' 
 Would root these beauties as he roots the mea 
 
 0, let him keep his loathsome cabin still ; 
 Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiendi. 
 Come not within his danger by thy will ; 
 They that thrive well, take counsel of tbei^ 
 
 friends. 
 Wlien thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, 
 
 1 fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. 
 
 Didst thou not mark my face ? Wast it not 
 
 white ? 
 Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye ? 
 Grew I not faint ? And fell I not downright ? 
 Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie. 
 My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, 
 But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my 
 
 breast. 
 
 For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy 
 Doth call himself affection's centinel ; 
 Gives false alarms ; suggesteth mutiny, 
 And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill ; 
 Distemp'ring gentle love with his desire. 
 As air and water doth abate the fire. 
 
 This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy. 
 This canker that eats up love's tender spring, 
 This carry-tale, dissensions jealousy. 
 That sometimes true news, sometimes false doth 
 
 bring. 
 Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine eai, 
 That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 
 
 And more than so, presenteth to mine eye 
 The picture of an angry chafing boar, 
 Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie 
 An image like thyself, all stain'd wth gore ; 
 Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed, 
 Doth make them droop with grief, and hang th« 
 ' head. 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 951 
 
 W}iaX should 1 do, seeing thee so indeed, 
 
 I'hat t-rembling at the imagination, 
 
 The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed ? 
 
 And fear doth teach it dinnation : 
 
 I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, 
 
 If thou encounter r/ith the boar to-morrow. 
 
 But if thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me ; 
 Unc6uple at the timorous flying hare, 
 Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty, 
 Or at the roe, which no encounter dares . 
 Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, 
 And on thy well-brcath'd horse keep with thy 
 hounds. 
 
 And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, 
 Mark the poor wretch to overshut his troubles. 
 How he out-runs the wind, and with what care 
 He cranks and crosses, with a thousand doubles : 
 The many musits through the which he goes, 
 Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 
 
 Sometime he runs among the flock of sheep, 
 To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, 
 And sometime where earth-delving conies keep. 
 To stop the loud pursuers in their yell ; 
 And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer ; 
 Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear : 
 
 For there his smell with others being mingled. 
 The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, 
 Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled 
 With much ado the cold fault cleanly out ; 
 Then do they spend their mouths : Echo replies. 
 As if another chase were in the skies. 
 
 By this, poor "Wat, far off upon a hill. 
 Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear. 
 To hearken if his foes pursue him still ; 
 Anon their loud alarums he doth hear ; 
 And now his grief may be compared well 
 To one sore-sick, that hears the passing bell. 
 
 Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wTetch 
 Turn, and return, indenting with the way ; 
 Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, 
 Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay : 
 For misery is trodden on by many, 
 And being low, never reliev'd by any. 
 
 Lie quietly, and hear a little more ; 
 
 Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise : 
 
 To make thee hate the hunting of the boar. 
 
 Unlike thyself, thou hearest me moralize. 
 
 Applying this to that, and so to so ; 
 
 For love can comment upon every woi 
 
 WTiere did I leave ? — No matter where, quoth he ; 
 
 Leave me, and then the story aptly ends : 
 
 The night is spent. Why, what of that ? quoth 
 
 she. 
 I am, quoth he, expected of mv friends; 
 And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall. — 
 In night, quoth she, desire sees best of all. 
 
 But if thou fall, then imagine this, 
 
 The earth in love with thee tliy footing trips, 
 
 And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 
 
 llich preys make rich men thieves ; so do thy 
 
 lips 
 Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn. 
 Lest .she should steal a kiss and die forsworn. 
 
 Now, of this dark night I perceive the reason : 
 Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine. 
 Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason, 
 For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine 
 ^V^lerein she fram'd thee in high heaven's depito 
 To shame the sun by day, and her by night. 
 
 And therefore hath she brib'd the Deatinies, 
 
 To cross the curious workmanship of nature. 
 
 To mingle beauty with infirmities, 
 
 And pure perfection with impure defeature' 
 
 Making it subject to the tyranny 
 
 Of sad mischances and such misery: 
 
 As burning fevers, agues pale and faint. 
 Life-poising pestilence, and frenzies wood. 
 The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint 
 Disorder breeds by heating of the blood : 
 Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despail 
 Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair. 
 
 And not the least of all these maladies. 
 But in one minute's sight brings beauty under: 
 Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities. 
 Whereat th' imperial gazer late did wonder. 
 Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done. 
 As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun. 
 
 Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity. 
 Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns, 
 That on the earth would breed a scarcity. 
 And barren dearth of daughters and of soni 
 Be prodigal : the lamp that burns by night, 
 Dries up his oil, to lend the world his light 
 
 What is thy body but a swallowing grave, 
 
 Seeming to bury that posterity 
 
 Which by the rights of time thou needs mu£< 
 
 have. 
 If thou destroy them not in their oscurity ? 
 If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, 
 Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 
 
 So in thyself thyself art made away ; 
 
 A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife 
 
 Or their's, whose desperate hands themselves ds 
 
 slay. 
 Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life. 
 Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, 
 But gold that's put to use, more gold begets. 
 
 Nay then, quoth Adon, you will fall again 
 Into your idle over-handled theme ; 
 The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain. 
 And all in vain you strive against the stream, 
 For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul nursf . 
 Your treatise makes me like you worse and 
 
 If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, 
 And every tongue more moving than your own, 
 Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs, 
 Yet from mine car the tempting tune is blown ; 
 For know, my heart stands armed in my ear. 
 And will not let a false sound enter there ; 
 
 Lest the deceiving harmony should run 
 Into the quiet closure of my breast ; 
 And then my little heart were quite undont 
 In his bed-chamber to be barr'd of rest. 
 No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan. 
 But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alon« 
 
958 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 V^Tiat have you urg'd that [ cannot reprove ? 
 The path is smooth that lerideth unto danger ; 
 I hate not love, but your device in love, 
 That lends embracements unto every stranger. 
 You do it for increase ; O strange excuse ! 
 When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse. 
 
 Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled, 
 Since sweating lust on earth usurps his name ; 
 Under whose simple semblance he hath fed 
 Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame : 
 Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, 
 Ai caterpillars do the tender leaves. 
 
 Love coniforteth, like sun-shine after rain, 
 But lust's effect is tempest after sun. 
 Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, 
 Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. 
 Love surfeits not ; lust like a glutton dies ; 
 Love is all truth ; lust full of forged lies. 
 
 More I could tell, but more I dare not say 
 The text is old, the orator too green. 
 Therefore, in sadness, now I will away ; 
 My face is full of shame, my heart of teen ; 
 Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended, 
 Do burn themselves for having so offended. 
 
 With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace 
 Of those fair arms which bound him to her 
 
 breast, 
 And homeward through the dark lawns runs 
 
 apace ; 
 Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. 
 Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky. 
 So glides he in the night from Venus' eye ; 
 
 Which after him she darts, as one on shore 
 
 Gazing upon a latc-cmbarked friend. 
 
 Till the wild waves will have him seen no more. 
 
 Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend ; 
 
 60 did the merciless and pitchy night 
 
 'Fold in the object that did feed her sight. 
 
 Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware 
 Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood. 
 Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are. 
 Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood; 
 Even so confounded in the dark she lay. 
 Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 
 
 And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans. 
 That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled. 
 Make verbal repetition of her moans ; 
 Passion on Y,assion deeply is redoubled : 
 Ah me! she cries, and twenty times, woe, icoe ! 
 And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. 
 
 She marking them, begins a wailing note, 
 
 And sings cxtemp'rally a woeful ditty ; 
 
 How love makes young men thrall, and old men 
 
 dote; 
 How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty: 
 Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, 
 And still the choir of echoes answer so. 
 
 Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, 
 For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short : 
 If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight 
 In such like circumstance, with such like sport; 
 Their copious stories, oftentimes begun. 
 End without audience, and are never done. 
 
 Fcr who hath she to spend the night withai, 
 
 But idle sounds, resembling parasites^ 
 
 Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering erery callj 
 
 Soothing the humour of fantastic wits ? 
 
 She said, 'tis so ; they answer all, 'tis so ; 
 
 And would say after her, if she said no. 
 
 Lo ! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
 From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
 And wakes the morning, from whose silver bzeaat 
 The sun ariseth in his majesty ; 
 Who doth the world so gloriously behold. 
 That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 
 
 Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: 
 O thou clear god, and patron of all light, 
 From whom each lamp and shining star doth 
 
 borrow 
 The beauteous influence that makes him bright, 
 There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother, 
 May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other. 
 
 This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 
 Musing the morning is so much o'erworn, 
 And yet she hears no tidings of her love ; 
 She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn ; 
 Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily. 
 And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. 
 
 And as she runs, the bushes in the way 
 Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 
 Some twine about her thigh to make her stay ; 
 She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace. 
 Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ake, 
 Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake. 
 
 By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay, 
 Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder 
 Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way. 
 The fear whereof doth make him shake and 
 
 shudder : 
 Even so the timorous yelping of the hoimds 
 Appals her senses, and her spright confounds. 
 
 For now she knows it is no gentle chase. 
 But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 
 Because the cry remaineth in one place. 
 Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud : 
 P'inding their enemy to be so curst. 
 They all strain court'sy who shall cope liini first. 
 
 This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear. 
 Through which it enters to surprise her heart. 
 Who overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, 
 With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling 
 
 part : 
 Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, 
 They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. 
 
 Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy; 
 Till, cheering up her senses sore dismay'd, 
 She tells them, 'tis a causeless fantasy. 
 And childish error that they are afraid ; 
 Bids them leave quaking, wills them fear no more 
 And with that word she spy'd the hunted boar ; 
 
 Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, 
 Like milk and blood being mingled both together, 
 A second fear through all her sinews spread. 
 Which madly hurries her she knows not whither 
 This way she runs, and now she will no further 
 But back retires, to rate the boar for murder. 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 95S 
 
 A. thousand spleens bear her a thousrr.d ways ; 
 She treads the paths that she untreads again ; 
 Iler more than haste is mated with delays, 
 Like the proceedings of a drunken brain ; 
 Full of respect, yet not at all respecting. 
 In hand with all things, nought at all affecting. 
 
 Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound, 
 And asks the weary caitiff for his master ; 
 And there another licking of his wound, 
 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; 
 A.nd horo s'le meets another sadly scowling, 
 " ~ whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. 
 
 When he had ceas'd his ill-resounding noise. 
 Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim. 
 Against the welkin vollies out his voice ; 
 Another and another answei- him. 
 Clapping their proud tails to the ground below. 
 Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. 
 
 Look, how the world's poor people are amazed 
 
 A.t apparitions, signs, and prodigies. 
 
 Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed. 
 
 Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ; 
 
 60 she at these sad signs draws up her breath, 
 
 And, sighing it again, exclaims on death. 
 
 Hard-favor d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean. 
 Hateful divorce of love (thus chides she death) 
 Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost 
 
 thou mean 
 To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath. 
 Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set 
 Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ? 
 
 If he be dead, — no, it cannot be, 
 
 Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it — 
 
 O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see. 
 
 But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 
 
 'i'hy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart 
 
 Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart. 
 
 Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke. 
 And hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 
 The destinies will curse thee for this stroke ; 
 They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower ; 
 Love's golden arrow at him should have fled. 
 And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 
 
 Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such 
 
 weeping ? 
 What may a heavy groan advantage thee ? 
 Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 
 Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ? 
 Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, 
 Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour. 
 
 Mere overcome, as one full of despair. 
 She veil'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd 
 The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair 
 In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd; 
 But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain 
 And with his strong course opens them again. 
 
 O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! 
 Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye ; 
 Both crystals, where they view'd each other's 
 
 sorrow, 
 Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry ; 
 But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain. 
 Sighs dry her chenks, tears make them wet again. 
 
 Variable passions throng her constant woe, 
 As striving which should best become her grief) 
 All entertain'd, each passion labours so, 
 That every present soitow seemeth chief, 
 But none is best ; then join they all together, 
 Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 
 
 By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla; 
 A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well* 
 The dire imagination she did follow 
 This sound of hope doth labour to expel ; 
 For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, 
 And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice. 
 
 Whereat her tears began to turn their tide. 
 Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ; 
 Yet sometimes falls an orient da-op beside, 
 Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should 
 
 pass. 
 To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground. 
 Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'tt 
 
 hard-believing love, how strange it seems 
 Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! 
 
 Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes, 
 Despair and hope make thee ridiculous ; 
 The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, 
 With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. 
 
 Now she unweaves the web that she had wi-ought 
 Adonis lives, and death is not to blame ; 
 It was not she that call'd him all to naught; 
 Now she adds honour to his hateful name ; 
 She clepes him king of graves, and grave fo{ 
 
 kings. 
 Imperial supreme of all mortal things. 
 
 No, no, (quoth she) Sweet death, I did but jest; 
 Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear, 
 When as I met the boar, that bloody beast. 
 Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 
 Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess) 
 
 1 rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 
 
 'Tis not my fault : the boar provok'd my tongue ; 
 Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ; 
 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong ; 
 I did but act, he's author of thy slander : 
 Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 
 Could rule them both, without ten women's wit. 
 
 Thus hoping that Adonis is alive. 
 
 Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; 
 
 And that his beauty may the better thrive, 
 
 With death she humbly doth insinuate ; 
 
 Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs ; and 
 
 stories 
 His victories, his triumphs, and is glories. 
 
 O Jove, quoth she, how much a fool was I, 
 
 To be of such a weak and silly mind. 
 
 To wail his death, who lives, and must not die, 
 
 Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 
 
 For he being dead, with him is beau;y slain, 
 
 And, beauty dead, black chaos comfs again. 
 
 Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear. 
 
 As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves ; 
 
 Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear. 
 
 Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieve* 
 
 Even at this word she hears a merry horn. 
 
 Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn. 
 
960 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 A.S faulcon to the lure, away she flies; 
 
 The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ; 
 
 And in her haste unfortunately spies 
 
 The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight; 
 
 Which seen, her eyes, as murder'dwith the view. 
 
 Like stars ashamccl of day, themselves withdrew. 
 
 Or, as the snail, ^Yhose tender horns being hit, 
 Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, 
 And there, all smother'd up in shade doth sit. 
 Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 
 So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled 
 Into the deep dark cabins of her head, 
 
 Where they resign their office and their light 
 To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 
 Who bids them'still consort with ugly night, 
 And never wound the heart with looks again ; 
 Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, 
 By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 
 
 Whereat each tributary subject quakes ; 
 As when the wind, iniprison'd in the ground, 
 Btruggling for passage, earth's'foundation shakes, 
 Which with cold terrors doth men's mind con- 
 found : 
 This mutinv each part doth so surprize, 
 Vhat from their dark beds, once more, leap her 
 eyes ; 
 
 And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight 
 Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd 
 [n his soft flank : whose wonted lily white 
 With purple tears, that his wound wept, was 
 
 drcnch'd : 
 No floAver was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or 
 
 weed, . 
 But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to 
 
 blcel. 
 
 This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 
 Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ; 
 Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth ; 
 She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. 
 Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow ; 
 Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. 
 
 Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly. 
 
 That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem 
 
 three ; 
 And then she reprehends her mangling eye, 
 That makes more gashes where no breach should 
 
 be: 
 His face seems twain, each scveval limb is 
 
 doubled, 
 For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. 
 
 My tongue carrot express my grief for one. 
 And yet, quoti: she, behold two Adons dead ! 
 My sighs are blo«n away, my salt tears gone. 
 Mine eyi^s are tuni'd to "fire, my heart to lead: 
 Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire ! 
 So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 
 
 Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost ! 
 What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? 
 Whose tongue is music now ? what canst thou 
 
 boast 
 Of things long since, or anything ensuing ? 
 The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and 
 
 trim ; 
 But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him. 
 
 Bonnet or veil henceforth no creature wear 
 Nor snn nor wind will ever atrive to kiss you . 
 Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ; 
 The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiej 
 
 you : 
 But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air 
 Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair ; 
 
 And therefore would he put his bonnet on. 
 Under whose brim the gaudy stni would peep; 
 The wind woiild blow it off, and, being gone, 
 Play with his locks ; then would Adonis weep : 
 And straight, in pity of his tender years. 
 They both would strive who first should dry hu 
 tears. 
 
 To see his face, the lion walk'd along 
 
 Behind some hedge, because he would not tear 
 
 him ; 
 To recreate himself, when he hath sung. 
 The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him : 
 If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his pre? 
 And never fright the silly lamb that day. 
 
 When he beheld his shadow in ihe brook. 
 The fishes spread on it their golden gills ; 
 When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, 
 That some would sing, some other in their billi 
 Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cher 
 
 ries; 
 He fed them with his sight, they him with benieft 
 
 But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar. 
 Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, 
 Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; 
 Witness the entertainment that he gave ; 
 If he did see his face, why then I know. 
 He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him 80 
 
 'Tis true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain i 
 He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear. 
 Who would not whet his teeth at him again. 
 But by a kiss thought to persuade him there-, 
 And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine 
 Sheath'd, unaware, his tusk in his soft groin. 
 
 Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess 
 With kissing him I should have kill'd him first 
 But he is dead, and never did he bless 
 My youth with his ; the more I am accurst. 
 With this she falleth in the place she stood, 
 And stains her face with his congealed blood. 
 
 She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ; 
 She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ; 
 She whispers in his ear, a heavy tale, 
 As if he heard the woeful words she told ; 
 She lifts the cofTer lids that close his eyes, 
 Where, lo ! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lie* 
 
 Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 
 A thousand times, and now no more reflect ; 
 Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, 
 And every beauty robb'd of his effect: 
 Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite- 
 That, you being dead, the day sliould yet be ligLt 
 
 Since thou art dead, lo ! here I propheiy, 
 
 Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend ; 
 
 It shall be waited on with jealousy. 
 
 Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end ; 
 
 Ne'er settled equally, to high or low ; 
 
 That all love's pleasure shall not match his wo© 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS 
 
 961 
 
 t shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud. 
 And shall be blasted in a breathing-while : 
 The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd 
 With sweets, that shall the sharpest sight beguile ; 
 The strongest body shall it make most weak. 
 Strike the wise dumb, and teach Ihe fool to speak. 
 
 It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, 
 Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ; 
 The staring ruffian shall it keep ia quiet. 
 Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with trea- 
 sures : 
 It shall be raging-mad, and silly-mild, 
 Make the young old, the old become a child. 
 
 It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear ; 
 
 It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust ; 
 
 It shall be merciful, and too severe. 
 
 And most deceiving, when it seems most just ; 
 
 Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward. 
 
 Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. 
 
 It shall be cause of war, and dire events, 
 
 And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire ; 
 
 Subject and servile to all discontents, 
 
 As dry cumbustious matter is to fire ; 
 
 Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy, 
 
 They that love best, their love shall not enjoy. 
 
 By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd, 
 Wea melted like a vapour from her sight. 
 And in his bio ad that on the ground lay spill'd, 
 
 A purple flower npung up, chequerd with white ; 
 Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood 
 Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood 
 
 She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, 
 Comparing it to her Adonis' breath ; 
 And says, within her bosom it shall dwell. 
 Since he himself is reft from her by death : 
 She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears 
 Green diopping sap, which she compares to tears. 
 
 Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise, 
 (Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) 
 For every little grief to wet his eyes : 
 To grow unto himself was his desire. 
 And so 'tis tliine ; but know, it is as good 
 To wither in my breast, as in his blood. 
 
 Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast , 
 Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right : 
 Lo ! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, 
 M}' throbbing heart sh all rock thee day and night : 
 There shall not be one minute of an hour, 
 Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower. 
 
 Tlius weary of the world, away she hies, 
 And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid 
 Their mistress mounted, through the empty skiea 
 In her light chariot quickly is convey'd. 
 Holding their course to Paphos, where thea 
 
 queen 
 Means to immure herself, and not be aetvu 
 
(963) 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 
 
 Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Titchfield. 
 
 The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end ; whereof this pamphlet, without begin* 
 Bing, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the 
 worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What 1 have done is yours, what 
 I have to do is yours ; being part in all I have devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty 
 Would shew greater: mean time, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life", 
 still lengthened with all happiness. Your Lordship's in all duty, 
 
 William Shakspearb 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Luciui Tarquiniita (for his excessive pride Burnamcd Superbus) after 
 he had caused bis own father-in-law, Serviiis Tullius, to be cruelly mur- 
 dered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or 
 •laying for tlie people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom ; 
 went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to be- 
 ■iege Ardea. During which siege, the principal men of the army meet- 
 ing one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in 
 their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of his 
 own wife ; among whom Coltatiiuis extolled the incomparable chastity 
 •f his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome : 
 and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that 
 which every one had before nvouchetl, only Collatinus finds his wife 
 (though it were late in the night) spinning amongst her maids: the 
 other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. 
 Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife 
 the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece* 
 beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the 
 
 Test back to the camp ; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew 
 himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entenain»?d and lodges] 
 by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night, he treacherously stealeth into 
 her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth 
 away. Lncrece in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatchad messengers, 
 one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for CoUatine. They 
 came, tlie one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius 
 Valerius ; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the 
 cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, 
 revealed the actor, and whcle manner of liis dealing, and withal sud- 
 denly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent, they all vowed 
 to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins ; and bearing the 
 dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and 
 manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny ol 
 the king : wherewith the people were s> moved, that with one conseat 
 and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the it^ 
 jovemment changed from kings to consuls. 
 
 From the besieg'd Ardea all in post, 
 Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, 
 Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, 
 And to Collatium bears the lightless fire. 
 Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, 
 And girdle with embracing flames the waist 
 Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. 
 
 Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set 
 This bateless edge on his keen appetite ; 
 When Collatine unwisely did not let 
 To praise the clear unmatched red and white 
 Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, 
 Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beau- 
 ties. 
 With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 
 
 For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 
 Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state ; 
 IVhat priceless wealth the heavens had him 
 
 lent 
 In the possession of his beauteous mate ; 
 Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate. 
 That kings might be espoused to more fame, 
 But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 
 
 happiness enjoy'd but of a few ! 
 And, if possess'd, as soon decayed and done 
 As is the morning's silvcr-meltmg dew 
 Against the golden splendour of the sun ! 
 An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun : 
 Honour and beauty in the owner's arms. 
 Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms 
 
 Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 
 
 The eyes of men without an orator ; 
 
 What needeth then apology be made 
 
 To set forth that which is so singular ? 
 
 Or why is Collatine the publisher 
 
 Of that rich jewel he should keep unknovm 
 
 From thievish ears, because it is his ovra ? 
 
 Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty 
 
 Suggested this proud issue of a king ; 
 
 For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be : 
 
 Perchance that envy of so rich a thing. 
 
 Braving compare, disdainfully did sting 
 
 Kis high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men 
 
 should vaunt 
 The golden hap which their superiors want. 
 
 But some untimely thought did instigate 
 His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those : 
 His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
 Neglected all, with swift intent he goes 
 To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
 rash-false heat, ■m-apt in repentant cold. 
 Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old I 
 
 When at Collatium this false lord arrived. 
 Well was lie welcom'd by the Roman dame, 
 Within whose face beauty and virtue strived 
 Which of them both should underprop her fame* 
 When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for 
 
 shame ; 
 When beauty boasted blushes, in despite 
 Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. 
 
j64 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 But beauty, in that white intituled, 
 From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field ; 
 Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 
 Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild 
 Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield ; 
 Teaching them thus to use it in the tight, — 
 When shame assail'd, the red should fence the 
 white. 
 
 This heraldry in Liicrece' face was seen. 
 Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white. 
 Of eithcr's colour was the other queen, 
 Froving from world's minority their right : 
 Yet their ambition makes them still to fight ; 
 The sovereignty of either being so great. 
 That oft they interchange each other's seat. 
 
 This silent war of lilies and of roses 
 Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, 
 In their pure ranks his tra.tor eye encloses ; 
 Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, 
 The coward captive vanquished doth yield 
 To those two armies that would let him go. 
 Rather than triumph in so false a foe. 
 
 Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue 
 (The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) 
 In that high task hath done her beauty AiTong, 
 Which far exceeds his barren skill to shew : 
 Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe, 
 Enchanted Tarquin answers wdth sunnise, 
 In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 
 
 This earthly saint, adored by this devil, 
 
 jjittle suspecteth the false worshipper ; 
 
 For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream on evil ; 
 
 Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear : 
 
 Bo guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
 
 And reverend welcome to her princely guest. 
 
 Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd. 
 
 I? or that he colour'd with his high estate, 
 Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ; 
 That nothing in him seeni'd inordinate, 
 Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, 
 Which, having all, all could not satisfy ; 
 But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store. 
 That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more. 
 
 But she that never cop'd with stranger eyes. 
 Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, 
 Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies 
 Writ in the glassy margents of such books ; 
 She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no 
 
 hooks ; 
 Nor could she moralize his wanton sight. 
 More than his eyes were open'd to the light. 
 
 He stories to her ears her husband's fame. 
 
 Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ; 
 
 And decks with praises CoUatine's high name, 
 
 Made glorious by his manly chivalry. 
 
 With bruised arms and wreaths of victory : 
 
 Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express. 
 
 And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. 
 
 Far from the purpose of his coming thither, 
 He makes excuses for his being there. 
 No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 
 Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear ; 
 Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, 
 Upon the world dim darkness doth display, 
 \nd in her vaulty prison stows the day. 
 
 For then is Tarquin brought unto his oed, 
 Intending weariness with heavy spright ; 
 For, after supper, long he questioned 
 With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : 
 Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight, 
 And every one to rest himself betakes, 
 Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that 
 wakes. 
 
 As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 
 The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining 
 Yet ever to obtain his will resolving. 
 Though weak-built hopes persuade him to ahstain« 
 
 ing; 
 Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining; 
 And when great treasure is the meed proposed, 
 Tho' death be adjunct, there's no death supposed. 
 
 Those that much covet, are with gain so fond, 
 That what they have not (that which they possess) 
 They scatter and unlose it from their bond, 
 And so, by hoping more, they have but less ; 
 Or gaining more, the profit of excess 
 Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, 
 That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gaiu. 
 
 The aim of all is hut to nurse the life 
 
 With honour, wealth, and ease, in waining age J 
 
 And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, 
 
 That one for all, or all for one we gage ; 
 
 As life for honour, in fell battles' rage ; 
 
 Honour for wealth ; and oft that wealth dclt coal 
 
 The death of all, and altogether lost. 
 
 So that in vent'ring ill, we leave to be 
 
 The things we are, for that which we expect; 
 
 And this ambitious foul infirmity. 
 
 In having much, torments us with defect 
 
 Of that we have : so then we do neglect 
 
 The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, 
 
 Make something nothing, by augmenting it. 
 
 Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, 
 Pawning his honour to obtain his lust ; 
 And for himself, himself he must forsake : 
 Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust ? 
 'Wlien shall he think to find a stranger just, 
 When he himself himself confounds, betrays 
 To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days 
 
 Now stole upon the time the dead of night. 
 When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ; 
 No comfortable star did lend his light. 
 No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries: 
 Now serves the season that they may surprise 
 The silly lambs ; pure thoughts are dead and still, 
 While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. 
 
 And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, 
 Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm. 
 Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ; 
 The one sweetly flatters, the other feareth harm J 
 But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm< 
 Doth too too oft betake him to retire, 
 Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. 
 
 His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth. 
 That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, 
 Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, 
 Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye ; 
 And to the flame thus speaks advisedly ; 
 As from this cold flint I enforc'd this fire 
 So Lucrece must I force to my desire 
 
THE RAPE OF LUORECE, 
 
 965 
 
 Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 
 The dangers of his loathsome enterprize, 
 And in his inward mind he doth debate 
 What following sorrow may on this arise: 
 Then looking scornfully, he doth despise 
 His naked armour of still-slaiighter'd lust, 
 And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust. 
 
 Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not 
 To darken her whose light excelleth thine ! 
 And die unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot 
 With your nncleanness that which is divine ! 
 Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine: 
 Let fair humanity abhor the deed 
 That spots and stains love's modest snow-white 
 weed. 
 
 O shame to knighthood and to shining arms ! 
 O foul dishonour to my household's grave ! 
 O impious act, including all foul harms ! 
 A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! 
 True valour still a true respect should have ; 
 Then my digression is so vile, so base, 
 That it ■will live engraven in my face. 
 
 Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, 
 And be an eye-sore in my golden coat ; 
 Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, 
 To cipher me, how fondly I did dote ; 
 That my posterity, sham'd with the note, 
 Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin 
 To wish that I their father had not been. 
 
 What win I, if I gain the thing I seek ? 
 A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy : 
 "Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week ? 
 Or sells eternity, to get a toy ? 
 For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ? 
 Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown. 
 Would with the sceptre straight be strucken 
 down ? 
 
 If Collatinus dream of my intent. 
 Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
 Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ? 
 This siege that hath engirt his marriage. 
 This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, 
 This dying virtue, this surviving shame, 
 "Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame ? 
 
 O what excuse can my invention make. 
 
 When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed ? 
 
 Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints 
 
 shake ? 
 Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed } 
 The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed ; 
 And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly. 
 But coward-like with trembling terror die. 
 
 Hid Collatinus kill'd my son or sire. 
 
 Or lain in ambush to betray my life, 
 
 Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
 
 Might have excuse to work upon his wife ; 
 
 As in revenge or quittal of such strife : 
 
 But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend, 
 
 The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. 
 
 Shat)ieful it is ; — ay, if the fact be known : 
 Hateful it is ; — there is no hate in loving : 
 ril beg her love ; — but she is not /(«• oxoti : 
 'J'he worst is but denial, and reproving : 
 My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. 
 Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw, 
 Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe. 
 G2 
 
 Thus graceless, holds he disputation 
 'Tween frozen conscience, and hot-burning mil 
 And with good thoughts makes dispensation, 
 Urging the worser sense for vantage still . 
 Which in a moment doth confound and kill 
 All pure effects, and doth so far proceed, 
 That what is vile shews like a virtuous deed. 
 
 Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand. 
 And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes, 
 Fearing some hard news from the warlike band 
 Where her beloved Collatinus lies. 
 O how her fear did make her colour rise ! 
 First red as roses, that on lawn we lay, 
 Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 
 
 And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 
 Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear ! 
 Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'di 
 Until her husband's welfare she did hear ; 
 Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 
 That had Narcissus seen her as she stood, 
 Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 
 
 "Why hunt I then for colour or excuses ? 
 All orators are dumb, when beauty pleadeth ; 
 Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; 
 Love thrives not in the heart that shadows 
 
 dreadeth : 
 Affection is my captain, and he leadeth ; 
 And when his gaudy banner is display'd. 
 The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd. 
 
 Then childish fear avaunt ! d-cbating die ! 
 Respect and reason, wait on VMinkled age ! 
 My heart shall never countermand mine eye : 
 Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage ; 
 My part is youth, and beats these from the stage : 
 Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ; 
 Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies ! 
 
 As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 
 
 Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. 
 
 Away he steals with open listening ear. 
 
 Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust; 
 
 Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 
 
 So cross him with their opposite persuasion. 
 
 That now he vows a league, and now invasion 
 
 Within his thought her heavenly image sits. 
 And in the self-same seat sits Collatine ; 
 That eye which looks on her, confounds his wita 
 That eye which him beholds, as more divine, 
 Unto a view so false will not incline ; 
 But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, 
 Which once corrupted, takes the worser part ; 
 
 And therein heartens up his servile powers, 
 Who, flatter'd by theijr leader's jocuad show, 
 Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours ; 
 And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, 
 Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
 By reprobate desire thus madly led. 
 The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 
 
 The locks between her chamber and his will, 
 Each one by him enforc'd, retires his ward; 
 But as they open, they all rate his ill. 
 Which drives the creeping thief to some regard 
 The threshold grates the door to have him henrd 
 Night-wand'ring weescls shriek to see him there 
 They fright him, yet he still pursues his feai. 
 
'Jbb 
 
 HE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 A-8 each unwilling poral yields him way, 
 Through little vents and crannies of the place 
 The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay, 
 And blows the smoke of it into his face, 
 Extinguishing his conduct in this case ; 
 But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, 
 Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch : 
 
 And being lighted, by the light he spies 
 Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks ; 
 He takes it from the rushes where it lies ; 
 And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks : 
 As who would say, this glove to wanton tricks 
 Is not inur'd ; return again in haste ; 
 Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste. 
 
 But all these poor forbiddings cotiicl not stay him ; 
 He in the worst sense construes their denial ; 
 The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, 
 He takes for accidental things of trial ; 
 Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial. 
 Who with a ling'ring stay his course doth let, 
 Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 
 
 So, so, quoth he, these lets attend the time. 
 Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring. 
 To add a more rejoicing to the prime. 
 And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. 
 Pain pays the income of each precious thing ; 
 Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves 
 
 and sands. 
 The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands. 
 
 Now is he come unto the chamber door 
 
 That shuts him from the heaven of his thought. 
 
 Which with a yielding latch, and with no more. 
 
 Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. 
 
 So from himself impiety hath wrought. 
 
 That for his prey to pray he doth begin, 
 
 As if the heaven should countenance his sin. 
 
 But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer. 
 Having solicited the eternal power. 
 That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair. 
 And they would stand auspicious to the hour. 
 Even there he starts : — quoth he, I must deflower ; 
 The powers to whom I pray, abhor this fact. 
 How can they then assist me in the act ? 
 
 Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide ! 
 My will is back'd with resolution : 
 Thoughts are but dreaix.s till their effects be tried, 
 The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ; 
 Against love's fire, fear's frost hath dissolution. 
 The eye of heaven is out, and misty night 
 Covers the shame that follows sweet delight. 
 
 This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch. 
 And with his knee the door he opens wide: 
 The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch; 
 Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. 
 Who sees the lurking serpent, steps aside ; 
 But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing. 
 Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 
 
 [nto the chamber wickedly he stalks, 
 A.nd gazeth on hei yet unstained bed. 
 ?he curtains being close, about he walks, 
 Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head : 
 By their high treason is his heart misled; 
 Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon, 
 l"o draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 
 
 Look as the fair, and fiery-pointed sun, 
 Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ; 
 Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
 To wink, being blinded with a greater light: 
 Whether it is, that she reflects so bright. 
 That dazzleth them, or else some shame sup 
 
 posed ; 
 But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed 
 
 O, had they in that darksome prison died. 
 Then had they seen the period of their ill. 
 Then Collatine again by Lucrcce' side, 
 In his clear bed might have reposed still: 
 But they must ope, this blessed league to kill; 
 And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
 Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. 
 
 Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under. 
 Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss ; 
 Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, 
 Swelling on either side to want his bliss ; 
 Between whose hills her head entomb'd is : 
 Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies. 
 To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes 
 
 Without the bed, her other fair hand was. 
 On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white 
 Shew'd like an April daisy on the grass. 
 With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. 
 Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light, 
 And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay, 
 Till they might open to adorn the day. 
 
 Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with hei 
 
 breath ; 
 O modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 
 Showing life's triumph in the map of death, 
 And death's dim look in life's mortality. 
 Each in her sleep themselves so beautify. 
 As if between them twain there were no strife. 
 But that life liv'd in death, and death in life. 
 
 Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, 
 
 A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, 
 
 Save of their lord, no bearing yoke they knew, 
 
 And him by oath they truly honoured. 
 
 These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred ; 
 
 Who, like a foul usurper, went about 
 
 From this fair throne to heave the owner out. 
 
 What could he see, but mightily he noted ? 
 What did he note, but strongly he desired ? 
 What he beheld, on that he firmly doted, 
 And in his will his wilful eye he tired. 
 With more than admiration he admired 
 Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, 
 Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. 
 
 As the grim lion fawncth o'er his prey. 
 
 Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, 
 
 So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, 
 
 His rage of lust by gazing qualified ; 
 
 Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her side, 
 
 His eye, which late this mutiny restrains. 
 
 Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins. 
 
 And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fight- 
 ing, 
 Obdurate vassals, fell exploits efTecting, 
 In bloody death and ra\'i.shment delighting. 
 Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respect 
 
 Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting 
 Anon his beating heart, alarum striking. 
 Gives the hot charge, and bids them do thsii 
 liking. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCKKUE. 
 
 9G7 
 
 ills drumming heart cheers up his burning 
 His eye commends the leading to his hand ; 
 His hand, as proud of such a dignity, 
 Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand 
 On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ; 
 Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale 
 Left their round turrets destitute and pale 
 
 rhey mustering to the quiet cabinet 
 
 Where their dear governess and lady lies, 
 
 Do tell her she is dreadfully beset. 
 
 And fright her with confusion of their cries : 
 
 She much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes. 
 
 Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, 
 
 Are by his flaming torch dimra'd and controU'd. 
 
 Imagine her as one in dead of night 
 From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, 
 That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite. 
 Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking ; 
 What terror 'tis ! but she, in worser taking. 
 From sleep disturbed, heedfuUy doth view. 
 The sight which makes supposed terror true. 
 
 Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, 
 Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies ; 
 She dares not look ; yet, \vinking, there appears 
 Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes : 
 Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries ; 
 Who, angry tliat the eyes fly from their lights. 
 In darkness daunts them with more dreadful 
 sights. 
 
 His hand that yet remains upon her breast 
 (Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall !) 
 May feel her heart (poor citizen !) disti'ess'd, 
 Wounding itself to death, rise up and fjiU, 
 Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 
 This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity, 
 To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. 
 
 First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 
 To sound a parley to his heartless foe, 
 Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, 
 The reason of this rash alarm to know. 
 Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show; 
 But she with vehement prayers urgeth still, 
 Under what colour he commits this ill. 
 
 Thus he replies : The colour in thy face 
 (That even for anger makes the lily pale, 
 And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,) 
 Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale : 
 Under what colour am I come to scale 
 Thy never-conquer'd fort ; the fault is thine, 
 For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 
 
 Tnus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide; 
 Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night, 
 Where thou with patience must my will abide. 
 My will that marks thee for my earth's delight. 
 Which I to conquer sought with all my might ; 
 But as repioof and reason beat it dead. 
 By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. 
 
 I see what crosses niy attempt will bring ; 
 
 I know what thorns the growing rose defends; 
 
 I think the honey guaiied with a sting ; 
 
 All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends ; 
 
 But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends ; 
 
 Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, 
 
 And, dotes oi what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. 
 
 I have debated, even in my soul, 
 
 What wrong, what shame, what so'/ow I ?haK 
 
 breed ; 
 But nothing can aflTcction's course control. 
 Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. 
 I know repentant tears ensue the deed. 
 Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity ; 
 Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy. 
 
 This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade. 
 Which like a faulcon towering in the skies, 
 Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade, 
 Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies ; 
 So under the insulting falchion lies 
 Harmless Liicretia, marking what he tells. 
 With trembling fear, as fowl hear faulcon's bells, 
 
 Lucrece, quoth he, this night I must enjoy Ihee 
 If thou deny, then force must work my wf.y. 
 For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee ; 
 Tha* done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay, 
 Tc feill thine honour with thy life's decay ; 
 And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him. 
 Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. 
 
 So thy surviving husband shall remain 
 The scornful mark of every open eye : 
 Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain. 
 Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy : 
 And thou, the author of their obloquy, 
 Shall have thy trespass cited up in rhymes, 
 And sung by children in succeeding times. 
 
 But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend: 
 The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ; 
 A little harm done to a great good end, 
 For lawful policy remains enacted. 
 The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 
 In a pure compound ; being so applied. 
 His venom in effect is purified. 
 
 Then for thy husband's and thy childien's sake 
 Tender my suit : bequeath not to their lot 
 The shame that from them no device can take, 
 The blemish that will never be forgot ; 
 Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hours's blot: 
 For marks descried in men's nativity 
 Are nature's faults, not their own infamy. 
 
 Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye, 
 
 He rouseth up hhnself, and makes a pause. 
 
 While she the picture of pure piety. 
 
 Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws 
 
 Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws, 
 
 To the rough beast that knows no gentle right, 
 
 Nor ought obeys but his foul appetite. 
 
 Look, when a black-fac'd clotid the world doth 
 threat, 
 
 In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, 
 
 From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth 
 get. 
 
 Which blows these pitchy vapours from their bi- 
 ding. 
 
 Hindering the^r present fall by this dividing; 
 
 So his unhallow'd haste her words delays. 
 
 And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. 
 
 Yet foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, 
 While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse pant- 
 
 eth; 
 
 Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, 
 A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth 
 His ear her prayers admits, but his hc^rt grantetk 
 No penetrable entrance to her plaining : 
 Tears harden lust, though marble wear with rain 
 
 ir.g. 
 
DOS 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Her pit} -pleading cyeii are sadly fixed 
 In tlie remorseless wrinkles of his face; 
 Iler modest eloquence with sighs is mixed, 
 Which to her oratory adds more grace. 
 She puts the period often frr m his place, 
 And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks, 
 Chat twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. 
 
 She c6njures him by high almighty Jove, 
 
 By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's 
 
 oath, 
 By her untimely tears, her husband's love, 
 By holy human laws, and common troth, 
 By heaven and earth, and all the power of both. 
 That to his borrow'd bed he make retire. 
 And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. 
 
 Quoth she, reward not hospitality 
 With such black payment as thou hast pretended ; 
 Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee ; 
 Mar not the thing that cannot be amended ; 
 End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended: 
 He is no wood -man that doth bend his bow 
 To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 
 
 My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me ; 
 Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me ; 
 Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me. 
 Thou look'st not like deceit ; do not deceive me : 
 My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave 
 
 thee. 
 If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans. 
 Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans ; 
 
 All which together, like a troubled o-cean. 
 Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart, 
 To soften it with their continual motion; 
 For stones dissolved to water do convert. 
 0, if no harder than a stone thou art. 
 Melt at my tears and be compassionate ! 
 Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 
 
 In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee: 
 Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame ? 
 To all the host of heaven I complain thee, 
 Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely 
 
 name. 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st, and if the same, 
 Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king ; 
 For kings like gods should govern every thing. 
 
 How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, 
 When thus thy vices bui? before thy spring ? 
 If in thy hope tliou dar'st do such outrage. 
 What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king ? 
 O be rcmember'd, no outrageous thing 
 From vassal actors can be wip'd away ; 
 Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 
 
 This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear, 
 But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love : 
 With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, 
 When they in thee the like offences prove : 
 If but for fear of this, thy will remove; 
 For princes are the glass, the school, the book. 
 Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. 
 
 And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall 
 
 Ic-arn ? 
 Must he in thee read lectures of such shame ? 
 Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern 
 Authority for sin, warrant for blame, 
 To privilege dishonour in thy name ? 
 Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud, 
 A.nd mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. 
 
 Hast thou command ? by him that gave it thee. 
 From a pine heart command thy rebel will : 
 Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity. 
 For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. 
 Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil, 
 When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may say 
 He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way ( 
 
 Think but how vile a spectacle it were 
 To view thy present trespass in another. 
 JNIen's faults do seldom to themselves appear ; 
 Their own transgressions partially they smother 
 This guilt would seem death- worthy in thj 
 brother, 
 
 how are they wrapp'd in with infamies, 
 That from their own misdeeds askauncc their eyes! 
 
 To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal 
 Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier ; 
 
 1 sue for exil'd majesty's repeal ; 
 
 Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire. 
 His true respect will 'prison false desire, 
 And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, 
 That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine. 
 
 Have done, quoth he, my uncontrolled tide 
 
 Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. 
 
 Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, 
 
 And with the wind in greater fury fret : 
 
 The petty streams that pay a daily debt 
 
 To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste 
 
 Add to his flow, and alter not his taste. 
 
 Thou art, quoth she, a sea, a sovereign king ; 
 And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood 
 Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, 
 Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. 
 If all these petty ills shall change thy good. 
 Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hersed, 
 And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. 
 
 So shall these slaves be king, and thou their 
 
 slave ; 
 
 Thou nobly base, they basely dignified ; 
 Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave : 
 Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride ; 
 The lesser thing should not the greater hide ; 
 The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, 
 But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. 
 
 So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state — 
 No more, quoth he, by heaven, I will not heai 
 
 thee: 
 Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate. 
 Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee . 
 That done, despitefuUy I mean to bear thee 
 Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, 
 To be thy partner in this shameful doom. 
 
 This said, he sets his foot upon the light, 
 For light and lust are deadly enemies : 
 Shame folded up in blind concealing night. 
 When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. 
 The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries. 
 Till with her own white fleece her voice controir4 
 Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold : 
 
 For with the nightly linen that she wears. 
 He pens her piteous clamours in her head ; 
 Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears 
 That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. 
 O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed 1 
 The spots whereof could weeping puiify, 
 Her tears should drop on them perjjeluaily 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCllECE. 
 
 96; 
 
 But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, 
 And he hath won what he wuuld hise again. 
 This forced league doth force a further strife, 
 Tliis momentary joy breeds months of pain, 
 j.'his hot desire converts to cold disdain ; 
 Pure chastity is rifled of her store, 
 iind lust, the thief, far poorer than before. 
 
 Look as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
 Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, 
 Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk 
 The prey wherein by nature they delight ; 
 So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night : 
 His taste delicious, in digestion souring. 
 Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring. 
 
 deeper sin than bottomless conceit 
 Can comprehend in still imagination ! 
 Drunken desire must vomit his receipt. 
 Ere he can see his own abomination. 
 While lust is in his pride, no exclamation 
 Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire. 
 Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. 
 
 And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, 
 With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, 
 Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek. 
 Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : 
 The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with 
 
 grace. 
 For there it revels ; and when that decays, 
 The guilty rebel for remission prays. 
 
 So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, 
 Who this accomplishment so hotly chased ; 
 For now against himself he sounds this doom. 
 That through the length of times he stands 
 
 disgraced : 
 Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced ; 
 To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares. 
 To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 
 
 She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 
 Have batter'd down her consecrated wall. 
 And by their mortal fault brought in subjection 
 Her immortality, and made lier thrall 
 To living death, and pain perpetual : 
 Which in her prescience she controlled still. 
 But her fore-sight could not fore-stall their will. 
 
 Even in his thought through the dark night he 
 
 stealeth, 
 A captive victor, that hath lost in gain ; 
 Bearing away the wound that nothing hcaleth. 
 The scar that will, despite of cure, remain. 
 Leaving his spoil perple.x'd in greater pain. 
 She bears the load of lust he left behind. 
 And he the burthen of a guilty mind. 
 
 He, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly thence, 
 Slie, like a wearied lamb, lies panting there ; 
 He scowls, and hates himself for his offence, 
 She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear ; 
 He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear ; 
 She stays, exclaiming on the direful night ; 
 He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight. 
 
 He thence departs, a heavy convertite. 
 
 She there remai-is, a hopeless cast-away : 
 
 He in his speed looks for the morning light, 
 
 She prays she never may behold the day : 
 
 For day, quoth she, night-scapes doth open lay; 
 
 And my true eyes have never practis'd how 
 
 To cloak offences with a cu ming brow. 
 
 I They think not but that every <ye can see 
 The same disgrace which they themselves be hold ; 
 And therefore would they still in darkness be, 
 To have their unseen sm remain untold ; 
 For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 
 And grave, like water that doth, eat in steel, 
 Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel. 
 
 Here she exclaims against repoi^e and rest, 
 And bids her eyes hereafter still be blir.d. 
 She wakes her heart by beating on her breast 
 And bids it leap from thence, where it may find 
 Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. 
 Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite 
 Against the unseen secrecy of night. 
 
 O comfort-killing night, image of hell ! 
 Dim register and notary of shame ! 
 Black stage for tragedies and murders fell ! 
 Vast sin-concealing chaos ! nurse of blame ! 
 Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbour for defame .' 
 Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator 
 With close-tongued treason and the ravisher ! 
 
 O hateful vaporous and foggy night. 
 
 Since thou art guilty of my curseless crime. 
 
 Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, 
 
 Make war against proportion'd course of time* 
 
 Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb 
 
 His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed. 
 
 Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 
 
 With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; 
 Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick 
 The life of purity, the supreme fair. 
 Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick ; 
 And let thy misty vapours march so thick, 
 That in their smoky ranks his smothcr'd light 
 May set at noon, and make perpetual night. 
 
 Were Tarquin night, (as he is but night's child,') 
 The silver shining-queen he would distain ; 
 Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defil'd. 
 Through night's black bosom should not peep 
 
 again ; 
 So should I have copartners in my pain : 
 And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage. 
 As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 
 
 Where now I have no one to blush with me, 
 To cross their arms, and hang their heads with 
 
 mine. 
 To mask their brows, and hide their infamy , 
 But I alone, alone must sit and pine. 
 Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, 
 Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, 
 Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 
 
 O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 
 Let not the jealous day behold that face 
 Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak 
 Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace ! 
 Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, 
 That all the faults which in thy reign are made 
 May likewise be sepulchr'd in thy shade ! 
 
 Make me not object to the tell-tale day ! 
 
 The night will shew, character'd in my brow, 
 
 The story of sweet chastity's decay. 
 
 The impious breach of holy wedlock's vow i 
 
 Yea, the illiterate that know not how 
 
 To 'cipher what is writ in learned books. 
 
 Will quote my loathsome trespass in my lookR 
 
970 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECB. 
 
 ri.e nmee, tn still her child, will tell my story, 
 And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name ; 
 The orator, to deck his oratory, 
 Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame; 
 Feast- finding minstrels, tuning my defame, 
 Will tie the hearers to attend each line, 
 IIow Tarquin wronged me, I a CoUatine. 
 
 Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 
 For Collatine's dear love he kept unspotted : 
 If that be made a theme for disputation, 
 The branches of another root are rotted. 
 And undeserv'd approacli to him allotted. 
 That is as ckar from this attaint of mine, 
 As I, ere this, was pure to CoUatine. 
 
 unseen shame ! invisible disgrace ! 
 unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar ! 
 Reproach is stamp'd in CoUatinus' face, 
 And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, 
 How he in peace is wounded, not in tear, 
 Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, 
 Which not themselves, but he that gives them 
 knows ! 
 
 If, CoUatine, thine honour lay in me, 
 
 From me by strong assault it is bereft. 
 
 My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, 
 
 Have no perfection of my summer left. 
 
 But robb'd and rausack'd by injurious theft: 
 
 In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept. 
 
 And suck'd the honey wliich thy chaste bee kept. 
 
 Yet 1 am guiltless of thy honour's wreck ; 
 Yet for thy lionour did I entertain him; 
 Coming from thee, I could not put him back; 
 For it had been dishonour to disdain him : 
 Besides of weariness he did complain him, 
 And talk'd of virtue : — unlook'd for evil, 
 When virtue is profan'd in such a devil I 
 
 Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud ? 
 
 Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests ? 
 
 Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud ? 
 
 Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ? 
 
 Or kings be breakers of their own behests ? 
 
 But no perfection is so absolute. 
 
 That some impurity doth not pollute. 
 
 The aged man that coffers up his gold. 
 
 Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful 
 
 fits, 
 And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold. 
 But like still-pining Tantalus he sits. 
 And useless barns the harvest of his wits ; 
 Having no other pleasure of his gain. 
 But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 
 
 So then he hath it when he cannot use it, 
 And leaves it to be master'd by his young ; 
 Who in their pride do presently abuse it : 
 Their father was too weak, and they too strong, 
 To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. 
 The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours. 
 Even in the moment that we call them ours. 
 
 Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ; 
 Unwholesome weeds take root with precious 
 
 flowers ; 
 The adder hisses where the sweet bird sings ; 
 What virtue breeds, iniquity devours : 
 Wc have no good that we can say is ours, 
 But ill-annexed opportunity 
 Or kills his life, or else his quality 
 
 Opportunity ! thy guilt is great : 
 'Tis tliou that execut'st the traitor's treason; 
 Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may gel 
 Whoever plots tlie sin thou point'st the season 
 'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason 
 And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him 
 Sits Sin, to seize the souls that v.'ander by him. 
 
 Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath ; 
 Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd 
 Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth 
 Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! 
 Thou plantcst scandal, and displacest laud : 
 Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, 
 Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! 
 
 Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 
 Thy private feasting to a public fast ; 
 Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name ; 
 Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste 
 Thy violent vanities can never last. 
 How conies it then, vile opportunity. 
 Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ? 
 
 When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, 
 And bring him where his suit may be obtained ! 
 When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end ! 
 Or free that soul which wretchedness hati 
 
 chained ? 
 Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained ? 
 The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out fctf 
 
 thee ; 
 But they ne'er meet with opportunity. 
 
 The patient dies while the physician sleeps ; 
 The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ; 
 Justice is feasting while the widow weeps ; 
 Advice is sporting while infection breeds ; 
 Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds ! 
 Wratli, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages 
 Thy henious hours wait on them as their pages 
 
 When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, 
 A tliousand crosses kept them from thy aid ; 
 They buy thy help : but Sin ne'er gives a fee. 
 He gratis comes ; and thou art well appay'd 
 As well to hear as grant what he hath said. 
 My CoUatine would else have come to me 
 When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. 
 
 Guilty thou art of murder and of theft • 
 Guilty of perjury and subornation; 
 Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift . 
 Guilty of incest, that abomination : 
 An accessary by thine inclination 
 To all sins past, and all that are to come. 
 From the creation to the general doom 
 
 Misshappen Time, copesmate of ugly night, 
 Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care ; 
 Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, 
 Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtu«' 
 
 snare ; 
 Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are. 
 O hear me then, injurious, shifting time ! 
 Be guilty of my death, since of my crime- 
 Why hath thy servant. Opportunity, 
 Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose? 
 CanccU'd my fortunes, and enchained me 
 To endless date of never-ending woes ? 
 Time's office is to find the hate of foes ; 
 To eat up error by opinion bred. 
 Not spend the dr'*'Ty of a lawful bed. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 971 
 
 rime's glor) is to calm contending kings, 
 To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, 
 To stamp the seal of time in aged things. 
 To wake the morn, and sentinel the night, 
 To wi-ong the wronger till he render right ; 
 To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
 And smear with dust their glittering golden tow- 
 ers : 
 To feed with worm-holes stately monuments, 
 To feed oblivion with decay of thivigs. 
 To blot old books, and alter their -ontents. 
 To pluck the quills from ancient ravens wings. 
 To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs ; 
 To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel. 
 And turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel: 
 To shew the beldame daughters of her daughter. 
 To make the child a man, the man a child. 
 To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, 
 To tame the unicorn and lion wild ; 
 To mock the subtle, in the^nselves beguil d ; 
 To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops. 
 And waste huge stones with little water-drops. 
 Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage. 
 Unless thou could'st return to make amends ? 
 One poor retiring minute in an age 
 Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, 
 Lendiu" him wit, that to bad debtors lends : 
 O, this dread night, woukl'st thou one hour come 
 
 I could prevent this storm, and shun this wrack ! 
 
 Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity ,_ _ 
 With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight. 
 Devise extremes beyond extremity. 
 To make him curse this cursed crimef ul night : 
 Let "hastly shadows his lewd eyes affright ; 
 And the dire thought of his committed evil, 
 Shape every bu-h a hideous shapeless devil. 
 Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances. 
 Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ; 
 Let there bechance him pitiful mischances. 
 To make him moan, but pity not his moans : 
 Stone him with liarden'd hearts, harder than 
 
 stones; . . , 
 
 And let mild women to him lose their mildness. 
 Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 
 
 Let him have time to tear his curled hair, 
 
 Let him have time against himself to rave. 
 
 Let hiin have time of time's help to despair; 
 
 Let him havg time to live a loathed slave. 
 
 Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave, 
 
 And time to see one that by alms doth live, 
 
 Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. 
 
 Let him have time to see his friends his foes. 
 
 And merry fools to mock at him resort : 
 
 Let him have time to mark how slow' time goes 
 
 In time of sorrow, and how swift and short 
 
 His time of foUv and his time of sport: 
 
 And ever let his unrecalling cr me 
 
 Have time to wail the abusing )f his time. 
 
 Time, thou tutor both to gcc 1 and bad_, 
 Teach me to curse him that the i taught st this 
 
 ill! 
 At his own shadow let the thiet run mad, 
 Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! 
 Such wretched hands such wretched blood should 
 
 spill : _. , 
 
 For who so base would such an office have 
 As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave . 
 
 The baser is he, coming from a king, 
 To shame his hope with deeds degelierate. 
 The mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
 That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate 
 For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
 The moon being clouded presently is miss d, 
 But little stars may hide them when they list. 
 
 The crow may b.athe his coal-black wings in mir^ 
 And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away ;_ 
 But if the like the snow-white swan desire, 
 The stain upon his silver down will sUy. _ 
 Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glonoB» 
 
 day. 
 Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they tly, 
 But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. 
 
 Out idle words, servants to shallow fools ! 
 Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators ! 
 Busy yourselves in skill-contending school3, 
 Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters ; 
 To trembling clients be you mediators : 
 For me, I force not argument a straw', 
 Since that my case is past the help of law 
 
 In vain I rail at Opportunity, ^ , . , , 
 
 At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night; 
 
 In vain I cavil with my infamy. 
 
 In vain I spurn at my eonfirm'd despite : _ 
 
 This helpless smoke of words doth me no right 
 
 The remedy indeed to do me good. 
 
 Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood 
 
 Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree ? 
 Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ; 
 For if I die, my honour lives in thee. 
 But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame : 
 Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame, 
 And wast afraid to scratch her wicked foe, 
 Kill both thyself and her for yielding so. 
 
 This said, from herbe-tumbled couch she startcth 
 To find some desperate instrument of death. 
 But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth. 
 To make more vent for passage of her breath. 
 Which thronging through her lips so vanishetn 
 As smoke from ^tna, that in air consumes, 
 Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. 
 
 In vain, quoth she, I live, and seek in vain 
 Some happy mean to end a hapless lite. 
 I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain. 
 Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife: 
 But when I fear'd, I was a loyal wife ; 
 So am I now :— O no, that cannot be ; 
 Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 
 
 ' that is gone, for which I sought to live, 
 And therefore now I need not fear to die. 
 To clear this spot by death, at least I give 
 A badge of fame to slander's livery ; 
 A dying life to living infamy ; 
 Poor hdpless help, the treasure stolen away, 
 To burn the guiltless casket where it lay ! 
 
 Well, well, dear Collatinc, thou shalt not kno^ 
 The stained taste of violated troth ; 
 
 1 will not wrong thy true atfection so. 
 To flatter thee with an infringed oath ; 
 This bastard gruff shall never come to growth 
 He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute, 
 That thou art doting father of his fruit. 
 
\)7^ 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Nor shall ho smile at thee in secret thought, 
 Nor laugli with his companions at thy state ; 
 But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought 
 Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. 
 For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 
 And with my trespass never will dispense. 
 Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence. 
 
 I will not poison thee with my attaint. 
 
 Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses ; 
 
 My sable ground of sin I will not paint, 
 
 To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : 
 
 My tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes like sluices, 
 
 As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale. 
 
 Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale. 
 
 By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
 The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, 
 And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended 
 To ugly hell ; when lo, the blushing morrow 
 Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow : 
 But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see. 
 And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. 
 
 Revealing day through every cranny spies, 
 And seems to point her out where she sits weeping ; 
 To whom she sobbiaig speaks : O eye of eyes, 
 Why pry'st thou through my window ? leave thy 
 
 peeping ; 
 Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleep- 
 ing: 
 Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light. 
 For day hath nought to do what's done by night. 
 
 Thus cavils she with every thing she sees : 
 True grief is fond and testy as a cliild, 
 Who wayward once, his mind with nought agrees. 
 Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear tlicm mild; 
 Continuance tames the one; the other wild, 
 Like an unpractis'd swinmier plunging still, 
 With too much labour drowns for want of skill. 
 
 So she, dcep-drcnched in a sea of care. 
 Holds disputation with each thing she views. 
 And to herself all sorrow doth compare ; 
 Nc object but her passion's strength renews ; 
 And as one shifts, another straight ensues : 
 Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words ; 
 Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords. 
 
 The little birds that tune their morning's joy, 
 Make her moans mad with their sweet melody. 
 For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ; 
 Sad souls are slain in merry company ; 
 Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society: 
 True sorrow then is feelingly sufhc'd, 
 When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. 
 
 'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ; 
 He ten times pines, that pines beholding food : 
 To see the salve doth make the wound ache more ; 
 Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ; 
 Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, 
 Who being stopp'd,the bounding banks o'er-flows; 
 Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. 
 
 You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomb 
 Within your hollow swelling fcather'd breasts, 
 And in my hearing bo you mute and dumb ! 
 (My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ; 
 A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests :) 
 Helish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ; 
 Oistress likes dumps when time is kept with tears. 
 
 Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, 
 Make thy sad grove in my dishevcll'd hair. 
 As the dank earth weeps at thy languishmcnt, 
 So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, 
 And with deep groans the diapason bear : 
 For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, 
 While thou on Tereus descant'st, belter skill. 
 
 And whiles against a thorn thou beai-'st thy par^ 
 To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretcheil I, 
 To imitate thee well, against my heart 
 Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye; 
 Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 
 Tliese means, as frets upon an instrument, 
 Shall tunc our heart-strings to tnie languishm*! i 
 
 And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in tV-e dsj> 
 As shaming any eye sliould thee behold. 
 Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, 
 That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold, 
 Will we find out ; and there we will unfold 
 To creatures stern sad tunes, to change then- kinds: 
 Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle 
 minds : 
 
 As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze. 
 
 Wildly determining which way to fly, 
 
 Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, 
 
 That cannot tread the way out readily ; 
 
 So with herself is she in mutiny. 
 
 To live or die which of the twain were better 
 
 When life is shani'd,and Death Reproach's debtor 
 
 To kill myself, quoth she, alack ! what were it. 
 But with my body my poor soul's pollution ? 
 They tliat lose half, with greater patience bear it, 
 Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
 That mother tries a merciless conclusion. 
 Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes 
 
 one. 
 Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. 
 
 My body or my soul, which was the dearer .' 
 When the one pure, the other made divine. 
 Whose love of either to myself was neai'er ? 
 When both were kept for heaven and Collating 
 Ah me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, 
 His leaves will wither, and his sap decay ; 
 So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 
 
 Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, 
 
 Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; 
 
 Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted. 
 
 Grossly engirt with daring infamy : 
 
 Then let it not be call'd impiety, 
 
 If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole. 
 
 Through which I may convey this troubled soul 
 
 Yet die I will not, till my Collatine 
 Have heard the cause of my untimely death ; 
 That he may vow, in that sad hour ot mine, 
 Revenge on him that made me stop my breath 
 My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath. 
 Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent. 
 And as his due, writ in my testament. 
 
 My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife 
 That wounds ray body so dishonoured. 
 'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ; 
 The one will live, the other being dead : 
 So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ■ 
 ' For in my death I murder shameful scorn : 
 Mv shame so dead, mine honour is new-bonr 
 
THE KAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 973 
 
 Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, 
 What legacy shall I bequeath to thee ? 
 My resolution, Love, shall be thy boast, 
 By whose example thou reveiig'd may'ct be. 
 IIow Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me , 
 Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe, 
 And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so. 
 
 This brief abridgment of my will I make ; 
 
 My soul and body to the skies and ground 
 
 My resolution, husband, do you take ; 
 
 Mine honourbe the knife's, thatmakcs my wound; 
 
 My shame be his that did my fame confound ; 
 
 And all my fame that lives, disbursed be 
 
 To those that live, and think no shame of me. 
 
 Thou, CoUatme, shalt oversee this will ; 
 How was I overseen that thou shalt see it ! 
 My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ; 
 INIy life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. 
 Faint not, faint heart', Jjut stoutly say, so be it. 
 Yield to my hand ; my hand shall conquer thee; 
 Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be. 
 
 This plot of death when sadly she had laid. 
 And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes. 
 With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid. 
 Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies ; 
 For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feather's 
 
 flies. 
 Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seems so 
 As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. 
 
 Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow 
 With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty. 
 And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, 
 (For why ? her face wore sorrow's livery ;) 
 But durst not ask of her audaciously 
 Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so. 
 Nor" why her fan- checks over-wash'd with woe. 
 
 But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set. 
 Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye ; 
 Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet 
 Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy 
 Of those fair'suns, set in her mistress'sky. 
 Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light. 
 Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. 
 
 A pretty while these pretty creatures stand. 
 Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling : 
 One justly weeps ; the other takes in hand 
 No cause, but company, of her drops spilling : 
 Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ; 
 Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts. 
 And then they drown their eyes, or break their 
 hearts : 
 
 For men have marble, women waxen minds, 
 And therefore are they form'd as miu-ble will ; 
 T':e weak oppress'd,"the impression of strange 
 
 kinds 
 fr form'd in them oy force, by fraud, or skill: 
 Then call them not'the authors of their ill. 
 No more than wax shall be accounted evil. 
 Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 
 
 Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain. 
 Lays open all the little worms that creep: 
 In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
 Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep ; 
 Through crystal walls each little mote will peep : 
 Thc-ish men can cover crimes with bold stem 
 
 looks, 
 Poor women's fi oes are their own faults' books. 
 
 No man inveigh against the wither'd flower, 
 But chide rough wintcrthattheflowerhath kill'd 
 Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, 
 Is worthy blame. O let it not be hild 
 Poor women's faults, that they are so fdfiU'd 
 With men's abuses: those proud lords, to blame 
 Make weak-made women tenants to their shame 
 
 The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, 
 Assail'd by night with circumstances strong 
 Of present death, and shame that might ensue 
 By that her death, to do her husband WTong: 
 Such danger to resistance did belong. 
 That dying fear through all her body spread ; 
 And who cannot abuse a body dead ? 
 
 By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak 
 To the poor counterfeit of her complaining ; 
 My girl, quoth she, on what occasion break 
 Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are 
 
 raining ? 
 If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining, 
 Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood . 
 If tears could help, mine own would do me good. 
 
 But tell me, girl, when went— (and there sh« 
 
 stayed 
 Till after a deep groan) Tarquin from hence ? 
 Madam, ere I was up, rcply'd the maid. 
 The more to blame my sluggard negligenco : 
 Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense ; 
 Myself was stirring ere the break of day, 
 And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. 
 
 But lady, if your maid may be so bold. 
 She would request to know your heaviness. 
 O peace ! quoth Lucrece ; if it should be told, 
 The repetition cannot make it less ; 
 For more it is than I can well express : 
 And that deep torture may be call'd a hell, 
 Where more is felt than one hath power to tel2 
 
 Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen — 
 
 Y^et save that labour, for I have them here. 
 
 What should I say ?— One of my husband's men, 
 
 Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear 
 
 A letter to my lord, my love, my dear. 
 
 Bid him with speed prepare to cai-ry it : 
 
 The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ. 
 
 Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, 
 First hovering o'er the paper with her quill: 
 Conceit and grief an eager combat fight ; 
 What wit sets down, is blotted straight with will j 
 This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill ; 
 Much like a press of people at a door, 
 Thnmg her inventions, which shall go befcie. 
 
 At last she thus begins : Thou worthy lord 
 Of that unworthy wife that greeti-th thee. 
 Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe to aflbrd 
 (If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see), 
 Some present speed to come and visit me : 
 So I commend me from our house in grief; 
 My woes are tedious, though my words arc brief 
 
 Here folds she up the tenour of her woe, 
 
 Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. 
 
 By this short schedule C'ollatine may know 
 
 Her grief, but not her grief's true quality ; 
 
 She dares not thereof make discovery. 
 
 Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse. 
 
 Ere she with blood hath stain'd her stain 'd ei 
 
074 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 
 She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ; 
 When sighs and groans and tears may grace the 
 
 fashion 
 Of her disgrace, tue better so to clear her 
 From that suspicion which the world might bear 
 
 her: 
 To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter 
 With words, till action might become them better. 
 
 To see sad sights moves more than hear them told ; 
 
 For then the eye interprets to the ear 
 
 The heavy motion that it doth behold. 
 
 When every part a part of woe doth bear. 
 
 'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear : 
 
 Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords, 
 
 And sorrow ebbs, being blown with \vind of words. 
 
 Her letter now is seal'd, and on it v/rit, 
 At Ardea to mrj lord xoith more than haste. 
 The post attends, and she delivers it. 
 Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast 
 As lagging fowls before the northern blast. 
 Speed more than speed, but dull and slow she 
 
 deems, 
 Extremity still urgcth such extremes. 
 
 The homely villein court'sies to her low; 
 And blushing on her with a stedfast eye 
 Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, 
 And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. 
 But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie. 
 Imagine every eye beholds their blame ; 
 For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame. 
 
 When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect 
 Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. 
 Such harmless creatures liave a due respect 
 To talk in deeds, while others saucily 
 Promise more speed, but do it leisurely : 
 Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age 
 Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. 
 
 His kindled duty kindled her mistrust. 
 That two red fires in both their faces blazed ; 
 She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's 
 
 lust. 
 And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed ; 
 Her earnest eye did make him more amazed : 
 The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish. 
 The more she thought he spy'a in her some blem- 
 ish. 
 
 But long she thinks till he return again. 
 And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 
 The weary time she cannot entertain, 
 For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan : 
 So woe hath wearied woo, moan tired moan. 
 That she her paints a little while doth tay. 
 Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. 
 
 At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 
 Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy; 
 Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, 
 For Helen's rape the city to destroy. 
 Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy ; 
 Which the conceited painter drew so proud. 
 As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. 
 
 A thousand lamentable objects there, 
 In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life : 
 Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, 
 Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife : 
 The red blood reek'd to shew the painter's strife ; 
 And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights. 
 Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. 
 
 There might you see the labouring pioneer 
 Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with uus* 
 And from the towers of Troy there Avould appeal 
 The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust, 
 Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust : 
 Such sweet observance in this work was had, 
 That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. 
 
 In great commanders grace and majesty 
 You might behold triumphing in their faces ; 
 In youth, quick bearing and dexterity ; 
 And here and there the painter interlaces 
 Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces 
 Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, 
 That one one would swear he saw them quake aai 
 tremble. 
 
 In Ajax and Ulysses, O what art 
 
 Of physiognomy might one behold! 
 
 The face of either 'cipher'd cither's heart , 
 
 Their face then* manners most expressly told . 
 
 In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roU'd ; 
 
 But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent, 
 
 Shew'd deep regard and smiling government. 
 
 There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, 
 As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight; 
 Making such sober action with his hand. 
 That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight : 
 In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, 
 Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly 
 Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. 
 
 About him were a press of gaping faces, 
 Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice; 
 All jointly listening, but with several graces. 
 As if some mermaid did their ears entice ; 
 Some high, some low, the painter was so nice; 
 The scalps of many, almost hid behind, 
 To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. 
 
 Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head. 
 His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear; 
 Here one being throng'd bears back, all blown 
 
 and red ; 
 Another, smother'd, seems to pelt and swear; 
 And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 
 As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words, 
 It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. 
 
 For much imaginary work was there , 
 Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind. 
 That for Achilles' image stood his spear, 
 Grip'd in an armed hand ; himself behind, 
 Was left imscen, save to tlie eye of mind : 
 A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head. 
 Stood for the whole to be imagined. 
 
 And from the walls of strong-beseiged Trov, 
 When their brave hope, bold Hector, marcn'd to 
 
 field. 
 Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy 
 To see their youthful sons bright weapons 'wield; 
 And to their hope they such odd action yield. 
 That, through their light joy, seemed to appear 
 (Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear 
 
 And, from the strond of Dardan where they fought 
 To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran. 
 Whose waves to imitate the battle sought 
 With swelling ridges ; and their ranks began 
 To break upon the galled shore, and then 
 Retire again, till meeting greater ranks 
 They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks 
 
THE EAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 '/' 
 
 f this wcU-paiiited piece is Lucrcce come, 
 To find a face wliere all distress is stul'd. 
 Many she sees, where cares have carved some. 
 But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd. 
 Till she despairing; Hecuba beheld, 
 Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, 
 Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. 
 
 In her the painter had anatomiz'd 
 
 Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign; 
 
 Ilex cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were dis- 
 
 guis'd ; 
 Of wliat she was, no semblance did remain : 
 Her blue blood chang'd to black in every vein, 
 Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had 
 
 fed, 
 Shew'd life imprison'd in a body dead. 
 
 On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, 
 And shapes her sorrow to (he beldame's woes, 
 Who nothing wants to ansn-er her but cries. 
 And bitter words to ban her cruel foes : 
 The painter was no God to lend licr those ; 
 And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong. 
 To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. 
 
 Poor instrument, quoth she, without a sound, 
 I'll tune thy woes with my lanienting tongue : 
 And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, 
 And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong. 
 And withniy tears quench Troy that burns so long, 
 And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
 Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 
 
 Shew me the strumpet that began this stir, 
 That with my nails her beauty I may tear : 
 Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
 This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear ; 
 I'hv eye kindled the fire that burneth liere ; 
 And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye, 
 The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die. 
 
 Why should the private pleasure of some one 
 Become the public plague of many moe ? 
 Let sin, alone committed, light alone 
 Upon his head that hath transgressed so. 
 Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe : 
 For one's offence why should so many fall. 
 To plague a private sin in general ? 
 
 Lo here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies. 
 Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds; 
 Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies. 
 And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, 
 And one man's lust these many lives confounds: 
 Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 
 Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire. 
 
 Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes : 
 For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell, 
 Onre set on linging, with his own weight goes ; 
 'I'hen little strength rings out the doleful knell: 
 80 Lucrece set a-worlc, sad tales doth tell 
 To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow ; 
 She lends them words, and she their looks doth 
 borrow. 
 
 She throws her eyes about the painting, round, 
 And whom slie finds forlorn, she doth lament : 
 At la-;t she sees a wretched image bound, 
 That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent ; 
 His face, though full of cares, yet shew'd content : 
 Onward to Troy with t'ne blunt swains he goes, 
 So mild, that Patien(;e secm'd to scorn his woes. 
 
 In him the painter labour'd with his skill 
 To hide deceit, and give the harmless show 
 An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing st;lli 
 A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe ; 
 Cheeks, neither red nor pale, but mingled so 
 That blushing red no guilty instance gave, 
 Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 
 
 But, like a constant and confirmed devil, 
 He entertained a show so seeming just. 
 And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil, 
 That jealousy itself could not mistrust 
 False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust 
 Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms, 
 Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forma 
 
 The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew 
 For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story 
 The credulous old Priam after slew ; 
 Whose words, like wild-fire, burnt the shining 
 
 glory 
 Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, 
 And little stars shot from their fixed places, 
 When their glass fell wherein they view'd. theil 
 
 faces. 
 
 This picture she advisedly perus'd. 
 And chid the painter for his wondrous skill ; 
 Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd. 
 So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill ; 
 And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still, 
 Such signs of truth in his plain face she spy'a 
 That she concludes the picture was bely'd. 
 
 It cannot be, quoth she, that so much guile 
 (She v/ould have said) can lurk hi such a look; 
 But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while, 
 And from her tongue, can lurk from cannot took , 
 It cannot be she in that sense forsook. 
 And turn'd it thus : It cannot be, I find, 
 But suc'n a face should bear a wicked mind ; 
 
 For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, 
 
 So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, 
 
 (As if with grief or travail he had fainted) 
 
 'i'o me came Tarquin armed; so beguil'd 
 
 With outward honesty, but yet defil'd 
 
 With inward vice : as Priam him did cherish. 
 
 So did I Tarquin ; so my Troy did perish. 
 
 Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes. 
 To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds. 
 Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise ? 
 For every tear he falls, a Trojan bleeds ; 
 His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds : 
 Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pit] 
 Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 
 
 Such devils steal effects frora lightless hell ; 
 For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold. 
 And in that cold, hot-burning fire doth dwell ; 
 These contraries such unity do hold. 
 Only to flatter fools, and make them bold : 
 So Priam's trust false Sinon's tear doth flatter, 
 That he finds means to burn his Troy with -.Tatci 
 
 Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails, 
 That patience is quite beaten from her breast. 
 She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails. 
 Comparing him to that unhappy guest 
 Whose deed hath made herself herself detest: 
 At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ; 
 Fool! fool! quoth "she, his wouu "swill not be sor» 
 
076 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, 
 And time dotli weary time with her complaining. 
 She looks fur nia;ht, and then she longs for morrow, 
 And both she thinks too long with her remaining: 
 Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustain- 
 ing. 
 Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ; 
 And they that watch, see time how slow it creeps. 
 
 Wliich all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, 
 That she with painted images hath spent ; 
 Being from the feeling of her own grief brought 
 By deep surmise of others' detriment; 
 Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 
 It easc-th some, though none it ever cured, 
 To think their dolour others have endur'd. 
 
 But now the mindful messenger, come back, 
 Brings home his lord and other company; 
 Who finds his Lucrcce clad in mourning black ; 
 And round about her tear distaincd eye 
 Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky. 
 These water-galls in her dim element 
 Foretell new storms to those already spent. 
 
 Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 
 
 Amazedly in her sad face he stares : 
 
 Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw, 
 
 Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. 
 
 He hath no power to ask her how she fares, 
 
 But stood, like old acquaintance in a trance. 
 
 Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. 
 
 At: last he takes her by the bloodless hand, 
 And thus begins : What uncouth ill event 
 Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling 
 
 stand ? 
 Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent ? 
 Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent ? 
 Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness. 
 And tell thy grief, that we may give redress. 
 
 Three times with sighs she gives her sorrows fire, 
 Ere once she can discharge one word of woe : 
 At length address'd to answer his desire, 
 She modestly prepares to let them know 
 Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe ; 
 While CoUatiue and his consorted lords 
 With sad attention long to hear her words. 
 
 And now this pale swan in her watery nest 
 Begins the sad dii-ge of her certain ending : 
 Few words, quoth she, shall fit the trespass best, 
 Where no excuse can give the fault amending ; 
 In me more woes than words are now depending ; 
 And my laments would be drawn out too long. 
 To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. 
 
 Then be this all the task it hath to say : — 
 Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 
 A stranger came, and on that piilow lay 
 Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head ; 
 And what WTong else may be imagined 
 By foul enforcement might be done to me. 
 From that, alas ! thy Lucrece is not free. 
 
 For in tne dreadful dead of dark midnight. 
 With shining falchion in my chamber came 
 A creeping creature, with a flaming light. 
 And softly cry'd. Awake, thou Roman dame. 
 And entertain my love ; else lasting shame 
 On thee and thine this night I will inflict, 
 (( thou my love's desire do contradict. 
 
 For some hard-favonr'd groom of thine, quotb he 
 Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 
 I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter the4, 
 And swear I found you where you did fulfil 
 The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 
 The lechers in their deed : this act will be 
 My fame, and thy perpetual infamy. 
 
 With this I did begin to stait and cry. 
 
 And then against my heart he set his sword, 
 
 Swearing, unless I took all patiently, 
 
 I should not live to speak another word: 
 
 So should my shame still rest upon record, 
 
 And never be forgot in mighty Rome 
 
 The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. 
 
 Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 
 And far the weaker with so strong a fear ; 
 My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak; 
 No rightful plea might plead for justice there- 
 His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 
 That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes. 
 And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner dies. 
 
 teach me how to make my own excuse ! 
 
 Or, at the least, this refuge let me find ; 
 
 Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse, 
 
 Immaculate and spotless is my mind ; 
 
 That was not forc'd ; that never was inclin'd 
 
 To accessary yieldings, but still pure 
 
 Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure. 
 
 Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss. 
 With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up vrith 
 
 woe, 
 "With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across. 
 From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow 
 The grief away, that stops his answer so : 
 But wretched as he is, he strives in vain ; 
 What he breathes out his breath di'inks up again 
 
 As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
 
 Out-runs the eye that doth behold his haste ; 
 
 Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
 
 Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast; 
 
 In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past' 
 
 Even so he sighs, his sorrows, make a saw. 
 
 To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. 
 
 Which speechless woe of his, poor she attendeth, 
 And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh : 
 Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
 Another power ; no flood by raining slaketh. 
 My woe too sensible thy passion maketh 
 More feeling-painful : let it then suffice 
 To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 
 
 And for my sake, when I might charm thee so. 
 For she tliat was thy Lucrece — now attend me ; 
 Be suddenly revenged on my foe. 
 Thine, mine, his own ; suppose thou dost defend 
 
 me 
 From what is past : the help that thou shalt lend 
 
 me 
 Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; 
 For sparing justice feeds iniquity. 
 
 But ere I name him, you fair lords, quoth she, 
 (Speaking to those that came with Collatine) 
 Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, 
 With swift pursuit to venge this v.'rong of mine 
 For 'tis a meritorious fair design. 
 To chase injustice with revengeful arms: 
 Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladief 
 harms. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 y; 
 
 A-t this request, with noble disposition 
 E;ich present lord began to promise aid, 
 As bound in knighthood to her imposition, 
 Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. 
 But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, 
 The protestation stops. O speak, quoth she, 
 How may this forced stain be wiped from me. 
 
 What is the quality of mine oft'once. 
 
 Being constrained witli dreadful circumstance : 
 
 May my pure mind with tlie foul act dispense, 
 
 My low-declined honour to advance ? 
 
 May any terras acquit me from this chance? 
 
 The poison'd fountain clears itself again; 
 
 And why not I from this compelled stain ? 
 
 With this, they .•'.11 at once began to say, 
 Her body's stain her mind luituinted clears; 
 Wliile with a jobless smile she turns away 
 Tlie face, that map which deep impression bears 
 Of hard misfortune carv'd in it with tears. 
 No, no, quoth she, no dame, hereafter living. 
 By my excuse sh;'ll claim excuses giving. 
 
 Here with a sigh, .\s if her heart would break, 
 Slie throws forth f arquin's name ; He, he, she 
 
 says, 
 Bu t more than /(e h er poor tongue could not speak ; 
 Till after many accents and delays. 
 Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, 
 She utters this : He, he, fair lords, 'tia he, 
 That guides this hand to give this i^'ourid to me. 
 
 Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
 A liarmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed; 
 That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
 Of that polluted prison where it breathed ; 
 Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed 
 Her winged sprite, and tlirougli her wounds doth 
 
 fly 
 
 Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. 
 
 Stone-still, astonish d with this deadly deed, 
 Stood CoUatine and all his lordly crew ; 
 Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleed, 
 Himself on \\2X self-slaughter'd body threw ; 
 And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
 The murderous knife, and as it left the place 
 Her blood, in poor revsnge, held it in chase ; 
 
 And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
 Tn two slow rivers, that the crimson blood 
 Circles her body in on every side. 
 Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood 
 Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. 
 Some of her blood still pure and red ismain'd, 
 And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin 
 stain'd. 
 
 About the mourning and congealed face 
 Of that black blood, a watery rigol goes, 
 Which seems to weep upon the tainted place : 
 And ever since as pitying Lucrece' vvoes, 
 Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 
 And blood untainted still doth red abide. 
 Blushing at that which is so putrify'd. 
 
 Daughter, dear daughter, old Lucretius cries, 
 
 Tliat life was mine, which tliou hast here depriv'd. 
 
 [f in the child the father's image lies. 
 
 Where shall I live, now Lucrece is unliv'd ? 
 
 Tliou wast not to this end from me deriv'd. 
 
 [f children pre-decease progenitors, 
 
 •■Ve are their olfspring, and they none of ours. 
 
 Poor broken glass, 1 often did behold 
 In thy sweet semblance my old age new-born ; 
 But now tliat fair fresh mirror, dim and old. 
 Shows me a bare-boned death by time out-worn 
 O, from thy clieeks my image thou hast torn' 
 And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass. 
 That I no more can see what once I was. 
 
 time, cease thou thy course, and last no longer 
 If they surcease to be, that should suryive. 
 Shall rotten death make conquest of the strongei 
 And leave the faltering feeble souls alive ? 
 
 The old bees die, the young possess their hive 
 Then live sweet Lucrece, live again, and see 
 Thy father die, and Jiot thy father thee ! 
 
 By this starts Collatine as from a dream. 
 And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place ; 
 And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
 He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face. 
 And counterfeits to die with her a space ; 
 Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, 
 And live to be revenged on her death. 
 
 The deep vexation of his inward soul 
 Hath scrv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue ; 
 Who mad that sorrow should his use control, 
 Or keep him from heart-easing words so long. 
 Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng 
 Weak words, so thick come, in his poor heart'i 
 
 aid, 
 That no man could distinguish what he said. 
 
 Yet sometime Tarqxiin was pronounced plain, 
 But through his teeth as if the name he tore, 
 This windy tempest, till it blow up rain. 
 Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more ; 
 At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er: 
 Then son and father weep with equal strife, 
 Who should weep most for daughter or for wife 
 
 The one doth call her his, the other his. 
 Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. 
 The father says, she's mine: mine she is, 
 Replies her husband: Do not take away 
 My sorrow's interest ; let no mourner say 
 He weeps for her, for she was only mine, 
 And only must be wail'd by Collatine. 
 
 O, quoth Lucretius, I did give that life, 
 Which she too early and too late hath spill'd. 
 Woe, woe, quoth Collatine, she was my wife, 
 
 1 owned licr, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd 
 My daughter, and my wife with clamours fiU'd. 
 The dispers'd air, who holding Lucrece' life, _ 
 Answer'd their cries, my dauykter and my wife. 
 
 Brutus, who pluck'd the knifa from Lucrece' sidej 
 
 Seeing such emulation in their woe, 
 
 Began to clothe his wit in state and prid^, 
 
 Burying in Lucrece' wound liis folly's show.~ 
 
 He with the E,omans was estecm'd so 
 
 As silly jeering idiots are with kings. 
 
 For sportive words, and uttering foolish things, 
 
 But now he throws that shallow habit by. 
 Wherein deep policy did him disguise ; 
 And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly, 
 To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. 
 Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise; 
 Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool. 
 Now set thy long-experienced wit to school. 
 
978 
 
 THE llAPE OF LUCKECE. 
 
 Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe ? 
 
 Do wounds lielp wounds, or grief help grievous 
 deeds ? 
 
 Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, 
 
 For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds ? 
 
 Such childish humour from weak minds pro- 
 ceeds : 
 
 Thy ^\Tetchcd wife mistook the matter so. 
 
 To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. 
 
 Courageous Roman, do not steep tb.y heart 
 In such relenting dew of lamentations. 
 But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part. 
 To rouse our Roman gods with invocations. 
 That they will suffer these abominations. 
 Since Rome herself in them doth stand dis- 
 graced. 
 By our strong arms from forth her fair streets 
 chased. 
 
 Now by the Capitol that we adore, 
 
 A.nd by ^hie chaste blood so unjustly stained, 
 
 By heaven's fair sun, that breeds the fat earth'i 
 
 store, 
 By all our country's rights in Rome maintained, 
 And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complained 
 Her wi-ongs to us, a:id by this bloody knife. 
 We will revenge the death of this true wife. 
 
 This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 
 And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow j 
 Aiul to his protestation urg'd the rest. 
 Who wondering at him, did his words allow: 
 Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow 
 And that deep vow which Brutus made before, 
 He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 
 
 When they had sworn to this advised doom, 
 They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thenof 
 To shew the bleeding body thorough Rome, 
 And so to publish Tarquin's foul otience : 
 Which being done with speedy diligence, 
 The Romans plausibly did give consent, 
 To Tarquin's everlasting banishiaent 
 
A 
 
1. 
 
 KlloM riili.Mt rnniliiriti \\r (Ii'mIi'" Iiuti'iino, 
 Tliiil (lii-i.'l,y liriuity'n roue \u\\i.\\\ ntwiT (il«', 
 Hill, nil llm rl|i"f nIii'iiiIiI liy dm" ili'i'i'ii""'. 
 ll'iH l.'ii.l.T li.^ir mi|j;lil li''i'i' Mh m.Miioiy : 
 Kill, llinii, (•(iiiliiM'li'il li> lliliic own IiiikIiI' '•>'';". 
 KiMMl'tiHliy ll|i;lil/iilliimi'\villiiii H liiilmlaiiUiil lui'l, 
 
 MllllillU ll'lllllilllK VvlirK' IllMllllllllll'l. lil-H, 
 
 'riivHi'l? Iliy I'oi', III Iliy rtwi'i'l. Mi'ir liio cnicl, 
 'I'lioii (lull, iirt, now (lin wmiil'ii I'lnrili iirniniHiil , 
 And only linnlil (d IIh' H''ii''y "l"'"!'.- 
 Willlill iliilin own liilil Inirli'ill. lliy (•olilnlit, 
 And, (niiiliT I'lmil, uuiU'id wiinln In nlKK''i'lliiK. 
 J'ily llii' wmld, or idur lliln (j.liiKnn Ih', 
 'I'o ..111 tlid wciild'H dill', liy Ui.' K'i'V »>"' <l" "■ 
 
 II. 
 
 Wlirii Inily wind-rn hIiiiII Ix'^iri-.n (liy liriny, 
 And di|/ diMji Ir.ii.dic.i in Hiy liciiiily'n ll'dd, 
 
 'J'hv V"'i<l''» I'"""' li^'iy. "" K'"'''' "I' ""*^j 
 WiU'Im. II IiiIIit'iI wiHil, <>[■ kiiimII woilli iidil; 
 'I'li.Mi iM'iiin iPiUM wli.T.' nil lliy l"'iHily Ui:», 
 
 wiicni 111! till' iri'iiiiiiii' III' lliy iiii'iy ''i'y« ; 
 
 To Miiy, v'illiiii Iliiiin own dni'iitiniilu'ii I'yi'ii, 
 WiTi' III! nil iMiliiiK Hliiiiiii', mid tluiriliwi-i |inim<., 
 
 Il.iwiiiii<'liiii-.rnpiiii!ii'<l 'V'l lliy l"'.iiily;M ";!'•. 
 
 \f llmii ronld'iit, iiniiwi'i— 'I'lii!! Inii' '•lul*' <'' """" 
 NliiiU mini iiiv •■"iiiil. ini.i niiiliii my olil rxrim<— 
 I'ldviiiK l'i» '"'I'lily liy Mii<cr»tii(iii lliinii. 
 Thin wii'ir In ln' ni'W nind.i wIk'Ii llum "i< "I''. 
 And Hoo lliy I'l'i'"! wju in wlun I lion CtI'iiI it c'.ld, 
 
 III. 
 
 f,iiol. in thy p.l.iMM, iiiKl l.'ll llii' fii-V <li"'i vl.'W.'Ml, 
 Now ill Urn linm tlml. I'n<:" nlimil'l <"''" ii'k.Ukt ; 
 Wlinmi IVi'mIi i''|i"ii' if ii'i^v limn mil nMimvistl, 
 'riimidiiitllii'Kiiili'llKMviirld iinld.'imnonK'inolliiT, 
 
 Vuv whiMd ill iilm HI) fiiir, wlnnn' iili-fiir'd wmnli 
 
 iJiiidiiinti llin lilliiK" "I' 'liy li'l'iliiili'liy I" 
 
 Or will) !h lie. «o I'lnd, will In- lln' lomli 
 
 or llin Midl'lnvi'. to iil'ip Iiii»t<Tily I' 
 
 'riiDii ml Miy ni'illii'i'ii (/.liiMfi, mill "li<- '» l""" 
 
 Oulh* liiiik 111!' I'lvilv April <•( lnr piiim-: 
 
 Hn I lion lliioiiuli wiiidoWHol' Uiimi iiK'' mIiuHkihi, 
 
 l)iM|iilti of wrinltl.n, tlii-s lliy K'll'''" "'""• 
 
 ll'lt if llioii iivi', riimnilHT'd Mol lo In-, 
 
 1.)!.; iiiiiKl'-, mid Ihhm inrnK'' 'li''" will' H'"'- 
 
 IV. 
 
 IJntliiifly lovclinci;!!, why do'il llioii n|)(iiil 
 
 Upon thyiK-lf thy h'-mily'ii l''Ki"7 I* , , , , 
 
 Niilun^'it in(|uciil i/,\Vfi\ iiolliiiiK, hot dolli liiKl, 
 
 And lii'iiiK fninlt, iilw hndii to llioiic mi; fif'>. 
 
 'I'hcn, hcuiiti'oim iiii/iKuid, why doi.l thou iihiiiio 
 
 'I'ho hoiuilcoiiii liirKcim KVi-n liimi to ^Ivti ? 
 
 I'rolitliiHN nwiniT, why 'hml thou nmi 
 
 Ho Kiciil II mim «f «iim'*. y' '''"i"' ""'• "^'' ' 
 
 Koi'liiiviiip; tiii'Il'^ with Ihyiti If nloni', 
 
 I'hou <if thyHcif thy hwimiI n.lf dimt ddciuvd. 
 
 Then how, wlii'U iiiilnin riilhi linn to li" Koim, 
 Wliul iicriiidilili. iiinlit ninnt llion Iniivn f 
 Thy iiiiiin'iI liniinly nilliit hn toiiih'd witli lli«», 
 Wlilrli, nunil, llvim thy nxni'iitor In Im. 
 
 V. 
 
 'I'liimii hoiuM, thill wllh k<'I><1" W'"'' '"'' '""""" 
 
 'I'lii- lovrly Kii/.i' whi'in I'Vi'iy cyn dolh ilwidl, 
 
 Will phiy'tliii lyrmitti lo llii< vnv tiiinin. 
 
 And thill iinfulr wlilrh fiilily ilnlh hkciiII ; 
 
 i''or iinviu' ri'Nlinn llini' li'iidti iinninn'r on 
 
 'I'll lililniinti wiiilrr, mid loiiloiiiidri him thin'; 
 
 Hiipidii-rli'd Willi fioMl.iiii.lliiitly li'iivcd unit n none, 
 
 i'.i-iiuty o'crnnow'd, mid liiirmrMrt nvi'iy whi'in: 
 
 'I'lnii, wiTi- not hiimiin'i'H dlMtillnllon hll, 
 
 A lii|iiid pilfioiiiT pi'iit In wiilhi of nhmii, 
 
 lliiiiily'ii idliMt with lii'iinly wim hiTid'l, 
 
 Nor il, nor no ri'inrnilirmirn wliiil It Wim, 
 
 ltiil(low.rtiilliiliird,llioiiKlilli"y*^i"'W'"'"'"'""''i 
 
 l,iTiio hill llinlr idiow ; till ir tuilmlii nllll ilvcn 
 
 HWnnt. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I lii'ii III not wintnr'ii rii|/,K''l I""!'' 'h'hi''" 
 1 11 I jii'o thy miniini'r, nn- llion Im dii-.till'd : 
 Mnlin invi-nl Moiiin phliil, tri'imurii thou Honin pliici) 
 Willi hiiiinly'i tii'iiiiiiK', <Tii il Im mdf Ulll'il. 
 'I'liiit lino 1(1 not finhiddrii ntniry, 
 Whirh hiippiril IhoKO llint pny Hi" Wlllili)/ loiin ; 
 riiiil'n lor Ihymdf to hiird iinotlmr IIkt, 
 Or ti II liniiri ImiMiiiT, Im it tnii for omt : 
 ■j'cii tiiiiiTi Ihyiinlr WITH hiipjiiiT tlimi thou iirt, 
 
 II l>n of thini- li'ii linifrt ri'llKU'''' th<'" : 
 rii.ii, whiitroiildili'iitlidoiflhonidioiild'htdf-piift, 
 
 1,1'iivinK Ihiii liviiiK ill |)o«lfrily_i' 
 I),, not itolf wili'd, for llion nrl miikIi loo (ulr 
 'i'o lir. diiilh'H iMiii(|nin(, mill limit" woinm thin* 
 hi'ir. 
 
 VII. 
 
 l,o, ill Um' orii'iit, wliiui Ihn KriiclonH lluhl, 
 |,ift;i lip hill hiiiniiiK hciid, itii'di iindiT <'y<! 
 Dolh hoiiiMK" to hill ni'W-iippi'iiriiiK kIkIiI, 
 Si-i villi/ with li.ol'.n hill Minri'd niiiji'iily ; 
 And hii'viiiK rlimli'd the nti-i'P up Iniivfuly hill 
 llnnrnil.liii.u; nlroii|j; youth In liiii iiiidilln UK", 
 Vid, niorlni loolm iidorn lilit hfiiuty utiil, 
 AlliiidiiiK on hill (/"h'''" I'HK" i'm'K'' i 
 lint wliiii fioin liiKh m""'- I'"'' ''. *^'''' W'-mj- '*Jr 
 l,ili(i fii'hh- UK", II" II' h'th iVoiii till- diiy, 
 'I'hr <7<M(, 'fori' dnlioim, now convirti'd iiro 
 iMoin hilt low (not, mid looU iinotliiT wuy 
 .So llion, Ihyiii If out uoiiiK in thy noon, 
 |)iil,„di'd on di'i.t, illilnilii thoil K"t u HOU. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Mnnii; to liciir, why hnir'nl thou inuidi; midly f 
 SwiitH with HWcidM wiir not, jov d.diKht>« In Joy 
 Why Iov'hI Ihoii Unit whi-li thou x'criT xt not 
 
 l^liidly i 
 Or I hii' riTfiv'ot with pl< iriuin tloiK- iinnoy I 
 
 A 
 
382 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 If the true concord of tvcll-tnncd sounds, 
 By unions married, do offend thine car, 
 They do but sweetly chide thee who confounds 
 In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear. 
 Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, 
 Strikes each in each by mutual ordering ; 
 Resembling sire and child and happy mother. 
 Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing : 
 Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one, 
 Sings this to thee, " thou single wilt prove none." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye. 
 
 That thou consum'st thyself in single life ? 
 
 Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die. 
 
 The world will wail thee, like a matpJess wife ; 
 
 The world will be thy widow and still weep. 
 
 That thou no form of thee hast left behind. 
 
 When every private widow well may keep, 
 
 By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. 
 
 Look, what anunthnft in the world doth spend. 
 
 Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; 
 
 But beauty's waste hath in the world an end. 
 
 And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it. 
 
 No love toward others in that bosom sits, 
 
 That on himself such murderous shame commits. 
 
 X. 
 
 For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any. 
 Who for thyself art so unprovident. 
 Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many. 
 But that thou none lov'st, is most evident; 
 For thou art so posscss'd with murderous hate. 
 That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire. 
 Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate, _ 
 Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 
 change thy thought, that I may change my 
 
 mind : 
 Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love ? 
 Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind 
 Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove : 
 Make thee another self, for love of me. 
 That beauty still may live in thine and thee. 
 
 XI. 
 
 As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st 
 In one of thine, from that which thou dopartest ; 
 And that fresh blood which youngly thou be- 
 
 stow'st. 
 Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth 
 
 convertest. 
 Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; 
 Without this, folly, age, and cold decay. 
 If all were minded so, the times should cease. 
 And threescore years would make the world away. 
 Let those whom nature hath not made for store. 
 Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish : 
 Irt^ck whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more; 
 Which boun'.fous gift thou should'st in bounty 
 
 cherish ; 
 She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby, 
 Thou should'st print more, nor let that copy die. 
 
 XII. . 
 
 When I do count the clock that tells the time. 
 And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ; 
 When I behold the violet past prime, 
 A.nd Salle curls, all silver'd o'er with white ; 
 
 When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 
 Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. 
 And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, 
 Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard 
 Then of thy beauty do I question make, 
 That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, 
 And die as fast as they see others grow ; 
 And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can rtiakc 
 
 defence. 
 Save breed, to brave him, when he takes tbei 
 
 hence. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 O that you were yourself! but, love, you are 
 No longer your's, than you yourself here live: 
 Against this coming end you should prepare, 
 And your sweet semblance to some other give. 
 So should that beauty which you hold in lease, 
 Find no determination : then you were 
 Yourself again, after yourself 's decease, 
 When your Gweet issue your sweet form should 
 
 bear. 
 Who lets so fair a house fall to decay. 
 Which husbandry in honour might uphold 
 Against the stormy gusts of winter's day. 
 And barren rage of death's eternal cold ? 
 O ! none but un thrifts ; — Dear, my love, you know 
 You had a father ; let your son say so. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ; 
 
 And yet methinks I have astronomy. 
 
 But not to tell of good, or evil luck. 
 
 Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality: 
 
 Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell. 
 
 Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, 
 
 Or say, with princes if it shall go well. 
 
 By oft predict that I in heaven find : 
 
 But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive. 
 
 And (constant stars) in them I read such art, 
 
 As truth and beauty shall together thrive. 
 
 If from thyself to store thou would'st convert 
 
 Or else of thee this I prognosticate. 
 
 Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date 
 
 XV. 
 
 When I consider every thing that grows 
 Holds in perfection but a little moment. 
 That this huge state prcsenteth nought but showi 
 Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; 
 When I perceive that men as plants increase. 
 Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky; 
 Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, 
 And wear their brave state out of memory ; 
 Then the conceit of this inconstant stay 
 Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, 
 Where wasteful time debateth Avith decay. 
 To change your day of youth to sullied nigM ' 
 And, all in war with time, for love of you, 
 As he tskes from you, I engraft you new. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But wherefore do not you a mightier way 
 Make war upon this bloody tyrant. Time f 
 And fortify yourself in your decay 
 With means more MeeseJ than Vny barren rhun'' 
 Now stand you on t^e tip of bappy ^ouis , 
 And many maiden ga.'deos yet unset 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 98.1 
 
 With virtuous wish would bcai 3-ou living fie wers, 
 Much liker than your ])aintcd counterfeit" 
 Bo should the lines of life that life repair, 
 Whicn this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, 
 Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair. 
 Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. 
 To give away yourself, keeps yourself still ; 
 And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Who will believe my verse in time to come, 
 If it were frll'd with your most high deserts ? 
 Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
 Which hides your life, and shows not half your 
 
 parts. 
 If I could write the beauty of your eyes. 
 And in fresh numbers number all your graces, 
 The ago to conre would say this poet lies, 
 Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces. 
 So should my papers, ycUow'd with their age, 
 Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue ; 
 And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage. 
 And stretched metre of an antique song : 
 But were some child of yours alive that time. 
 You should live twice ; — in it, and in my rhyme. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Shall 1 compare thee to a summer's day ? 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ; 
 And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
 By chance, or nature's changing course, un- 
 
 trimm'd ; 
 But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
 Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
 When in eternal lines to time thou growcst ; 
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, 
 And make the earth devour her own sweet brood ; 
 Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, 
 And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood ; 
 Make glad and sorry seasons, as thou fleet'st, 
 And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, 
 To the wide world, and all her fading sweets ; 
 But I forbid thee one most heinous crime : 
 O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow. 
 Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen ; 
 Him in thy course untainted do allow, 
 Fcr beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 
 Ye t, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy ^vrong, 
 Mj love shall in my verse ever live young. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, 
 [list thou, the master-mistress of my passion; 
 A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted 
 With shifting change, as is false woman's fashion; 
 An eye more bright than theirs, less false ir rolling. 
 Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth , 
 \ man in hue, all hues in his controlling, 
 ^Vhich steals men's eyes, and women's souls 
 amazeth 
 
 And for a woman wert thou first created . 
 
 Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, 
 
 And by addition me of thee defeated. 
 
 By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 
 
 But since she prick'd thee out for women** 
 
 pleasure. 
 Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure 
 
 XXI. 
 
 So it is not with me as with that muse, 
 Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse ; 
 Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, 
 And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 
 Making a couplement of proud compare, 
 With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich 
 
 gems, 
 With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare 
 That heavff.'s air in his huge rondure hems. 
 
 let me, true in love, but truly write. 
 And then believe me, my love is as fair 
 
 As any mother's child, though not so bright 
 As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air : 
 Let them say more that like of hear-say v^ell ; 
 
 1 will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 My glass shall not persuade me I am old. 
 So long as youth and thou are of one date ; 
 But wihen in thee time's furrows I behold, 
 Then look I death my days should expiate. 
 For all that beauty that doth cover thee, 
 Is but the seemly raiment of my heart. 
 Which, in thy breast doth live, as thine in me. 
 How can I then be elder than thou art ? 
 O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary. 
 As I not for myself, but for thee will ; 
 Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
 As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 
 Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain ; 
 Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back agair> 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 As an unperfect actor on the stage. 
 
 Who with his fear is put beside his part, 
 
 Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, 
 
 Whose strength's abundance weakens his own 
 
 heart ; 
 So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
 The perfect ceremony of love's rite. 
 And in mine own love's strength seem to decay 
 O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's 
 
 might. 
 O let my books be then the eloquence 
 And dumb presagers of my speaking breast ; 
 Who plead for love, and look for recompence, 
 More than that tongue that more hath mOTO 
 
 e.vpress'd. 
 O learn to read what silent love hath wtH : 
 To hear with eyes belongs to lovf'« fine wit. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stel'i 
 Thy beauty's form in table of my heart ; 
 My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, 
 And perspective it is best painter's art. 
 For through the painter must you see his skill 
 To find where your true image pictur'd lies, 
 Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, 
 That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes 
 
 A 
 
084 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Now see w ha: good turns eyes fi)r eyes ha^ e done ; 
 Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me 
 Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun 
 Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ; 
 Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, 
 They draw but what they sec, know not the heart. 
 
 XXV, 
 
 Let those who are in favour with their stars, 
 Of public honour and proud titles boast, 
 Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
 Unlook'd-for joy in that I honour most. 
 Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,. 
 But as the maiigold at the sun's eye, 
 And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
 For at a frown tliey in tlieir glory die. 
 The painful warrior famouscd for fight, 
 .After a thousand victories once foil'd, 
 Is from the book of honour razed quite, 
 And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd : 
 Then happy I, that love and am beloved. 
 Where I may not remove, nor be removed. 
 
 aAVI. 
 
 Lord pi my loTe, to whom in vassalage 
 Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, 
 To thee 1 send this written embassage, 
 To witness duty, not to shew my wit. 
 Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 
 May make seem bare, in wanting words to shew it ; 
 But that I hope some good conceit of thine 
 In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it: 
 Till whatsover star that guides my moving. 
 Points on me graciously with fair aspect, 
 And puts apparel on my tattered loving. 
 To shew me worthy of thy sweet respect : 
 Then may I dure to boast how I do love thee, 
 Till then, not shew my head where thou may'st 
 prove me. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed. 
 The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ; 
 But then begins a journey in my head, 
 To work my mind, when body's work's expired : 
 For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) 
 Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee. 
 And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide. 
 Looking on darkness which tlie blind do see. 
 Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
 Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, 
 VVhich, lilfe a jewel hung in ghastly night. 
 Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. 
 Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, 
 I'or thee, and for myself no quiet find. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 flow can I then return in happy plight, 
 That am dibarr'd the benefit of rest ? 
 When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, 
 But day by night and night by day oppress'd ? 
 And each, though enemies to either's reign, 
 Do in consent shake hands to torture me, 
 The one by toil, the other to complain 
 How far I toil, still farther off from thee. 
 I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright, 
 ind dost him grace when clouds do blot the 
 heaven : 
 
 So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night ; 
 When sparkling stars twh-e not, thou gild'st thi 
 
 even. 
 But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, 
 And night doth nightly make grief's length seem 
 
 stronger. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
 I all alone beweep my out-cast state. 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate. 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featur'd like him, likehim with friends possess'd, 
 Desiring tliis man's art, and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on thee, — and then my state 
 
 iLike to the lark at break of day arising 
 Vom sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 
 For thy sweet love remember'd, such wcaltli 
 
 brings, 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings 
 
 XXX. 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: 
 Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow, 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night. 
 And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd wi>e, 
 And moan the expence of many a vanish'd sighi 
 Then can I grieve at grievances fore-gone, 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 Which I new pay as if not pay'd before. 
 But if the while I think on thee, dear friend 
 All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. 
 
 XXXL 
 
 Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, 
 Which I by lacking have supposed dead ; 
 And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, 
 And all tliose friends which I thought buried. 
 How many a holy and obsequious tear 
 Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, 
 As interest of the dead, which nov/ appear 
 But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie ! 
 Thou art the grave where buried love doth livp. 
 Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone. 
 Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; 
 That due of many now is thine alone ; 
 Their images I lov'd I view in thee, 
 And thou (all they) hast all the all of me 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 If thou survive my well-contented day. 
 
 When that churl Death my bones with dust Bhsii 
 
 cover, 
 And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
 These poor ryde lines of thy deceased lover, 
 Compare them with the bettering of the time ; 
 And though they be out-stripp'd by every pen, 
 Reserve them for my love, not for their rhirae. 
 Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
 O then vouchsafe me but this loving tViOUght ! 
 Had mi/ friend's muse groimi icith this growing agt 
 
r 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 91S.> 
 
 A dea7er birth than this his love had hroxight, 
 To tnarch in ranks of better eqnipMjc : 
 Bnt since he died, and jwets better prove, 
 T/uirsfor their style I'll read, his for his love. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
 Flatter the m'^ountain tops with sovereign eye, 
 Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
 Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ; 
 Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
 And fro\u the forlorn world his visage hide, 
 Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: 
 Even so my sun one early morn did shine, 
 With all trhmiphant splendour on my brow; 
 But out ! alack ! he was but one hour mine. 
 The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 
 Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 
 Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun 
 staineth. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day. 
 And make me travel forth without my cloak. 
 To let base clouds o'crtake me in my way, 
 Hiding thv bravery in their rotten smoke ? 
 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break. 
 To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, 
 For no man well of such a salve can speak. 
 That heals the wjund, and cures not the disgrace: 
 Nor can thy shame give jjhysic to my grief; 
 Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : 
 The olFender's sorrow "lends but weak relief 
 To him that bears the strong offence's cross. 
 Ah ! but those tears arc pearl which thy love sheds. 
 And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done : 
 Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ; 
 Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun. 
 And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
 All men make faults, and even I in this. 
 Authorizing thy trespass with compare, 
 Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss. 
 Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are : 
 For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, 
 (Thy adverse party is thy advocate,) 
 And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence : 
 Such civil war is in my love and hate, 
 That I an accessary needs must be 
 To that sweet thief, which sourly robs from me. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Let ine confess that we two must be twain. 
 
 Although our undivided loves arc one : 
 
 Bo shall those blots that do with me remain, 
 
 Without thy help, by me be borne alone. 
 
 [n our two loves there is but one respect, 
 
 Though in our lives a separable spite, 
 
 Which though it alter not love's sole eflfect. 
 
 Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. 
 
 I may not evermore acknowledge thee. 
 
 Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame; 
 
 N'or thou with public kindness honour me. 
 
 Unless thou take that honour from thy name: 
 
 But do not so : I love thee in such sort, 
 
 4j th:u beii^fi mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 As a decrepit father takes delight 
 
 To see his active child do deeds of yo.th, 
 
 So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite. 
 
 Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth ; 
 
 For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, 
 
 Or any of these all, or all, or more. 
 
 Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, 
 
 I make my love engrafted to this stcre : 
 
 So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, 
 
 Whilst that this shadow doth such subs'.i5«« 
 
 give. 
 That I in thy abundance am sufRc'd, 
 And by a part of all thy glory live. 
 Look what is best, that best I wish in thee ; 
 This wish I have ; then ten times happy me I 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 How can my muse want subject to invent, 
 While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my 
 
 verse 
 Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 
 For every vulgar paper to rehearse ? 
 O give thyself the thanks, if aught in me 
 Worthy perusal, stand against thy sight. 
 For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee. 
 When thou thyself dost give invention light? 
 Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth 
 Than those old nine, which rhimers invocate ; 
 And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth 
 Eternal numbers to out-live long date. 
 If my slight muse do please these curious days, 
 The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 O how thy worth with manners may I sing, 
 When thou art all the better part of me ! 
 What can mine own praise to mine own sell 
 
 bring ? 
 And what is't but mine own, when I praise thee ? 
 Even for this let us divided live. 
 And our dear love lose name of single one, 
 That by this separation I may give 
 That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone. 
 
 absence, what a torment would'st thou prove, 
 AVere it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave 
 To entertain the time with thoughts of love, 
 (Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth de 
 
 ceive,) 
 And that thou teachest how to make one twain, 
 By praising him here, who doth hence remain. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Take all my loves, n.y love, yea, take them all j 
 What hast thou then more than thou hadst be- 
 fore ? 
 No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call; 
 All mine was thine, before thou had'st this mora 
 Then if for my love thou my love reccivest, 
 
 1 cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest . 
 But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest 
 By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. 
 
 I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief. 
 Although thou stca thee all my property; 
 And yet love knows, it is a greater grief 
 To bear love's wrong, than hate's known inJLij 
 Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows. 
 Kill me with spites ; yet we must not be foe« 
 
98G 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 I hose pclty ^vrongs that liberty commits, 
 When I aiii sometime absent from tliy heart, 
 Thy beauty and thy years full well bettts. 
 For still temptation follows where thou art. 
 Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, 
 Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd ; 
 And when a woman wooes, wliat woman's son 
 Will sourly leave her till she have prcvail'd ? 
 Ah me ! but yet thou might'st, my sweet, forbear, 
 And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth. 
 Who lead thee in their riot even there 
 Where thou art forc'd to break a two-fold truth ; 
 Her's, by thy beauty tempting her to thee, 
 Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, 
 And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly ; 
 That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 
 A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 
 Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye : — 
 Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love 
 
 her ; 
 And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, 
 Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. 
 If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain. 
 And losing her, my friend hath found that loss ; 
 Both find each other, and I lose both twain, 
 And both for my sake lay on me this cross : 
 But here's the joy ; my friend and I aie one ; 
 Sweet flattery ! — then she loves but me alone. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see. 
 For all the day thsy view things unrespected ; 
 But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee. 
 And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed ; 
 Then thou whose sliadow shadows doth make 
 
 bright, 
 How would thy shadow's form form happy show 
 To the clear day with thy much clearer light. 
 When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so } 
 How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made 
 By iookino; on thee in the living day, 
 When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade 
 Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay ? 
 All days are nights to see, till I see thee. 
 And nights, bright days, when dreams do show 
 
 thee me. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, 
 Injurious distance should not stop my way; 
 For then, despite of space, I would be brought 
 From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. 
 No matter then although my foot did stand 
 Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee. 
 For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, 
 A a soon as think the place where he would be. 
 But ah ! thought kills me, that I am not thought. 
 To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone. 
 But that, so much of earth and water wrought, 
 I must attend time's leisure with my moan ; 
 Receiving nought by elements so slow 
 But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 I he other two, slight air and purging fire, 
 Are both with thee, wherever I abide ; 
 
 The first my thought, the other my desire. 
 
 These present-absent with swift motion slide. 
 
 For when these quicker elements are gone 
 
 In tender embassy of love to thee. 
 
 My life being made of four, with two alone. 
 
 Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholj 
 
 Until life's composition be recured 
 
 By those swift messengers return'd from thee, 
 
 Who even but now come back again, assured 
 
 Of thy fair health, recounting it to me : 
 
 This told, I joy ; but then no longer glad 
 
 I send them back again, and straight grow sad. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Mine eyes and heart are at a mortal war. 
 
 How to divide the conquest of thy sight ; 
 
 Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar 
 
 My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
 
 My heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie 
 
 (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,) 
 
 But the deffe.idant doth that plea deny. 
 
 And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
 
 To 'cide this title is impannelled 
 
 A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart ; 
 
 And by their verdict is determined 
 
 The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's par^ 
 
 As thus mine eye's due is thy outward part. 
 
 And my heart's right thy inward love of heart 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Betwi.xt mine eye and heart a league is took, / 
 And each doth good turns now unto the other : | 
 When that mine eye is famish'd for a look. 
 Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smotheii 
 With my love's jaicture then my eye doth feast, 
 And to the painted banquet bids my heart : 
 Another time mine eye is my heart's guest. 
 And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: 
 So, either by thy picture or my love, 
 'Thyself away art present still with me; 
 For thou not farther than my thoughts canst moTei 
 And I am still with them, and they with thee; 
 Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight 
 Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 How careful was I when I took my way, 
 
 Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, 
 
 That, to my use, it might unused stay 
 
 From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! 
 
 But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are. 
 
 Most worthy comfort now my greatest grief. 
 
 Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care. 
 
 Are left the prey of every vulgar thief. 
 
 Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest. 
 
 Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, 
 
 Within the gentle closure of my breast, 
 
 I'rom whence at pleasure thou may'st come and 
 
 part; 
 
 And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear. 
 For truth proves thievish for a pri'ie so dear. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Against that time, if ever that time come, 
 When I shall see thee frown on my defects, 
 Whenas thy love hath cast its utmost sum, 
 Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects. 
 Against that time, when thou shalt strangely pass 
 And scarcelv greet me with that sun, thine eye 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 987 
 
 WTion love, converted from the thing it was, 
 Shall reasons fina of settled gravity, 
 Against that timp do I ensconce me here 
 Within the knowledge of mine own desert, 
 And this my hand against myself uprear, 
 To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: 
 To leave poor me thou hast tlie strength of laws, 
 Since, why to love, I can allege no cause. 
 
 IIow heavy do I journey on the way, 
 When what I seek, — my weary travel's end, — 
 Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, 
 "Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend !" 
 The beast that bears me, tired with my woe. 
 Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me. 
 As if by some instinct the wretch did know 
 His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee : 
 The bloody spur cannot provoke him on 
 That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide. 
 Which heavily he answers with a groan. 
 More sharp to me than spurring to his side ; 
 For that same groan doth put this in my mind. 
 My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Thus can my love excuse the slow offence 
 Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed : 
 From where thou art why should I haste rne 
 
 thence .' 
 Till I return, of posting is no need. 
 O, what excuse will my poor beast then find. 
 When swift extremity can seem but slow ? 
 Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind ; 
 In winged speed no motion shall I know : 
 Then can no horse with my desire keep pace ; 
 Therefore desire, of perfect love being made. 
 Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race; 
 But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ; 
 Since from thee going he went wilful slow. 
 Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. 
 
 LII. 
 
 So am I as the rich, whose blessed key 
 
 Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, 
 
 The which he will not every hour survey. 
 
 For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. 
 
 Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, 
 
 Since seldom coming, in the long year set. 
 
 Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, 
 
 Or captain jewels in the carcanet. 
 
 So is the time that keeps you, as my chest. 
 
 Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, 
 
 To make some special instant special-blest, 
 
 By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. 
 
 Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, 
 
 Dcing had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. 
 
 LIIL 
 
 vVha is your substance, whereof are you m?.de, 
 riiat millions of strange shadows on you tend ? 
 Since every one hath, every one, one shade. 
 And you but one, can every shadow lend. 
 Describe Alonis, and the counterfeit 
 Is poorly iiiitated after you ; 
 On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set. 
 And you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
 Speak of the spring, and foizon of the year: 
 Vhe one doth shadow of your beauty shew. 
 
 The other as your bounty doth appeal, 
 
 And you in every blessed shape we know. 
 
 In all external grace you have some part. 
 
 But you like none, none you, for constant heart 
 
 LIV. 
 
 how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, 
 By that sweet ornament which truth doth givet 
 The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
 For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
 The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye, 
 As the perfumed tincture of the roses. 
 Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
 When summer's breath their masked buds dia 
 
 closes. 
 But, for their virtue only is their show, V 
 They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade ; 
 Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
 Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made 
 And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, 
 When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth 
 
 LV. 
 
 Not marble, nor the glided monuments 
 
 Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhime ; 
 
 But you shall shine more bright in these content! 
 
 Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. 
 
 AVhen wasteful war shall statues overturn. 
 
 And broils root out the work of masonry. 
 
 Nor Marsis' sword nor war's quick fire shall bum 
 
 The living record of your memory. 
 
 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 
 
 Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find 
 
 room. 
 Even in the eyes of all posterity 
 That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
 So till the judgment that yourself arise, 
 You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 
 
 LVL 
 
 Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said, 
 Thy edge should blunter be than appetite. 
 Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd. 
 To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might : 
 So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill 
 Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness 
 To-morrow see again, and do not kill 
 The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. 
 Let this sad interim like the ocean be 
 Which parts the shore, where two contracted- 
 new 
 Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 
 Return of love, more blest may be the view : 
 Or call it winter, which being full of care, _ 
 Makes summer's welcome thrice more wist'd. 
 
 more rare. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
 Upon the hours and time of your desire ? 
 I have no precious time at all to spend. 
 Nor services to do, till you require. 
 Nor dare I chide the world-without-cnd hour, 
 Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for yoa, 
 Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, 
 When you have bid your servant once adieu ; 
 Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, 
 Whcr^ you may be, or your afiaiis suppose. 
 
 U 
 
j88 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought, 
 Save, where you arc how happy you make those : 
 Bo true a fool is love, that in your will 
 (Though you da any thing) he thinks no ill. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 That God forbid, that made mc first your slave, 
 
 I should in thought control your times of pleasure, 
 
 Or at your hand the account of hours to_ crave, 
 
 Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! 
 
 Oh let me suffer (being at your beck) 
 
 The imprison'd absence of your liberty, 
 
 And patience, tame to sufferance, bido each check 
 
 Without accusing you of injury. 
 
 Be where you list ; your charter is so strong, 
 
 That you yourself may privilege your time ; 
 
 Do what you will, to you it doth belong 
 
 Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. 
 
 I am to wait, though waiting so be hell ; 
 
 Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 If there be nothing new, but that, which is. 
 Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, 
 Which labouring for invention bear amiss 
 The second burthen of a former child ? 
 O that record could with a backward look, 
 Even of five hundred courses of the sun. 
 Shew me your image in some antique book, 
 Smcc mind at first in character was done ! 
 That I might see what the old world could say 
 To this composed wonder of your frame ; 
 Whether we are mended or whe'r better they, 
 Or whether revolution be the same. 
 O ! sure I am, the wdts of former days 
 To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, 
 
 So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
 
 Each changing place with that which goes before, 
 
 In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
 
 Nativity once in the main of light, 
 
 Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. 
 
 Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 
 
 And time that gave, doth now his gift confound. 
 
 Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 
 
 And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ; 
 
 Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, 
 
 And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. 
 
 And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand, 
 
 Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Is it thy will, thy image should keep open 
 My heavy eyelids to the weary night ? 
 Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, 
 Wliile shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight? 
 Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 
 So far from home, into my deeds to pry ; 
 To find out shames and idle hours in me. 
 The scope and tcnour of thy jealousy ? 
 no I thy love, though much, is not so great ; 
 It is my love that keeps mine eye awake ; 
 Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat. 
 To play the watchman ever for thy sake : 
 For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake else- 
 where, 
 Froic me far off. with others all-too-near. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye 
 And all my soul, and all my every part; 
 And for this sin there is no remedy, 
 It is so grounded inward in my heart. 
 Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, 
 No shape so true, no truth of such account, 
 And for myself mine own worth do define, 
 As I all other in all worths surmount. 
 But when my glass shews me myself indeed* 
 'Bated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, 
 Mine own self-love quite contrary I read, 
 Self so self-loving were iniquity. 
 'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise, 
 Painting my age with beauty of thy days. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Against my love shall be, as I am now, 
 
 With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn j 
 
 When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd hig 
 
 brow 
 
 With lines and WTinkles ; when his youthful mom 
 Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night ; 
 And all those beauties, whereof now he's king, 
 Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, 
 Stealing away the treasure of his spring ; 
 For such a time do I now fortify 
 Against confounding age's cruel knife. 
 That he shall never cut from memory 
 My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. 
 His beauty shall in these black lines be seen. 
 And they shall live, and he in them still green. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd 
 The rich proud cost of out-worn bury'd age ; 
 When sometime lofty towers I see down-ras'd, 
 And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 
 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
 And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main, 
 Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; 
 When I have seen such interchange of state, 
 Or state itself confounded to decay; 
 Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
 That Time will come and take my love away. 
 This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Sincebrass,norstonc,norearth,norboundlesssea, 
 But sad mortality o'er-sways their povt-er. 
 How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
 Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? 
 O how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
 Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stout, 
 Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? 
 O fearful meditation ! where, alack ! 
 Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid ! 
 Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back i 
 Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? 
 O none, unless this miracle have might, 
 That in black ink my love may still shine bright 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,— 
 As, to behold desert a beggar born. 
 And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity. 
 And purest faith unhappily forsworn 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 98'J 
 
 A.nd gilded honour shamefully misplac'd, 
 A.nd maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
 A.nd right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, 
 And strength by limping sway disabled, 
 And art made tongue-ty'd by authority, 
 And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, 
 And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, 
 /nd captive Good attending captain 111: 
 Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone 
 Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Ah . wherefore with infection should he live. 
 
 And with his presence grace impiety 
 
 That sin by him advantage should atchieve. 
 
 And lace itself with his society ? 
 
 Why should false painting imitate his cheek. 
 
 And steal dead seeing of his living hue ? 
 
 Why should pure beauty indirectly seek 
 
 Roses of shadow, since his rose is true ? 
 
 Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, 
 
 Beggar'd of blood, to blush through lively veins ? 
 
 For she hath no exchequer now but his. 
 
 And proud of many, lives upon his gains. 
 
 O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had, 
 
 In days long since, before these last so bad. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Thus is his cheek the map of days out-worn, 
 When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now. 
 Before these bastard signs of fair were borne, 
 Or durst inhabit on a living brow : 
 Before the golden tresses of the dead. 
 The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, 
 To live a second life on second head. 
 Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay : 
 In him those holy antique hours are seen. 
 Without all ornament, itself, and true. 
 Making no summer of another's green, 
 Robbing no old to make his beauty new; 
 And him as for a map doth nature store, 
 To shew false art Avhat beauty vas of yore. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view. 
 Want nothing that the thought of hearts can 
 
 mend : 
 All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due. 
 Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. 
 Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd ; 
 But those same tongues that give thee so thine 
 
 own. 
 In other accents do this praise confound, 
 Bv seeing farther than the eye hath shewn. 
 They look into the beauty of thy mind. 
 And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ; 
 Th;n (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes 
 
 were kind. 
 To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds : 
 But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, 
 To solve is this, — that thou dost common grow. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect, 
 For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ; 
 The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
 A crow that flics in heaven's sweetest air. 
 So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
 rUy worth the greater, being woo'd of time ; 
 
 For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, 
 And thou prcsent'st a pure unstained prime. 
 Thou hast pass'd by the ambiisl. of young days 
 Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd ; 
 Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, 
 To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd : 
 If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, 
 Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should'st owe 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell j 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so. 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 if (I say) you look upon this verse, 
 ^Vhen I perhaps compounded am with clay. 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ; 
 But let your love even with my life decay : 
 Lest the wise world should look into your mosn, 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 O, lest the world should task you to recite 
 What merit liv'd in me, that you should love 
 After my death, dear love, forget me quite, 
 For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; 
 Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, 
 To do more for me than mine own desert. 
 And hang more praise upon deceased I, 
 Than niggard truth would willingly impart ; 
 O, lest your true love may seem false in this, 
 That you for love speak well of me untrue, 
 My name be buried where my body is, 
 And live no more to shame nor me nor you. 
 For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth, 
 And so should you, to love things nothing worth. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me behold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold 
 Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 In me thou seest the twilight of such day, 
 As after sun-set fadeth in the west. 
 Which by and by black night doth take away 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, 
 That on the aslies of his youth doth lie. 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. 
 This thou perceiv'st which makes thy love mor< 
 
 strong, 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere long 
 
 LXXIY. 
 
 But be contented: when that fell arrest 
 Without all bail shall carry me away. 
 My life hath in this line some interest. 
 Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. 
 When thou rcviewcst this, thou dost review 
 The very part was consecrate to thee. 
 The earth can have but earth, which is his dne; 
 My spirit is thine, the better part of me; 
 So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life. 
 The prey of worms, my body being dead ; 
 
990 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 The coward conqiicst of a wretch's knife, 
 Too base of thee to be remembered. 
 The worth of that, is that which it contains. 
 And that is tl's, and this with thee remains. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 So are you to my thoughts, as food to life, 
 
 Or as sweet-scason'd showers are to the ground. 
 
 And for the peace of you I hold such strife 
 
 As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found; 
 
 Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 
 
 Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; 
 
 Now counting best to be with you alone, 
 
 Thenbetter'd that tlie world may see my pleasure: 
 
 Sometime, all full with feasting on your sight, 
 
 And by and by clean starved for a look ; 
 
 Possessing or pursuing no delight. 
 
 Save what is had or must from you be took. 
 
 Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day. 
 
 Or gluttoiiing on all, or all away. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Why is my verse so barren of new pride ? 
 
 So far from variation or quick change ? 
 
 Why, with the time, do I not glance aside 
 
 To new-found methods and to compounds strange? 
 
 Why write I still all one, ever the same, 
 
 And keep invention in a noted weed. 
 
 That every word doth almost tell my name, 
 
 Showing their birth, and where they did proceed ? 
 
 O know, sweet love, I always write of you, 
 
 And you and love are still my argument ; 
 
 So all my best is dressing old words new, 
 
 Spending again what is already spent : 
 
 For as the sun is daily new and old, 
 
 So is my love still telling what is told. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Thy glass will shew thee how thy beauties wear, 
 Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ; 
 The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, 
 And of this book this learning may'st thou taste. 
 The wrinkles which thy glass will truly shew, 
 Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ; 
 Thou by thy dial's shady stealth may'st know 
 Time's thievish progress to eternity. 
 Look, what thy memory cannot contain, 
 Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
 Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, 
 To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
 These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, 
 Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse, 
 
 And found such fair assistance iu my verse, 
 
 As every alien pen hath got my use. 
 
 And under thee their poesy disperse. 
 
 Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, 
 
 And heavy ignorance aloft to fly. 
 
 Have added feathers to the learned's wing. 
 
 And given grace a double majesty. 
 
 Yet be most proud of that which I compile, 
 
 Whose influence is thine, and born of thee. 
 
 In others' works thou dost but mend the style. 
 
 And arts witli thy sweet graces graced be ; 
 
 But thou art all m^ art, and dost advance 
 
 As high as learning my rude ignorance. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, 
 My verse alone had all thy gentle grace , 
 But now my gracious numbers are decay'd, 
 And my sick muse doth give another place 
 I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
 Deserves the travail of a worthier pen ; 
 Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, 
 He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. 
 He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
 From thy behaviour ; beauty doth he give. 
 And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford 
 No praise to thee but what in thee doth V.-re. 
 Then thank him not for that which he doth sf.y 
 Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 how I faint when I of you do vvTite, 
 KnoM-ing a better spirit cloth use your name. 
 And in the praise thereof spends all his might, 
 To make me tonguc-ty'd, speaking of your fame 
 But since your worth (wide, as the ocean is). 
 The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 
 My saucy bark, inferior far to his, 
 
 On your broad main doth wilfully appear. 
 Your shallowest help wU hold me up afloat. 
 While he upon your soundless deep doth ride ; 
 Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat. 
 He of tall building, and of goodly pride : 
 Then if he thrive, and I be cast aAvay, 
 The worst was this ; — my love was my decay. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Or I shall live your epitaph to make. 
 Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; 
 From hence your memory death cannot take, 
 Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
 Your name from hence immortal life shall have, 
 Though I, once gone, to all the world must die. 
 The earth can yield me but a common grave, 
 When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
 Your monument shall be my gentle verse. 
 Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ; 
 And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, 
 When all the breathers of this world are dead ■, 
 You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen), 
 Where breath most breathes, — eveninthemoutht 
 of men. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 1 grant thou wert not married to my muse. 
 And therefore may'st without attaint o'er-look 
 The dedicated words which writers use 
 
 Of their fair subject, blessing every book. 
 Thou art as fair iu knowledge as in hue, 
 Finding thy worth a limit past my praise ; 
 And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew 
 Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
 And do so, love ; yet when they have devis'd 
 AVhat strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
 Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd 
 In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend 
 And their gross painting might be better us'd 
 Where cheeks need blood ; in thee it is abus'd 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 I never saw that you did painting need. 
 And therefore to your fair no painting set 
 I found, or thought I found, you did exceed 
 The barren tender of a poet's debt ; 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 fJ'Ji 
 
 And thcrtforc have I slept in your report, 
 That vou yourself, being extant, well might show 
 IIdw far a modern quill doth come too short. 
 Sneaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. 
 Tliis silence for my sin you did impute, 
 Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ; 
 For I impair not beauty, being mute. 
 When others would give life, and bring a tomb. 
 There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, 
 'Ihan both your poets can in praise devise. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Who is it that says most ? which can say more, 
 Than this rich praise, — that you alone are you ? 
 In whose confine immured is the store 
 Which should example where your equal grew. 
 Lean penury within tliat pen doth dwell. 
 That to his subject lends not some small glory ; 
 Btit he that writes of you, if he can tell 
 That you are yon, so dignifies his story. 
 Let him but copy what in you is writ. 
 Not making worse what nature made so clear, 
 And such a counter-part shall fame his wit. 
 Making his style admired every where. 
 You to your beauteous blessings add a curse. 
 Being fond on praise, which makes your praises 
 worse. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 My tongue-ty'd muse in manners holds her still. 
 While comments of your praise, richly compil'd. 
 Reserve their character with golden quill. 
 And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd. 
 I think good thoughts, while others write good 
 
 words. 
 And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry Amen 
 To every hymn that able spirit affords, 
 In polish'd form of well-rctined pen. 
 Hearing you praised, I say, 'tis so, 'tis true, 
 And to the most of praise add something more ; 
 But that is in my thought, whose love to you, 
 Though words come lihid-most, holds his rank 
 
 before. 
 Then others for the breath of words respect, 
 Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, 
 Bound for the prize of all-too-precions you. 
 That bid my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse. 
 Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew ? 
 Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 
 Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead ? 
 No, neither he, nor his compeers by night 
 Giving him aid, my verse astonished. 
 He, nor that afJatie familiar ghost 
 V/hich nightly gulls him with intelligence, 
 As victors, of niy silence cannot boast ; 
 I was not sick of any fear from thence. 
 But wlien your countenance fill'd up his line, 
 Then lack'd I matter ; that enfeebled mine. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
 And like enough thou kno-.f 'st thy estimate : 
 The charter of thy worth gives thoe releasing ; 
 My bonds in thee are all deteriflinate. 
 For how do I hold thcv. bu* jy thy granting ? 
 And for that riches wh"re i« ws deserving ? 
 
 The cause of this fa.r gift in me is wanting, 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then nol 
 
 knowing. 
 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking 
 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
 Comes home again, on better judgment making 
 Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, 
 In sleep a king, but waking, no such matter. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, 
 And place my merit in the eye of Scorn, 
 Upon thy side against myself I'll fight, 
 And prove thee virtuous, though thou art for- 
 sworn. 
 With mine own weakness being best acquainted, 
 Upon tliy part I can set down a story 
 Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted; 
 That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory: 
 And I by this will be a gainer too ; 
 For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, 
 Tlie injuries that to myself I do. 
 Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. 
 Such is my love, to thee I so belong. 
 That for thy right myself will bear all wrong 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, 
 
 And I will comment upon that oiience : 
 
 Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt 
 
 Against thy reasons making no defence. 
 
 Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ili, 
 
 To set a form upon desired change. 
 
 As I'll myself disgrace : knowing thy will, 
 
 I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange ; 
 
 Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue 
 
 Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell; 
 
 Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong, 
 
 And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
 
 For thee, against myself I'll vow debate. 
 
 For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate 
 
 XC. 
 
 Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now; 
 
 Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
 
 Join w'ith the spite of fortune, make me bow, 
 
 And do not drop in for an after-loss : 
 
 Ah ! do not, when my heart hatli scap'd this sorrow 
 
 Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe; 
 
 Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, 
 
 To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. 
 
 If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last. 
 
 When other petty griefs have done their spite, 
 
 But in the onset come ; so shall I taste 
 
 At first the very worst of Fortune's might; 
 
 And other strains of woe, which now seem wo«, 
 
 Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Some glory in their birth, some in their skill. 
 Some in their wealth, some jH their body's force, 
 Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, 
 Some in their hawks and hounds, some in theil 
 
 horse ; 
 And every humour hath its adjunct pleasure. 
 Wherein it finds a joy above the rest; 
 But these particulars arc not my measure. 
 All these 1 better in one general best 
 
992 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Thy love is better than high birtli to me, 
 Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, 
 Of more delight than hawks or horses be; 
 And having thee, of all men's pride I boast. 
 Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take 
 All this away, and me most wretched make. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 But do thj voTsi to steal thyself away, 
 
 For term of life thou art assured mine ; 
 
 Andlife no longer tlian thy love will stay, 
 
 For it depends upon that love of thine, 
 
 Tlien need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, 
 
 When in the least of them my life hath end. 
 
 I see a better state to me belongs 
 
 Than that which on thy liumour doth depend. 
 
 Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, 
 
 Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. 
 
 O what a happy title do I find, 
 
 Happy to have tliy love, happy to die ! 
 
 But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot ? — 
 
 Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not: 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 So shall I live, supposing thou art true, 
 
 Like a deceived husband ; so love's face 
 
 May still seem love to me, though alter'd new ; 
 
 Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place : 
 
 For there can live no hatred in thine eye. 
 
 Therefore in that I cannot knov/ thy change. 
 
 In many looks the false heart's history 
 
 Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange. 
 
 But heaven in thy creation did decree, 
 
 That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ; 
 
 Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be. 
 
 Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness 
 
 tell. 
 How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, 
 If thy sweet virtue answer not the show ! 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 They that have power to hurt and v.'iU do none. 
 
 That do not do the thing they most do shew. 
 
 Who, moving others, arc themselves as stone, 
 
 Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow ; 
 
 They rightly do inherit heaven's graces. 
 
 And husband nature's riclies from exponce ; 
 
 They are the lords and owners of their faces. 
 
 Others but stewards of their excellence. 
 
 Tiie summer's flower is to the summer sweet 
 
 Though to itself it only live and die ; 
 
 But if that flower with base infection meet. 
 
 The basest weed out-braves his dignity : 
 
 For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 
 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 
 XCV. 
 
 How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame 
 Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, 
 Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name ! 
 0, in what sweets dost thou thy sins encloae ! 
 That tongue that tells the story of thy days, 
 Making lacivious comments on thy sport. 
 Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise; 
 Naming thy name blesses an ill report. 
 what a mansion have those vices got, 
 Which for their habita tion chose out thee ! 
 
 What beauty's veil doth cover every blot, 
 And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see ! 
 Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege ; 
 The hardest knife ill-us'd doth lose his edge. 
 
 XCVL 
 
 Some siy thy fault is youth, some wantonness. 
 
 Some siy thy grace is'youth and gentle sport; 
 
 Both grace anl faults are lov'd of more and leia 
 
 Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort 
 
 As on the finger of a throned queen 
 
 The baset jewel will be well esteem'd ; 
 
 So are those errors that in thee are seen. 
 
 To truths translated, and for true things deem'd 
 
 How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
 
 If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
 
 How many gazers might'st thou lead away, 
 
 If thou would'st use the strength of all thy state . 
 
 But do not so ; I love thee in such sort, 
 
 As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 How like a winter hath ray absence been 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen 1 
 What old December's bareness every where ! 
 And yet this time remov'd was summer's time; 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase. 
 Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime. 
 Like widow'd wombs after their lord's decease : 
 Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
 But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
 And thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
 Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's ne» 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 From you have I been absent in the spring. 
 When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim. 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing ; 
 That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 
 Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
 Of different flowers in odour and in hue, 
 Could make me any summer's story tell. 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they 
 
 grew : 
 Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
 They v.'ere but sweet, but figures of delight, 
 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
 Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, 
 As with your shadow I with these did play: 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 The forward violet thus did I chide :- 
 
 Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet 
 
 that smells. 
 If not from my love's breath ? The purple prids 
 Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, 
 In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd. 
 The lily I condemned for thy hand. 
 And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair: 
 The roses fearfully on thorns did stand. 
 One blushimg shame, another white despair ; 
 A third, nor red nor white had stolen of both. 
 And to his robbery had annex'd thy hreatl' ; 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 uy.^ 
 
 But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
 A. vengeful canker cat him up to death. 
 More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
 But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. 
 
 C. 
 
 Wliere art thou. Muse, that thou forget'st so long 
 To speak of that which gives thee all thy might ? 
 Bpend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, 
 Darkening thy power, "to lend hase subjects light ? 
 Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
 In gentle numbers time so idly spent ; 
 Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, 
 And gives thy pen both skill and argument. 
 Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face survey. 
 If Time have any wrinkle graven there ; 
 If any, be a satire to decay. 
 And make Time's spoils despised every where. 
 Give my love fame faster than tiuie wastes life; 
 So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. 
 
 CI. 
 
 truant Muse, what shall be thy amends, 
 For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd ? 
 Both truth and beauty on my love depends : 
 So dost thou too, and therein dignify'd. 
 Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say. 
 Truth needs no colour, with his colour jfix' d, 
 Beauty no jxncil, bcauti/s truth to lay : 
 But best is best, if never inter mix' df — 
 Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb ? 
 Excuse not silence so ; for it lies in thee 
 To make him much out-live a gilded tomb, 
 And to bo prais'd of ages yet to be. 
 Then do thy office. Muse : I teach thee how 
 To make him seem long hence as he shews now. 
 
 CII. 
 
 My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in 
 seeming ; 
 
 1 love not less, though less the show appear: 
 That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming 
 The owner's tongue doth publish every where. 
 Our love was new, and then but in the spring. 
 When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; 
 As Philomel h\ summer's front doth sing. 
 And stops his pipe in growth of riper days ; 
 Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
 Than when her mournful hymns did liush the 
 
 night. 
 But that wild music burthens every bough. 
 And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
 Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue. 
 Because I would not dull you with my song. 
 
 cm. 
 
 Alack ! what poverty my muse brings forth. 
 That having such a scope to shew her pride, 
 The argument, all bare, is of more worth. 
 Than when it hath my added praise beside. 
 blame me not if I no more can write ! 
 Look in your glass, and there appears a face 
 That over -goes my blunt invention quite, 
 Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. 
 Were it not «inful, then, striving to mend, 
 To mar the subject that before was well ? 
 I' or to no other pass my verses tend, 
 Jhan of your graces and your gifts to tell ; 
 And more, much more, than in my verse can sit, 
 Vour own glass shews you, when you look in it. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be olJ,. 
 For as you were, when first your eye I ey'd. 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd, 
 In process of the seasons have I seen, 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes bum'dj 
 Since fii jt I saw you fresh, which yet are greea. 
 Ah ! ye doth beauty, like a dial hand, 
 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived. 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, 
 Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 CV. 
 
 Let not my love be call'd idolatry, 
 Nor my beloved as an idle show, 
 Since all alike my songs and praises be, 
 To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
 Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 
 Still constant in a wondrous excellence; 
 Therefore my verse to constancy confin'd, 
 One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
 Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument. 
 Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words ; 
 And ill this change is my invention spent, 
 Three themes in one, which wond'rous scope af 
 
 fords. 
 Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone, 
 Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wghts, 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhime. 
 In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best. 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have express'd 
 Even such a beauty as you master now. 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
 And, for they look'd but with divining eyes. 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing 
 For we, which now behold these present days, 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise 
 
 CVII. 
 
 Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
 Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, 
 Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
 Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. 
 The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd. 
 And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; 
 Incertainties now crown then selves assur'd, 
 And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
 Now with the drops of this most balmy time 
 My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes 
 Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhime. 
 While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes 
 And thou in this shalt find thy monument. 
 When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 What's in the brain that ink may character, 
 Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirits 
 What's new to speak, what new co register. 
 That may express m.v love, or thv dear merit? 
 
994 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Nothing, sKeel boj' : out j'et, like prayers divine, 
 I must each da)' saj' o'er the vei"}' same ; 
 Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 
 Even as vi .en first I hallowed thy fau- name. 
 So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
 Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 
 Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place. 
 But makes antiquity for aye his page; 
 Finding the first conceit of love there bred, 
 \V here time and outward form would shew it dead. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 never say that I was false of heart. 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. 
 As easy might I from mj-self depart. 
 As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie : 
 That is my home of love : if I have rang'd. 
 Like him that travels, I retTirn again ; 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd, — 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood. 
 That it could so prepo?terously be stain'd. 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
 For nothing this wide universe I call. 
 Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there. 
 
 And made myself a mot.'ey to the view, 
 
 Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is 
 
 most dear. 
 Made old offences of afFec''ioii« new. 
 Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth 
 Askance and strangely ; but, by all above, 
 These blenches gave my heart another youth, 
 And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love. 
 Now all is done, save what shall have no end : 
 Mine appetite I never more will grind 
 On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
 A god in love, to whom I am confin'd. 
 Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best. 
 Even to thy pure and most, most loving breast. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 O for my sake do you with fortune chide, 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
 That did not better for my life provide. 
 Than public means, which public manners breeds. 
 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 And almost thence my nature is subdu'd 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 
 Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd; 
 Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
 Potions of eyesell, 'gainst my strong infection ; 
 No bitterness that I will bitter think. 
 Nor double penance to correct correction. 
 Pity me, then, dear friend, and I assure ye, 
 liven that your pity is enough to cure me. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
 Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow ; 
 For what care I who calls me well or ill. 
 So you o'er-green ray bad, my good allow ? 
 You are my all-the-world, and I must st'-\ve 
 To know my shames and praises from your tongue ; 
 None else to me, nor I to none alive. 
 That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wro«g. 
 
 In so profound abysm I throw all care 
 Of others' voices, that my adder's sense 
 To critic and to flatterer stopped are. 
 Mark how with my neglect I do dispense :— ■ 
 You are so strongly in my purpose bred. 
 That all the world besides methinks are dea(J 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, 
 
 And that which governs me to go about, 
 
 Doth part his function, and is partly blicd, 
 
 Seems seeing, but effectually is out ; 
 
 For it no form delivers to the heart 
 
 Of bird; of flower, or shape, which it doth lack 
 
 Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, 
 
 For his own vision holds what it doth catch ; 
 
 For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, 
 
 The most sweet favour, or deformed'st creaturt 
 
 The mountain or the sea, the day or night, 
 
 The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature 
 
 Incapable of more, replete with you. 
 
 My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, 
 
 Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery. 
 
 Or whether shall I say mine eyes saith true. 
 
 And that your love taught it this alchymy. 
 
 To make of monsters and things indigest. 
 
 Such cherubims as your sweet self resemble, 
 
 Creating every bad a perfect best, 
 
 As fast as objects to his beams assemble ? 
 
 'tis the first ; 'tis flattery in my seeing. 
 
 And my great mind most kingly drinks it up : 
 
 Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing, 
 
 And to his palate doth prepare the cup : 
 
 If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin 
 
 That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Those lines that I before have writ, do lie. 
 Even those that said I could not love you dearer; 
 Yet then my judgment knew no reason why 
 My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. 
 But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents 
 Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, 
 Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents. 
 Divert strong minds to the course of altering 
 
 things ; 
 Alas ! why, fearing of time's tyranny. 
 Might I not then say, ?ioio I love you best, 
 When I was certain o'er incertainty, 
 Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ? 
 Love is a babe ; then might I not say so, 
 To give full growth to that which still doth grew ? 
 
 CXVL 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds ' 
 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 
 Which alters when it alteration finds. 
 
 Or bends with the remover to remove ; 
 
 O no ! it is an ev^r-fixed mark, 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark. 
 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height b« 
 
 taken. 
 Lrve's not Tin^e'sfcl, though rosy lips and cheek* 
 Within his bei'ding sickle's compass come ; 
 
SOKNETS, 
 
 99a 
 
 ijove alters not witli his oriof hours and weeks. 
 But bears it oifl; even to tlie edge of doom. 
 If this be error, and upon me prov'd, 
 r never writ, nqrjio man ever lo\ d. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Accuse me thus ; that I have scanted all 
 Wherein I should your great deserts repay ; 
 Forgot upon your dearest love to call. 
 Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ; 
 That I have frequent been with unknown minds, 
 And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right; 
 That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
 Which should transport me farthest from your 
 
 sight. 
 Book both my wilfulness and errors down, 
 And on just proof, surmise accumulate. 
 Bring me within tlic level of your frown. 
 But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate ; 
 Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove 
 The constancy and virtue of your love. 
 
 CXYIII. 
 
 Like as, to make our appetites more keen. 
 With eager compounds we our palate urge : 
 As, to prevent our maladies unseen, 
 We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge; 
 Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweet- 
 ness, 
 To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding. 
 And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetncss 
 To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. 
 Thus policy in love, to anticipate 
 The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, 
 And brouglit to medicine a healthful state, 
 Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured. 
 But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, 
 Drugs poison him that so full sick of you. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 AVTiat potions have I drunk of Syren tears, 
 Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, 
 Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, 
 Still losing when I saw myself to win ! 
 What wretched errors hath my heart committed, 
 AVhilst it hath thought itself so blessed never ! 
 How have mine eyes out of their spheres been 
 
 fitted. 
 In the distraction of this madding fever ! 
 benefit of ill ! now I find true 
 That better is by evil still made better ; 
 And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, 
 Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
 So I return rebuk'd to my content, 
 A.nd gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 That you were once unkind, befriends me now, 
 And for that sorrow, which I then did feel. 
 Needs must I under my transgression bow. 
 Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. 
 For if you were by my unkindness sluiken. 
 As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time ; 
 •iud T, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
 To weigh how once I suifer'd in your crime. 
 that oui night of woe might have rcmember'd 
 aJv deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits. 
 
 And soon to you, as you to me, then tender d 
 The humble salve which wounded bosom fits ! 
 But that your trespass now becomes a tee ; 
 Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me 
 
 CXXI 
 
 'Tis better to be vile, than vile esteem'd, 
 
 When not to be receives reproach of being. 
 
 And the just pleasure lost, which is so dcem'd 
 
 Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. 
 
 For why should others' false adulterate eyes 
 
 Give salutation to my sportive blood ? 
 
 Or on my frailties why are frailer spies. 
 
 Which in their wills count bad what I thirit gocd.' 
 
 No, — I am that I am ; and they that level 
 
 At my abuses, reckon up their own : 
 
 I may be straight, though they themselves ot 
 
 bevel ; 
 By their rank thoughts my deeds must uct b€ 
 
 shewn ; 
 Unless this general evil they maintain, 
 All men are bad, and in their badness reign 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Thy gift, thy tables are within my brain 
 Full character'd with lasting memory. 
 Which shall above that idle rank remain. 
 Beyond all date, even to eternity : 
 Or at the least so long as brain and he^rt 
 Have faculty by nature to subsist ; 
 Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part 
 Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. 
 That poor retention could not so much hold, 
 Nor need I tallies, thy dear love to score ; 
 Therefore to give them from me was I bold, 
 To trust those tables that receive thee more 
 To keep an adjunct to remember thee, 
 Were to import forgetfulness in me. 
 
 CXXIII 
 
 No ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do (bsngf 
 Thy pyramids built up with newer might 
 To me are nothing novel, nothing strange , 
 They are but dressings of a former sight. 
 Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire 
 What thou dost foist upon us that is old, 
 And rather make them born to our desire. 
 Than think that we before have heard them told. 
 Thy registers and thee I both defy, 
 Not wondering at the present nor the past ; 
 For tliy records and what we see doth lie. 
 Made more or less by thy continual haste. 
 This I do vow, and this shall ever be, 
 I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 If my dear love were but the child of state, 
 It might for fortune's bastard be unfather'd. 
 As subject to Time's Icve, or to Time's hate, 
 Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers 
 
 gather'd. 
 No, it was builded far from accident ; 
 It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls 
 Under the blow of thralled discontent, 
 Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls : 
 It fears not policy, that heretic. 
 Which works on leases of short-number'd houra, 
 
 d 
 
9^6 
 
 BONNETS. 
 
 But all alone stands hugely politic, 
 
 That it not grows with heat, nor drowns with 
 
 showers, 
 To this I witness call the fools of time, 
 Which die for gjodness, who have liv'd for crime. 
 
 CXXV. 
 
 Were it aught to me I bore the canopy, 
 With ray extern the outward honouring, 
 Or lay'd great bases for eternity, 
 Which prove more short than waste or ruining ? 
 Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour 
 Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, 
 For compound sweet foregoing simple savour. 
 Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent ? 
 No ; — let me be obsequious in thy heart, 
 A.nd take thou my oblation, poor but free. 
 Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art, 
 But mutual render, only me for thee. 
 Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a true soul. 
 When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power 
 Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour ; 
 Who hast by waning grown, and therein shew'st 
 Thy lover's withering, as thy sweet self grow'st ! 
 If nature, sovereign mistress ov? wrack. 
 As thou go'st onwards, still vrJi, pluck thee back. 
 She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill 
 May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. 
 Yet fear her, thou minion of her pleasure ; 
 She raav detain, but not still keep her treasure: 
 Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, 
 And her quietus is to render thee. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 Ill the old age black was not counted fair. 
 Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ; 
 But now is black beauty's successive heir. 
 And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame. 
 For since each hand hath put on nature's power. 
 Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face. 
 Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour. 
 But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. 
 Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, 
 Her eyes so suited : and they mourners seem 
 At siich, who not born fair, no beauty lack. 
 Slandering creation with a false esteem: 
 Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe. 
 That every tongue says, beauty should do so. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, 
 Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
 Witli thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st 
 Tlie wiry concord that mine ear confounds. 
 Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap 
 To kiss the tender inward of thy hand. 
 Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest 
 
 reap, 
 At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand ! 
 To be so tickled, they would change their state 
 And situation with those dancing chips, 
 O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, 
 Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. 
 Since saucy jacks so happy are in this. 
 Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
 
 Is lust in action ; and till action, lust 
 
 Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame. 
 
 Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust j 
 
 Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight ; 
 
 Past reason hunted; and no sooner had. 
 
 Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait. 
 
 On purpose laid to make the taker mad : 
 
 Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ; 
 
 Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; 
 
 A bliss in proof, — and prov'd, a very woe ; 
 
 Before, a joy propos'd ; behind, a dream: 
 
 All this the world well knows ; yet none knowj 
 
 well 
 To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ; 
 Coral is far more red than her lips' red : 
 If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun 
 If hau-s be wires, black wires grow on her head. 
 I have seen roses damask'd, red and white. 
 But no such roses see I in her cheeks ; 
 And in some perfumes is there more delight 
 Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks 
 I love to hear her speak, — yet well I know 
 That music hath a far more pleasing sound; 
 I grant I never saw a goddess go, — 
 My mistress, when she walks, treads on the 
 
 ground ; 
 And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare 
 As any she bely'd with false compare. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art. 
 
 As those whose beauties proudly make theni 
 
 cruel ; 
 For well thou know'st to ray dear doting heart 
 Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. 
 Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, 
 Thy face hath not the power to make love groan 
 To say they err, I dare not be so bold. 
 Although I swear it to myself alcne. 
 And, to be sure that is not false 1 swear, 
 A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, 
 One on another's neck, do witness bear 
 Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. 
 In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds. 
 And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 Thii i eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, 
 
 Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain ; 
 
 Have put on black, and loving mourners be, 
 
 Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 
 
 And truly not the morning sun of heaven 
 
 Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, 
 
 Nor that full star that ushers in the even. 
 
 Doth half that glory to the sober west, 
 
 As those two mourning eyes become thy face : 
 
 O let it then as well beseem thv heart 
 
 To mourn for me, since mourning doth the* 
 
 grace, 
 
 And suit thy pity like in every part. 
 Then will I swear beauty herself is black, 
 And all they foul that thy complexion lack 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 997 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 Bcshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan 
 For that deep wound it gives ray friend and me ! 
 Is't not enough to torture nie alone, 
 But skive to slavery my sweet's friend must be ? 
 Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, 
 And my next self thou harder hast engross'd, 
 Of him, myself and thee, I am forsaken ; 
 A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd. 
 Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, 
 But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail ; 
 Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard ; 
 Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol : 
 And yet thou wilt ; for I, being pent in thee. 
 Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 So now I have confess'd that he is thine. 
 And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will ; 
 Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine 
 Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still : 
 But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free. 
 For thou <nrt covetous, and he is kind ; 
 He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me, 
 Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. 
 The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, 
 Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use. 
 And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake ; 
 iio him I lose through my unkind abuse. 
 Him have I lost ; thou hast both him and me ; 
 He pays the whole, and yet I am not free. 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy •will, 
 And will to boot, and will in over-plus : 
 More than enougli am I that vex thee still, 
 To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
 Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, 
 Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ? 
 Shall will in others seem right gracious. 
 And in my will no fair ac<)bptance shine ? 
 The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, 
 And in abundance addeth to his store ; 
 So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will 
 One will of mine, to make thy large will more. 
 Let no unkind, no fair beseeches kill ; 
 Think all but one, and me in that one Will. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 If thy soul check thee that I come so near. 
 Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy will. 
 And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there ; 
 Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfill. 
 Will will fulfill the treasure of my love. 
 Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. 
 In things of great receipt with ease wo prove ; 
 Among a number one is reckon'd none, 
 Then in the number let me pass untold, 
 Though in thy stores' account I one must be; 
 For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
 Tliat nothing me, a something sweet to thee: 
 Make but my name thy love, and love that still. 
 And then thou lov'st me, — for my name is Will. 
 
 CXXXYII. 
 
 Thou blind fool. Love, what dost thou to mine 
 
 eyes, 
 That they behold, and see not what they see ? 
 They know what beauty is, see where it lies. 
 Vet what the best is, take the worst to be. 
 I -.4 
 
 If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks 
 Be auchor'd in the bay where all men ndc, 
 AVhy of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, 
 Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd ? 
 Why should my heart think "that a several plot, 
 Which my heart knows the wide world's common 
 
 place ? 
 Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, 
 To put fair truth upon so /"oul a face ; 
 In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd, 
 And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. 
 
 CXXXVIIL 
 
 When my love swears that she is made of truth., 
 
 I do believe her, though I know she lies ; 
 
 That she might think me some untutor'd youth. 
 
 Unlearned in the world's false subtilties. 
 
 Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
 
 Although she knows my days are past the best, 
 
 Simply I credit her false speaking tongue. 
 
 On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. 
 
 But v.'herefore says she not, she is unjust ? 
 
 And wherefore say not I, that I am old } 
 
 love's best habit is in seeming trust. 
 
 And age in love loves not to have years told ; 
 
 Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, 
 
 And in our faults by lies we fiatter'd be. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 call not me to justify the wrong. 
 
 That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ; 
 
 Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy 
 
 tongue ; 
 Use power with power, and slay me not by art. 
 Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight, 
 Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. 
 What need'st thou wound with cunning when 
 
 thy might 
 Is more than my oppressed defence can bide ? 
 Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows 
 Her pretty looks have been mine enemies ; 
 And therefore from my face she turns my foes. 
 That they elsewhere might dart their injuries' 
 Yet do not so ; but since I am near slam. 
 Kill me out-right with looks, and rid my pain. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press 
 My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain; 
 Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express 
 The manner of my pity-wanting pain. 
 If I might teach thee Avit, better it were. 
 Though not to love, yet, l^n'c, to tell me so ; 
 (As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, 
 No news but health from their physicians know ij 
 For, if I should despair, I should grow mad. 
 And in my madness might speak ill of thee : 
 Now this ill-wresting world has grown so bad, 
 Mad slanderers by mad ears believed me. 
 That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd. 
 Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud he^l 
 go wide. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, 
 
 For they in thee a thousand errors note ; 
 
 But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, 
 
 Who iu despite of view is plcas'd to dote. 
 
 Nor arc my ears with thy tongue's tune delighted 
 
 Nor tender feeling, to base touches pron^ 
 
598 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Nor taste nor smell, desu-e to be invited 
 To any sensual feast with thee alone : 
 But my five wits, nor my five senses can 
 Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee. 
 Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, 
 Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wTetch to be : 
 Only my plague thus far I count my gain, 
 That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, 
 Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving : 
 
 but with mine compare thou thine own state 
 And thou shalt find it merits not reproving ; 
 Or if it do, not from those lips of thine. 
 That have prophan'd their scarlet ornaments, 
 And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine ; 
 Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents. 
 Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those 
 Whom thine eyes woo as mine imp6rtune thee : 
 Root pity iu thy heart, that when it grows. 
 Thy pity may deserve to pity'd be. 
 
 If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, 
 By self-example may'st thou be deny'd ! 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 Lo as a careful house-wife runs to catch 
 One of her feather'd creatures broke away. 
 Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch. 
 In piirsuit of the thing she would have stay ; 
 Wliilst her neglected child holds her in chace. 
 Cries to catch'her whose busy care is bent 
 To follow that which flies before her face. 
 Not prizing her poor infant's discontent ; 
 So runn'st'thou after that which flies from thee, 
 Whilst I thy babe chace thee afar behind ; 
 J3ut if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me. 
 And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : 
 So will I pray that thou may'st have thy Will, 
 If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 Two loves I have of comfort and despair. 
 
 Which like two spirits do suggest me still ; 
 The better angel is a man right fair. 
 The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill. 
 To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
 Tempteth my better angel from my side, 
 And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, 
 Wooing his purity with her foul pride. 
 And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend. 
 Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ; 
 But being both from me, both to each friend, 
 
 1 guess one angel in another's hell. 
 
 Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, 
 Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 Those lips thi t Love's own hand did make, 
 Breath'd forth the sound that said, I hate, 
 To me that languish'd for her sake : 
 But when she saw my woeful state. 
 Straight in her heart did mercy come. 
 Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet 
 Was us'd in giving gentle doom ; 
 And taught it thus a-new to greet : 
 I hate she alter'd with an end 
 that follow'd it as gentle day 
 
 Doth follow night, who like a fiend 
 From heaven to hell is flown away. 
 / hate from hate away she threw, 
 And sav'd my life, saying — not you. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 Poor soul, the centre of ray sinful earth, 
 Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, 
 Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 
 Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? 
 Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
 Eat up thy charge ? Is this thy body's end ? 
 Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more : 
 So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on raer.. 
 And, death once dead, there's no more dying then. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 My love is as a fever, longing still 
 
 For that which longer nurseth the disease ; 
 
 Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, 
 
 The uncertain sickly appetite to please. 
 
 My reason, the physician to my love. 
 
 Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, 
 
 Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, 
 
 Desire is death, which physic did except. 
 
 Past cure I am, now reason is past care. 
 
 And frantic-mad with ever-n.ore unrest ; 
 
 My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, 
 
 At random from the truth vainly express'd ; 
 
 For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright. 
 
 Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 
 
 .XLVIIL 
 
 me ! what e' .o hath love put in my head. 
 Which have .J correspondence with true sight ? 
 Or, if the' .lave, where is my judgment fled. 
 That ce'^aiires falsely what they see aright ? 
 If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote. 
 What means the world to say it is not so ? 
 If it be not, then love doth well denote 
 Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no 
 How can it ? O how can Love's c) e be true. 
 That is so vex'd with watching and with tears ? 
 No marvel then though I mistake my view ; 
 The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. 
 cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'ot meblind, 
 Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not, 
 When I, against myself, with thee partake ? 
 Do I not tliink on thee, when I forgot 
 Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake .' 
 Who hateth thee that I do call my friend r 
 On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon i 
 Nay if thou low'r'st on me do I not spend 
 Revenge upon myself with present moan ? 
 What merit do I in myself respect. 
 That is so proud thy service to despise. 
 When all my best doth worship thy defect, 
 Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ? 
 But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; 
 Those that can see thou lov'st. and I am blind 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 909 
 
 CL. 
 
 Ofrorawhatpowerhast thou this powerful might, 
 
 What insufficiency my licart to sway ? 
 
 To make me give the lie to my tiiic sight, 
 
 And swear that brightness doth not grace the day ? 
 
 Whence hast tlioii this becoming of thiiigs ill, 
 
 That in the very refuse of thy deeds 
 
 There i^: such strength and wurrantise of skill, 
 
 That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ? 
 
 Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, 
 
 The more I hear and see just cause of hate ? 
 
 O, though I love what others do abhor. 
 
 With others thou should'st not abhor my state ; 
 
 If thy unworthiness rais'd love in mc, 
 
 More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. 
 
 CLI. 
 
 Love is too young to know what conscience is ; 
 Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love ? 
 Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss. 
 Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. 
 For thou betraying me, I do betray 
 My nobler part to my gross body's treason ; 
 My soul doth tell my body that he may 
 Triumph in love ; flesh stays no farther reason ; 
 But rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
 As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride. 
 He is contented thy poor drudge to be, 
 To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. 
 No want of conscience hold it tliat I call 
 Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. 
 
 CLII. 
 
 fn loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, 
 But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing ; 
 In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, 
 In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
 But wliy of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
 When I break twenty ? I am perjured most ; 
 Per all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, 
 
 And all my honest faith in thee is lost : 
 For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindnesB-, 
 Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy: 
 And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, 
 Or made tliem swear against the thing they see* 
 For I have sworn thee fair : more perjur'd I, 
 To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie. 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 Cupid lay'd by his brand, and fell asleep ; 
 A maid of Dian's this advantage foimd. 
 And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep 
 In a cold valley-fountain of that ground ; 
 Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love 
 A dateless lively heat, still to endure, 
 And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove 
 Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
 But at my mistress' eye love's brand new-fired, 
 The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; 
 I sick withal, the help of bath desuxd. 
 And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest, 
 But found no cure ; the bath for my help lies 
 Where Cupid got new iire ; my mistress' eyes. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 The little love-god lying once asleep, 
 Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, 
 Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to 
 
 keep, 
 Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand 
 The fairest votary took up that fire 
 Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd 
 And so the general of hot desire 
 Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarni'd. 
 This brand she quenched in a cool well by, 
 Wliich from love's fire took heat perpetual, 
 Growing a bath and helpful remedy 
 For men diseas'd ; but I, my mistress' thrall. 
 Came here for cure, and this by that I prove, 
 Love's fire heats water, water cools no t love. 
 
 k 
 
'iOU3} 
 
 THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 UiD not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
 Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment, 
 A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
 My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
 Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. 
 My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ; 
 Then thou fair sun which on my earth dost shine, 
 Exl'ial'st this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 
 If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 
 If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
 To break an oath to win a paradise } 
 
 II. 
 
 JSwect Cytherca, sitting by a brook, 
 
 With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, 
 
 Did court the lad with many a lovely look. 
 
 Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. 
 
 She told him stories to delight his car ; 
 
 She shew'd him favours to allure his eye; 
 
 To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there : 
 
 Touches so soft still conquer chastity. 
 
 But whether unripe years did want conceit. 
 
 Or he rcfus'd to take her figur'd proffer. 
 
 The tender nibbler would not touch the bait. 
 
 But smile and jest at every gentle offer : 
 
 Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward ; 
 
 He rose and ran away ; ah fool too froward ! 
 
 III. 
 
 If love make me forsworn , how shall I swear to love? 
 
 never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd : 
 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant 
 prove ; 
 
 Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers 
 bow'd. 
 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine 
 eyes, 
 
 Where all those pleasures live, that art can com- 
 prehend. 
 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suf- 
 fice ; 
 
 Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 
 commend ; 
 
 All ignorant that soul that sees thee without won- 
 der ; 
 
 Winch is to me some praise, that I thy parts 
 admire : 
 
 Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his 
 dreadful thunder, 
 
 Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire. 
 
 Celestial as tliou art, O do not love that wrong, 
 
 To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly 
 tongue. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, 
 And scarce the herd gone to tlie hedge for shade. 
 When Cytherca, all ia love forlorn, 
 A longing tarriancc for Adonis made, , 
 
 Under an osier growing by a brook, 
 A brook, where Adon us'd to cool his spleen. 
 Hot was the day ; she hotter that did look 
 For his approach, that often there had been. 
 Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by, 
 And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim 
 The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, 
 Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him : 
 He spying her, boune'd in, whereas he stood; 
 Oh Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood ? 
 
 Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle, 
 Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; 
 Brighter than glass is, and yet, as glass is, brittle, 
 Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty : 
 A little pale, with damask die to grace her, 
 None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 
 Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, 
 Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing, 
 How many tales to please me hath she coin'd, 
 Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing. 
 Yet in the midst of all her pure pretestings. 
 Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jest- 
 
 ings. 
 She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth ; 
 She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burnetii; 
 She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the fram- 
 ing ; 
 
 She bade love last, and yet she felt a turning. 
 Was this a lover, or a lecher whether ? 
 Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. 
 
 VI. 
 
 If music and sweet poetry agree. 
 As they must needs, the sister and the brother, 
 Then must the love be great 'twixt tliee and me, 
 Because thou lov'st the one and I the other. 
 Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
 Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; 
 Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such, 
 As passing all conceit, needs no defence. 
 Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound, 
 That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes 
 And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, 
 Wheuas himself to singing he betakes. 
 One god is god of both, as poets feign ; 
 One knight loves both, and both in thee remain, 
 
 YII. 
 
 Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love, 
 
 ******** 
 
 Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove. 
 For Aden's sake, a youngster proud and wild; 
 Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill : 
 Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ; 
 She silly queen, with more than love's good will 
 Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds 
 Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth 
 Here in these brakes deep-wounded witli a boai 
 
10Q4 
 
 THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM, 
 
 Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth ! 
 See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore : 
 She shewed hers ; he saw more wounds than one, 
 And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon 
 
 faded, 
 Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring ! 
 Bright orient pearl, alack . too timely shaded ! 
 Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp 
 
 sting ! 
 Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree. 
 And falls, through wind, before the fall should be. 
 I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ; 
 For why ? tliou Icft'st me nothing in thy Will, 
 And yet thou Icft'st me more than I did crave ; 
 For why ? I craved nothing of thee still : 
 O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee ; 
 Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fair Venus with Adonis sitting by her. 
 
 Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him : 
 
 She told the youngling how god Mars did try her. 
 
 And as he fell to her, she fell to him. 
 
 Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd 
 
 me; 
 And then she clip'd Adonis in her arms : 
 Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'dme ; 
 As if the boy should use like loving charms. 
 Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips. 
 And with her lips on his did act tlie seizure ; 
 And as she fetched breath, away he skips ; 
 And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. 
 Ah ! that I had my lady at this bay. 
 To kiss and clip me till I run away ! 
 
 Crabbed age and youth 
 
 Cannot live together ; 
 Youth is full of pleasance, 
 
 Age is full of care : 
 Youth like summer mor.n, 
 
 Age lilve winter weather : 
 Youth like summer brave. 
 
 Age like winter bare. 
 Youth is full of sport, 
 Age's breath is short. 
 
 Youtli is nimble, age is lame : 
 Youth is hot and bold, 
 Age is weak and cold ; 
 
 Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
 Age, I do abhor thee. 
 Youth, I do adore thee ; 
 
 O, my love, my love is young : 
 Age, I do defy thee ; 
 sweet shepherd, liie thee, 
 
 For methinks thou stay'st too long. 
 
 XL 
 
 Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, 
 A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly; 
 A. flower that dies, when flrst it 'gins to bud ; 
 A brittle glass, that's broken presently : 
 A doubtfu. good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, 
 IiOst, faded, broken, (i-:ad within an hour. 
 
 And as goods lost are seld or never founa, 
 As faded gloss no rubbing \n\\ refresh. 
 As flowers dead, lie withcr'd on the ground, 
 As broken glass no cement can redress, 
 So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost. 
 In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Good night, good rest. Ah ! neither be my share. 
 She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; 
 And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care. 
 To descant on the doubts of my decay. 
 Farewel, quotli she, and come again to-morrow 
 Farewcl 1 could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. 
 
 Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, 
 
 In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: 
 
 May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile. 
 
 May be, again to make me wander thither; 
 
 Wander, a word for shadow" like myself, 
 
 As take the pain, but cannc t pluck the pelf. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the cast ! 
 My heart doth charge the watch; '^Ve morning risa 
 Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 
 Not daring trust the office of mine eyes. 
 While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, 
 And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; 
 
 For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty. 
 And drives away dark dismal-dreaming niglit : 
 The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ; 
 Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished signt; 
 Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with 
 
 sorrow ; 
 For why ? she sigh'd, andbade me come to-raoiTow 
 
 Were I with her, the night would post too soon; 
 
 But now are minutes added to the hours ; 
 
 To spite me now, each minute seems an hour ; 
 
 Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers ! 
 
 Pack night, peep day : good day, of night now 
 borrow ; 
 
 Short, Night, to-night, and length thyself to- 
 morrow. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three. 
 That liked of her master as well as well might be, 
 Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that 
 
 eye could see. 
 Her fancy fell a turning. 
 Long was the combat doubtful, that love with 
 
 love did fight. 
 To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant 
 
 knight : 
 To put in practice either, alas it was a spite 
 UntD the silly damsel. 
 
 But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain 
 That notliing could be used, to turn them both 
 
 to gain, 
 For of the two the trusty knight was wounded 
 
 with disdain : 
 Alas she could not help it ! 
 Thus art with arms contending was victor of the 
 
 day, 
 Which by a gift of learning did bear themaid away 
 Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady 
 
 say; . , , 
 
 For now my song is ended. 
 
THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 1003 
 
 XV. 
 
 On a day (alaok the day !) 
 Love, whose month was ever May, 
 Spy'd a blossom passing fair, 
 Playing in the wanton air, 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find; 
 That the lover sick to death, 
 Wish'd himself the heaven s breath : 
 Air, qaoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 
 An-, would I might triumph so ! 
 But alas my hand hath sworn. 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn; 
 Vow, alacK, for youth unmeet. 
 Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 Do not call it sin in me, 
 That I am forsworn for thee ; 
 Thou for whom even Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal fcr thy love. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 My flocks feed not. 
 
 My ewes breed not. 
 
 My rams speed not, 
 All is amiss : 
 
 Love's denying, 
 
 Faith's defying. 
 
 Heart's renying, 
 Causer of this. 
 
 All my merry jigs are quite forgot 
 
 All my lady's love is lost, God wot . 
 
 Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love. 
 
 There a nay is plac'd without remove. 
 
 One silly cross 
 
 Wrought all my loss ; 
 frowning fortune, cursed, fickle <Jame ! 
 
 For now I see. 
 
 Inconstancy 
 More in women than in men remain. 
 
 In black mourn I, 
 All fears scorn I, 
 Love hath forlorn me, 
 
 Living in thrall : 
 Heart is bleeding, 
 All help needing, 
 (O cruel speeding !) 
 
 Fraughted with gall. 
 My shepherd's pipe can sounJ no dell, 
 My wether's bell rings doleful knell ; 
 My curtail dog that wont to tave play'd 
 Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; 
 With sighs so deep. 
 Procures to weep, 
 In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. 
 IIow sighs resound 
 Through heartless ground, 
 Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody 
 
 fight ! 
 
 Clear wells spring not, 
 Sweet birds sing not, 
 Green plants bring not 
 
 Forth ; they die : 
 Herds stand weeping, 
 Flocks all sleeping, 
 Nyrnphs back peeping 
 
 Fearfully. 
 
 All our pleasure known to us poor swains, 
 All our merry meetings on the plains, 
 All our evening sport from us is fled, 
 All our love is lost, for love is dead. 
 Farewel, sweet love, 
 Thy like ne'er was 
 
 For sweet content, the cause ol all my moan* 
 Poor Coridon 
 Must live alone, 
 
 Other help for him I see that there is nono 
 
 XVII. 
 
 When as thine eye hath chose the dame, 
 And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strlkt 
 Let reason rule things worthy blame, 
 As well as fancy, partial might : 
 Take counsel of some wiser head, 
 Neither too young, nor yet unwed 
 
 And when thou com'st thy tale to tell, 
 Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk. 
 Lest she some subtle practice smell ; 
 (A cripple soon can find a halt :) 
 But plainly say thou lov'st her well, 
 And set her person forth to sale. 
 
 What though her frowning brows be bent, 
 Her cloudy looks will calm ere night ; 
 And then too late she will repent, 
 That thus dissembled her delight ; 
 And twice desire, ere it be day. 
 That which with scorn she put away. 
 
 What though she strive to try her strength, 
 And ban and brawl, and say thee nay. 
 Her feeble force will yield at length. 
 When craft had taught her thus to say : 
 " Had women been so strong as men. 
 In faith you had not had it then." 
 
 And to her will frame all thy way ; 
 Spare not to spend, — and chiefly there 
 Wliere thy desert may merit praise. 
 By ringing in thy lady's ear : 
 The strongest castle, tower, and town, 
 The golden bullet beats it down. 
 
 Serve always with assured trust. 
 And in thy suit be humble, true ; 
 Unless thy lady prove unjust. 
 Press never thou to choose anew : 
 When time shall serve, be thou not slack 
 To proffer, though she put thee back. 
 
 The wiles and guiles that women work, 
 Dissembled with an outward show. 
 The tricks and toys that in them lurk. 
 The cock that treads them shall not know 
 Have you not heard it said full oft, 
 A woman's nay doth stand for nought ? 
 
 Think women still to strive with men, 
 To sin, and never for to saint : 
 There is no heaven, by holy then. 
 When time with age shall them a' taint. 
 Were kisses all the joys in bed. 
 One woman would another wed 
 
1006 
 
 THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 But soft ; enough, — too much I fear, 
 Lest that my mistress hear my song ; 
 She'll not stick to round me i' th' ear, 
 To teach my tongue to be so long : 
 Yet will she blush, here be it said, 
 To hear her secrets so be^vray'd. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 As it fell upon a day, 
 In the merry month of May, 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 
 Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, 
 Trees did grow, and plants did spring : 
 Every thing did banish moan, 
 Save the nightingale alone : 
 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 
 And there simg the dolefull'st ditty, 
 That to hear it was great pity : 
 
 Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, 
 Teru, Teru, by and by : 
 
 That to hear her so complain, 
 Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 
 For her griefs so lively shewn. 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 Ah ! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain ; 
 None take pity on thy pain : 
 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 
 Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee. 
 
 King Pandion, he is dead ; 
 All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : 
 All thy fellow birds do sing. 
 Careless of thy sorrowing. 
 
 Even so, poor bird, like thee, 
 None alive will pity me. 
 Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd, 
 Thou and I were both beguil'd. 
 
 Every one that flatters thee, 
 Is no friend in misery. 
 Words are easy like the wind ; 
 Faithful friends are hard to find. 
 
 Every man will be thy friend, 
 Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 
 But if store of crowns be scant, 
 No man will supply thy want. 
 
 If that one be prodigal, 
 Bountiful they will him call : 
 And with such like flattering, 
 "Pity but he mere a king." 
 
 If he be addict to vice, 
 
 Quickly him they will entice ; 
 
 If to women he be bent. 
 
 They have him at commandement ; 
 
 But if fortune once do frown, 
 Then farewell his great renown : 
 They that fawn'd on him before, 
 Use his company no more. 
 
 He that is thy friend indeed, 
 He will help thee in thy need ; 
 If thou sorrow, he will weep : 
 If thou wake, he cannot sleep : 
 
 Thus of every grief in heart 
 He with thee doth bear a part. 
 These are certain signs to know 
 Faithful friend from flattering foe. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Take, oh, take those lips away, 
 That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
 
 And those eyes the break of day, 
 Lights that do mislead the mom : 
 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. 
 
 Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow 
 Which thy frozen bosom bears, 
 
 On whose tops the pinks that grow. 
 Are of those that April wears, 
 
 But first set my poor heart free, 
 
 Bound in those icy chains by thee. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Let the bird of loudest lay, 
 
 On the sole Arabian tree, 
 
 Herald sad and trumpet be, 
 
 To whose sound chaste wings obey 
 
 But thou shrieking harbinger, 
 Foul pre-currer of the fiend. 
 Augur of the fever's end, 
 To this troop come thou not near 
 
 From this session mterdict 
 Every fowl of tyrant wing, 
 Save the eagle, feather'd king : 
 Keep the obsequy so strict. 
 
 Let the priest in surplice white. 
 That defunctive music can. 
 Be the death-divining swan. 
 Lest the reqiwim lack his right. 
 
 And thou, treble-dated crow. 
 That thy sable gender mak'st 
 With the breath thou givest and tak'st 
 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 
 
 Here the anthem doth commence : 
 Love and constancy is dead ; 
 Phoenix and the turtle fled 
 In a mutual flame from hence. 
 
 So they lov'd as love in twain 
 Had the essence but in one ; 
 Two distincts, division none : 
 Number there in love was slain. 
 
 Hearts remote, yet not asunder 
 Distance, and no space was seen 
 'Twixt the turtle and his queen 
 But in them it were a wonder. 
 
 So between them love did shine. 
 That the turtle saw his right 
 Flaming in the phoenix' sight ; 
 Either was the other's mine. 
 
THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM 
 
 Property was thus appall'd, 
 That the self was not the same; 
 Single nature's double name 
 Neither two nor one was call'd. 
 
 Reason, in itself confounded, 
 Saw division grow together ; 
 To themselves yet either-neither. 
 Simple were so well compounded. 
 
 That it cried how true a twain 
 Seemeth this concordant one 1 
 Love hath reason, reason none, 
 If what parts can so remain. 
 
 Where upon it made this threne 
 To the phccnix and the dove, 
 Co-supremes and stars of love ; 
 La chorus to their tragic scene. • 
 
 1007 
 
 THRENOS. 
 
 Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
 Grace in all simplicity. 
 Here inclos'd in cinders lie. 
 
 Death is now the phoenix' neat' 
 And the turtle's loyal breast 
 To eternity doth rest, 
 
 Leaving no posterity : — 
 'Twas not their infirmity. 
 It was married chastity. 
 
 Truth may seem, but cannot bs i 
 Beauty brag, but 'tis not she ; 
 Truth and beauty buried be, 
 
 To this urn let those repair 
 That are either true or fair ; 
 For these dead birds eigh a piajaa. 
 
/ 
 
'M6.sy3._ 
 
 ^011) 
 
 k. LOYERS COMPLAINT. 
 
 FnoM off a hill whose concave womb re-worded 
 A plainful story from a sistering vale, 
 My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, 
 And down I lay to list the sad tiin'd tale : 
 Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale, 
 Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain. 
 Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 
 
 Upon her head a platted hive of straw, 
 Which fortified her visage from the sun. 
 Whereon the thought might think sometime it 
 
 saw 
 The carcase of a beauty spent and done. 
 Time had not scythed all that youth begun. 
 Nor youth all quit: but, spite of heaven's fell rage. 
 Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. 
 
 Oft did she heave her napkin to her cyne. 
 Which on it had conceited characters, 
 Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine 
 That eeason'd woe had pelleted in tears, 
 And often reading what contents it bears : 
 As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe. 
 In clamours of all size, both high and low. 
 
 Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride. 
 As they did battery to the spheres intend ; 
 Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd 
 To the orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend 
 Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend 
 To every place at once, and nowhere fix'd, 
 The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. 
 
 Her hair, nor loose, nor ty'd in formal plat, 
 Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ; 
 For some untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat. 
 Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ; 
 Some in her threaden fillet still did bide. 
 And, true to bondage, would not break from 
 
 thence. 
 Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 
 
 A thousand favours from a maund she drew 
 
 Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, 
 
 Which one by one she in a river threw, 
 
 Upon whose weeping margent she was set, — 
 
 Like usury, applying wet to wet. 
 
 Or monarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall. 
 
 Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. 
 
 Of folded schedules had she many a one, 
 Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the 
 
 flood ; 
 Urack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone. 
 Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ; 
 Found yet more letters sadly pcnn d in blood, 
 With sieided silk feet and affectedly 
 Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy. 
 
 These often bath'd she in ?icr fluxive eyes, 
 And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear ; 
 Cry'd, false blood ! thou register of lies. 
 What unapproved witness dost thou bear ! 
 Ink would have seem'd more black and damndl 
 
 here ! 
 This said, in top of raQ;e the lines she rents. 
 Big discontent so breaking their contents. 
 
 A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh, 
 
 (Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 
 
 Of court, of city, and had let go by 
 
 The swiftest hours,) observed as they flew ; 
 
 Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew. 
 
 And, privileg'd by age, desires to know 
 
 In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe. 
 
 So slides he down upon his grained bat. 
 And comely -distant sits he by her side ; 
 When he again desires her, being sat. 
 Her grievance with his hearing to divide . 
 If that from him there may be aught apply'd 
 "Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 
 'Tis promis'd in the charity of age. 
 
 Father, she says, tliongh in me you behoW 
 The injury of many a l)lasting hour. 
 Let it not tell your judgment I am old ; 
 Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power: 
 I mig'nt as yet liave been a spreading flower. 
 Fresh to myself, if I had sclf-apply'd 
 Love to myself, and to no love beside. 
 
 But woe is me ! too early I attended 
 
 A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace) 
 
 Of one by nature's outwards so commended, 
 
 That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face : 
 
 Love laek'd a dwelling, and made him hei 
 
 place ; 
 And when in his fair parts she did abide. 
 She was new lods^'d and newlv deified. 
 
 His browny.locks did hang in crooked curls ; 
 And every light occasion of the wind 
 Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
 What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find ; 
 Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind ; 
 For on his visage was in little drawn. 
 What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn 
 
 Small show of man was yet upon his chin; 
 His phacnix di)wn began but to appear. 
 Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, 
 Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd 
 
 wear ; 
 Yet shew'd his visage by that cost most dear; 
 And nice aftections wavering stood in doubt 
 If best 'tv.-erc as it was. or jjest without. 
 
lOli 
 
 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 .^ 
 
 His qualities were beauteous as his form, 
 For maidcn-tongu'd he was, and thereof free ; 
 Yet, if men mov'd him, was lie sxich a storm 
 As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, 
 When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they 
 
 be. 
 His rudeness so with his authoriz'd youth, 
 Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 
 
 Well could he ride, and often men would say 
 " That horse his mettle from his rider takes : 
 Proud of suhj action, noble by the sioay, 
 What rounds, lohat bounds, what course, xohat 
 
 stop he makes!" 
 And controversy hence a question takes, 
 Whether the horse by him became his deed, 
 Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. 
 
 But quickly on his side the verdict went. 
 His real habitude gave life and grace 
 To appertainings and to ornament, 
 Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case : 
 All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, 
 '^arae for additions ; yet their purpos'd trim 
 Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him. 
 
 So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
 All kind of arguments nnd question deep. 
 All replication prompt, and reason strong, 
 For his advantage still did wake and sleep : 
 To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, 
 He had the dialect and different skill, 
 Catching all passions in his craft of will ; 
 
 That he did in the general bosom reign 
 Of young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted, 
 To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
 In personal duty, following where he haunted : 
 Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted; 
 And dialogu'd for him what he would say, 
 \sk'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. 
 
 Many there were that did his picture get, 
 
 To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ; 
 
 Like fools that m the imagination set 
 
 The goodly objects which abroad they find 
 
 Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought as- 
 
 sign'd ; 
 And labouring in more pleasures to bestow 
 
 them, 
 Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe 
 
 them 
 
 So many have, that never touch'd his hand. 
 Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart. 
 My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, 
 A.nd was my own fee-simple, (not in part,) 
 What with his art in youth, and youth in art, 
 Threw my affections in his charmed power, 
 Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower. 
 
 Yet did I not, as some my equals did. 
 
 Demand of him, nor being desired, yielded; 
 
 Finding myself in honour so forbid. 
 
 With safest distance I mine honour shielded : 
 
 Experience for me many bulwarks builded 
 
 Of proofs new-bleeding, which rcmain'd the foil 
 
 Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 
 
 But ah ! who ever shunn'd with precedent 
 
 The destin'd ill she must herself assay ? 
 
 Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content, 
 
 To put the by-pass'd perils in her way ? 
 
 Counsel may stop a while what will not stay; 
 
 For when we rage, advice is often seen 
 
 By blunting us to make our wits more keen. 
 
 Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood. 
 That we must curb it upon others' proof, 
 To be forbid the sweets that seem so good, 
 For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. 
 appetite, from judgment stand taloof ! 
 The one a palate hath, that needs will taste, 
 Though reason weep, and cry it is thy last. 
 
 For further I could say, this man's xmtrue, 
 And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling ; 
 Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew; 
 Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ; 
 Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling ; 
 Thought, characters, and words, merely but art, 
 And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. 
 
 And long upon these terms I held my city, 
 Till thus he 'gan besiege me : Gentle maid. 
 Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, 
 And be not of my holy vows afraid : 
 That's to you sworn, to none was ever said ; 
 For feasts of \ovo I have been call'd unto. 
 Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow. 
 
 All my ofTences that abroad you sec, 
 Are errors of the blood, none of the mind : 
 Love made them not ; with acture they may be. 
 Where neither party is nor true nor kind : 
 They sought their shame that so their shame did 
 
 find; 
 And so much less of shame in me remains. 
 By how much of me their reproach contains. 
 
 Among the many that mine eyes have seen. 
 Not one whose flame my heart so much ai 
 
 warm'd, 
 Or my affection put to the smallest teen. 
 Or any of my leisures ever charm' d : 
 Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was 
 
 harra'd; 
 Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, 
 And Teign'd, commanding in his monarchy. 
 
 Look here what tributes wounded fancies sen! 
 
 me. 
 Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood ; 
 Figuring that they their passions likewise lent 
 
 me 
 Of grief and blushes, aptly understood 
 In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood : 
 Effects of terror and dear modesty, 
 Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. 
 
 And lo ! behold these talents of their hair. 
 With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, 
 I have receiv'd from many a several fair, 
 (Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,) 
 With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd. 
 And deep-brain' d sonnets that did amplify 
 Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. 
 
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 1013 
 
 The diamond ; why t'was beautiful and hard, 
 Whereto his invis'd properties did tend ; 
 The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard 
 Weak sight their sickly radiance do amend ; 
 The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 
 With objects manifola ; each several stone, 
 With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some 
 moan. 
 
 Lo ! all these trophies of aflFections hot, 
 Of pensive ai;d subdu'd desires the tender, 
 Nature hath charg'd mc that I hoard them 
 
 not, 
 But yield them up where I myself must 
 
 render, 
 That is, to you, my origin and endcr: 
 For these, of force, must your oblations be, 
 Since I their altar, you cnpatron mc. 
 
 then advance of yours that phraseless hand, 
 Wliose white weighs down the airy scale of 
 
 praise ; 
 Take all these similics to your own command, 
 Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did 
 
 raise ; 
 What me your minister, for you obeys. 
 Works under you ; and to your audit comes 
 Their distract parcels in combined sums. 
 
 Lo ! this device was sent me from a nun, 
 Or sister sanctified of holiest note ; 
 Which late her noble suit in court did shun. 
 Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote ; 
 For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, 
 But kept cold distance, and did thence remove, 
 To spend her living in eternal love. 
 
 But 0, my sweet, what labour is't to leave 
 
 The thing we have not, mastering what not 
 
 strives ? 
 Playing the place which did no form receive, 
 Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves : 
 She that her fame so to herself contrives. 
 The scars of battle scapeth by the flight. 
 And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 
 
 pardon me, in that my boast is true ; 
 The accident which brought me to her 
 Upcfti the moment did her force subdue, 
 And now she would the caged cloister fly : 
 Religious love put out religion's eye : 
 Not to be tempted, would she be enmur'd. 
 And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd. 
 
 How mighty then you are, hear me tell ! 
 The broken bosoms that to me belong. 
 Have emptied all their fountains in my well, 
 And m.ne I pour your ocean all among : 
 
 1 strong o'er them, and you o'er me being 
 
 strong. 
 Must for your victory U8 all congest. 
 As compound love to physic your cold breast. 
 
 Mv parts had power to charm a sacred nun, 
 Who disciplLa'd and dieted in grace, 
 Bcliev'd her eyes when I the assail begun, 
 All vows and consecrations giving place. 
 O most potential love ! vow, bond, nor space, 
 65 
 
 In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, 
 For thou art all, and all things else are thine. 
 
 When thou impressest, what are precepti 
 
 worth 
 Of stale example ? When thou wilt inflame, 
 IIow coldly those impediments stand forth 
 Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame ? 
 Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 
 
 'gainst shame ; 
 And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, 
 The aloes of all forces, shocks, anci fears. 
 
 Now nil these hearts that do on mine depend. 
 Feeling it break, with bleeding groans thej 
 
 pine ; 
 And supplicant their sighs to you extend. 
 And leave the battery that you make 'gainst 
 
 mine. 
 Lending soft audience to my sweet design. 
 And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath 
 That shall prefer and undertake my troth. 
 
 This said, his watery eyes he did dismount, 
 Whose sights till then were level'd on my 
 
 face; 
 Each cheek a river running from a fount 
 With brinish current downward flow'd apace : 
 O, how the channel to the stream gave grace! 
 Who, glaz'd with crystal gate the glowing 
 
 roses 
 
 That flame through water with their hue in- 
 closes. 
 
 0, father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 
 In the_ small orb of one particular tear ! 
 But with the inundation of the eyes 
 What rocky heart to water will not wear ? 
 What breast so cold that is not warmed here ? 
 O, cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath. 
 Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath ' 
 
 For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft. 
 Even there resolv'd my reason into tears : 
 There mv white stole of chastity I darTd, 
 Shook off my sober guards and civil fears , 
 Appear to him, as he to me appears, 
 All melting; through our drops this difference 
 
 bore. 
 His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. 
 
 In him a plenitude of subtle matter, 
 
 Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, 
 
 Of burning blushes or of weeping water. 
 
 Of swooning paleness ; and he talces and leaves. 
 
 In either's aptness as it best deceives 
 
 To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, 
 
 Or to swoon and turn white at tragic shows ; 
 
 That not a heart which in his level came. 
 Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim. 
 Showing fair nature ia both kind and tame ; 
 And veil'd in them, would win whom he would 
 
 maim : 
 
 Against the thing he sought he would exclaim ; 
 when he most brunt in heart-wish'd luxury. 
 He preached pure maid, and praised cold chas 
 
 tity. 
 
 r 
 
I0i4 
 
 A LOVER'S COMFLAUSI 
 
 Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 
 The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd, 
 That the unexperienc'd gave the tempter place, 
 WTiich, like a cherubim, above them hover'd. 
 »Vho, young and simple, would not be so lover'd ? 
 Ah me ! I ftu ; and yet do question make 
 What I should do again for such a sake. 
 
 0, that infected moisture of his eye, 
 O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd, 
 O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly, 
 0, that sad breath his spongy lun^s bestow'd, 
 O, all that borrow'd motion, seemmg ow*d, 
 Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, 
 And new pervert a reconciled maid 1 
 
( iOiT ) 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 OF OBSOLETE WORDS ANl) OF WORDS VARYING FROM THEIR ORDmARY SIGNIFICATION. 
 
 dljatc, to Jepress, sink, subdue 
 
 A B C, a catecliism. 
 
 ^bhor, to protest ajrainst. 
 
 Abjects, (iehaaed servile pereous. 
 
 Able, to qualify or uphold. 
 
 Abortive, issuing before its time. 
 
 Absolute, complete, perfect. 
 
 Abuse, deception. 
 
 Abused, deceived. 
 
 A'ly, to i>.iy dear for, to rue, to suffer 
 
 Abysm, abyss. 
 
 Accite, to cite or summon. 
 
 Accuse, accusation. 
 
 Achieve, to obtain. 
 
 .Vconilum, wolf's-bane. 
 
 Acquittance, requital. 
 
 Action, direction by mute Bign9,charge, 
 
 or accusation. 
 Action-laking, litigious. 
 Aclurcs, actions. 
 Additions, titles or characters. 
 Address, to prepare, to make ready. 
 Addressed, or addrest, ready. 
 Ailmittance, favour. 
 Advance, to prefer. 
 Advertising, attentive. 
 Adversity, contrariety. 
 Advertisement, admonition 
 Advice, consideration, discretion, 
 
 thought. 
 Advise, to consider, to recollect. 
 Advised, cool, cautious. 
 Aery or Aiery, a hawk's or eagle's 
 
 nest. 
 Affect the letter, to practise allitera- 
 tion. 
 Affect, love. 
 
 Affection, affectation, imagination 
 Aflectioui'd, affected. 
 Affects, affections. 
 Affeered, confirmed. 
 Aflled, betrothed. 
 Aflined, joined by aflinity 
 Affront, to confront. 
 Affy, to betroth. 
 Aglet-buliy, a diminutive being, not 
 
 exceeding the tag of a point, from 
 
 ai^uilettes. 
 Agnize, acknowledge, confess, vow. 
 A-good, in good earnest. 
 Aim, guess, suspicion. 
 Airy fame, mere verbal eulogy 
 Aider-liefeat, best beloved. 
 Ale, a iTierry -meeting. 
 A'life, at life. 
 Allow, to approve. 
 Allowance, approbation. 
 Amaze, to perplex. 
 Amazonian chin, a beardless cnin. 
 Ames-ace, the lowest chance of the 
 
 dice. 
 Amiss, misfortune. 
 Amort, dispirited. 
 in. as iC 
 
 Anchor, a hermit. 
 
 Ancient, an ensign, or standard-bearer. 
 
 Angle, a fishing rod 
 
 Anight, in the night. 
 
 Answer, retaliation. 
 
 Anlhrojiophagi, cannibals. 
 
 Antick, the tool of the ©Id play. 
 
 Antiquity, old age. 
 
 Aiitres, caves and dens. 
 
 Appeache, to impeach. 
 
 Appeal, to accuse. 
 
 Appeared, made apparent. 
 
 Apple-john, an aiqile that will keep 
 
 for two years. 
 Apply, to attend to, consider. 
 Appointnieiit, preparation. 
 Api)reheiision, opinion. 
 Apjireheiisive, quick of comprehen- 
 sion. 
 Approlation, entry or probation. 
 Approof, approbation, proof. 
 Approve, to justify, prove, establish. 
 Ajiproved, experienced. 
 Approvers, those who try. 
 Aqua-vitae, strong waters, probably 
 
 usqueliaugh. 
 Arabian bird, the pliienix. 
 Arch, chief. 
 Argentine, silver. 
 Araentine, the goddess Diana. 
 Argier, Algiers. 
 Argosies, ships laden with great 
 
 wealth. 
 Argument, subject for conversation, 
 
 evidence, proof. 
 Ann, to lake up in the arms. 
 .\roint, avaunl, begone. 
 A-row, successivel.\ . 
 Art, iiraeliee as distiii;;aislied from 
 
 theury ; also, theory. 
 Articulate, to enter into articles 
 Artificial, ingeninus, artful. 
 As, as if. 
 
 Ascaunt, askew, sideways. 
 Aspect, countenance. 
 Aspersion, sprinkling. 
 As point, completely armed 
 Assay, test. 
 -Ascapart, a giant. 
 Assinego, a male ass. 
 Astriiiger, a gentleman fiilconer. 
 Assurance, conveyance or deed. 
 Assui'eil, atBanced. 
 Ates, instigate from Ate, the goddess 
 
 of bloodshed. 
 Atomies, minute particles visible in 
 
 the sun's rays. 
 Altasked, taken to task. 
 Attended, waitexl for. 
 Attent, attentive. 
 Atone, to reconcile. 
 Attest, attestation. 
 Attorney, (lepuiation. 
 Attorneyship, the discretional agency 
 
 of anotber. 
 
 Attornied, supplied by substitution ol 
 
 embassies. 
 Audacious, spirited, animated. 
 Audrey, a corruption of Ethelrea 
 Augurs, prognostications. 
 Ankward, adverse. 
 Aunts, strumpets. 
 Authentic, learned. 
 Awful, reverend. 
 Awlesa, failing to produce awe 
 
 B. 
 
 Baccare, stand back, give place 
 
 Bairn, brushwood 
 
 Baldrick, a belt. 
 
 Bale, misery. 
 
 Baleful, baneful. 
 
 Calked, bathed or piled ilp. 
 
 Ballase, ballast. 
 
 Balm, the oil of coneecratiob 
 
 Ban, curse. 
 
 Band, bond. 
 
 Bandog, village-dog. 
 
 Bandy, to exchange smartly 
 
 Bank, to sail along banks. 
 
 Banning, cursing. 
 
 Banquet, a slight repast. 
 
 Bar, barrier. 
 
 Barbason, the name of a demon. 
 
 Barbe, a kind of veil. 
 
 Barbed, warlikely caparisoned. 
 
 Baiber-monger,an associate of baibera 
 
 Bare, to shave. 
 
 Bare, mere. 
 
 Barful, full of impediments. 
 
 Barm, yeast. 
 
 Barn, or bairn, a child. 
 
 Barnacles, a shell-fish. 
 
 Barns, keeps in a barn. 
 
 Barren, ignorant. 
 
 Base, dishonoured. 
 
 Base, a rustic game called prison -base 
 
 Bases, a kind of loose breeches won 
 
 by equestrian knights. 
 Basilisks, a species of cannon. 
 Basta, 'tis enough. 
 Bastard, raisin wine. 
 Bat, a club. 
 Bate, strilc. 
 
 Bate, to flutter as a hawk. 
 Batlet, an instrument with whicli 
 
 washers used to beat clothes. 
 Batten, to grow fat. 
 Battle, army. 
 Bawcock, a jolly fellow. 
 Bay, the space between the main 
 
 beams of a house. 
 Bny-curtal, a b.ay docked horse. 
 Bay-window, a bow-window. 
 Beadsmen, religious persons, main 
 
 tained to pray for their benefactor 
 Beak, the forecastle. 
 Bear a brain, to perfectly resembis 
 Beard, to defy. 
 Bearing, demeanour 
 
1018 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Bcann^-c'loth, a ntniitlo used at chris- 
 
 Dent, (ill liilconry) l» lliittor. 
 
 BcnlliiK. Iiiiiiiiniriii^, dwi'lliiig upon. 
 
 BcnviT, helmet in ;;eiienil. 
 
 Berk, n S!ilitl:iti(ni ir\!i(io with Hit" 'u-iij. 
 
 Bocmncd, luTdmiii^. 
 
 Bfetle, to Iiiin;! over llio ban-. 
 
 Belmvc, to iimiui^v. 
 
 Belu"8t8, comm;iMils. 
 
 Beholilitij, viewiiij; with reS'T'l 
 
 Behowl, to liowl at. 
 
 Beiiif;, iiliode. 
 
 Bel'!.iiiii-, niu'ient mother. 
 
 t/i IceM, lieeiilmed. 
 
 Belon^lnss, eiulowincnts. 
 
 Bt.-inete, l)e-meiisiiro. 
 
 Be-mollP(l, lio;!rii;;sU'tl, bcmiri-d. 
 
 Setuliii!,', iincinml to Iho weight. 
 
 BeiU'llt, beiieliciiiry. 
 
 Bent, utmost demre of niiy passion. 
 
 Bentunlieil, iiillcxilile. 
 
 Besluvw, uitiy ill beCall. 
 
 BesmiiTJi, to Ibnl or dirty. 
 
 Best, lintVLst. 
 
 Bestowed, stowed aw:iy, lodged. 
 
 Bestraufjlit, dislmoted. 
 
 Beteen>,toRive,poiiroiit,iu-rmit,siiniT. 
 
 Bewriiy, betray. 
 
 Be/.oniim, a mean I'ellow. 
 
 Biiis-elieek, swellinj; ont hko the bins 
 ol'a bowl. 
 
 Bid, to invite. 
 
 Bid llie base, to elia!leiii:e in a eontesl. 
 
 Bilold, two-lbld. 
 
 IJisuin, a ea|i. 
 
 Bilberry, the whortleberry. 
 
 Bilbo, a Spanish blade, made at F.dboa. 
 
 Bilboes, letters. 
 
 Bill, artieles ot accusation. 
 
 Hill, a weapon, (iirmorly curried by 
 watchmen. 
 
 Bin, is. 
 
 Uird-bolt, an arrow shot at birds from 
 a cross-bow. 
 
 Bissou, blind. 
 
 Blank, the white mark in a target. 
 
 Blank and level, mark and aim, (itrnis 
 of •,'nnnery.) 
 
 Cl.i7,e of youth, the sprin;; of early lili'. 
 
 Blear, to deceive. 
 
 Blench, to start oH", to fly olV. 
 
 Blent, blended. 
 
 Blind worms, the cax'ilia, or slow- 
 worm. 
 
 Blood-boltered, daubed with blood. 
 
 Blown, pulli'd-up, swollen 
 
 Blows, swells. 
 
 Bloody, san^'uinc. 
 
 Blue caps, the Scotch. 
 
 Blunt, stupid, insensible. 
 
 Blurt, blurted, tui expression of con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Board, to accost. 
 
 Bobb, to trick. 
 
 Bodged, bogirled, cluinsy. 
 
 Bodkin, a snndl dagger. 
 
 Boiled, silled. 
 
 Boliiiig-buich, the receptacle in which 
 the meal is boiled. 
 
 Bondiard, or bumlmrd, a barrel. 
 
 Bombast, the slullliig of clothes. 
 
 Bona-robas, strmnpets. 
 
 Bond, bonuden duty. 
 
 Bony or biuniy, handsonte. 
 
 Book, paper of conditions. 
 
 Boot, prollt, something over and above. 
 
 Bore, demeaned. 
 
 Bore, the calibri^ of a gnu. 
 
 BorcH, stabs 
 
 Boskv, woody. 
 
 Bosom wish, heart's desire. 
 
 Bots, worms in a horse's stomach 
 
 Donrn. liouudary, rivuiet. 
 
 Bow, yoke. 
 
 Bold.^, emboldens. 
 
 Hollered, bedaubed. 
 
 Horne In hand, deceived. 
 
 Botlled-spider, a largo bloated spider. 
 
 Boulled, silled. 
 
 Uowlins or bowlines, tackle of u ship. 
 
 Bolleu, .'swollen. 
 
 Bordered, restrained. 
 
 liower, a chamber. 
 
 Brace, armour for the arm. 
 
 Brach, a hound. 
 
 Brack, to salt. 
 
 Braid, erany, deceitful. 
 
 Brain's-llow, tears. 
 
 Brake, an instrument of torture ; also 
 a thicket. 
 
 Brands, a part of the andirons on 
 which tho wood for the fire was 
 supported. 
 
 Brasier, a innnnfacturer of brass ; also, 
 a vessel in which charcoal is burnt. 
 
 Brave, to defy, also to make Hue. 
 
 Bravely, splendidly, gallantly. 
 
 Bravery, (liiery. 
 
 Brawl, a kinil of dance. 
 
 Braying, harsh, grating. 
 
 Break, to begin. 
 
 Break up, to carve. 
 
 Break with, to break the matter to. 
 
 Breast, voice. 
 
 Breath, speech, also exercise. 
 
 Brealliiiig-conrlesy, mere verbal com- 
 pliment. 
 
 nri'ei'lied, foully Klioiitlied, mired. 
 
 Breeching, liable to be Hogged. 
 
 Breaihed, inured by constant practice. 
 
 Breallie, to utter. 
 
 lircidbale, an exciter of quarrels. 
 
 Bribe-buck, a buck sent as a bribe. 
 
 Briilal, the nuptial feast. 
 
 Bring, to attend or accompany. 
 
 Bri/e, lliegad, or horsc-lly. 
 
 Broach, to put on the spit, to trnnsfl.'C. 
 
 Brock, the badger. 
 
 Brogues, a kind of shoes. 
 
 Broken, coiiimunicaled. 
 
 Broker, a miileh-maker, a procuress. 
 
 llrooched, iidorin d. 
 
 Brought, attended. 
 
 Brow of youth, the height of youth. 
 
 Brown-bill, a battle-axe. 
 
 Brownist, a follower of Brown, a sec- 
 tarian. 
 
 Bruising-irons, an allusion to the an- 
 cient mace. 
 
 Biuit, report with chmionr. 
 
 Brush (<f time, decay of time. 
 
 ling, bugbears, tiilse terrora. 
 
 linmbard, a large drinking vessel. 
 
 Bung, a cut-purse. 
 
 liii-iliiig, a bird. 
 
 Biirgonet, a helmet. 
 
 Biisky, woody. 
 
 Butt-shal't, an arrow to shoot it shnlts 
 with. 
 
 Buxom, obedient. 
 
 By'rlaken, by our liuly. 
 
 Caddis, worsted lace. 
 Cade, a barrel. 
 Cadeiit, falling. 
 Cage, a ])rison. 
 Cain-coloured, yellow 
 CaititV, a scoundrel, 
 (^alcnlate, to liiretell. 
 Culiver, a musket. 
 Call, to visit. 
 
 Callit, a woimn, a witch. 
 Calling, appellation. 
 Calm, (pialm. 
 
 Ciinielot, a place where King Arthur 
 is supposed to have kept his com-t. 
 
 Canary, n dance. 
 
 Candle-wasters, those who sit up ull 
 night to drink. 
 
 Canker, the dog-rose 
 
 Caustick, candlestick. 
 
 Cantons, cantos. 
 
 Canvas, to sill. 
 
 Canvas-climber, a sailor. 
 
 Cap, the top, the chief. 
 
 Cap, to salute by taking off the cap 
 
 Capable impressiire, hollow mark. 
 
 Capitulate, to make head against 
 
 Capocchia, a sot. 
 
 CapoH, mclaphor for a letter. 
 
 Capricious, lascivious. 
 
 Captious, capacious. 
 
 Carack, a ship of great bulk 
 
 Caracts, characters. 
 
 Carbonado, a piece of meat cut cros* 
 ways for tlie gridiron. 
 
 Card, a sea-chart, perhaps also tne 
 compass. 
 
 Carded, mixed. 
 
 Care, inclination. 
 
 Careires, the motion of a horse ; to 
 pass the careircj, means to over 
 step Ihe bounds of decorum 
 
 Carkanet, a necklace. 
 
 Carl, clown, boor. 
 
 Caiiot, peasant. 
 
 Carnal, sanguinary. 
 
 Ciirowses, drinks. 
 
 Carriage, import. 
 
 Carried, conducted 
 
 Carry, to prevail ovci 
 
 Cart, a chariot. 
 
 Case, skin, outward gart). 
 
 Case of lives, a set of lives. 
 
 Casques, helmets. 
 
 Cassock, a horseman's loose coat. 
 
 Cast, to empty ; also to dismiss, reject 
 
 Cast, reckoned. 
 
 Castilian, an opprobrious term. 
 
 Castiliano vulgo, a cant term of con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Cast-lips, left ofl'lips. 
 
 Cast the water, to lind out disorders bj 
 iiispeclitig the urine. 
 
 Catalan, a liar. 
 
 Catling, a small lut<;string,niadcofcat 
 gut. 
 
 Cavalero-jiistice, a cant term. 
 
 Cavaleroes, gay fellows. 
 
 Caviare, loo good for, or above the ccm. 
 prehensitin of; so called from a 
 delicacy made of tho roe of stur 
 geons, eaten by the quaUty. 
 
 Cantel, subtlety. 
 
 Caiitel or ciintle, the corner, or pler< 
 of any thing. 
 
 Cauteloius, insidious, cautious. 
 
 Ccarment, the wrapping of an einbabn. 
 ed body. 
 
 Cense, decease. 
 
 Censure, to give an opinion. 
 
 Centuries, companies of au hundred 
 men each. 
 
 Ceremonious, superstitious. 
 
 Certes, certainly. 
 
 Oss, measure, lax or subsidy 
 
 Chair, tbroue. 
 
 Clmlieeil, 1. e. Uowers, with cups, from 
 Cdlix. 
 
 Challenge, Hie right of refusing a jury- 
 man. 
 
 Chamber, ancient name for London 
 also, a piece of ordnance. 
 
 Cliamberers, intriguers. 
 
 Cliaiiipian, an open C(Mintry. 
 
 Ch'iiiliT, a small chapel in a cathedral 
 
 Character, hand -writing. 
 
 Characlery, the matter with which let 
 ters are made. 
 
 Chares, task-work. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 1010 
 
 Cftftrgc-h( use, froo school 
 Chr.rirsl, most ciuuious. 
 Clmrincss, cimiioii. 
 Chiiriml)ln, (Iwir, cmlonring. 
 Cliailiswiiiii, llie constellation called 
 
 llie liciir. 
 Charm your loiisno, he silent. 
 Chiirmer, one who deuU in nitigic. 
 Ch irneeo, a sweet wine. 
 Ch.'iMce, Ibrliine. 
 Chary, camions. 
 Cliasea, ri t(M'tn in tennis. 
 Chamlron, eiilniils. 
 Cheater, lor eselKyatonr, on oflicer in 
 
 lh(' F,xehe(|iier. 
 Cheeks, prohahly for ctliics. 
 Cheer, countenance. 
 Cherry-|)ii, a «iane with cherrystones. 
 Cheveril, soil leather ; also, conscience. 
 Chew, to ruminate, consider. 
 Chewet, a clialleriiii; bird. 
 Chide, to resonnd, to echo; also to 
 
 scold, Ix^ clamorous. 
 Chiilim.', sdiiMil ; iiiiisy. 
 Cliild, a Uiiiylit, a hero. 
 Child, 11 female iid'aiit. 
 Childin;;, imseasonahly pregnant. 
 Cliopine, a hi«h shoe. 
 Chou;!h, a bird of the daw species. 
 Clirislom, orchrisom, the white cloth 
 
 put on a new hapli/.ed child. 
 Chinlv,elili ken, a term ol'end<>arnient. 
 Cluill', rich, avaricious. 
 Chopping', jahhering. 
 Cicatrice, the sear ol'a womid. 
 Ciri nnnmirrd, walk d romnl. 
 Cireiimstaiiee, cuiiduci, detail, circuni 
 
 locniion. 
 Cite, incite. 
 Cital, recital. 
 Civil, tn-ave, solemn. 
 Civil, liimian. 
 
 Ciltirn, a mnsical instrument. 
 Clack-dish, a lieijgar's dish 
 Clamour, a term in helKrinj^ing. 
 Clap-in. liill to. 
 
 Clapped i'tlieclont, hit Ihcwliitc mark 
 Clap, to join hands. 
 Claw, lo (laller. 
 Clean, complelc:ly. 
 Clean kmii, awry. 
 Clear, pure. 
 Clearest, pin'cst. 
 Clepe, to call. 
 
 Clia-kly, learned, scholar-like. 
 Cliii;U, to dry, or slirink jp. 
 tliiHiiiant, i;liilering. 
 Clipl, iiiiliraced. 
 Cloiji, the white mark at wlilch archers 
 
 shoot. 
 Clouted, hobnailed. 
 Couch-fellow, one who draws with a 
 
 conl'ederate. 
 Coasting', conciliatory. 
 Codling, an nnrlpe apple. 
 Coh-loal', a crusty, uneven loaf. 
 Cock, cock-boat. 
 Coek-and-pyc, a vulgar oath. 
 Cockfthut-time, twilight. 
 Cockle, a corn-weed. 
 Cockle-hat, a i)ilgrim'sliat. 
 Codduiij, amorous. 
 CodpieC(;, a part of the dress. 
 Cofllu, the cavity of a raised pie. 
 Cob, to cheat with dice, to lie. 
 Cognizance, liadge or token. 
 Cogging, lying. 
 
 Coigne of vantage, convenient corner. 
 Coignes. corners. 
 Coil, hustle, stir. 
 Cohl, naked. 
 
 Collection, censetincnco or i.^^'-ollaiy. 
 Collieil, black, smuwt' 
 Coll. lo '.'ick 
 
 Co-mart, a joint bargain. 
 Come of, lo pay. 
 
 (;<>me of will, lo succeed. 
 
 Co-meddled, mingled. 
 
 Coiuliinate, betrothed. 
 
 Coiuliirl, to aid. 
 
 ("oiidbrtiug, abetting. 
 
 ('omnia, comieetion. 
 
 Conunissioii, authority. 
 
 Coimiiiiid, coimiiit. 
 
 Committed, lain with. 
 
 Commodity, self-iuterest. 
 
 (^oimuonty, a comedy. 
 
 Compact, maile up of. 
 
 Companies, companions. 
 
 Compare, comparison. 
 
 Comparative, a ih aler in comparisons 
 
 Compassed, round 
 
 Compassed cape, a round cape. 
 
 Compassed windiiw, a bow-window. 
 
 Compassionate, plaintive. 
 
 Compose, to come to a composition. 
 
 Com posture, composition. 
 
 Composition, bargain; also, consls. 
 tency. 
 
 Competitors, confederates. 
 
 lUuiipliirients, uccomplishmcnts 
 
 Complexion, liumunr. 
 
 ("omply, to compliim-nt. 
 
 Comptible, submissive. 
 
 (-'onceii, imagination, wit, idea. 
 
 ('ouceited, iugeiiious. 
 
 t'ouceiu, coimected harmony, 
 
 (Joneliisions, experiments. 
 
 CdUeuftv, ennriipiKconoo. 
 
 (^ondDleinent, sorrow. 
 
 Conduct, conductor. 
 
 Coney-calched, tricked. 
 
 Coney -catcher, a cheat. 
 
 ("oufrssidii, profession 
 
 ("onllnelcss, boundless. 
 
 ('oulbiiiid, to destroy 
 
 Coiijcet, coiiji'cture. 
 
 Consent, will, cousiiiracy 
 
 Consider, reward. 
 
 Consigned, sealeil. 
 
 Consist, stand. 
 
 ("oiisort, company. 
 
 Conspectiiity, sight. 
 
 Constancy, ccmslslency 
 
 Constantly, certaiidy. 
 
 Contemptible, contemptuous. 
 
 ^'onlimiate, iminterrupted 
 
 (Joiilinue, to spend. 
 
 Continent, containing. 
 
 C(Mi traction, marriage-contract. 
 
 Coutrarious, dilVerent. 
 
 Contrary, to contradict. 
 
 Contrive, to spenil, to wear out. 
 
 Control, confut(\ 
 
 Convents, agrees, Ig convenient. 
 
 Converited, snmumiied. 
 
 Conversion, change of condition. 
 
 Converse, associate, interchange. 
 
 Convertite, a convert. 
 
 Convey, to steal. 
 
 Conveyance, slight of hand, theft. 
 
 Conveyers, thievea. 
 
 ('onveyed himself, derived his title. 
 
 (.'oiiviet(rd, overpowered, bafHed 
 
 Convince, to convict, to subdue. 
 
 Convive, to feast. 
 
 ('opatain hat, a hat with !i conical crown 
 
 Cope, encounter, eovc ring. 
 
 Copjail, rising to a t(>p or head. 
 
 Copy, tlieme. 
 
 Cor.igio, courage, be of good cheer. 
 
 Corinth, a brothel. 
 
 Coriiithi.in, a wencher. 
 
 Corky, dry, withered. 
 
 Corollary, surpius. 
 
 C(a'pMrid, corporeal. 
 
 Corrigible, corrected. 
 
 Custard, u hetid. 
 
 CoBter-monjficr, a dealer In costeis o> 
 
 apph's. 
 
 Cote, to overtake. 
 
 Coted, (luoteil, legardcd. 
 
 Cotsah^, Cotswood in Gloucester 
 
 Couch, to lie with. 
 
 Count, to n ekon upon. 
 
 Comitename, lavour ; also, fulso ap 
 pearamc, hypocrisy. 
 
 Counter, a hunting term. 
 
 Counter-cast(^ , one who reckons wi'tt 
 counters. 
 
 Coiniter-clie( k, a term in chess 
 
 Connterliit, a portrait. 
 
 (Joumerpoinis, couuterpanc*. 
 
 County, count, earl. 
 
 Couplenunl. a couple. 
 
 (bourses, the mainsail and forcfcail. 
 
 Comt-cupboard, sidebot rd. 
 
 Court conli.'ct, a spiu'ious nobleman 
 
 Court holy-water, llultety. 
 
 Covered, hollow. 
 
 Cowed, awid. 
 
 Cower, to sink down. 
 
 Cowlstall', a stail" used in carrying a 
 basket. 
 
 Coy, to soothe. 
 
 Coyed, yielded reluctantly. 
 
 Coystril, a coward cock, a poltroon. 
 
 Cozier, a tailor, a botcher. 
 
 Crack, dissolution ; also, a hoy-child. 
 
 Cranks, wii, dings. 
 
 Crutdfing or crankling, the rush of I 
 river. 
 
 CrnntH, ^arlioHlH. 
 
 Crnre, u small trading vessel. 
 
 Crash, to be inirry over. 
 
 Craven, a cowardly cock, mean, cow- 
 ardly. 
 
 Create, compounded, made np of. 
 
 Credent, credible. 
 
 Credit, nccomil, iid'ormat ion, credulity 
 
 Cressits, lights set upon a beacon. 
 
 Cressive, iiicreasiiig. 
 
 (;rcst, tlu^ summit. 
 
 Crestless, those who have no right to 
 ariiKU'iid bearings. 
 
 Crewel, wor:it<(l. 
 
 Crisp, ciirli d, winding. 
 
 Critic, cvnic. 
 
 Critical, censorious. 
 
 Crone, a very old woman. 
 
 Crosses, numey stamped with a cross. 
 
 Crow-keeper, a scarecrow. 
 
 (Irownet, last pmposc. 
 
 Crulentious, cruel. 
 
 ('rusado, a I'orlugucse coin. 
 
 (rush, lo drink. 
 
 Crush a cup, lo crack a bottle. 
 
 Cry, a pack of hounds. 
 
 (Jry aim, to encomage. 
 
 Crystals, the eyes. 
 
 Cub-drawn, alluding to A bear whOM 
 
 dugs luMi dry. 
 Cue, a Ihealrieal term, the last woro 
 
 of the preceding speech. 
 Cuisses, armour for the Ihighg. 
 Cullioii, a paltry H How. 
 (Winning, knowledge;. 
 Curb, to lieiid or truckle, 
 (;uriosiiy, ci.riousness, finical delicacf 
 (^uriou!^, scrupuKMis. 
 ('urii il, ostentatiously dreistxl. 
 Currentu, oeeurrences. 
 Cursed, iukIi r the iiilliienee ofa mate 
 
 dl( lion. 
 Curst, petulant, ill tempered, crabbed 
 
 harsh. 
 CurstneRs, ill-huinonr 
 Curtail, H little cu-. 
 Curtid, a doeki<l horse, 
 ('m-lle-iixe, a eutlnss, broad-sword 
 Ciisioirier, a struiupel. 
 Cut, u horse. 
 
1020 
 
 Out and longtiil, poor ana riCn. 
 'Jutlle, a knile ur^ed by sharpers. 
 0ypru3, a transparent stuff. 
 
 D. 
 
 Dair; or doff, to put off. 
 
 Dally, to liirle. 
 
 Damn, to cdiulemn. 
 
 Danger, control. 
 
 Dank, wet, rotten. 
 
 Danskcrs, natives of Denmark.. 
 
 Darkling', in tile dark. 
 
 Darraign, to arrange. 
 
 Daiil), to disguise. 
 
 Daubery, IliUeliood, counterfeit. 
 
 Day lied, a eoucli. 
 
 Day-liglit, broad day. 
 
 Day-ivoinan, dairymaid. 
 
 Deall, Iniiglu by pro.xy. 
 
 Dear, immediale, consequential. 
 
 Dearn, direliil, lonely, solitary. 
 
 Dealli. tokens, spots on those infected 
 
 with the plague. 
 Deatli's-man, executioner. 
 Deliitor, debtor. 
 Deboslied, debauched. 
 Decay, poverty, misfortunes. 
 Deck of cards, a pack. 
 Decked, siiriiiklcd. 
 Decline, to run through (as in gram 
 
 mar) from Hrst to last. 
 Declined, the fallen. 
 Deem, opinion, surmise. 
 Deer, aniinal.s in general. 
 Delault, (ill the) at a need 
 Defeat, to free, to disembarrass 
 Defeature, alteration of features 
 Defence, art of fencing. 
 Defend, to forbid. 
 Deftly, adroitly, dexterously 
 Defy, to reject. 
 Degrees, steps. 
 Delay, to let slip. 
 Demerits, merits. 
 Demurely, solemnly. 
 Denay, denial. 
 Denayed, denied. 
 Denier, a coin. 
 Denude, to strip, divest. 
 Deny, to refuse. 
 Depart, to part. 
 Departing, separation. 
 Dejiend, to be in service 
 Deprive, to disinherit. 
 Deracinate, to root up. 
 Derogate, degraded. 
 Descant, to harangue upon , also, a 
 
 term in music. 
 Deserved, deserving. 
 Design, to mark out. 
 Despatched, bereft. 
 Detected, suspected. 
 Dich, do It. 
 Dickon, Richard. 
 Die, gaming. 
 Diet, to compel to fast. 
 Diffused, wild, irregidar. 
 Digress, to deviate from what is riglit 
 Digression, transgression. 
 Dddos, the burthen of a song. 
 Dint, imjiression. 
 Disable, to undervalue. 
 Disappointed, unprepaied. 
 Disoandy, to dissolve. 
 Disclose, to hatch. 
 Discontents, malcontents. 
 D scourse, reason. 
 Disease, uneasiness, discontent. 
 Diseases, sayings. 
 Disgrace, hardship, injury. 
 DishabiteJ, dislodged. 
 Dislike, displease. 
 Dislimn, to unjiaint, obliterate 
 Disnie, ten^., or lithe. 
 
 separate 
 
 GLOSSAKT. 
 
 Disnatured, wanting natural affection. 
 
 Dispark, to destroy a park or inclosure. 
 
 Disjierge, to sprinkle. 
 
 Dispoiige, to discliarge as a sponge. 
 
 Dispose, disposal, command. 
 
 Dispose, to make terms. 
 
 Disposition, frame. 
 
 Disseat, displace, depose. 
 
 Dissemble, to gloss over, disguise. 
 
 Dissembling, putting dissimilar things 
 together. 
 
 Dislained, unstained. 
 
 Distaste, to corrupt. 
 
 Distemper, intoxication 
 
 Distempeiature, perturbation. 
 Distenijiered, out of humour. 
 Distraught, distracted. 
 Distractions, detaclnnents, 
 
 bodies. 
 Divert, to turn aside. 
 Division, a term in music. 
 Do/r, to [lut off. 
 Dole, alms, distribution, lot. 
 Doljihiii, the Dauphin. 
 Don, to put on, to do on. 
 Done to diaih, killed. 
 Done, expended, consumed. 
 Done upon the gad, suddenly. 
 Dotant, dotard. 
 Doiilile, full of duplicity. 
 Double vouchers, a law term 
 Doubt, to fear. 
 Dout, to do out, extinguish. 
 
 Dowle, a leutlier^ 
 
 Down-gyved, hanging down, like vvhot 
 confines the flutters round the ancles. 
 Draught, the Jakes. 
 Draw, to withdraw. 
 Drawn, embowelled. 
 Drawn Ibx, one which is trailed over 
 the ground, to deceive the hounds. 
 Drachmas, a Greek coin. 
 Dressings, appearances of virtue. 
 Drew, as.seiiibled. 
 Drive, to fly with impetuosity. 
 Drollery, a puppet-shew. 
 Drugs, drudges. 
 Drumble, to ict lazily. 
 Ducdame, (due ad me) bring him to 
 
 me, the burthen of a song. 
 Dudgeon, the handle of a dagger 
 Due, to endue, to deck. 
 Duke, a leader. 
 Dull, gentle soothing. 
 Dullard, a stupid person. 
 Dump, a mournful elegy. 
 Dup, to do up, to lift up. 
 Dumb, to make silent. 
 Durance, some lasting kind of stuff. 
 
 also, objeoii 
 
 E. 
 
 Eager, (from algre, Ft.) sour harsh. 
 Eanliiigs, lambs. 
 
 Ear, to plough 
 
 Ear-kissing, whispering. 
 
 Easy, slight, inconsiderable. 
 
 Eche, to eke out. 
 
 Ecstasy, madness. 
 
 Etfects, affections ; also, actions, Jeeds 
 
 effected. 
 Eflest, readiest. 
 Ea;5Tt, a gipsy. 
 
 Eld, old time ; also, aged persons. 
 Element, initiation. 
 Elf, done by elves, or fairies. 
 Elvish-marked, marked by elves. 
 Emballing, distinguished by the ball, 
 
 the emblem of royalty. 
 Embare, to expose. 
 Embariiuements, impediments. 
 Embossed, inclosed, swollen, puffy. 
 Embowelled, exhausted. 
 Embraced, indulged in. 
 Empericutick, empirical. 
 
 Empery, sovereign power 
 
 Emulous, envioiis, Jealous 
 
 Emulation, envy. 
 
 Encave, to hide. 
 
 Endart, to dart forth. 
 
 Enleoff, to invest with possession 
 
 Engross, to fatten. 
 
 Engaged, defivered as an hostage. 
 
 Engro.ssments, accumulation. 
 
 Enkindle, to stimulate. 
 
 Enmesh, to inclose, as in meshes. 
 
 Enmew, (in falconry) to furce to lie it 
 cover. 
 
 Enridged, bordered. 
 
 Ensconce, to secure in a safe place 
 to fortify. 
 
 Enseanied, greasy. 
 
 Enseer, to dry up. 
 
 Enshield, concealed. 
 
 Ensteeped, immersed. 
 
 Entertainment, pay ; also, being re 
 ceived into service. 
 
 Entreatments, favours j 
 of entreaty. 
 
 Envy, aversion, malice 
 
 Enviously, angrily. 
 
 Ephesian, a cant term. 
 
 Erring, errant, wandering. 
 
 Escape, illegitimate child 
 
 Escoted, paid. 
 
 Esil, or Eisel, a river. 
 
 Esperance, motto of the Percy famSy 
 
 Espials, sjiies. 
 
 Essential, existent, real. 
 
 Estimate, price. 
 
 Estimation, conjecture. 
 
 Estridges, ostriches. 
 
 Eterne, eternal. 
 
 Even, to make even, or evident. 
 
 Even christian, li^tlow-christian. 
 
 Evils, Jakes. 
 
 Examined, doubted. 
 
 Excellent differences, distinguished e« 
 cellencies. 
 
 Excrement, the beard. 
 
 Execute, to use, or employ. 
 Executors, executioners. 
 Exercise, exhortation. 
 Exhale, to breathe one's last. 
 E.\haust, to draw forth. 
 Exhibition, allowance. 
 Exigent, end, exigency. 
 Exorcism, the raising of spirits. 
 Expect, expectation. 
 Expedience, expedition. 
 Expedient, expeditious. 
 Expediently, expeditiously 
 Expostulate, to discuss. 
 Exsufflicate, bubble-like. 
 Extend, to seize. 
 Extent, violence, seizure. 
 Extern, external. 
 Extremity, calamity. 
 Expiate, to end. 
 Exposture, exposure. 
 Express, to reveal. 
 Expulsed, ex]ielled. 
 Extracting, distnicting. 
 Extravagant, wandering. 
 Eyas musket, a young Hawk 
 Eyases, nestlings. 
 Eyliads, eyes. 
 Eyne, eyes. 
 
 Eyry, a nest of hawks. 
 Eysel, vinegar. 
 
 Face, .0 carry a foolish appearaoce 
 Face-royal, a privileged face. 
 Facinoroiis, wicked. 
 Fact, guilt. 
 Fiictious, active. 
 Faculty, exercise of power 
 Fadge, to feuit 
 
Faith, fldelity. 
 
 Faitlifully. fervently 
 
 Fain, fond. 
 
 Fair, for fairness. 
 
 Failors, traitors. 
 
 Falsing, falsifying. 
 
 Falriely, illegally, dishonestly. 
 
 Familiar, a demon. 
 
 Fancies and good-niglUs, little poems 
 so called. 
 
 Fancy, love. 
 
 Fancy-free, clear of love. 
 
 Fang, to seize. 
 
 Fans, ancifnt. 
 
 Fantastical, imaginative. 
 
 Fantasticoes, affected persons. 
 
 Fap, beaten, drunk. 
 
 Farced, stuffed. 
 
 Fardel or Fartiiel, n Imrthen. 
 
 Fashions, tlie farcens, a disease of 
 Morses. 
 
 Fat, dull. 
 
 Favour, countenance. 
 
 Favours, features. 
 
 Fear, to intimidate, danger. 
 
 Feared, afraid. 
 
 Fearful, timorous ; also, formidable. 
 
 Feat, dexterous. 
 
 Feated, made neat. 
 
 Feature, beauty. 
 
 Fed.racy, confederate. 
 
 Fee-grief, a peculiar sorrow. 
 
 Feeder, a dependant. 
 
 Feeding, maintenance. 
 
 Feere, or plieere, a companion. 
 
 Feet, fooling. 
 
 Fell, skin. 
 
 Fell of hair, capilitium, any part cover- 
 ed with hair. 
 
 Fell-feats, savage actions. 
 
 Fence, the art of self-defence. 
 
 Feodary, a confederate. 
 
 ^estinately, hastily. 
 
 Festival terms, elegant phrise. 
 
 Fet, fetched. 
 
 Few, in brief. 
 
 Fico, a term of contempt. 
 
 Fielded, in the field of battle. 
 
 Fights, clothes hung rounil a ship to 
 conceal the men from the enemy. 
 
 File, a list. 
 
 Filed, defiled. 
 
 Filed, gone an equal pace with. 
 
 Fills, the shafts. 
 
 Filths, common sewers. 
 
 Finch egg, a gaudy fellow. 
 
 Fine, the conclusion, to make shewy, 
 artful. 
 
 Fine issues, great consecjuences. 
 
 Fineless, boundless, endless. 
 
 FintT, final. 
 
 Firago, for Virago. 
 
 Fire-drake, will-o'-the-wisp, or a fire- 
 work. 
 
 Fire-new, quite new. 
 
 Firk, to chastise. 
 
 First-house, chief branch of the family. 
 
 Firstlings, first produce. 
 
 Fit, a division of a song. 
 
 Fitchew, a polecat. 
 
 Fit o' the face, a grimace. 
 
 Fits o' the season, disorders of the sea- 
 son. 
 
 Fives, a distemper In horses. 
 
 Fixure, position. 
 
 Flap-dragon, inflammable stuff swal- 
 lowed by topers. 
 
 Flap-jack, a pancake. 
 
 Flaw, a sudden gust of wind. 
 
 Flecked, spotted, streaked. 
 
 Fleet, for fioat. 
 
 Fleuhmcnt, performance. 
 
 Flewed, deep-m'iuthed 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Flibbertigibbet, a fiend. 
 
 Flickering, fluttering. 
 
 Flight, a sort of shooting. 
 
 F'lote, wave. 
 
 Flourish, to ornament ; also, to sanc- 
 tion. 
 
 Flout, to wave in mockery 
 
 Flush, mature. 
 
 Foeman, an enemy in wai 
 
 Foin, to thrust in fencing. 
 
 Foizon, plenty. 
 
 Folly, depravity. 
 
 Fond, foolish. 
 
 Fools' zanies, baubles surmounted with 
 a Ibol's head. 
 
 Foot -cloth, horse-covering 
 
 For, because. 
 
 Force, to stuff 
 
 Forced, false. 
 
 Forbid, accursed. 
 
 Fordid, destroyed. 
 
 Fordo, to undo 
 
 Foredone, overcome. 
 
 Forfended, forbidden. 
 
 Forepast, already had. 
 
 Fore-slow, to loiter. 
 
 F'orgetive, inventive. 
 
 Forked, horned. 
 
 Formal, in form. 
 
 Former, foremost. 
 
 Forspent, exhausted. 
 
 Forspoke, contradicted 
 
 Forslow, delay. 
 
 Forwearipd, ^v'o^n out. 
 
 Fox, a sword. 
 
 Foxship, mean, cunning 
 
 Frampold, peevish. 
 
 Frank, a sty. 
 
 Franklin, a small freeholder 
 
 Frayed, frightened. 
 
 P'ree, artless. 
 
 Fret, the stop of a musical Instrument. 
 
 Friend, a lover. 
 
 Friend, for IViendship, to befriend. 
 
 Frippery, an old clothes shop. 
 
 Frize, a Welch cloth. 
 
 From, in opposition to. 
 
 Fronted, opposed. 
 
 Frontier, forehead. 
 
 Frontlet, a Ibrehead cloth 
 
 Frush, to break or bruise 
 
 Fulham, false dice. 
 
 Fulsonu^, obscene. 
 
 Furnishings, colours, pretences 
 
 Fustllarian, fusty fellow. 
 
 Fiiiniling, filling to the bijni 
 
 Full, complete. 
 
 FumitiT, fumitory. 
 
 Furnished, dressed. 
 
 Gabardine, a loose CiOak 
 
 Gad, a sharp-pointed instrument. 
 
 Gain-giving, misgiving 
 
 Gamester, a wanton. 
 
 Gait, passage. 
 
 G;ill:ard, a ilance. 
 
 Galliasses, ships. 
 
 Gallimaufr>", a medle 
 
 Gallow, to scare. 
 
 Gallow-glasses, Irish foot soldiers. 
 
 Garboils, commotions 
 
 Gaping, shouting. 
 
 Garish, gaudy. 
 
 Garnered, treasured up 
 
 Gastid, frighted. 
 
 Gauiiy. a Ir.xtival. 
 
 Gaunt, nii'rigrc. 
 
 Gawd, a b.iulile. 
 
 Gaze, ntlcnlion. 
 
 Gear, things or matters 
 
 Geek, a fool. 
 
 (iencral, geiieniKty 
 
 Generosity, high birth 
 
 Generous, nobly bom. 
 
 Gennets, Spanish horses. 
 
 Gentle, noble, high-born. 
 
 Gentry, complaisance. 
 
 German, akin. 
 
 Geniiins, seeds begun to epiost 
 
 Gest, a stage or journey. 
 
 Gib, a cut. 
 
 Giglot, a wanton. 
 
 Gilder, a coin, value 2«. 
 
 Gilt, gold money. 
 
 Gimmal, a nng or engine. 
 
 Ging, a gang. 
 
 Gird, a sarcasm. 
 
 Glaire, a sword. 
 
 Gleek, to joke. 
 
 Glib, to geld. 
 
 Glooming, gloomy. 
 
 JGloze, to exjiound. 
 
 Glut, to swallow. 
 
 Gnarled, knotty. 
 
 God 'ield you, God yield you. 
 
 Gongarian, Hungarian. 
 
 Good-deed, indeed. ' 
 
 Good-den, good evening. 
 
 Good-jer, the venereal disease 
 
 Gorbellied, corpulent. 
 
 Gospelled, puritanic. 
 
 Goss, furze. 
 
 Gossamer, atoms that float in the sun- 
 beams. 
 
 Gourds, dice. 
 
 Gouts. (Irop'5. 
 
 Go your gait, go away. 
 
 Grained, furrowed, like the gralB Oi 
 wood ; also, died ingrain. 
 
 Gramercy, great thanks. 
 
 Grange, a lone farm house 
 
 Gratiillty, gratuity. 
 
 Grats, pleases. 
 
 Gratulate, to be rejoiced in. 
 
 Grave, to entomb 
 
 Grave-man, a man in his grave. 
 
 Graves or Greaves, leg-armour 
 
 Greasily, grossly. 
 
 Greek, a bawd. 
 
 Greenly, unskilfully. 
 
 Green-sleeves, an old song. 
 
 Grise or Grize, a step. 
 
 Grossly, palpalily. 
 
 Groundlings, those who sat cr stood 
 on the ground in the old tJxatrca 
 the conuuou people. 
 
 Guard, to fringe. 
 
 Guarded, ornamented. 
 
 Guerdon, a reward 
 
 Gules, (in heraldry) red. 
 
 Gidf, the swallow, the tliroat 
 
 Guiled, treacherous. 
 
 Guinea-hen, a prostitute. 
 
 Gun-stones, camion balls. 
 
 Gurnet, a lish. 
 
 Gust, to taste. 
 
 Gyve, to shackle. 
 
 Gyves, shackles. 
 
 H. 
 
 Hack, to become cheap. 
 Haggard, wild ; also, wild havrft. 
 Hair, complexion, or character. 
 Hall ! make room. 
 Happily, lu'cidentally. 
 Hap|rj', accomplished. 
 Hardiment, bravery, 
 flarlocks, wild mustard. 
 Harlot, a mule cheat. 
 Harness, armour. 
 Harrows, subdues. 
 Harry, to harrass. 
 Having, possessions. 
 Il.-ividur, belmviour. 
 Huughl, haughty. 
 llaughly, elevated 
 Halcyon, 8 bird. 
 
1022 
 
 HalliJon, doom at judgment-day 
 Handsaw, hernshaw, (a hawk.) 
 Hanaers, that wliichsuapeiidsUie sword 
 
 Harlotry, vulgar, filthy. 
 Hatch, to engrave. 
 Haunt, company. 
 Hay, a fencing term. 
 Heat, heated. 
 Hebenon, henbane. 
 Hefted, heaved, agitated. 
 Hell, a dungeon in a prison. 
 Helmed, steered tUrou)jh. 
 Hence, henceforwari' 
 Henchman, a pai'r ' .aonour. 
 Hent, to seizp 
 Herbofgrw , rue. 
 Hermi'o ^^adsmen. 
 Hest, command. 
 Hlght, called. 
 Hilding, a poltroon. 
 Hiren, a harlot. 
 His, often used for its. 
 Hoar, hoary, mouldy. 
 Hob-nob, as it may happen. 
 Hoist, hoisted. 
 Hold, to esteem. 
 Hold-taking, bear-hanilling. 
 
 Holla ! a term of llie manege. 
 
 Holy, faithful. 
 
 Hoodman-blind, Windman's buff. 
 
 Horologe, clock. 
 
 Hot-house, a bagnio. 
 
 Hojf, tn hiim-slrlns. 
 
 Huggermugger, secretly. 
 
 Hurt, to float without guidance. 
 
 Humming, o'ersvhelniing. 
 
 Humorous, humid. 
 
 Hungry, unprolilic. 
 
 Hunt-counter, worthless dog. 
 
 Hunls-up, a hunting tune. 
 
 Hurly, noise. 
 
 Hurtle, to dash against. 
 
 Hurtling, boisterous merriment. 
 
 Husbandry, ihriftiuess. 
 
 Huswife, a jilt. 
 Hyen, hyaena. 
 
 1. 
 
 Icebrook, temper. 
 
 Idle, barren. 
 
 Ifeck«, in faith. 
 
 [gnomy, ignominy. 
 
 Ill-inhabited, ill-lodged. 
 
 Illustrious, without lustre. 
 
 Images, children, representatives. 
 
 Imbare. to expose. 
 
 Immanity, barbarity. 
 
 Immediacy, close connexion. 
 
 Imp, progeny. 
 
 Impair, unsuitable, unequal. 
 
 Impartial, partial. 
 
 Impawned, wagered. 
 
 Imperious, imperial. _ 
 
 Impetticos, to impetticoat, or inipocket 
 
 Importance, importunity. 
 
 Important, importunate. 
 
 Impose, injunction. 
 
 Impositiona, commands. 
 
 Impossible, incredible. 
 
 Imp out, to supply the deficiency. 
 
 Impress, a device or motto. 
 
 Incaiiable, unintelligent. 
 
 Incarnadine, to dye red. 
 
 Incensed, incited. 
 
 Inclip, to emlirace. 
 
 Include, to conclude. 
 
 Inclusive, enclosed. 
 
 Incompl, subject to account. 
 
 Incony or Kony, delicate, pretty. 
 
 Incorrect, ill-regulated. 
 
 \ndent, to sign an indenture. 
 
 (nilex, something (ireparalory. 
 
 Indifferent, imparlial. 
 
 tudigest, ghapeles.s. 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Indite, to convict. 
 Induction, preface, prelude 
 Indurance, delay. 
 Informal, deranged. 
 Infinite, extent or power. 
 Ingaged, unengaged. 
 Ingraft, rooted. 
 Inhabitable, not habitable. 
 Inherit, to possess. 
 Inhibit, to forbid, decline. 
 In his eye, in his presence. 
 Inhooped, inclosed. 
 Ink-horn mate, a book-mate. 
 Inkle, worsted tape. 
 Initiate, young. 
 
 Inland, civilized. 
 
 Innocent, a tool. 
 
 In place, present. 
 
 Insane, that which makes Insane. 
 
 Insanie, insanity. 
 
 Insconce, to fortify. 
 
 Insculped, engraven. 
 
 Inseparate, inseparable 
 
 Instances, motives. 
 
 Insuit, solicitation. 
 
 Integrity, consistency. 
 
 Inten-I, to pretend. 
 
 Intending, regarding. 
 
 Intendment, intention. 
 
 Intention, eager desire. 
 
 Intentively, attentively. 
 
 Interessed, interested. 
 
 lutergatories, inteiTogatories. 
 
 in lliai, bccaUBO 
 
 Intrenchant, which cannot be cut. 
 Intrinse, intricate. 
 Inwardness, intimacy. 
 Iron, clad in armour. 
 Irregulous, licenlious. 
 Issuts, conseipicnces. 
 Iteration, repetition. 
 Itinalion, recitation. 
 
 Jack-a-Lent, a puppet thrown at in 
 
 Lent. 
 Jack-giiavdani, a jack in oflice. 
 Jack sauce, a saucy fellow. 
 Jaded, worthless. 
 Jar, tlie noise made by the pendulum 
 
 of a clock. 
 Jaunce, jaunt. 
 Jauncing, jaunting. 
 Jay, a wanton . 
 
 Jesses, straps of leallier fastened 
 
 round liawks' legs. 
 Jest, to play a part in a mask. 
 Jet, to strut 
 
 Jig, a ludicrous dialogue in verse. 
 Journal, daily. 
 Jovial, belonging to Jove 
 Jump, to suit, just. 
 Juslicer, a judge. 
 Jut, to encroach. 
 Jutty, to project. 
 Juvenal, a youth. 
 
 K 
 
 Kam, awry. 
 
 Keech, a lump of tallow. 
 
 Keel, to cool 
 
 Keisar, Ca-sar. 
 
 Kernes, light-armed soldiers 
 
 Key-cold, cold as iron. 
 
 Kicksy-wicksy, term of endearment 
 
 for a wife. 
 Kindly, natural. 
 Kinged, ruled. 
 Kirtle, a woman's garment. 
 Knap, to break short. 
 Knave, servant. 
 Knots, figures planted m box. 
 Know, to acknowledge. 
 Know of. to consider. 
 
 Labras, lip». 
 
 Laced mutton, a prostitute 
 
 Lackeying, moving like a Iflckej 
 
 Lag, the rabble. 
 
 Lakin, ladykin, or little lady. 
 
 Lances, lance-men. 
 
 Lands, landing-places. 
 
 Land-rakers, wanderers on foot 
 
 Large, licentious. 
 
 Lass-lorn, forsaken by his migtresi 
 
 Latch, to lay hold of. 
 
 Latched or Letched, licked over 
 
 Lated, benighted. 
 
 Latten, thin as a lath. 
 
 Launch, lance. 
 
 Laund, lawn. 
 
 Laundering, wetting. 
 
 Lavoltas, a kind cf dances. 
 
 Lay, a wager. 
 
 TiCaguer, a camp. 
 
 Leasing, falsehood. 
 
 Leather-coats, apples. 
 
 Leavened, matured. 
 
 Leech, a physician. 
 
 Leer, feature, complexion. 
 
 Leet, petty court of justice 
 
 Leg, obeii-ance. 
 
 Legerity, nimbleness 
 
 Leges, alleges. 
 
 Leigcr, resident 
 
 Leman, a lover or mistress 
 
 Leno, a pander. 
 
 Lenten, spare. 
 
 Let, to hinder. 
 
 Lethe, death. 
 
 L'Knvoy, end of a poem. 
 
 Lewd, idle. 
 
 Libbard, or Lubbar, a leopard 
 
 Liberal, licentious in speech 
 
 Liberty, hbertinism. 
 
 License, licentiousness 
 
 Lieiest, dearest. 
 
 Lieger, an ambassador. 
 
 Lifter, a thief. 
 
 Light o'love, a dance tune 
 
 Lightly, commonly. 
 
 Like, to compnre. 
 
 Liking, condition of body. 
 
 Likehhood, similitude. 
 
 Likeness, speciousness. 
 
 Limbeck, a vessel used m distilling 
 
 Limbo, a place supposed near heU. 
 
 Lime, bird-lime ; to cement. 
 
 Limited, appointed. 
 
 Limits, estimates. 
 
 Lined, delineated. ^. . ,. „„,^i 
 
 Linstock, the staff to which the matcl 
 
 is fixed vvlien ordnance i« nreU. 
 List, limit. 
 Lither, llexible. 
 Little, miniature. 
 Livelihood, aiipearance of me. 
 Livery, a law-phrase. 
 Living, estate, property. 
 Living, speaking, manifest 
 Loach, a small prolific nsh. 
 Lob, a dullard, a looby. 
 Lockram, a kind of linen. 
 Lode-star, the polar star. 
 Loofle, to laugh. 
 Loggats, a game. 
 Long purples, a flower. 
 Longing, belonging. 
 Longly, longingly. . 
 
 Looted, brought close to the wind 
 Loon, a base tellow. 
 Looped, full of apertures. 
 Lop, the branches. 
 Lordling, a Utile lord. 
 Lot, a prize. 
 Lottery, allotment. 
 Love in idleness, a flower 
 

 
 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 1026 
 
 Lovci «onietiines far mistress. 
 
 Miser, a miserable being. 
 
 Nil], shall not. 
 
 Lowt, a clown. 
 
 Misery, avarice. 
 
 IVine men's morria, a game 
 
 Lowictl, ireuled with contempt. 
 
 Misprised, mistaken. 
 
 Noble, a coin. 
 
 Lozel, a worthless fellow. 
 
 Misprising, despising. 
 
 Nobless, nobleness. 
 
 Lubhar, a leopard 
 
 Missives, messengers. 
 
 Noble-touch, unalloyed metal. 
 
 Lullaby, cradle. 
 
 Misteinpered. angry. 
 
 Noddy, fool, a game at cards. 
 
 I unes, lunacy. 
 
 Mistl'ul, reaily to wocp. 
 
 Noise, music. 
 
 Lurch, (0 will, to purloin. 
 
 Misihiiik, to think ill. 
 
 Nonce, on purpose. 
 
 Lure, a decoy lor a hawk. 
 
 Mistress, the jack in bowling. 
 
 Non com, nonplus. 
 
 Lush, rank, luscious. 
 
 Mo, more. 
 
 Nook-shotter, that vvnich shoots tot*" 
 
 Last, incliua'ion, will. 
 
 Moliled, veiled, muffled. 
 
 capei. 
 
 Liistic, lusty, cheerful. 
 
 Model, mould. 
 
 Northern man, a clown. 
 
 Lusty, saucy. 
 
 Modern, new-fangled. 
 
 Note, notice. 
 
 Luxurious, lascivious. 
 
 Modesty, moderation. 
 
 Nott-pated, round-headed. 
 
 LUXU17, lust. 
 
 Module, model. 
 
 Nourish, to nurse. 
 
 Lym, or Lyme, a blondlioumi 
 
 Moe, to make mouths. 
 
 Nousle, to fondle as a nurse. 
 
 
 Moiety, a portion. 
 
 Novum, a game at dice. 
 
 M. 
 
 Moist star, the moon. 
 
 Nowl. a head. 
 
 Mace, a sceptre. 
 
 Mollification, softening. 
 
 Nut-nook, a thief. 
 
 Mad, wild, inconstant. 
 
 Mome, a blockhead. 
 
 
 Magot-pie, a magpie. 
 
 Momenlany, momentary. 
 
 0. 
 
 Magnifico, a Venetian potentate. 
 
 Monster, to make monstrous. 
 
 Odd-even, the interval between twelvs 
 
 Magnificent, hoaslCul. 
 
 Mouth's mind, a popish anniversary 
 
 at night and one in the momine 
 
 Mailed, wrapt in armour. 
 
 Mood, anger, manner. 
 
 Od's-pitikins, God me pity. 
 
 Make, to bar, to shut. 
 
 Moody, melanclioly. 
 
 Oeliads, glances of the eye 
 
 Makelcss, mateless, widowed. 
 
 Moonish, variable. 
 
 O's, circles, pockmarks 
 
 Male, a bag. 
 
 Mops and Mocs, ludicrous anticks. 
 
 Obligations, bonds. 
 
 Malkin, a trull. 
 
 Moral, secret meaning. 
 
 Obsequious, funereal. 
 
 Mallecho, mischief. 
 
 Morisco, Moorish. 
 
 Observation, celebration 
 
 Maltwnrms, tipplers. 
 
 Morris-pike, Moorish pike. 
 
 Obstacle, obstinate. 
 
 Mammering, stammering. 
 
 Mort of the deer, n tune on the death 
 
 Occurrents, incidents. 
 
 M^mmets, puppets. 
 
 of the deer. 
 
 Occupation, mechanics. 
 
 Mammock, to tear. 
 
 Mortal, murderous, fatal. 
 
 O'er-raiiglu, over-reached. 
 
 Man, to tame a hawk ; the devil. 
 
 Mortal, abounding. 
 
 O'ercrow, overcome. 
 
 Mandragora, a soporific plant. 
 
 Mortal-stnri'iig, killing Uy a look. 
 
 O'erlooked, fascinated. 
 
 Mandrake, a root. 
 
 Morlified, ascetic. 
 
 Of, through. 
 
 Mankind, a wi/.ard. 
 
 Most, greatest. 
 
 Offering, "the assailant. 
 
 Manacle, a handcuff". 
 
 Mot, a motto. 
 
 OfTice, service. 
 
 Manner, in the Diet. 
 
 Mother, the hysteric passion. 
 
 Offices, culinary apartments. 
 
 Man-qui;ller, a man-killer. 
 
 Motion, divinatory agitation. 
 
 Of all loves, by all means. 
 
 Marches, confines. 
 
 Motion, desires. 
 
 Old, frequent. 
 
 Marchpane, a sweetmeat. 
 
 Motion, a puppet. 
 
 Old age, ages past 
 
 Margent, margin. 
 
 Motions, indignation. 
 
 Once, sometime. 
 
 Martial liaiul, a careless scrawl. 
 
 Motive, a mover. 
 
 Oneyers, bankers. 
 
 Martlemas, the latter spring. 
 
 Mouldwarp, the mole 
 
 Opal, a precious stone. 
 
 NIated, conliiunded. 
 
 Mouse, to tear to pieces. 
 
 Opemnt, active. 
 
 Material, full of matter. 
 
 Mouse, a term of endearment. 
 
 Opinion, obstinacy, conceit 
 
 Maugre, in spite of, notwithstanding. 
 
 Mouse-hunt, a weasel 
 
 Opposite, adverse. 
 
 Maund, a basket. 
 
 Moy, a piece of money ; also, a mea- 
 
 Opposition, combat. 
 
 Meacock, a dastard. 
 
 sure of corn. 
 
 Or e'er, before. 
 
 Mealed, mingled. 
 
 Much, strange, wonderful. 
 
 Orbs, fairy circles. 
 
 .Mean, the middle ; the tenor in music. 
 
 Muck-water, drain of a dunghill. 
 
 Orchard, a garden. 
 
 Means, interest. 
 
 Muffler, a wrapper lor the lower part 
 
 Ord-nance, rank. 
 
 Measure, the reach; a solemn dance ; 
 
 of the face. 
 
 Order, measures. 
 
 means. 
 
 Muleters, muleteers. 
 
 Orgulous, haughty. 
 
 Meszels, lepers. 
 
 Mulled, softened. 
 
 Osprey, an eagle. 
 
 Molal, portrait. 
 
 Multiplied, nmltitudinoiis. 
 
 Ostent, ostentation, iippearance. 
 
 Meildle, to mingle. 
 
 Multiplying, multiplied. 
 
 Ostentation, appearance. 
 
 Medicine, a she-physician. 
 
 Multitudinous, full of mullitudes 
 
 Overblow, to drive away. 
 
 Meet, a match. 
 
 Mure, a wall. 
 
 Overscutched, whipped at a carfa 
 
 Meiney, domestics. 
 
 Murky, dark. 
 
 tail. 
 
 Memories, memorials. 
 
 Must, a scramble 
 
 Overture, opening, discovery. 
 
 Memory, memorial. 
 
 
 Ounce, a tiger-cat. 
 
 Mends, the means. 
 
 N. 
 
 Ouph, fairy. 
 
 Mephistophilus, a familiar spirit. 
 
 Napkin, handkerchief. 
 
 Ousel-cock, the cock blackbird. 
 
 Mercatante, a merchant. 
 
 Napless, threadbare. 
 
 Out, full, complete. 
 
 Merchant, a low fellow. 
 
 Native, naturally. 
 
 Outvied, defeated, a tenn at th« gfon 
 
 Mere, entire, absolute. 
 
 Nature, natural parent. 
 
 of gleek. 
 
 Mered question, the aole question. 
 
 Naughty, unP.t. 
 
 Outward, not in the secret 
 
 Merely, entirely. 
 
 Nay-word, a by-word. 
 
 Owe, to possess, to own 
 
 Merit, a reward. • 
 
 Neb, the m juth. 
 
 Oxlip, the great cowslip. 
 
 Mermaid, a syren. 
 
 Neelds, needles. 
 
 / 
 
 Metaphysical, supernatural. 
 
 Neglection, neglect. 
 
 P- / 
 
 Mete-yard, measuring yard 
 
 Neif, the fist. 
 
 Pack, to bargain with. / 
 
 Mewed, confined 
 
 Nephew, any lineal descendant. 
 
 Pack, an accomplice. / 
 
 Micher, a truant. 
 
 Nether-stocks, stockings. 
 
 Packing, plotting, fraud. / 
 
 Miching Mallecho, a secret mischief. 
 
 Newness, innovation. 
 
 Paddock, a toad. , 
 
 Mi.ice, to walk affwMedly. 
 
 Newt, the eft. 
 
 Pagan, a dissolute person ' 
 
 Minding, remimling. 
 
 Next, nearest. 
 
 Pageant, a dumb shew. 
 
 Minnow, a very small flsh. 
 
 Nice, trifling. 
 
 Paid, pimished. 
 
 .Minstrelsy, office of minstrel. 
 
 Nick, to set the mark of folly on ; rec- 
 
 Palabras, words. 
 
 Minute-jack, Jack-o'-lantern. 
 
 koning. 
 
 Pale, dominions. 
 
 Miscreate, illegitimate, spurious. 
 
 Night-rule, frolic of the night. 
 
 Pale, to encircle with a crowi. 
 
 Misdoubt, to suspect. 
 
 Niglited, made dark as night. 
 
 Pall, to wrap, to invest. 
 
1024 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 failed, vaptd. 
 
 i'aliiKTB, j)ilfrriin3 
 
 piilniy, victorious* 
 
 i^nly, pale. 
 
 I'rili! r, to juggle, to client. 
 
 Ptul', to afflict. 
 
 Taper, to coiiiniii to writing. 
 
 Parcel, part, to reckon up. 
 
 Parcel -bawd, liall'-liawd. 
 
 Parcel-gilt, partially gilt. 
 
 Parish-top, a large lop, formerly kept 
 
 in every village, to be whipped fur 
 
 exercise. 
 Parle, parley 
 
 Parlous, perilous, slirewi. 
 Fart, to depart. 
 Parted, endowed, shared 
 Particular, private 
 Partizan, a pike 
 Parts party. 
 Pash, to strike; ahead. 
 P;ushed, crii.shed. 
 Pass, to decide, assure, coiiV('y. 
 Pass on, to decide. 
 Passed, eminent. 
 Passing, surpassing 
 Passi(ui, sullering. 
 Passionate, grieving. 
 Passioning, being in a passion. 
 Passy Measure, a dance. 
 Parilor, an apparitor, or oflicer of the 
 
 bishop's court. 
 PiHtry, Ibc- ['rti^Iry room. 
 Palcll', a lool. 
 Palclied, in a (()ol's coat. 
 Path, to walK. 
 Pe.tlielical, prouiise-bre.aker. 
 Patient, tf) soothe. 
 Paline a disli used with llie chalice in 
 
 ailiiiinislering the Kucharist. 
 Paucas, li'W. 
 Pa\ ill, a dance. 
 Pay, to beat. 
 Peal, pel, darling. 
 Pedasciile, a pedant. 
 Peer-out, to |ieep out. 
 Peevish, foolish. 
 
 Pei/.e, 10 weigh, keep in suspense. 
 Peiithesilia, Amazon. 
 Pelting, paltry. 
 Pennons, siiiall flags. 
 Perdu, one of the forloni hope. 
 Perdurable, lasting. 
 Perdy, (Par Dieu) a French oath. 
 Perfeci, certain; well informed. 
 I'erfection.-!, liver, brain, and heart. 
 Peniipls, cnarnis worn aoout the neck. 
 Perjure, a perjurer. 
 Peraon, parson. 
 Perspectives, spy-glasses. 
 Pervert, to avert. 
 Pestdeiice, poison. 
 Pew-fellow, a companion. 
 Plicere, companion. 
 Pheeze, to teaze, to currjxonib. 
 ?hisonomy, physiognomy. 
 Ph ill-horse, shaft-horse, 
 pick, to pitch. 
 Pick-axes, fingers, 
 picked, foppish. 
 Pickers, the hands. 
 Picking, insignificant. 
 Pickl-halch, a place noted for brothels. 
 Pick-tnaiiK, a parasite. 
 Piece,aconiemptuoustennfora woman 
 Pied ninny, a fool. 
 Pieled, shaven. 
 Pight, pitched, fixed. 
 Pilcher, the scabbard. 
 Piled, deprived of hair 
 Pilled, pillaged. 
 Pin, a term ui archery 
 Pin and web, disorJel of the eye. 
 Pinl<:ild.a iiound 
 
 Fix, the box that contalna the hosi 
 
 Place, a mansion. 
 
 riackel, a petticoat 
 
 Plague, punish. 
 
 Plainly, openly. 
 
 Plaited, complicated. 
 
 Planlage, plantain. 
 
 Planched, made of planks. 
 
 Plant, the foot. 
 
 Plates, silver money. 
 
 Platl'ornis, schemes. 
 
 Plausivc, gracious, applauded. 
 
 Plurisy, plclliory. 
 
 Pleached, Iblded. 
 
 Plot, portion. 
 
 Point, negative. 
 
 Point, hooks used to fasten up breeches. 
 
 Poim-de-vice, exactly. 
 
 Points, tags to laces. 
 
 Poize, weight. 
 
 I'olack, a Ptilander. 
 
 Polled, bared. 
 
 Piiiuaiider, a perfume baH. 
 
 Poiuewaler, an apple. 
 
 Poor-John, sallid fish. 
 
 Popinjay, a paiTot. 
 
 Popiilaritv,intercouree with the vulgar 
 
 Porpeiitine, porcupine. 
 
 Port, deporlnient. 
 
 Port, a gate. 
 
 Portable, bearable. 
 
 Portance, behaviour. 
 
 Possess, to inform. 
 
 Potch, to push. 
 
 Polents, potentates. 
 
 Poiilter, poulterer. 
 
 Poiiucet-box, a perfume-box. 
 
 Power, an army. 
 
 Practise, stratagems. 
 
 i'raiik, to adorn. 
 
 Precept, a justice's warrant. 
 
 Precisian, a puritan. 
 
 Preeches, flogged. 
 
 Prefer, to oiler. 
 
 Pregnant, rea.iv. 
 
 Preiiominale, l">-e-nainefl. 
 
 Prest, ready. 
 
 Pretend, to intend. 
 
 Prevent, to nnlieipaie. 
 
 Pricket, a buck of the second year. 
 
 Prig, to pilfer. 
 
 Prime, sprlgbtbiiess of youth. 
 
 Priuier, of unu'e con.sequence. 
 
 Primero, a same at cards 
 
 Princox, a coxcomb. 
 
 PrcNI, prrbable. 
 
 proilimoiis, portentous. 
 
 Profice, mueli good m.ay it do you. 
 
 Profane, grossly talkative. 
 
 Progress, a royal journey of state. 
 
 Prognostication, almanack. 
 
 Project lo shape. 
 
 Prolixious, coy, delaying. 
 
 Proof, puljerty. 
 
 Prom|)ture, suggestion. 
 
 Prone, humble, also prompt. 
 
 Propagate, to advance, to Improve. 
 
 Projier, handsome. 
 
 Proper-false, deceitful. 
 
 Propertied, possessed. 
 
 Properties, incidental necessaries lo a 
 
 theatre. 
 Property, due performance. 
 Propose, to imagine, to converse. 
 Proposing, conversing. 
 Provand, provender. 
 Provost, sheriff or gaoler. 
 Prune, to plume. 
 Pugging, thievish. 
 Piiice, a sort of russet colour. 
 Purchase, stolen goods. 
 Purchased, unjustly acquired. 
 Purl, to curl. 
 Purlieu, border 
 
 I Fnrsulvanf?, heralds. 
 I Pussel, a low wench. 
 iPut to know, forced to acknowledge. 
 I Putter-out, one who lends money oi 
 interest. 
 
 Putting-on, incitement 
 
 Puttock, a hawk. 
 
 Q 
 
 Quail, to sink, to faint, to be vanquished 
 
 Quaint, fantastical, also graceful. 
 
 Quaintly, skilfully. 
 
 Quaint-mazes, a game. 
 
 Quaked, terrified. 
 
 Quality, confederates; condition. 
 
 Quarrel, a quarreller. 
 
 Quarry, the game after it ia killed. 
 
 Quartd'eca, the fourth of a Frendi 
 
 crown. 
 Quat, a scab. 
 Queasy, squeamish. 
 Quell, to murder. 
 Quench, to grow cool 
 Quern, a hand-mill. 
 Quest, pursuit. 
 Question, conversation. 
 Questrist, one who seeks another. 
 Quests, reports. 
 Quiddils, subtleties. 
 Quietus, discharge. 
 Quillets, law chicane. 
 Quintain, a post set up for variotia bk 
 
 ercises. 
 Quips, scoffs. 
 <iuiru, to play in concert. 
 Quiver, nimble, active 
 Quote, to observe. 
 
 R. 
 
 R, dog's letter. 
 
 Rabato, a neck ornament. 
 
 Race, original disposition, also flavonr 
 
 Rack, wreck. 
 
 R.ack, to exaggerate. 
 
 Rack, to harass by exactions. 
 
 Rack, the fleeting away of the clouik 
 
 Racking, in rapid motion. 
 
 Rag, an opprobrious epithet 
 
 Rasged, rugged. 
 
 Rake, to cover. 
 
 Ram, rain. 
 
 Rampallion, a strumpet. 
 
 Rank, rate or pace. 
 
 Rank, rapidly grown. 
 
 Rapt, enraptured. 
 
 Jiaptur^. a fit. 
 
 Raiely, curiously. 
 
 Rascal, lean deer. 
 
 Rash remonstrance, premature disc«< 
 very. 
 
 Raiight, reached. 
 
 Ravin, to devour eagerly. 
 
 Ravined, glutted with prey. 
 Rawly, suddenly. 
 Rayed, betrayed. 
 Razed, slashed. 
 
 Raze, a bale. 
 
 Rear-mouse, a bat. 
 
 Reason, discourse. 
 
 Rebeck, a musical instrument 
 
 Recheat, a horn, a tune to call the dog 
 
 back. 
 Receipt, receptacle. 
 Receiving, ready apprehension. 
 Receate, a hunting term. 
 Reck, to care for. 
 Reckless, careless. 
 Record, to sing. 
 Recorders, a kind of fluie 
 Reciire, to recover. 
 Red-lattice phrases, alehouse talk. 
 Red-plague, the St. Antony's fire 
 Reecliy, discoloured with pmobc 
 Reels, wheels. 
 
Refel, to confine. 
 
 Rnfer, to rest!r\e Co. 
 
 Regard, look. 
 
 Regiment, government. 
 
 Regreet, excliange of salutation 
 
 Reguerdon, recompense 
 
 Rheumatic, capricious. 
 
 Relume, to relight. 
 
 Remorse, pity. 
 
 Remotion, removal. 
 
 Removes, journies. 
 
 Render, to describs. 
 
 Renege, to renounce. 
 
 Reports, reporters. 
 
 Reproof, confutation. 
 
 Repugn, to resist. 
 
 Reputing, boasting. 
 
 Reserve, to preserve. 
 
 Resolve, to be assure<1 
 
 Resolve, to dissolve. 
 
 Respective, respectful. 
 
 Respectively, respectfully. 
 
 Resiy, mouldy 
 
 Retailed, handed down. 
 
 r.etort, to refer back. 
 
 Reverb, to revcrl)erate 
 
 Revolt of mein, change ol complexion. 
 
 Revolts, reliels. 
 
 Hib, to enclose. 
 
 Ribald, a lewd fellow 
 
 Hill, to destroy. 
 
 Rift, split. 
 
 Riggish, wanton. 
 
 Rigol, a circle. 
 
 Rim, money. 
 
 Ringed, encircieJ 
 
 Rivage, the bank or shove. 
 
 Rivaliiy, equal rank 
 
 Rivals, partners. 
 
 Rive, to burst, to fire 
 
 Romage, rummage, bustle. 
 
 Ronyon, a drab. 
 
 Roo<l, the cross. 
 
 Rook, to squat. 
 
 Ropery, roguery. 
 
 Rope-tricks, abusiveness 
 
 Round, a diadem. 
 
 Round, rough. 
 
 Rounded, whispered. 
 
 Roundel, a country dance 
 
 Rounding, whispering 
 
 Roundure, a circle. 
 
 Rouse, caro!is:il. 
 
 Roynisli, mangy. 
 
 Royal, a coin. 
 
 Ruddock reil-liveast. 
 
 Riff, the folding of the tops of boots. 
 
 Kiillle, to be noisy. 
 
 Ruffling, rustling. 
 
 Rumi)-leil, fed with offals. 
 
 Ruth, pity. 
 
 S. 
 Sacarson, the name of a bear. 
 Sacred, accursed. 
 Sacrificial, worshipping. 
 3.icring-bcl!, the IxM! announcing the 
 
 approach of the host. 
 Sad ostent, grave appearance. 
 Sagg, or Swttgg, to sink down. 
 Sallet, a helmet. 
 Salt, tears. 
 Saltiera, satyrs. 
 Samingo, St. Domingo. 
 Sandied, sandy colour. 
 Sans, without. 
 Sai.cy, liscivioua. 
 Savage, syU-an. 
 Bsvageness, wildness. 
 Saw, tenor of a discourse 
 Say, silk. 
 Say, a sample. 
 
 Scjttlbldage, the gatlerv of a theatre. 
 Kciud lieggarly 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Scale, to disperse. 
 
 Scaled, overreached. 
 
 Scaling, weighing. 
 
 Scall, scab. 
 
 Scamtjle, to scramble. 
 
 Scan, to examine nicely. 
 
 Scantling, proportion. 
 
 Scarfed, decorated with flags 
 
 Sealh, destruction. 
 
 Scathful, mischievous. 
 
 Sconce, the head. 
 
 Sconce, a fortification. 
 
 Scotch, to bruise. 
 
 Scrimers, fencers. 
 
 Scrip, a writing, a list. 
 
 Scroyles, scurvy fellows 
 
 Scrubbed, stunted. 
 
 Sculls, shoals offish. 
 
 Scutched, whipped. 
 
 Se;0 to strengthen, or complete 
 
 Seam, 'mid. 
 
 Seamels, a bird. 
 
 Sear, to stigiiiatiie, to close. 
 
 Season, to temper, to infix, to impress 
 
 Seat, llirone. 
 
 Sect, a cutting in gardening. 
 
 Seel, to cIo.se up. 
 
 Seeling, blinding. 
 
 Seeming, aeemly. 
 
 Seen, versed, practised. 
 
 Seld, seldom. 
 
 Semblably, resemblingly. 
 
 Seniory, seniority. 
 
 Seniu'i, " tluurisn on cornets. 
 
 sense, sensual desires. 
 
 Sepleiitrion, tlie north. 
 
 Si.()iu'straLion, separation. 
 
 Sere, or sear, dry. 
 
 Ser|]igo, a tetter. 
 
 Serve, to fulfil. 
 
 Setebos, a demon. 
 
 Set of wit, a term at tennis. 
 
 Sessa, be quiet. 
 
 Several, separated. 
 
 Several, or sevt rell, a field set apart for 
 
 corn and grass. 
 Sewer, the placer of the dishes. 
 Shame, modesty. 
 
 Shard-borne, borne on scaly wings 
 Sli.ards, beetle's wings. 
 Sliards, broken pots or tiles. 
 Sliark up, to pick up. 
 Shaven Hercules, Samson. 
 Sheen, shining, gay. 
 Sheer, transparent 
 Shent, to scold, rebuke. 
 Sherris, sherry, 
 sliive, a slice. 
 Slioi;, to go off. 
 .Shollcn, projected. 
 Shotieii-liernng, a herring that has 
 
 s|i;iwiied. 
 Shoulder-clapper, a bailifT. 
 SUouglis, shocks, a species of dog. 
 Shove-groat, a game. 
 Shovel-hoarils, shillings used at tlie 
 
 game of shovel board. 
 Shrewd, shrewish. 
 Shrilt, auricular confession. 
 Shrive, to call to confe.ssion. 
 Side, purpose. 
 Side-sleeves, long sleeves 
 Siege, a stool. 
 Sieve, a common voider. 
 Sightless, unsiiihlly. 
 Sights, the perforated parts of a helmet. 
 Silly, simple iriitli. 
 Sinew, strength 
 Single, weak. 
 
 Sink-a-pace, cinque pace, a dance. 
 Sir, the title of a parson. 
 Sister, to imitate (U" re-echo 
 Sitli, since. 
 SitJieuc«, thence 
 
 102i 
 
 Sizes, allowances of vlctuala. 
 
 Skain's-mates, kiu's-inalcs. 
 
 Skill, reason. 
 
 "Skills not, is of no importance 
 
 Skinker, a tapster. 
 
 Skirr, to scour. 
 
 Slave, to treat with indignity. 
 
 Sleave, the knotty part of silK 
 
 Sledded, carried on a sledge. 
 
 Sleided, untwisted. 
 
 Slights, tricks. 
 
 Slip, counterfeit coin. 
 
 Slips, a contiivapce in leather, to start 
 
 two dogs at the same time. 
 Sliver, to slice. 
 Slops, loose breechae. 
 Slougli, the skin which the serpent aa- 
 
 nually throws off. 
 Slower, more serious. 
 Slubber, to do carelessly, to o\j»cnie. 
 Slinrgabed. sluggard. 
 Smirched, soiled. 
 Sneap, rebuke. 
 Sneaping, nipping. 
 Sneck-iip, go hang yourself. 
 Snipe, a poltroon. 
 Snuff, anger. 
 Snuffs, dislikes. 
 
 Soil, spot, turpitude, reproach. 
 Solicit, courtship. 
 Solicit, to excite. 
 Soliciting, information. 
 
 ^oltdixroH, a ooin. 
 
 Sometimes, formerly. 
 
 Sooth, truth. 
 
 Sooth, sweetness. 
 
 Sorel, a deer during his third year 
 
 Sorry, sorrowful. 
 
 Sort, to happen, to agree 
 
 Sort, the lot. 
 
 Sort and suit, figure and rank 
 
 Sot, a fool. 
 
 Soud, sweet. 
 
 Soul-fearing, sonl-appaUing. 
 
 Sound, to publish. 
 
 Soused gurnet, a gudgeon. 
 
 Sowl, to pull by the ears. 
 
 Sowie, to drag down. 
 
 Sowter, the name of a hound 
 
 Spanielled, dogged. 
 
 Specialty, particular rights. 
 
 Speculation, sight. 
 
 Speculative, seeing. 
 
 Sped, the fate decided 
 
 Speed, event. 
 
 Sperr, to shut up, defend by bars. 
 
 Spill, to destroy. 
 
 Spotted, wicked. 
 
 Sprag, apt to learn, alert. 
 
 Sprlgliled, haunted. 
 
 Sprights, spirits. 
 
 Springhalt, a discise of horses. 
 
 Sprigiilly, ghostly. 
 
 Spurs, the greater roots of trees. 
 
 S<iuare, to quarrel. 
 
 Sijuarer, a quarreller. 
 
 Squash, an iuimature peascod 
 
 Sijuiney, to look asquint. 
 
 Squire, a rule or square. 
 
 Stage, to place conspicuously. 
 
 Stale, a decoy for birds. 
 
 Stannyel, a hawk, or slallir.n 
 
 Star, a scar. 
 
 Stark, stiff. 
 
 Starred, destined. 
 
 Statists, statesmen. 
 
 Siatiia, statue. 
 
 Statue, a portrait. 
 
 Stay, a hinderer, a supporter. 
 
 Sleniage, the binder pan. 
 
 Sticking-place, the slop in a machiu* 
 
 Stickli-rs, arbitrators, judgesjpartisdiu 
 
 Hm)iires. 
 Stigmalical. stigmatiseu. 
 

 1026 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 
 
 Stigmatic, iiiarkuJ viih defoniiity, 
 
 Terms, the phraseology of courts. 
 
 Twicken-bottle, a R-ickered bctC». 
 
 
 branded. 
 
 Tested, attested, brought lo the lest. 
 
 Twigging, wickered. 
 
 
 Stilly, gladly, luwly 
 
 Testerncd, gratified with a tester, or 
 
 Tything, a district. 
 
 
 Stinted, slopped. 
 
 si.tpeiice. 
 
 
 
 Stint, to stop. 
 
 Tetchy, touchy, peevish. 
 
 U 
 
 
 Stith, un anvil. 
 
 Tether, a siring by which any animal 
 
 Umber, a dusky-coloured earth. 
 
 
 Stitliied, forged at Ihe Tuliiace. 
 
 is fastened. 
 
 Umbered, discoloured 
 
 
 Stithy, a smith's shop. 
 
 Tharborough, a constable. 
 
 Unaccustomed, unseemly. 
 
 
 Stoccata, a slab. 
 
 TUeorick, theory.' 
 
 Unaneled, without extreme unctiott. 
 
 
 Slock, a stocking. 
 
 Tliewcs, muscular strength. 
 
 Unavoided, unavoidable. 
 
 
 Stomach, pride. 
 
 Thick, pleached, thickly interwoven. 
 
 Unbarbed, beardless, unshaven 
 
 
 Stone-bow, a cross bow 
 
 Thill, the shafts of a carl. 
 
 Unbated, not blunted 
 
 
 Stoup, a llaggon. 
 
 Thin Helm, thin covering of hair. 
 
 Un Jilted, unbridled. 
 
 
 Stover, a thatch. 
 
 Thought, melancholy. 
 
 Unbolt, lo explain. 
 
 
 Strain, descent, lineage. 
 
 Thrasonical, boasting. 
 
 Unbolted, coarse. 
 
 
 Strain, difficulty, doubt. 
 
 Thread, to pass. 
 
 Unbonnetted, without dignities. 
 
 
 Strait, narrow, ivaricious. 
 
 Three-man-beelle, an implement for 
 
 Unbookish, unlearned. 
 
 
 Strange, shy. 
 
 driving piles. 
 
 Unbreathed, unpractised. 
 
 
 Stratagem, gieat, or dreadful event. 
 
 Three-pile, rich velvet. 
 
 Uncape,todig out, a term in foxhuntlSf 
 
 
 Slrawy, straying. 
 
 Thrift, prosperity, economy 
 
 Uncharged, unatlacked. 
 
 
 Striker, a borrower. 
 
 Thrum, extremity cf a weaver's warp. 
 
 Unclew, to unwind. 
 
 
 Stuck or Stock, a term in fencing. 
 
 Thrummed, made of coarse woollen. 
 
 Uncoined, unrefined, unadorned. 
 
 
 Stuff, baggagf, substance or essence. 
 
 Tib, a strumjiet. 
 
 Unconfirmed, unpractised in woritif 
 
 
 Stuffed, sufficiency, ample abilities. 
 
 Tickle, ticklish. 
 
 cratt. 
 
 
 Subscription, obedience. 
 
 Tickle-brain, a strong drink. 
 
 Uncurrent, irregular. 
 
 
 Success, succession. 
 
 Tilly-vally, pooh ! 
 
 Undercrafl, to wear beneath the crest. 
 
 
 Sudden, violent. 
 
 Tilth, tillage. 
 
 Under-skinker, a lapsler. 
 
 
 Sufiiciency, abilities. 
 
 Timeless, untimely. 
 
 Understand, stand under. 
 
 
 Sugge.«t, to tempt. 
 
 Tinct, tincture. 
 
 Undertaker, the defender of another a 
 
 
 Suggestion, lemplation. 
 
 Tire, head-dress. 
 
 quarrel. 
 
 
 Suited, dressed. 
 
 Tire, to fasten. 
 
 Underwrite, to subscribe, to obey 
 
 
 SmiiptiT, n hnr^p tli.oi carries accessa- 
 
 Tire, to be idly employed on. 
 
 Unealh, scarcely. 
 
 
 ries on a journey. 
 
 Tired, adorned. 
 
 Uiiexpressive, inexpressible. 
 
 
 Superfluous, over-clothed. 
 
 Tire-valiant, a head-dress. 
 
 Unlhir. to deprive of beauty. 
 
 
 Supposed, coiinterleit. 
 
 Tirra-lirra, llie song of the lark. 
 
 Ungenitured, w ithout genitals. 
 
 
 Sur-reined, over ridden. 
 
 Toged, habited. 
 
 Uiihaired, youthful. 
 
 
 Suspire, to breathe. 
 
 Tokened, spotted. 
 
 Unhappy, unlucky, mischievous. 
 
 
 Surcease, an end. 
 
 Tolling, taking loll. 
 
 Unhoused, free from domestic cares. 
 
 
 Saspecl, suspicion. 
 
 Topless, supreme. 
 
 Unhouselled, without having the sacra 
 
 
 Swart, dark brown. 
 
 Topple, to tumble. 
 
 ment. 
 
 
 Swashing, bullying. 
 
 Touches, features. 
 
 Union, a species of pearl. 
 
 
 Swath, griiss cut at one stroke. 
 
 Toward, in readiness. 
 
 Unkind, unnatural. 
 
 
 Sway, weight. 
 
 Toys, whims, rumours. 
 
 Unlived, lifeless. 
 
 
 Sweeting, an apple. 
 
 Toze, to unravel. 
 
 Unli;strouB, without lustre 
 
 
 Swellered, weltered 
 
 Trade, estaljlislied custom. 
 
 Unmanned, a term in falconry. 
 
 
 Swift, ready. 
 
 Tradition, trailiti(nial usages. 
 
 Unmaslered, licentious. 
 
 
 Swinge-bucklers, riotous fellows. 
 
 Trail, scent left by game. 
 
 Unowed, unowned. 
 
 
 S wounded, swooned. 
 
 Traitress, a term of endearment 
 
 Unpregnant, not quickened. 
 
 
 Swoop, the descent of a bird of prey. 
 
 Trammel, to catch. 
 
 Unjiroper, common. 
 
 
 
 Tranect, a ferry or sluice. 
 
 Unqualilied, unmanned. 
 
 
 T. 
 
 Translate, to transform. 
 
 Unquestionable,averse to conversation 
 
 
 Table, the palm of tlie hand. 
 
 Trash, lo check. 
 
 Unready, undrest. 
 
 
 Table, a picture. 
 
 Traverse, to march. 
 
 Unrespective inconsiderate. 
 
 
 Tables, tablets, memorandum books. 
 
 Traversed, across. 
 
 Unrest, disquiet. 
 
 
 Tambourine, a small drum. 
 
 Tray-trip, a game at draughts. 
 
 Unrough, beardless. 
 
 
 Tag, the rabble. 
 
 Treachers, traitors. 
 
 Unsisti'ig, unresisting, unfeeling 
 
 
 Take, to strike with disease, to blast. 
 
 Trenched, carved. 
 
 Unsmirched, undefiled. 
 
 
 Take-in, to conquer. 
 
 Trick, peculiarity of feature. 
 
 Unsquared, unadapted. 
 
 
 Take-up, to contradict. 
 
 Trick, to dress out. 
 
 Unstanched, incontinent. 
 
 
 Talent, talon. 
 
 Tricking, dress. 
 
 Untempering, not softening. 
 
 
 Tall, courageous. 
 
 Tricksy, adroiu 
 
 Unlented, not probed, virulent. 
 
 
 Taliow-keech, tub of tallow. 
 
 Trigon, Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius, in 
 
 Untraded, not in common use 
 
 
 Tame, inedectua!. 
 
 the Zodiac. 
 
 Untrimmed, undrest. t 
 
 
 Tame-anake, a poltroon. 
 
 Trip, to defiiat. 
 
 Unvalued, invaluable. 
 
 
 Tarre, to excite, provoke. 
 
 Triple, one of three. 
 
 Upspring, a dance. 
 
 
 Tartar, Tartarus. 
 
 Triumphs, revels. 
 
 
 
 Task, to keep busied with scruples. 
 
 Trojan, cant term for thief. 
 
 V. 
 
 
 Tassel Gentle, or Tercel Gentle, a spe- 
 
 Trol-my-dames, the game of nine holes. 
 
 Vail, to bow, to sink, to condescend IB 
 
 
 cies of hawk. 
 
 Troll, to sing trippingly. 
 
 look. 
 
 
 Tasked, taxed. 
 
 Trossers, trowsers. 
 
 Vailing, lowering 
 
 
 Taurus, aides and heart in medical as- 
 
 Trot, a term of contempt. 
 
 Vain, vanity 
 
 
 trology. 
 
 Trow, to imagine. 
 
 Vain, lying. 
 
 
 Tawdry, necklaces worn by country 
 
 Trundle-tail, a dog. 
 
 Valance, fringed with i beara 
 
 
 , girls. 
 
 \ Tawney Coat, the dress of an apparitor. 
 
 Trusted, thrusted. 
 
 Vanity, 'Jiusion. 
 
 
 Try conclusions, try experiments. 
 
 Vantage, opportunity, advantage. 
 
 
 Taxation, censure, satire. 
 
 Tub-fast, the sweating process in the 
 
 Vauibrace, armour for the ann. 
 
 
 Tear a cat, to bluster. 
 
 venereal disease. 
 
 Varlet, a servant. 
 
 
 Taen, grief, trouble. 
 
 Tucket, or tucket sonnuance, a flourish 
 
 Vast, waste, dreary. 
 
 
 Temper, to mould. 
 
 on a trumpet. 
 
 Vaunt, the avunt, the fore-part. 
 
 
 f emperance, temperature. 
 
 Tup, a ram. 
 
 Vaward, the fore-part. 
 
 
 Teni , attend. 
 
 Tup, to cover an ewe. 
 
 Velure, velvet. 
 
 
 Tender, to regard with affection. 
 
 Turre, to whisper. 
 
 Venetian, admittance. 
 
 
 Tent, to take up residence, to search. 
 
 Turlygood, or Turlupin, a gipsy. 
 
 Vent, rumour. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Tercel, the male hawK 
 
 Twangling jack, a scurvy musician 
 
 Ventiges, holes of a fiuta. 
 
9et%al, verboae. 
 
 \ erit'y, to bear witness. 
 
 Venew, a hout (in fencing. 5 
 
 Vengeance, mischief. 
 
 \ eneys, hits. 
 
 \ eronese, a sliip from Verona. 
 
 \'erainj;, writing verses. 
 
 \'er7, fanmedl.ue. 
 
 Via, a cant phrase of exultation. 
 
 Vice, the fool of the old moralities. 
 
 Vice, grasp. 
 
 Vie, to brag. 
 
 Viewless, invisible. 
 
 Villain, a worthless fellow, a servant. 
 
 Vild, vile. 
 
 Violeateth, rageth. 
 
 Virginal, a kind of spinnet. 
 
 V irtue, valour. 
 Virtuous, healthy. 
 Virtuous, well-bred. 
 
 V ixen, or Fi.fen, a female fox. 
 
 V izament, advisement. 
 Vox, lone or voice. 
 
 V ulgar, common. 
 
 V ulgarly, commonly. 
 
 W 
 W aft, to beckon. 
 Wage, to combat. 
 W ages, is equal to. 
 Waist, that part of a ship between the 
 
 quarter deck and the forecastle. 
 Waist, the middle. 
 Walk, a district in a forest. 
 Wanned, pale. 
 Wannion, vengeaTi'-o. 
 Wanl, posture of defence. 
 Ward, guardianaliip. 
 Warden, a pear 
 Warn, summon. 
 
 Wassel candle, candle used at festivals 
 VVassels, rustic revelry. 
 Watch, a watch-light. 
 Water-work, water-colounj. 
 Wax, to grow. 
 Waxen, inciease. 
 Waxen, soft, yielding 
 Vanton, a feeUe or effeminate man 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Wappened, decay ec^, diseased. 
 
 Warder, a sentinel 
 
 Warp, to change from the natural state 
 
 Wee, veiy little. 
 
 Weeds, clothing. 
 
 Ween, to imagine. 
 
 Weigh, to value or esteem. 
 
 Weird, proiihclic. 
 
 Welkin, Ihe .sky. 
 
 VVclUin-eye, lihie eye. 
 
 Well-a near 1 lack-a-day ! 
 
 Well-liking, plump. 
 
 Wend, to go. 
 
 Westward hoe, the name of a play acted 
 
 in Shakspeare's time. 
 Wether, used for a ram. 
 Wear, the fashion. 
 Whelked, varied with protuberances. 
 Whe'r, whether. 
 Where, whereas. 
 Whiffler, an officer in processions. 
 Whiles, until. 
 Whinidst, mouldy. 
 Whip, the crack, the best 
 Whipstock, the carter's whip. 
 Whirring, liurrying. 
 Whist, being silent. 
 White, the while mark in the target. 
 White-death, the green sickness. 
 Whiting-time, bleaching time. 
 Whilsters, linen bleachers. 
 Whittle, a pocket knife. 
 Whooping, measure and reckoning. 
 Wide, remoip f'-oin. 
 \K'i;aerness, wildness. 
 Will, wilfulness. 
 Wimple, a hood or veil. 
 Winchester Goose, a strumpet 
 Winking-gntes, gates hastily closed 
 
 from fear of danger. 
 Winnowed, examined. 
 Winter-ground, to protect against win- 
 j ter. 
 'Wis, to know. 
 
 I V, ise woman, a witch, a forlune-tefler. 
 VViah, to recommend 
 I Wit, to know 
 t 
 
 1027 
 
 Witch, tobewitcn. 
 
 Withy, judicious, cunning 
 
 Wits, E«nses. 
 
 Wittol, knowing, conscidjai 
 
 Wittol, a contented cuckold 
 
 Woe, to be sorry. 
 
 Woman, to aflfect deeply. 
 
 Woman-tired, henpecked. 
 
 Wondered, able to perform woudera 
 
 Wood, crazy, frantic. 
 
 Wooden thing, awkward business. 
 
 World to see, wonderful 
 
 Woodman, an attendant on the foreti^ 
 
 Woolward, wearing wool. 
 
 Work, fortification. 
 
 Workings, thoughts. 
 
 Worm, a serpent. 
 
 Worth, wealth. 
 
 Worship, dignity. 
 
 Wreak, to revenge ; resentment. 
 
 Wrest, ac instrument for tuning t* 
 
 harp. 
 Wrested, obtained by force. 
 Wretch, a term of fondness. 
 Writ, writing. 
 
 Write, to pronounce confldentlf 
 Wrilhled, wrinkled. 
 Wry, to deviate. 
 Wrong, hurt. 
 Wroth, misfortune. 
 Wrought, agitated. 
 Wrung, pressed, strained. 
 
 r. 
 
 Yare, nimble, handy. 
 Yarely, nimbly, adroitly. 
 Yearn, ta grieve or vex. 
 Yeild, to infirirm of. 
 Yellowness, jealousy 
 Yeoman, a bailiff's follower 
 Yerk, to kick. 
 Yesty, foaming, frothy 
 Young, early. 
 
 Z. 
 Zany, a buffoon. 
 Zealous, pious. 
 Zed, a term of contempt. 
 
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